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High Seas Shenanigans (Updated: 12/04/05)
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<blockquote data-quote="Emperor Valerian" data-source="post: 2711522" data-attributes="member: 15043"><p><strong>A Bloody Day Part Two</strong></p><p></p><p><em>I’m not dead?</em></p><p></p><p>Viktalia opened her eyes, and looked towards the elven ship.</p><p></p><p>The spellcaster, his robes still flowing in the wind, seemed to just hang in the air, his eyes wide in surprise. Only after a moment did her confused eyes then notice the huge spot of red spreading across his chest.</p><p></p><p>“Damn... I missed his head!” a familiar voice cursed, and Viktalia spun around.</p><p></p><p>“Hrik?”</p><p></p><p>The young teen didn’t turn his head to face her, all his energies instead were focused on reloading the musket that clearly was not his (in fact, it was almost as tall as he was). Viktalia then turned back to the elven ship as the <em>Spotted Pinnace</em> lurched closer. The robed spellcaster was no where to be seen, yet a bright red splotch of blood remained on the elven mainmast, just behind where he’d been standing.</p><p></p><p><em>Maybe Hrik has some other uses we don’t know about...</em> she thought, reloading her pistol as quickly as she could and bullets from the elven muskets whizzed around her. Another crewman fell back just feet from her, part of his head taken away by a musketball.</p><p></p><p><em>We’re getting close,</em> she realized, as the pinnace cut inside the wake of the larger elven ship. She looked towards the bow, and for a moment, watched mutely as Siran barked orders and fired his blunderbuss at the elven ship. Finally, the pinnace drew just behind the elven warship, and Siran spun around.</p><p></p><p>“Fire as she bears!”</p><p></p><p>One by one, each of the cannons on the pinnace fired as they came in line with the great windowed stern of the elven ship, spitting death and destruction down the length of the larger warship. As the guns roared, Viktalia felt her teeth click from the concussion, but she didn’t flinch... an act that surprised her. The sounds of wood splintering, screams, and shattered glass from the stern galleries melding together into a horrendous roar, before dying away in the heavy pall of smoke.</p><p></p><p>“Hard to port!” Siran called, and the <em>Spotted Pinnace</em> swung sharply around the larger ship, before her bow crashed into the elven ship’s starboard side, and armed with her pistol and her knives, Viktalia was among the first to clamber aboard the shattered enemy ship.</p><p></p><p>Only moments later, she shivered involuntarily at what she saw and heard.</p><p></p><p>The deck of the elven ship seemed to <em>move</em>, an undulating sea of arms and legs clawing around as cries of agony rose in the air. It seemed every elf on deck had been cut down in the blasts of canister, the deck swept almost clean of life. As she took another step forward, her legs slid under her, and she desperately grabbed the remains of the ship’s railing to keep from falling. It wasn’t until she looked down that she realized she’d slipped on the blood that covered the entire deck in a sticky, slippery mess.</p><p></p><p>“Keep alert,” she heard Siran growl, the cleric rudely kicking one of the dead elves out of his way. His eyes looked about quickly, hawkish, as if he expected a trap.</p><p></p><p><em>Alert for what?</em> Viktalia wanted to ask, as she stepped over a headless elf. <em>They’re all not just dead... they’re in pieces!</em> She could feel her stomach starting to turn. Hearing of mass violence among the humans and elves was one thing, but seeing it in person...</p><p></p><p><em>They were slavers,</em> she reminded herself, as the carnage engulfed her sight. <em>They deserve far worse fates than this.</em> Her shock slowly ebbed, and her anger returned.</p><p></p><p>Her reverie was broken by a loud shout, a call. She turned her head around, just in time to see Siran level is blunderbuss at a group of figures in the gloom. Quickly, her own pistol was aimed as well, until she noticed how slowly the figures were moving.</p><p></p><p><em>If they were attacking, why wouldn’t they be running, and ducking behind cover?</em> It made no sense... until the first of the figures came close enough that she could see him entirely.</p><p></p><p>The elf was covered head to toe in blood, bits of gore still stuck in his hair, knotting its long strands. In one hand, he waved slowly a white kerchief. His other arm was bent at an odd angle, and plainly broken.</p><p></p><p>“We...s...surrender,” the elf slowly spoke, his mouth wrapping around the Common tongue as well as a wooden peg into a steel beam. As the other figures shuffled forward, she made out their pitiful state as well. All were wounded, and all shared the same look of dejection.</p><p></p><p>“Take us to your slaves,” Viktalia growled, her gun leveled.</p><p></p><p></p><p></p><p>“Good god,” Siran said a few minutes later, before quickly covering his mouth with a kerchief. The stench was overpowering after the elves, under the threat of guns, opened the hatch to the ship’s lower hold. One of them jabbered quietly in elvish to their comrade capable of Common.</p><p></p><p>“First Mate say this where slaves are,” the elf translated, gesturing towards the black hole from whence the smell came. “They taken care of,” the elf offered in a hopeful tone, his eyes speaking of fear, “we feed, care for them!”</p><p></p><p>“Somehow I don’t believe you,” Siran growled back, before stepping down into the hold. <em>If you’ve been taking care of them, why are they all stored...</em></p><p></p><p>His mind stopped when his eyes adjusted to the darkness, and the cleric felt bile racing up his throat. It took all the willpower in his heart to keep from retching on the spot.</p><p></p><p>Bent, chained side-by side along the edges of the hull, were the broken and bent forms of hundreds of slaves. In the gloom, they looked almost as shadows, yet the light from his lantern caught in each of their eyes, dancing in hundreds of tiny dots before him. Men, women, children, all stared at the human that now was in their midst. </p><p></p><p><em>Beasts!</em> Siran’s eyes flashed upwards, where the elf was still standing, his face in a plaintively hopeful smile, a look that only made the cleric even more enraged. <em>You grin while all these people are chained up like cattle!</em></p><p></p><p>“Unlock them!” the cleric hissed, his voice dangerously quiet. The elf’s hopeful face fell, and fearfully he clambered down into the darkness. As the first mutters and quiet cheers began to rise, Siran heard a series of clanks as the chains were unlocked.</p><p></p><p>“All of you that can move, come to the upper decks!” Siran called. “You’re free now, but we’re going to need the help of those of you that are able-bodied!”</p><p></p><p>As the frightened elf unlocked the last slave, Siran met his fearful green eyes. Hands began to grab for the cleric, and even as he heard the blessings and thanks, his mind was already at work.</p><p></p><p><em>There’s still two more elven ships to deal with, and I think the slaves would relish the chance for some revenge...</em></p><p></p><p></p><p></p><p>“Captain Rapp?”</p><p></p><p>Siran lowered his telescope and turned. One of the healthier slaves, a former blacksmith named Barr, stood before him, nervously fidgeting.</p><p></p><p>“What is it?” Siran replied. The healthiest slaves had spent the last hour helping Viktalia and the crew load the cannon on their new prize, while Siran had tried to help the less fortunate as best he could. He’d finally had to come on deck when crewmen came down, saying the last two elven ships were finally returning from their wild chase of a phantom cloud of fog. While they were still far off, the two elven ships were drawing closer as they spoke.</p><p></p><p>“I think them twelve elves over there, they’re plannin’ somethin’,” the ex-slave whispered, before looking to the bow of the ship. Siran followed his gaze, to the twelve elves that had lived through the devastating broadside, tied up in a small group. </p><p></p><p>“They’ve been a-whisperin’, and I thinks they’ve gots some magics,” the blacksmith continued. “When we were below, they were always a-braggin’ they could snuff us out with their magics n’such.”</p><p></p><p><em>Great. Elves are supposedly magical creatures... though if they were going to attack with magic, they would’ve done so already. No... they’re probably trying to think of a way to warn the other two ships.</em></p><p><em></em></p><p><em>Time to stop that plan.</em></p><p></p><p>“I’ll put an end to it, don’t worry,” Siran growled, before walking over to the elven group. Just as he came up, one of the elves that didn’t speak Common looked him defiantly in the eye, then spat out something harsh in elvish.</p><p></p><p>“You!” Siran kicked the elf that had been able to speak Common. When the elf looked up at him, all the cleric saw was that hopeful smile. <em>’We took good care of the slaves!’</em> it bragged. Before the hopeful smile could return, Siran levelled his pistol with the elf’s forehead.</p><p></p><p>“Tell your friends here that until I give further notice, there is to be no elvish spoken on this ship!” Siran rumbled. <em>I won’t have you casting any magic or plotting anything behind my back.</em> “And the next time I hear any of you speaking <em>any</em> elvish, so help me, I will rip out your toenails and stuff them in your eyes before I shoot you!”</p><p></p><p>The elf’s eyes widened at his words, and his thin elven mouth dropped to the deck.</p><p></p><p>“Tell them now,” Siran shoved the pistol into the elf’s head, “or, I’ll make an example out of you!”</p><p></p><p>That provoked a quick response. Siran couldn’t track what was said in elvish, but he was sure the message got across when he saw the other elves eyes widen in fear, their gazes flashing between the translator and himself.</p><p></p><p><em>Just feel lucky that I haven’t keel-hauled you all!</em> the cleric thought darkly as he started to turn around. Then, he stopped, another idea entering his mind.</p><p></p><p>“Barr,” he turned to the blacksmith, “on second thought. Let’s lock these elves below in their own chains.” He flashed a withering, malicious smile towards the gaggle of frightened elvish eyes. “I think that’s much more fitting.”</p><p></p><p></p><p></p><p>It took over an hour for the elven ships to close, long enough that Siran, Viktalia, the crew and the slaves were able to huddle below the railings and behind boxes. Some of the slaves had armed themselves with weapons from the dead, but far more were completely unarmed.</p><p></p><p><em>A broadside... then a mad rush when they try to board,</em> Siran recited the plan to himself. It was madcap. <em>Then again, so was this plan... and we have the biggest elven ship now.</em></p><p></p><p>“Steady,” Siran hissed, both to his own crew and the escaped slaves. <em>We need them to get closer...</em> Slowly, the two smaller elven ships drew closer to their supposedly mothership, their sails only half raised. Siran could see sailors bustling about their decks, the officers lounging, not expecting combat.</p><p></p><p><em>Just a few more seconds...</em> </p><p></p><p> Just then, his eyes caught the eyes of the captain of the nearest elven ship. The elf’s eyes suddenly widened... all the encouragement Siran needed.</p><p></p><p>“Now!” he leapt up, leveling his captured elven musket. He never got a chance to fire, as below the crews let the ten elven cannon open up at nearly point blank range into their hapless targets. One second, two small elven vessels were sailing placidly on the sea. The next, the sea was obscured by a massive cloud of smoke, and Siran could hear the cracking noises of masts and timbers breaking.</p><p></p><p>Then there was a flash.</p><p></p><p>For a moment, Siran saw only white, spots coming to his eyes as if he’d been looking into the sun. The sheer noise of the explosion was so loud that Siran felt, more than heard it. The blast forced the smoke away, and even the veteran cleric’s jaw dropped.</p><p></p><p>One of the elven ships was completely gone, nothing more than a smoke pall and floating timbers to record it had ever existed. Her sistership was ablaze from bow to stern, and already rolling to the side in her death throes.</p><p></p><p>“Sonuva...” he complained, sliding his pistol back into his belt with a sigh. “I didn’t get to shoot any of them!”</p></blockquote><p></p>
[QUOTE="Emperor Valerian, post: 2711522, member: 15043"] [b]A Bloody Day Part Two[/b] [i]I’m not dead?[/i] Viktalia opened her eyes, and looked towards the elven ship. The spellcaster, his robes still flowing in the wind, seemed to just hang in the air, his eyes wide in surprise. Only after a moment did her confused eyes then notice the huge spot of red spreading across his chest. “Damn... I missed his head!” a familiar voice cursed, and Viktalia spun around. “Hrik?” The young teen didn’t turn his head to face her, all his energies instead were focused on reloading the musket that clearly was not his (in fact, it was almost as tall as he was). Viktalia then turned back to the elven ship as the [i]Spotted Pinnace[/i] lurched closer. The robed spellcaster was no where to be seen, yet a bright red splotch of blood remained on the elven mainmast, just behind where he’d been standing. [i]Maybe Hrik has some other uses we don’t know about...[/i] she thought, reloading her pistol as quickly as she could and bullets from the elven muskets whizzed around her. Another crewman fell back just feet from her, part of his head taken away by a musketball. [i]We’re getting close,[/i] she realized, as the pinnace cut inside the wake of the larger elven ship. She looked towards the bow, and for a moment, watched mutely as Siran barked orders and fired his blunderbuss at the elven ship. Finally, the pinnace drew just behind the elven warship, and Siran spun around. “Fire as she bears!” One by one, each of the cannons on the pinnace fired as they came in line with the great windowed stern of the elven ship, spitting death and destruction down the length of the larger warship. As the guns roared, Viktalia felt her teeth click from the concussion, but she didn’t flinch... an act that surprised her. The sounds of wood splintering, screams, and shattered glass from the stern galleries melding together into a horrendous roar, before dying away in the heavy pall of smoke. “Hard to port!” Siran called, and the [i]Spotted Pinnace[/i] swung sharply around the larger ship, before her bow crashed into the elven ship’s starboard side, and armed with her pistol and her knives, Viktalia was among the first to clamber aboard the shattered enemy ship. Only moments later, she shivered involuntarily at what she saw and heard. The deck of the elven ship seemed to [i]move[/i], an undulating sea of arms and legs clawing around as cries of agony rose in the air. It seemed every elf on deck had been cut down in the blasts of canister, the deck swept almost clean of life. As she took another step forward, her legs slid under her, and she desperately grabbed the remains of the ship’s railing to keep from falling. It wasn’t until she looked down that she realized she’d slipped on the blood that covered the entire deck in a sticky, slippery mess. “Keep alert,” she heard Siran growl, the cleric rudely kicking one of the dead elves out of his way. His eyes looked about quickly, hawkish, as if he expected a trap. [i]Alert for what?[/i] Viktalia wanted to ask, as she stepped over a headless elf. [i]They’re all not just dead... they’re in pieces![/i] She could feel her stomach starting to turn. Hearing of mass violence among the humans and elves was one thing, but seeing it in person... [i]They were slavers,[/i] she reminded herself, as the carnage engulfed her sight. [i]They deserve far worse fates than this.[/i] Her shock slowly ebbed, and her anger returned. Her reverie was broken by a loud shout, a call. She turned her head around, just in time to see Siran level is blunderbuss at a group of figures in the gloom. Quickly, her own pistol was aimed as well, until she noticed how slowly the figures were moving. [i]If they were attacking, why wouldn’t they be running, and ducking behind cover?[/i] It made no sense... until the first of the figures came close enough that she could see him entirely. The elf was covered head to toe in blood, bits of gore still stuck in his hair, knotting its long strands. In one hand, he waved slowly a white kerchief. His other arm was bent at an odd angle, and plainly broken. “We...s...surrender,” the elf slowly spoke, his mouth wrapping around the Common tongue as well as a wooden peg into a steel beam. As the other figures shuffled forward, she made out their pitiful state as well. All were wounded, and all shared the same look of dejection. “Take us to your slaves,” Viktalia growled, her gun leveled. “Good god,” Siran said a few minutes later, before quickly covering his mouth with a kerchief. The stench was overpowering after the elves, under the threat of guns, opened the hatch to the ship’s lower hold. One of them jabbered quietly in elvish to their comrade capable of Common. “First Mate say this where slaves are,” the elf translated, gesturing towards the black hole from whence the smell came. “They taken care of,” the elf offered in a hopeful tone, his eyes speaking of fear, “we feed, care for them!” “Somehow I don’t believe you,” Siran growled back, before stepping down into the hold. [i]If you’ve been taking care of them, why are they all stored...[/i] His mind stopped when his eyes adjusted to the darkness, and the cleric felt bile racing up his throat. It took all the willpower in his heart to keep from retching on the spot. Bent, chained side-by side along the edges of the hull, were the broken and bent forms of hundreds of slaves. In the gloom, they looked almost as shadows, yet the light from his lantern caught in each of their eyes, dancing in hundreds of tiny dots before him. Men, women, children, all stared at the human that now was in their midst. [i]Beasts![/i] Siran’s eyes flashed upwards, where the elf was still standing, his face in a plaintively hopeful smile, a look that only made the cleric even more enraged. [i]You grin while all these people are chained up like cattle![/i] “Unlock them!” the cleric hissed, his voice dangerously quiet. The elf’s hopeful face fell, and fearfully he clambered down into the darkness. As the first mutters and quiet cheers began to rise, Siran heard a series of clanks as the chains were unlocked. “All of you that can move, come to the upper decks!” Siran called. “You’re free now, but we’re going to need the help of those of you that are able-bodied!” As the frightened elf unlocked the last slave, Siran met his fearful green eyes. Hands began to grab for the cleric, and even as he heard the blessings and thanks, his mind was already at work. [i]There’s still two more elven ships to deal with, and I think the slaves would relish the chance for some revenge...[/i] “Captain Rapp?” Siran lowered his telescope and turned. One of the healthier slaves, a former blacksmith named Barr, stood before him, nervously fidgeting. “What is it?” Siran replied. The healthiest slaves had spent the last hour helping Viktalia and the crew load the cannon on their new prize, while Siran had tried to help the less fortunate as best he could. He’d finally had to come on deck when crewmen came down, saying the last two elven ships were finally returning from their wild chase of a phantom cloud of fog. While they were still far off, the two elven ships were drawing closer as they spoke. “I think them twelve elves over there, they’re plannin’ somethin’,” the ex-slave whispered, before looking to the bow of the ship. Siran followed his gaze, to the twelve elves that had lived through the devastating broadside, tied up in a small group. “They’ve been a-whisperin’, and I thinks they’ve gots some magics,” the blacksmith continued. “When we were below, they were always a-braggin’ they could snuff us out with their magics n’such.” [i]Great. Elves are supposedly magical creatures... though if they were going to attack with magic, they would’ve done so already. No... they’re probably trying to think of a way to warn the other two ships. Time to stop that plan.[/i] “I’ll put an end to it, don’t worry,” Siran growled, before walking over to the elven group. Just as he came up, one of the elves that didn’t speak Common looked him defiantly in the eye, then spat out something harsh in elvish. “You!” Siran kicked the elf that had been able to speak Common. When the elf looked up at him, all the cleric saw was that hopeful smile. [i]’We took good care of the slaves!’[/i] it bragged. Before the hopeful smile could return, Siran levelled his pistol with the elf’s forehead. “Tell your friends here that until I give further notice, there is to be no elvish spoken on this ship!” Siran rumbled. [i]I won’t have you casting any magic or plotting anything behind my back.[/i] “And the next time I hear any of you speaking [i]any[/i] elvish, so help me, I will rip out your toenails and stuff them in your eyes before I shoot you!” The elf’s eyes widened at his words, and his thin elven mouth dropped to the deck. “Tell them now,” Siran shoved the pistol into the elf’s head, “or, I’ll make an example out of you!” That provoked a quick response. Siran couldn’t track what was said in elvish, but he was sure the message got across when he saw the other elves eyes widen in fear, their gazes flashing between the translator and himself. [i]Just feel lucky that I haven’t keel-hauled you all![/i] the cleric thought darkly as he started to turn around. Then, he stopped, another idea entering his mind. “Barr,” he turned to the blacksmith, “on second thought. Let’s lock these elves below in their own chains.” He flashed a withering, malicious smile towards the gaggle of frightened elvish eyes. “I think that’s much more fitting.” It took over an hour for the elven ships to close, long enough that Siran, Viktalia, the crew and the slaves were able to huddle below the railings and behind boxes. Some of the slaves had armed themselves with weapons from the dead, but far more were completely unarmed. [i]A broadside... then a mad rush when they try to board,[/i] Siran recited the plan to himself. It was madcap. [i]Then again, so was this plan... and we have the biggest elven ship now.[/i] “Steady,” Siran hissed, both to his own crew and the escaped slaves. [i]We need them to get closer...[/i] Slowly, the two smaller elven ships drew closer to their supposedly mothership, their sails only half raised. Siran could see sailors bustling about their decks, the officers lounging, not expecting combat. [i]Just a few more seconds...[/i] Just then, his eyes caught the eyes of the captain of the nearest elven ship. The elf’s eyes suddenly widened... all the encouragement Siran needed. “Now!” he leapt up, leveling his captured elven musket. He never got a chance to fire, as below the crews let the ten elven cannon open up at nearly point blank range into their hapless targets. One second, two small elven vessels were sailing placidly on the sea. The next, the sea was obscured by a massive cloud of smoke, and Siran could hear the cracking noises of masts and timbers breaking. Then there was a flash. For a moment, Siran saw only white, spots coming to his eyes as if he’d been looking into the sun. The sheer noise of the explosion was so loud that Siran felt, more than heard it. The blast forced the smoke away, and even the veteran cleric’s jaw dropped. One of the elven ships was completely gone, nothing more than a smoke pall and floating timbers to record it had ever existed. Her sistership was ablaze from bow to stern, and already rolling to the side in her death throes. “Sonuva...” he complained, sliding his pistol back into his belt with a sigh. “I didn’t get to shoot any of them!” [/QUOTE]
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