Session Thirteen, Part Four: The Voice of a God
"What is going
on here?" The crew scattered from the path of their captain - the taste of his lover for the lash was well known, and he did not hesitate to give them to her for punishment - but it was not them his anger was directed at.
The slender form of his brother appeared at the door to the cabin. "Our erstwhile prisoners appear to be engaged in some sort of activity in the bilges...or so Demos tells me."
"They're moving the ballast...putting us off balance, slowing us down!" The captain spat a curse that would have him hung had he uttered it at their destination rather than on the open sea. "We're going to have to deal with them sooner than we expected, brother. Ready your spells."
"I will speak with my patron."
Di'Fier passed the iron bar down the edge of his blade, shaving curled bits of metal from it, turning it into a crude machete. He inspected the iron, then checked his own sword for damage. "I guess Garto did a good job on this - not even a nick from cutting through the chains."
Dru scowled at the mention of the treacherous dwarf. She had been storming around the hold, cutlass in her hand, like a restless tiger - ready to burst free at any moment. The fact that the bursting free did not look like it would happen anytime soon only further fueled her anger.
In one corner, the rotund Fonkin huddled, his brother crouched beside him. Where Dru unconsciously rode the swaying deck of the ship, the gnome had staggered about, turning an altogether unpleasant shade of green. The elf looked him over critically. "Why's he seasick
now? You've been on this boat for weeks."
Di'Fier set the last of the makeshift blades aside and climbed to his feet, staggering a bit himself. "The ship's moving more."
Dru nodded. "Most be a storm blowing up. We'd better get through that trapdoor, then - it'll be a good distraction." She held out her hand for the bastard sword - the only weapon they had that would not be dulled to uselessness hacking through the thick wood. Di'Fier passed it over.
Wind howled through the rigging, as sailors fought to furl the sails. Below them, the mast creaked ominously as it fought to drive the ship faster than the seas would allow.
"Captain! They're cutting through the trapdoor!"
"Not
now!" The captain drew the blade from his belt - the very one he'd taken from the elf.
This one knew this was a bad idea... "Naneyd! Aslia!"
In moments, every sailor that could be spared was clustered in ambush, ringing the trapdoor: bristling with cutlasses and daggers. Some few had strung bows, near-useless though they would be through the winds and rain. The shining blade finally hacked through the wood, knocking aside the bar that held it shut, and then withdrew.
For a moment, the only sound was the wind in the rigging and the protests of the ship.
Then a crack of thunder rolled, and before it had died away the door had flown open, a shape flying forth only to be punctured by arrows and fall to the deck.
A flash of light from the sky let the crewmen recognize the corpse of one of their own, crushed and battered by some unearthly force. And in the thunder that followed, there were words.
"
I AM DISPLEASED...LET MY CHILDREN GO."
"Vepar's
B-lls!" cried the captain. "We've angered the Storm god!"