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<blockquote data-quote="Emperor Valerian" data-source="post: 2587338" data-attributes="member: 15043"><p>Well, dragnfly (who plays Viktalia) typed up a lovely update... so I felt obliged to rush mine so hers can get posted. So today, there are two updates for the price of one! <img src="data:image/gif;base64,R0lGODlhAQABAIAAAAAAAP///yH5BAEAAAAALAAAAAABAAEAAAIBRAA7" class="smilie smilie--sprite smilie--sprite1" alt=":)" title="Smile :)" loading="lazy" data-shortname=":)" /> (Celestial Empire will recieve the next dose of attention...)</p><p></p><p><strong>Tarnpool</strong></p><p></p><p>Viesel squinted the following day, at the bow of the ship. The night before he’d spent looking the ship over again, and now he was eager to focus on his new activity. </p><p></p><p><em>That is not good...</em> the warforged thought, watching the smoke in the distance. <em>Something is burning...</em> Quickly he bellowed for Siran and Viktalia. <em>Fire is never good... commanders are needed. And if that fire is the town we are supposed to be headed towards...</em></p><p></p><p>Even as Viktalia reached the bow of the ship where Viesel stood, the warforged had already drawn out his rifle, keenly scanning the horizon.</p><p></p><p>“What is it?” the bard impatiently asked, until Viesel motioned towards the thin wisps of smoke in the distance. She fell silent, and Viesel’s voice rumbled out his own thoughts.</p><p></p><p>“Someone is burning something large... Something larger than a ship,” the warforged added. <em>Towns are big enough to make large smoke clouds like that... perhaps someone reached Tarnpool before we did?</em></p><p></p><p>As the hours drifted by, the smoke cloud grew larger as the two ships drew closer to its origin. Slowly land came into view, and Viesel heard the ship’s passenger crying. That alone confirmed his suspicions... it was Tarnpool that was burning. </p><p></p><p>Even as he made that realization, Viesel saw, far in the distance, two small skiffs, coming from the harbor of the small burning town...</p><p></p><p style="text-align: center">***</p><p></p><p><em>Someone was very thorough in attacking this town,</em> Viesel realized a few minutes later. Most of the town itself wasn’t damaged, a sign that whoever had come here was in control of a disciplined force, one that carried off only what it was told to, and left the rest alone... a fear few human armies could match. Yet his military mind picked up the smoldering ruins above the town as the remnants of a log fort, likely with cannon emplacements. <em>Someone came here with power... tens, if not hundreds of soldiers...</em></p><p></p><p>“Elves!” the harbormaster hissed, clambering with Siran’s help from the skiff onto the <em>Spotted Pinnace</em>. “It was the damn elves, may Saint Anias’ blade slice them in two!” His aged gray eyes shimmered as tears welled up. “Bless ye for comin’! Bless ye!”</p><p></p><p>“Who attacked you?” Viesel asked directly. <em>A specific elf? A certain band of elves? Whoever they are, we should be aware of them...</em> </p><p></p><p>The old man looked forlornly towards the smoldering parts of the town, as if he didn’t notice the huge metal behemoth standing on deck before him. “They took ‘em!” he wailed, “They took ‘em!”</p><p></p><p>“Who?” Viesel felt pressure at his side, as Rowena pushed by, asking the man again, “Who did they take!?”</p><p></p><p><em>She is panicked... that is not good,</em> Viesel realized, without noticing the noble’s shuddering. The warforged ran through his memory, trying to find something that would fit this situation, and calm the Lady down, before giving up in frustration. <em>If this were a battle, I could jump between her and the enemy, and crush the enemy’s skull! But there is no battle!</em> Annoyed, Viesel started to rub his hand over the steel head of his warhammer.</p><p></p><p>“They took the Baron, and the young men!” the harbormaster wailed, tears coming to his eyes. “They came and they took my son, the damn slavers!”</p><p></p><p>“Slavers?” Siran asked, his face growing suddenly dark, as the sky blackens during the approach of a great storm. “Elven slavers?” the cleric asked, his voice far quieter, far more angry.</p><p></p><p>“Yes sir!” another man clambered on board from the skiff, and from his standing behind the harbormaster and his deference to the older man, Viesel guessed he was an assistant. “Three elven ships have been raiding us for slaves for the past month and a half... one large ship and two smaller ones! The Baron tried to resist the first assault with the local militia, but the damn elves blew up the fort with cannon on their ships! <em>Cannon!</em>”</p><p></p><p>“Speak again,” Viesel said, holding his hand out, mimicking the gesture humans made when they wanted someone to slow down or repeat their speech. “These elves had cannon?” <em>Elves are not supposed to have cannon. My former officers told me of this... it was agreed to by a treaty long ago...</em></p><p></p><p>“Yes! Big cannon!” the harbormaster added, “they just pulled up sail beyond the range of the fort’s guns and pounded it to pieces, then stormed ashore and carried off the Baron, his son, and all the militia!”</p><p></p><p>“How big were the fort’s cannon?” Viesel asked.</p><p></p><p>“MY BROTHER?!” Rowena screeched over the warforged question, and the harbormaster turned to her, recounting the tale of her father and brother being dragged through the streets to a life of slavery, and how the elves had returned every three weeks since, taking more townspeople as slaves. When the sad tale was done, Rowena stood motionless on the deck, tears running down her face.</p><p></p><p><em>She needs someone to cheer her up,</em> Viesel thought, annoyed once again that he couldn’t help on that front. However, he focused his mind on the one way he could help. “How big were the fort’s cannon?” he repeated himself. This time, the harbormaster heard his question.</p><p></p><p>“Why... as big as those on your ship now... but the elven cannon were brighter in color, shinier!”</p><p></p><p>“Bronze cannon,” Viesel hissed, realizing what had done the damage. <em>Same size, but longer range with more accuracy...</em> Few <em>human</em> ship’s had bronze cannon, due to the expense, but an <em>elven</em> ship with such...</p><p></p><p>“What was that?” Siran asked, distracted by the crying as Viktalia put her arm around Rowena and comforted the poor woman.</p><p></p><p>“The elves have bronze cannon. They are no ordinary elves,” Viesel added darkly. “From that fact alone, sir, I can inform you that these elves likely had access to a great deal of shiny metal.”</p><p></p><p>“Money?” Siran asked, turning his full attention to the warforged.</p><p></p><p>“Yes, money,” Viesel said, picking up on the word yet again and storing it for future reference. “And they have minds for war, if they know to use bronze cannon.” <em>And they are confident, if they have a clockwork schedule as this harbormaster says...</em></p><p></p><p>“When was the last time the elves came?” Siran asked the harbormaster suddenly.</p><p></p><p>“Two weeks ago,” the old man explained...</p><p></p><p></p><p></p><p>Kaled let out a sharp, pungent curse, its sound echoing over the wooden walls of his cramped cabin aboard the new <em>Black Joke</em>. His ship, along with the <em>Spotted Pinnace</em> had slid into the small harbor quay, and even now supplies were being loaded and unloaded.</p><p></p><p>“So they’re going to be back sometime in the next week, when we’re still sitting in harbor?” the captain gnashed his teeth together in anger. The new <em>Black Joke</em> had extensive spar damage from its seizure that needed repair... while the repairs weren’t complicated, they were best done in port and needed time... two weeks at least.</p><p></p><p>“Yes sir, if they hold to their schedule,” Siran replied, anger in his own voice. <em>Elves! May all of them eat Veris root and die in their own piss!</em> </p><p></p><p>It had been a long time since he’d seen the damage an elven raid could do. While the elves weren’t a single unified country... numerous princes squabbled amongst themselves all the time... their ships were sleek and fast, light on armament but designed and excelled at raiding... rapidly landing on-shore by a remote hamlet, forcing its inhabitants on-ship to be sold for slaves, and speeding home before any human navy could respond. If this elven ship was powerful enough to destroy a fort, yet still had the same speediness...</p><p></p><p>“Piss-pot!” Kaled swore again. “Elves?! Of all the bloody things that could be bloody tossed at us!” He swore sharply again using St. Heraclius in vain, something that did make the cleric stiffen up slightly. “And now you’re telling me they have bronze guns?!”</p><p></p><p>“Sir,” Siran heard Viesel say in his rumbling voice, “the harbormaster described them as being able to outrange the land fortress’ guns, and also described the guns as shining and bright, which your know, sir, that our iron guns do not do. That leads me...”</p><p></p><p>“Yes, yes, your logic, Viesel, is perfect!” Kaled waved his hand at the warforged. The hand then promptly returned to Kaled’s head. “It’s just... dammit!” He took a deep breath, then breathed out slowly. “We have how many crew?”</p><p></p><p>“Well, sir, we have twenty-two able and ready on the <em>Spotted Pinnace</em>,” Siran started, before Kaled held up his hand.</p><p></p><p>“We have too few. If those elves come back, and we’re caught in harbor, we’re dead. That’s it. They’ll sit outside the range of <em>our</em> guns and pound us to pieces! We’re going to have to sail out, and put to port somewhere else!”</p><p></p><p>“Um... sir? A point, if I may.”</p><p></p><p>Siran looked up, and saw Viktalia staring at Kaled. While her voice was calm and the same, quiet tone, her golden eyes shone with fiery anger. <em>She’s upset about something... about the people in this town?</em></p><p></p><p>“Sir, we <em>cannot</em> leave these poor people behind,” she said, the tone matter-of-fact and cool, though Siran noticed her form beginning to tremble just slightly, as if some great explosion was being held within her small body. “You heard the harbormaster. They are defenseless against these slavers. <em>Defenseless</em>.” The final word rumbled from her mouth, as her self-control gave way.</p><p></p><p>“Well, Miss Starwynd, what do you propose then?” Kaled asked sharply. “That we sail out, battle flags high, and challenge the elves to a duel?!” the captain shouted, pounding his fist on the table. “Yes, I heard the harbormaster! Those elves have <em>three</em> ships to our <em>two</em>, Miss Starwynd! And not only that, one of their ships is <em>larger</em> than this one!”</p><p></p><p>“And they have bronze cannons, capable of outranging our...” Viesel began. Wisely, Siran kept his mouth shut, and just as he suspected, Viktalia cut both Viesel and the captain off.</p><p></p><p>“I <em>know</em> that!” she hissed. “I might not have as extensive a sailing record as you or Siran, but I’m not a dolt!” The last words were accompanied by an acidic stare, one that seemingly made Kaled wilt... and even Siran shudder. </p><p></p><p><em>I’m sure if metal could melt away, Viesel might right now too,</em> Siran thought, clad the evil gaze wasn’t on him for once.</p><p></p><p>“We’ll need surprise, and stealth. When the elves return, what are the chances they’ll know our ship’s are warships? Little... Kaled, the <em>Black Joke</em> is a damaged merchant ship... a cromster! We’re a tiny pinnace! Chances are high that if these <em>are</em> slavers, they’ll probably be greedy, right?”</p><p></p><p>“Right,” Siran said aloud, a smile starting to form on his face. <em>I know where this is leading... and I like it!</em></p><p></p><p>“Now... what can we do to keep their suspicion down to the maximum? Maybe the good Lady could provide a distraction?” Viktalia thought aloud. “Maybe we could lure them into the harbor, and board them? Maybe get the townspeople involved? If the elves have slaves aboard, they’ll be worried about those slaves getting free...”</p><p></p><p></p><p></p><p>“...and that’s where you come in,” Viktalia said hours later, to the gathered ‘topmen’ of the <em>Black Joke</em> and <em>Spotted Pinnace</em>. She scratched her ear impatiently for a moment, before turning to Viesel. The warforged nodded in reply, then moved towards the front. </p><p></p><p>“Now,” he rumbled, his metallic voice only the same pitch, despite the excitement in his mind. <em>I have a command! A small command, under Siran and Viktalia...</em> His inhibitions against promotion were far weaker, when he knew that directly above him, there was someone in authority... safety in hierarchy. </p><p></p><p>“You all are good marksmen,” the warforged said, “and you all should have rifles. You will be placed on the sides of the harbor,” Viesel pointed to the rolling land illuminated by the setting sun. He smiled in his mind at this part... it was his own contribution to the planning. “Together, the ten of you, along with myself, can put down some cross-fire... keep the elves heads low, so that Captain Rapp and Captain Kaled can lay down a broadside, then board the enemy.”</p><p></p><p>“And what of us?” the old harbormaster, now returned, asked. Alongside him stood members of the elite of Tarnpool, covered in ragged suitcoats and torn hats.</p><p></p><p>“We have a week. Before the elves come, you will assist Captain Rapp and myself in partially rebuilding that fort up there,” Viesel pointed to the ruins, “as well as adding more fire, if you can. How many weapons do you have?”</p><p></p><p>“Between the three hundred people left in town...” one of the leaders spoke, “maybe ten swords, several fowler hunting pieces, a few blunderbusses, maybe fifteen or twenty pistols, and quite a few farm implements.”</p><p></p><p>“A pitchfork to the eye will kill any elf,” Siran piped up, and a nervous laugh went around the deck of the ship.</p><p></p><p>“But... we’re lawyers, oculists, ferriers... we aren’t soldiers!” one of the men complained, and even as he spoke, he nervously fiddled with the spectacles on his nose.</p><p></p><p>“Your morale is low. It should be higher if you wish to fight,” Viesel said bluntly. <em>They are saddened, and scared. They cannot be scared if they want to fight and win.</em> For a second the warforged tried to think of ideas to raise their morale... but once again, he realized every idea in his mind came up short. <em>They aren’t warriors... they won’t respond to my kind of encouragement. Yet...</em> he thought, turning to Viktalia, <em>they might respond to hers...</em></p></blockquote><p></p>
[QUOTE="Emperor Valerian, post: 2587338, member: 15043"] Well, dragnfly (who plays Viktalia) typed up a lovely update... so I felt obliged to rush mine so hers can get posted. So today, there are two updates for the price of one! :) (Celestial Empire will recieve the next dose of attention...) [b]Tarnpool[/b] Viesel squinted the following day, at the bow of the ship. The night before he’d spent looking the ship over again, and now he was eager to focus on his new activity. [i]That is not good...[/i] the warforged thought, watching the smoke in the distance. [i]Something is burning...[/i] Quickly he bellowed for Siran and Viktalia. [i]Fire is never good... commanders are needed. And if that fire is the town we are supposed to be headed towards...[/i] Even as Viktalia reached the bow of the ship where Viesel stood, the warforged had already drawn out his rifle, keenly scanning the horizon. “What is it?” the bard impatiently asked, until Viesel motioned towards the thin wisps of smoke in the distance. She fell silent, and Viesel’s voice rumbled out his own thoughts. “Someone is burning something large... Something larger than a ship,” the warforged added. [i]Towns are big enough to make large smoke clouds like that... perhaps someone reached Tarnpool before we did?[/i] As the hours drifted by, the smoke cloud grew larger as the two ships drew closer to its origin. Slowly land came into view, and Viesel heard the ship’s passenger crying. That alone confirmed his suspicions... it was Tarnpool that was burning. Even as he made that realization, Viesel saw, far in the distance, two small skiffs, coming from the harbor of the small burning town... [center]***[/center] [i]Someone was very thorough in attacking this town,[/i] Viesel realized a few minutes later. Most of the town itself wasn’t damaged, a sign that whoever had come here was in control of a disciplined force, one that carried off only what it was told to, and left the rest alone... a fear few human armies could match. Yet his military mind picked up the smoldering ruins above the town as the remnants of a log fort, likely with cannon emplacements. [i]Someone came here with power... tens, if not hundreds of soldiers...[/i] “Elves!” the harbormaster hissed, clambering with Siran’s help from the skiff onto the [i]Spotted Pinnace[/i]. “It was the damn elves, may Saint Anias’ blade slice them in two!” His aged gray eyes shimmered as tears welled up. “Bless ye for comin’! Bless ye!” “Who attacked you?” Viesel asked directly. [i]A specific elf? A certain band of elves? Whoever they are, we should be aware of them...[/i] The old man looked forlornly towards the smoldering parts of the town, as if he didn’t notice the huge metal behemoth standing on deck before him. “They took ‘em!” he wailed, “They took ‘em!” “Who?” Viesel felt pressure at his side, as Rowena pushed by, asking the man again, “Who did they take!?” [i]She is panicked... that is not good,[/i] Viesel realized, without noticing the noble’s shuddering. The warforged ran through his memory, trying to find something that would fit this situation, and calm the Lady down, before giving up in frustration. [i]If this were a battle, I could jump between her and the enemy, and crush the enemy’s skull! But there is no battle![/i] Annoyed, Viesel started to rub his hand over the steel head of his warhammer. “They took the Baron, and the young men!” the harbormaster wailed, tears coming to his eyes. “They came and they took my son, the damn slavers!” “Slavers?” Siran asked, his face growing suddenly dark, as the sky blackens during the approach of a great storm. “Elven slavers?” the cleric asked, his voice far quieter, far more angry. “Yes sir!” another man clambered on board from the skiff, and from his standing behind the harbormaster and his deference to the older man, Viesel guessed he was an assistant. “Three elven ships have been raiding us for slaves for the past month and a half... one large ship and two smaller ones! The Baron tried to resist the first assault with the local militia, but the damn elves blew up the fort with cannon on their ships! [i]Cannon![/i]” “Speak again,” Viesel said, holding his hand out, mimicking the gesture humans made when they wanted someone to slow down or repeat their speech. “These elves had cannon?” [i]Elves are not supposed to have cannon. My former officers told me of this... it was agreed to by a treaty long ago...[/i] “Yes! Big cannon!” the harbormaster added, “they just pulled up sail beyond the range of the fort’s guns and pounded it to pieces, then stormed ashore and carried off the Baron, his son, and all the militia!” “How big were the fort’s cannon?” Viesel asked. “MY BROTHER?!” Rowena screeched over the warforged question, and the harbormaster turned to her, recounting the tale of her father and brother being dragged through the streets to a life of slavery, and how the elves had returned every three weeks since, taking more townspeople as slaves. When the sad tale was done, Rowena stood motionless on the deck, tears running down her face. [i]She needs someone to cheer her up,[/i] Viesel thought, annoyed once again that he couldn’t help on that front. However, he focused his mind on the one way he could help. “How big were the fort’s cannon?” he repeated himself. This time, the harbormaster heard his question. “Why... as big as those on your ship now... but the elven cannon were brighter in color, shinier!” “Bronze cannon,” Viesel hissed, realizing what had done the damage. [i]Same size, but longer range with more accuracy...[/i] Few [i]human[/i] ship’s had bronze cannon, due to the expense, but an [i]elven[/i] ship with such... “What was that?” Siran asked, distracted by the crying as Viktalia put her arm around Rowena and comforted the poor woman. “The elves have bronze cannon. They are no ordinary elves,” Viesel added darkly. “From that fact alone, sir, I can inform you that these elves likely had access to a great deal of shiny metal.” “Money?” Siran asked, turning his full attention to the warforged. “Yes, money,” Viesel said, picking up on the word yet again and storing it for future reference. “And they have minds for war, if they know to use bronze cannon.” [i]And they are confident, if they have a clockwork schedule as this harbormaster says...[/i] “When was the last time the elves came?” Siran asked the harbormaster suddenly. “Two weeks ago,” the old man explained... Kaled let out a sharp, pungent curse, its sound echoing over the wooden walls of his cramped cabin aboard the new [i]Black Joke[/i]. His ship, along with the [i]Spotted Pinnace[/i] had slid into the small harbor quay, and even now supplies were being loaded and unloaded. “So they’re going to be back sometime in the next week, when we’re still sitting in harbor?” the captain gnashed his teeth together in anger. The new [i]Black Joke[/i] had extensive spar damage from its seizure that needed repair... while the repairs weren’t complicated, they were best done in port and needed time... two weeks at least. “Yes sir, if they hold to their schedule,” Siran replied, anger in his own voice. [i]Elves! May all of them eat Veris root and die in their own piss![/i] It had been a long time since he’d seen the damage an elven raid could do. While the elves weren’t a single unified country... numerous princes squabbled amongst themselves all the time... their ships were sleek and fast, light on armament but designed and excelled at raiding... rapidly landing on-shore by a remote hamlet, forcing its inhabitants on-ship to be sold for slaves, and speeding home before any human navy could respond. If this elven ship was powerful enough to destroy a fort, yet still had the same speediness... “Piss-pot!” Kaled swore again. “Elves?! Of all the bloody things that could be bloody tossed at us!” He swore sharply again using St. Heraclius in vain, something that did make the cleric stiffen up slightly. “And now you’re telling me they have bronze guns?!” “Sir,” Siran heard Viesel say in his rumbling voice, “the harbormaster described them as being able to outrange the land fortress’ guns, and also described the guns as shining and bright, which your know, sir, that our iron guns do not do. That leads me...” “Yes, yes, your logic, Viesel, is perfect!” Kaled waved his hand at the warforged. The hand then promptly returned to Kaled’s head. “It’s just... dammit!” He took a deep breath, then breathed out slowly. “We have how many crew?” “Well, sir, we have twenty-two able and ready on the [i]Spotted Pinnace[/i],” Siran started, before Kaled held up his hand. “We have too few. If those elves come back, and we’re caught in harbor, we’re dead. That’s it. They’ll sit outside the range of [i]our[/i] guns and pound us to pieces! We’re going to have to sail out, and put to port somewhere else!” “Um... sir? A point, if I may.” Siran looked up, and saw Viktalia staring at Kaled. While her voice was calm and the same, quiet tone, her golden eyes shone with fiery anger. [i]She’s upset about something... about the people in this town?[/i] “Sir, we [i]cannot[/i] leave these poor people behind,” she said, the tone matter-of-fact and cool, though Siran noticed her form beginning to tremble just slightly, as if some great explosion was being held within her small body. “You heard the harbormaster. They are defenseless against these slavers. [i]Defenseless[/i].” The final word rumbled from her mouth, as her self-control gave way. “Well, Miss Starwynd, what do you propose then?” Kaled asked sharply. “That we sail out, battle flags high, and challenge the elves to a duel?!” the captain shouted, pounding his fist on the table. “Yes, I heard the harbormaster! Those elves have [i]three[/i] ships to our [i]two[/i], Miss Starwynd! And not only that, one of their ships is [i]larger[/i] than this one!” “And they have bronze cannons, capable of outranging our...” Viesel began. Wisely, Siran kept his mouth shut, and just as he suspected, Viktalia cut both Viesel and the captain off. “I [i]know[/i] that!” she hissed. “I might not have as extensive a sailing record as you or Siran, but I’m not a dolt!” The last words were accompanied by an acidic stare, one that seemingly made Kaled wilt... and even Siran shudder. [i]I’m sure if metal could melt away, Viesel might right now too,[/i] Siran thought, clad the evil gaze wasn’t on him for once. “We’ll need surprise, and stealth. When the elves return, what are the chances they’ll know our ship’s are warships? Little... Kaled, the [i]Black Joke[/i] is a damaged merchant ship... a cromster! We’re a tiny pinnace! Chances are high that if these [i]are[/i] slavers, they’ll probably be greedy, right?” “Right,” Siran said aloud, a smile starting to form on his face. [i]I know where this is leading... and I like it![/i] “Now... what can we do to keep their suspicion down to the maximum? Maybe the good Lady could provide a distraction?” Viktalia thought aloud. “Maybe we could lure them into the harbor, and board them? Maybe get the townspeople involved? If the elves have slaves aboard, they’ll be worried about those slaves getting free...” “...and that’s where you come in,” Viktalia said hours later, to the gathered ‘topmen’ of the [i]Black Joke[/i] and [i]Spotted Pinnace[/i]. She scratched her ear impatiently for a moment, before turning to Viesel. The warforged nodded in reply, then moved towards the front. “Now,” he rumbled, his metallic voice only the same pitch, despite the excitement in his mind. [i]I have a command! A small command, under Siran and Viktalia...[/i] His inhibitions against promotion were far weaker, when he knew that directly above him, there was someone in authority... safety in hierarchy. “You all are good marksmen,” the warforged said, “and you all should have rifles. You will be placed on the sides of the harbor,” Viesel pointed to the rolling land illuminated by the setting sun. He smiled in his mind at this part... it was his own contribution to the planning. “Together, the ten of you, along with myself, can put down some cross-fire... keep the elves heads low, so that Captain Rapp and Captain Kaled can lay down a broadside, then board the enemy.” “And what of us?” the old harbormaster, now returned, asked. Alongside him stood members of the elite of Tarnpool, covered in ragged suitcoats and torn hats. “We have a week. Before the elves come, you will assist Captain Rapp and myself in partially rebuilding that fort up there,” Viesel pointed to the ruins, “as well as adding more fire, if you can. How many weapons do you have?” “Between the three hundred people left in town...” one of the leaders spoke, “maybe ten swords, several fowler hunting pieces, a few blunderbusses, maybe fifteen or twenty pistols, and quite a few farm implements.” “A pitchfork to the eye will kill any elf,” Siran piped up, and a nervous laugh went around the deck of the ship. “But... we’re lawyers, oculists, ferriers... we aren’t soldiers!” one of the men complained, and even as he spoke, he nervously fiddled with the spectacles on his nose. “Your morale is low. It should be higher if you wish to fight,” Viesel said bluntly. [i]They are saddened, and scared. They cannot be scared if they want to fight and win.[/i] For a second the warforged tried to think of ideas to raise their morale... but once again, he realized every idea in his mind came up short. [i]They aren’t warriors... they won’t respond to my kind of encouragement. Yet...[/i] he thought, turning to Viktalia, [i]they might respond to hers...[/i] [/QUOTE]
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High Seas Shenanigans (Updated: 12/04/05)
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