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<blockquote data-quote="Emperor Valerian" data-source="post: 2689465" data-attributes="member: 15043"><p><strong>A Bloody Day</strong></p><p></p><p><em>What are they doing?</em> Viesel wanted to ask, as the two smaller human ships swung out to sea. <em>If they go out that far... I won’t be able to help them...</em> As it was, picking off the survivors of the elven longboat still in the water was near extreme range for even Viesel’s rifle. The elven ship was far far beyond that, and slowly the warforged realized he wouldn’t be able to help this time...</p><p></p><p></p><p></p><p>Viktalia resisted the urge to instinctively duck as the dull roar of a cannonshot echoed over the ocean, a few seconds after a single puff of smoke came from the forwardmost gun on the elven warship.</p><p></p><p><em>A warning shot,</em> she realized, as the cannonball sailed high overhead, splashing into the sea far behind them. <em>They’re trying to tell us that they mean business... but that shot was awfully high...</em></p><p><em></em></p><p><em>...They’re greedy,</em> she told herself, <em>They don’t want to damage what they think will be their prize...</em> Despite the reassuring thought that the elves wouldn’t pound them out of the water at long range, she still gulped on seeing the long row of red gunports that faced them, and the small army of figures dashing about on the elven deck.</p><p></p><p></p><p></p><p>Siran clenched his teeth only a few minutes later, as the long, low shape grew larger and larger, the elven xebec’s red gunports staring like the eyes of deaht itself peering into Siran’s soul.</p><p></p><p>“Chom a-sav! Morae diskenn!” Siran’s eyes flecked to the front of the huge elven ship, where several bright glints of silver denoted an officer with a ship’s-horn amongst the sea of bustling humanity on the ship’s deck. Other flashes rippled across the elven deck, and Siran grimaced more.</p><p></p><p><em>They’re handing out weapons... they’re expecting a fight now...</em></p><p></p><p>“Hrik! Are those guns loaded and ready!” Siran turned and barked. <em>We’ll have one shot at this... figuratively speaking... Viktalia would kill me if she heard that pun...</em></p><p></p><p>“Yessir! Depressed down as far as they’ll go!” Hrik shouted back, and Siran turned to look at the elven ship before the excitable boy could say anything more. Instead, he raised his telescope, and watched the elven decks. More of the tall, willowy elves were on the deck, curved cutlasses, longswords and scimitars in the hands of many. In the hands of others shone the polished steel barrels of muskets.</p><p></p><p><em>Well, this is probably as close as we’re going to get... now... to time this just right.</em> Siran’s carefully eyed the other ship, the range falling more and more as his heart beat faster and faster... the nervousness just before the guns let loose and battle was joined. If they turned too soon, they might not cause as much damage. Too late, and they’d run into the elven ship before getting a shot off... if the elven ship didn’t realize the ruse and shot them first. His gaze watched the elven captain, covered in bright silver armor, searching for any clues as to what the elf would do. The elf was busy barking orders in his native tongue, his hands waving and gesturing to the oncoming <em>Spotted Pinnace</em>... all of which further unnerved the cleric.</p><p></p><p><em>They’ve figured out that we aren’t quite as helpless as we might have seemed,</em> Siran thought. <em>Range is around 200 yards...Maybe we can get a little closer...</em> Two hundred yards was close, but he wanted to be closer still... close enough that they wouldn’t hardly have to aim to hit the larger elven ship... close enough that they could board almost right after firing, while the elven crew was stunned...</p><p></p><p>Then Siran blinked... and cursed.</p><p></p><p>“Porus’ pisswater!” he swore, as one of the bright red gunports along the elven ship suddenly flipped open, and the long, golden, and angry barrel of a cannon now greeted his eyes. <em>They know! They know!</em></p><p></p><p>“Let Fly!” he barked hurriedly. <em>Please little boat... turn quickly, turn quickly!</em> </p><p></p><p>Nimbly, the <em>Spotted Pinnace</em> lurched around to port, bringing her broadsides to bear as one by one, the elven gunports flew open...</p><p></p><p></p><p></p><p>Viktalia ducked as the deafening thunderclaps of the <em>Spotted Pinnace</em>’s guns successively roared through the air. Only moments later, her still ringing ears made out the still load roar of other guns going off. The air itself seemed to explode, and she felt the ship’s deck shudder under her, and splinters flash through her clothes. After only a few seconds, the din died away, replaced by the moans of wounded men, and the noise of water lapping against the ship’s hull.</p><p></p><p>The Formoteran opened her eyes, and looked around in a sea of acrid smoke. A huge part of the starboard railing was gone, and of the four crew manning that section of the ship, three lay on deck, bloody splinters coming from their bodies. She winced when she saw the fourth... his mangled, headless torso lay close to the opposite side of the ship. </p><p></p><p><em>Holy...</em> the frightened, still unsure Formoteran in her shouted, before her sterner side remembered she was now the First Mate, and there was work to do. With all the willpower in the world, she forced herself to stand up. In a performance worthy of the greatest theater, the bard then forced her gaze into one of business, not fear, and began to bark orders.</p><p></p><p>“Damage report!” she called into the smoke, walking towards the middle of the ship, hoping Siran was still up and around. Her moment of fear passed when she heard the distinctly loud and sharp cursing of the cleric of war coming from the front of the ship.</p><p></p><p>“Mr. Yarls! Put our ship beside theirs as soon as you can! Everyone else, get some weapons and get ready to skin some elves!” He lumbered from the smoke, his face darkened with exertion and gunsmoke.</p><p></p><p></p><p></p><p><em>They got off a broadside just as we did...</em> Siran fumed, looking about the deck. <em>I see four dead... seven injured... the mainmast looks like its seen better days,</em> he winced, the shining black shape of a cannonball still imbedded deep in the base of the mast. As the smoke began to thin, he began to make out the shape of the <em>Black Joke</em>, still following behind, now minus her mizzen-mast. Her gunports were open, and over the noise of his own crew, Siran could hear Kaled barking orders to prepare for boarding.</p><p></p><p><em>Good, they’re still there... we started with only thirty-five crew here... we’re going to need as much help as possible...</em></p><p></p><p>The cleric then turned his eyes back towards the starboard, where he could now make out the long, low hulk of the huge elven warship. Figures dashed about in the dark clouds of cannon smoke, and he could make out the silver-armored elf still barking orders, still well in command.</p><p></p><p><em>They weren’t hurt that bad...</em> he realized, looking at the side of the elven hull. Large chunks of the railing were gone, and several of their cannons were visibly knocked from their moorings. He could make out the gray robes of elven priests of the pagan god Corellon Latharian rushing about the deck, saving those they could. <em>They still have alot of sailors and warriors...</em></p><p></p><p>“Mr. Yarls! Belay that order!” Siran turned and barked again. <em>We have no topmen... we can’t pick them apart with musketry since Viesel and his sharpshooters aren’t here...</em> “Helm, hard-a-starboard, immediately! Viktalia!” the cleric’s gaze found the Formoteran helping some of the wounded crew below, “I want you to help the port guncrew! Mr. Banis! Double canister!”</p><p></p><p><em>We have to sweep their decks clean if we want a chance...</em> </p><p></p><p>“Aye sir! Double canister!” the crewman in charge of the port guns shouted back, and Siran watched as Viktalia gave a quick salute before running over to help. Even with the extra help that the other guncrew was giving, Siran winced when he saw only ten people reloading the guns. <em>They’re going to be too slow...</em></p><p></p><p>As the <em>Spotted Pinnace</em> heeled to the starboard, Siran looked back at the elven ship. <em>St. Heraclius... let my sailors reload quickly enough...</em> he mentally prayed as the pinnace swung in an arc that would take her behind the elven ship, and into position to rake* her opponent. If they were ready in time, every single piece of metal in their canister shot would rip apart a goodly number of elves... and even the odds...</p><p></p><p>Suddenly, Siran’s eyes caught something strange... an elf climbed on deck from below, clad in violet robes, not gray.</p><p></p><p><em>Who is that? A high priest of their pagan god?</em> the cleric thought, trying to remember what the different robe color meant. As he watched, the elf raised his hands towards the sky, and the elf’s long, thin fingers began to glow and shimmer...</p><p></p><p><em>Healing spells don’t do that...</em> Siran thought, the confusion turning into fear. Only moments later, a tiny, bright bead formed between the elf’s hands... and Siran finally, belatedly, realized what was happening.</p><p></p><p>“Dammit! They have a mage!” Siran cursed as the tiny white bead grew quickly. Instantly, the deck of the <em>Black Joke</em> exploded into a sea of flames, a massive explosion blowing her mast high into the sky...</p><p></p><p></p><p></p><p></p><p>Viktalia stood rooted in her spot for a moment, as the <em>Black Joke</em> transformed into a raging inferno before her eyes. She then worriedly looked back at the elven ship, to the robed man who’d launched the unthinkable destruction. <em>An elf that can do THAT?</em> She knew the elves were powerful in magic... but knowing something and seeing it for the first time were two entirely different things...</p><p></p><p>“Take him down! Take him down!” Siran shouted, pulling out his blunderbuss pistol and firing despite the hopeless range. </p><p></p><p><em>If Viesel was here...</em> the Formoteran thought angrily, drawing her own weapon as the crew opened up with pistols, their shots flying wide. Just as before, the elf’s hands began to faintly shimmer and glow... and this time, his eyes were directed seemingly <em>at her.</em></p><p><em></em></p><p><em>We’ve got to shoot him!</em> she realized numbly as her body went into action, as if by instinct. She’d watched for many years how men of war used their pistols – it seemed a good skill to have when travelling, at the very least for personal protection – and she carefully knelt on the foredeck, bringing her free arm up to brace her gun arm for its shot. </p><p></p><p><em>Time it...</em> she told herself, waiting through the pitch and roll of the ship, as it splashed closer to the elven vessel. Finally, when she thought she had the shot, she gently squeezed the trigger.</p><p></p><p>And cursed, as the head of the elf clad in bright silver, standing next to the mage, exploded into a sea of red. She’d hit a target, but not the one she wanted... and it seemed as if nothing would stop the mage from launching his fiery magic on the <em>Spotted Pinnace...</em></p><p></p><p>As his hands glowed brighter and brighter, she saw a bead begin to take shake between his palms, growing larger and larger.</p><p></p><p>She jumped out of her skin when she heard the explosion right next to her ear...</p><p></p><p></p><p>===================================</p><p>*Rake – A ‘rake’ is probably the deadliest manuever in sailing warfare. Most wooden ships have heavily timbered sides... in many cases thick enough that in real life, cannonballs could – and did – merely bounce off instead of penetrate the hull. However, most ships did not have as heavy of timbers on the stern of the vessel... many had instead the captain’s cabin, with wide, brittle windows. Cannon shot would punch through with ease. Doubling the danger, any cannon shots that were fired into a ship’s stern would bounce down the length of the target, killing men and destroying guns along the way. Often, a single raking broadside could cripple an otherwise untouched enemy vessel.</p></blockquote><p></p>
[QUOTE="Emperor Valerian, post: 2689465, member: 15043"] [b]A Bloody Day[/b] [i]What are they doing?[/i] Viesel wanted to ask, as the two smaller human ships swung out to sea. [i]If they go out that far... I won’t be able to help them...[/i] As it was, picking off the survivors of the elven longboat still in the water was near extreme range for even Viesel’s rifle. The elven ship was far far beyond that, and slowly the warforged realized he wouldn’t be able to help this time... Viktalia resisted the urge to instinctively duck as the dull roar of a cannonshot echoed over the ocean, a few seconds after a single puff of smoke came from the forwardmost gun on the elven warship. [i]A warning shot,[/i] she realized, as the cannonball sailed high overhead, splashing into the sea far behind them. [i]They’re trying to tell us that they mean business... but that shot was awfully high... ...They’re greedy,[/i] she told herself, [i]They don’t want to damage what they think will be their prize...[/i] Despite the reassuring thought that the elves wouldn’t pound them out of the water at long range, she still gulped on seeing the long row of red gunports that faced them, and the small army of figures dashing about on the elven deck. Siran clenched his teeth only a few minutes later, as the long, low shape grew larger and larger, the elven xebec’s red gunports staring like the eyes of deaht itself peering into Siran’s soul. “Chom a-sav! Morae diskenn!” Siran’s eyes flecked to the front of the huge elven ship, where several bright glints of silver denoted an officer with a ship’s-horn amongst the sea of bustling humanity on the ship’s deck. Other flashes rippled across the elven deck, and Siran grimaced more. [i]They’re handing out weapons... they’re expecting a fight now...[/i] “Hrik! Are those guns loaded and ready!” Siran turned and barked. [i]We’ll have one shot at this... figuratively speaking... Viktalia would kill me if she heard that pun...[/i] “Yessir! Depressed down as far as they’ll go!” Hrik shouted back, and Siran turned to look at the elven ship before the excitable boy could say anything more. Instead, he raised his telescope, and watched the elven decks. More of the tall, willowy elves were on the deck, curved cutlasses, longswords and scimitars in the hands of many. In the hands of others shone the polished steel barrels of muskets. [i]Well, this is probably as close as we’re going to get... now... to time this just right.[/i] Siran’s carefully eyed the other ship, the range falling more and more as his heart beat faster and faster... the nervousness just before the guns let loose and battle was joined. If they turned too soon, they might not cause as much damage. Too late, and they’d run into the elven ship before getting a shot off... if the elven ship didn’t realize the ruse and shot them first. His gaze watched the elven captain, covered in bright silver armor, searching for any clues as to what the elf would do. The elf was busy barking orders in his native tongue, his hands waving and gesturing to the oncoming [i]Spotted Pinnace[/i]... all of which further unnerved the cleric. [i]They’ve figured out that we aren’t quite as helpless as we might have seemed,[/i] Siran thought. [i]Range is around 200 yards...Maybe we can get a little closer...[/i] Two hundred yards was close, but he wanted to be closer still... close enough that they wouldn’t hardly have to aim to hit the larger elven ship... close enough that they could board almost right after firing, while the elven crew was stunned... Then Siran blinked... and cursed. “Porus’ pisswater!” he swore, as one of the bright red gunports along the elven ship suddenly flipped open, and the long, golden, and angry barrel of a cannon now greeted his eyes. [i]They know! They know![/i] “Let Fly!” he barked hurriedly. [i]Please little boat... turn quickly, turn quickly![/i] Nimbly, the [i]Spotted Pinnace[/i] lurched around to port, bringing her broadsides to bear as one by one, the elven gunports flew open... Viktalia ducked as the deafening thunderclaps of the [i]Spotted Pinnace[/i]’s guns successively roared through the air. Only moments later, her still ringing ears made out the still load roar of other guns going off. The air itself seemed to explode, and she felt the ship’s deck shudder under her, and splinters flash through her clothes. After only a few seconds, the din died away, replaced by the moans of wounded men, and the noise of water lapping against the ship’s hull. The Formoteran opened her eyes, and looked around in a sea of acrid smoke. A huge part of the starboard railing was gone, and of the four crew manning that section of the ship, three lay on deck, bloody splinters coming from their bodies. She winced when she saw the fourth... his mangled, headless torso lay close to the opposite side of the ship. [i]Holy...[/i] the frightened, still unsure Formoteran in her shouted, before her sterner side remembered she was now the First Mate, and there was work to do. With all the willpower in the world, she forced herself to stand up. In a performance worthy of the greatest theater, the bard then forced her gaze into one of business, not fear, and began to bark orders. “Damage report!” she called into the smoke, walking towards the middle of the ship, hoping Siran was still up and around. Her moment of fear passed when she heard the distinctly loud and sharp cursing of the cleric of war coming from the front of the ship. “Mr. Yarls! Put our ship beside theirs as soon as you can! Everyone else, get some weapons and get ready to skin some elves!” He lumbered from the smoke, his face darkened with exertion and gunsmoke. [i]They got off a broadside just as we did...[/i] Siran fumed, looking about the deck. [i]I see four dead... seven injured... the mainmast looks like its seen better days,[/i] he winced, the shining black shape of a cannonball still imbedded deep in the base of the mast. As the smoke began to thin, he began to make out the shape of the [i]Black Joke[/i], still following behind, now minus her mizzen-mast. Her gunports were open, and over the noise of his own crew, Siran could hear Kaled barking orders to prepare for boarding. [i]Good, they’re still there... we started with only thirty-five crew here... we’re going to need as much help as possible...[/i] The cleric then turned his eyes back towards the starboard, where he could now make out the long, low hulk of the huge elven warship. Figures dashed about in the dark clouds of cannon smoke, and he could make out the silver-armored elf still barking orders, still well in command. [i]They weren’t hurt that bad...[/i] he realized, looking at the side of the elven hull. Large chunks of the railing were gone, and several of their cannons were visibly knocked from their moorings. He could make out the gray robes of elven priests of the pagan god Corellon Latharian rushing about the deck, saving those they could. [i]They still have alot of sailors and warriors...[/i] “Mr. Yarls! Belay that order!” Siran turned and barked again. [i]We have no topmen... we can’t pick them apart with musketry since Viesel and his sharpshooters aren’t here...[/i] “Helm, hard-a-starboard, immediately! Viktalia!” the cleric’s gaze found the Formoteran helping some of the wounded crew below, “I want you to help the port guncrew! Mr. Banis! Double canister!” [i]We have to sweep their decks clean if we want a chance...[/i] “Aye sir! Double canister!” the crewman in charge of the port guns shouted back, and Siran watched as Viktalia gave a quick salute before running over to help. Even with the extra help that the other guncrew was giving, Siran winced when he saw only ten people reloading the guns. [i]They’re going to be too slow...[/i] As the [i]Spotted Pinnace[/i] heeled to the starboard, Siran looked back at the elven ship. [i]St. Heraclius... let my sailors reload quickly enough...[/i] he mentally prayed as the pinnace swung in an arc that would take her behind the elven ship, and into position to rake* her opponent. If they were ready in time, every single piece of metal in their canister shot would rip apart a goodly number of elves... and even the odds... Suddenly, Siran’s eyes caught something strange... an elf climbed on deck from below, clad in violet robes, not gray. [i]Who is that? A high priest of their pagan god?[/i] the cleric thought, trying to remember what the different robe color meant. As he watched, the elf raised his hands towards the sky, and the elf’s long, thin fingers began to glow and shimmer... [i]Healing spells don’t do that...[/i] Siran thought, the confusion turning into fear. Only moments later, a tiny, bright bead formed between the elf’s hands... and Siran finally, belatedly, realized what was happening. “Dammit! They have a mage!” Siran cursed as the tiny white bead grew quickly. Instantly, the deck of the [i]Black Joke[/i] exploded into a sea of flames, a massive explosion blowing her mast high into the sky... Viktalia stood rooted in her spot for a moment, as the [i]Black Joke[/i] transformed into a raging inferno before her eyes. She then worriedly looked back at the elven ship, to the robed man who’d launched the unthinkable destruction. [i]An elf that can do THAT?[/i] She knew the elves were powerful in magic... but knowing something and seeing it for the first time were two entirely different things... “Take him down! Take him down!” Siran shouted, pulling out his blunderbuss pistol and firing despite the hopeless range. [i]If Viesel was here...[/i] the Formoteran thought angrily, drawing her own weapon as the crew opened up with pistols, their shots flying wide. Just as before, the elf’s hands began to faintly shimmer and glow... and this time, his eyes were directed seemingly [i]at her. We’ve got to shoot him![/i] she realized numbly as her body went into action, as if by instinct. She’d watched for many years how men of war used their pistols – it seemed a good skill to have when travelling, at the very least for personal protection – and she carefully knelt on the foredeck, bringing her free arm up to brace her gun arm for its shot. [i]Time it...[/i] she told herself, waiting through the pitch and roll of the ship, as it splashed closer to the elven vessel. Finally, when she thought she had the shot, she gently squeezed the trigger. And cursed, as the head of the elf clad in bright silver, standing next to the mage, exploded into a sea of red. She’d hit a target, but not the one she wanted... and it seemed as if nothing would stop the mage from launching his fiery magic on the [i]Spotted Pinnace...[/i] As his hands glowed brighter and brighter, she saw a bead begin to take shake between his palms, growing larger and larger. She jumped out of her skin when she heard the explosion right next to her ear... =================================== *Rake – A ‘rake’ is probably the deadliest manuever in sailing warfare. Most wooden ships have heavily timbered sides... in many cases thick enough that in real life, cannonballs could – and did – merely bounce off instead of penetrate the hull. However, most ships did not have as heavy of timbers on the stern of the vessel... many had instead the captain’s cabin, with wide, brittle windows. Cannon shot would punch through with ease. Doubling the danger, any cannon shots that were fired into a ship’s stern would bounce down the length of the target, killing men and destroying guns along the way. Often, a single raking broadside could cripple an otherwise untouched enemy vessel. [/QUOTE]
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