Here's my entry for this round. Ended up being a bit longer than I expected.
Valen's Vengeance
For Ceramic DM Autumn 2004 - SteelDraco vs PirateCat
"Land ho! Land off the port bow!"
The ship flared with sudden life. Men rushed to the rail, straining their eyes to see the distant island. Not much, yet – just a faint greenish tint to the blue horizon – but it was land. A feeling of tension started to drain from the mixed crew. They were far out to sea now, and in waters far from the main shipping lanes, and their livelihood. There hadn't been another sail for near on two weeks now, and land was a welcome sight.
"Don't stand there gawking, fools!" A deep, growling voice cut through the crew's sudden chatter. "Tighten that rigging! Prepare the landing boats! We drop anchor as soon as we're in the harbor." Calloused, brown-furred hands gripped the ship's railing, claws digging into the weathered wood. "And ready weapons. If the chieftain’s changed, it might not be the most friendly of landings."
The hobgoblin jumped at a quiet laugh right behind him. "When is it ever, Tratok? I don't remember the last port that was actually happy to see us. The peril of being infamous, I suppose." The slight young man leaned against the rail next to the first mate, his black hair whipping in the wind and spray. He stared at the distant island, apparently thinking. "The dreaded ship
Valen's Vengeance, scourge of the high seas. It's a wonder no one's happy to see us."
"You inherited quite a name for yourself along with this ship, Captain Reynolds. People fear you. That is power." The hobgoblin drew himself up as his captain stood beside him, standing at relaxed attention.
"People feared my father. I'm just the memory of that. I never destroyed the fleet of Thron's Hold, or sailed out of the Mirrormere, or dared steal from Raelin the Glutton. People see
father's face on the masthead of the ship, and they just panic. We haven't even had to fight on a boarding party for two months. We show up, they surrender, we empty their hold and move on. It's not even work."
"Spoken like a true child of privilege. If you had been there, you wouldn't speak of it that way." Tratok crossed his muscled arms over his chest, a note of annoyance creeping back into his voice. "Your father paid for those victories with blood and tears. You should be glad you don't have to."
"Sure. And look where that got him. Vanished on the high seas one day, leaving me behind to clean up his messes. Killed by an angry dictator because he stole
some silverware. I'll be sure to thank him in Carceri." Nate pulled out a spyglass, staring at the distant island. "You're sure this is where he buried it? Hate to travel all this way just for you to get lost, take us to the wrong damned island."
"The treasure is here… sir. I was with your father when he buried it. With Raelin finally dead, the search is over. The rebels won't even want a reminder of their old king, even if it is a hundred sets of solid platinum tableware."
"What do you figure that would be worth now, two hundred thousand eagles? Maybe two and a half?"
"Perhaps more. Not counting the king's own enchanted set. He was always proudest of that one. Stealing from the kitchen staff was one thing. Stealing from the king himself was quite another. That made it… personal." Tratok snorted. "In the end, it wasn't worth it. That king was a madman. Couldn't believe a guest had stolen from him. He chased us from the capital all the way to the Hag's Teeth. Your father had to call up one demon of a storm to get the fleet off us. Even then, his hired wizards dogged us until we got rid of the loot. Nobody would touch it for fear of the king's men. So we hid it." The hobgoblin pointed to a spire of rock jutting from the island, now resolving into shapes of trees and rocky slopes. "And buried it there. Protected by the finest wards your father could forge."
"And a lot of good that did him. They still got him in the end." Nate held up a hand, silencing the hobgoblin's harsh retort. "I know, Tratok. I know. You've been telling me this story for years. 'And as soon as Raelin dies, we'll claim the treasure, and be rich. And we'll sail off into the sunset, and retire to a life of rum and island girls and … island hobgoblinesses.' I've heard it since I was fifteen. You don't need to tell me again."
“Less the share promised to the guardians, of course.”
“Yes, well, we’ll see about that.” The captain straightened up, and turned toward the ladder leading belowdecks. "I'll be meditating. See to it that the crew is prepared for battle, would you? I'd love to think you were good for something."
* * * * *
Dark shapes circled around the boat. The steady rhythm of the rowing faltered as the crew noticed them, one by one. At the bow of the landing craft, Tratok put a mailed hand on the shoulder of the lead oarsman. "Steady, men. I'll deal with them. You just row. I'll see you through this."
A crested head broke the surface of the water about ten paces in front of the boat. The face was green and scaled, with a short muzzle full of sharp, needle-like teeth. Seawater rolled off the creature's head as it unfurled a line of bony protrusions running from its brow down its spine, like a man shaking water from his hair. A spear tip rose from the water beside it, pointed at the men on the boat. The thing hissed, making a strange gargling sound in its throat, and spoke in broken, stuttering tradetounge. "You trespass. On island of Ig'nalok tribe. Drop golds in water or die."
Tratok dumped a small chest of gold eagles over the side of the boat. The dark shapes flashed like a school of razortooth fish, grabbing at the falling coins. "I need to speak with Chieftain Sha’galok. We are from the ship
Valen's Vengeance. We made a deal with your tribe, nine years ago. We've come to see that deal through." He tossed a jewel-studded necklace to the lizardman. "Tell him Tratok and the son of Valen are here to speak with him."
The creature hefted the necklace, thinking, and nodded. "I tell. You follow." The head disappeared under the water, and the lizardman flicked his tail and headed off toward the island, cutting sinuously through the water. Tratok raised a hand to the ship, and another boat splashed into the water, this one carrying the captain. The landing boats lumbered after the lizardfolk, clumsy and awkward in comparison. The island warriors flanked the boats as the crew pulled them onto land. Each carried a hunting spear tipped with a vicious-looking obsidian blade, and wore armor of turtle-shell, decorated with coral and pearls. Several carried woven kelp bags, flopping with fresh-caught fish or lobsters. Several grass-woven huts dotted the treeline, smoke rising lazily from them.
Nate hopped easily from the landing boat, and strode up next to Tratok. "Well, that seemed to go well. They remembered us, at least. Guess we might not have to butcher them quite yet after all." He grinned at his first mate as he strode toward the lizard people's huts, his rapier clattering at his side.
Tratok watched him go, his hand creeping toward the haft of his morningstar. A quiet voice from the hobgoblin's shoulder broke his reverie. "Orders, sir?" It was Naya, the ship's healer and weather witch. Her green eyes watched him closely, apparently seeking something there.
"Base camp at that ridge. Get the supplies you need from the ship, then set up. Take a few people and find a supply of fresh water. We'll need to restock before we leave here. Camp will be eight men, constant watch. And Naya? Tell Grutog to bring the special cargo we discussed ashore, as well. He'll know what I mean." The hobgoblin sighed, glancing at the retreating form of the captain. "In the meantime, I go with him. Make sure he doesn't get us all killed."
* * * * *
When Tratok entered the tent, Nate was already seated across the firepit from the Ig'nalok chieftain. The hobgoblin bowed to the creature, then sat next to his captain. "Sha'golok. It's been too long. I trust you have been well?"
The lizard-creature broke a smile, his yellowed teeth showing. "My scales fall out, my wives don't listen, and every day warriors eye my seat and question my rulership." He fingered an
ornate necklace of bone spines, dyed shades of red and pink, and topped with a large black pearl – the symbol of leadership of the Ig'nalok tribe. "But that is as it should be. And you, Tratok? I see Valen's eggling has grown into a man under your care."
"I do what I can. The trade goods have been arriving on time?" The hobgoblin leaned back, obviously comfortable in the hut.
"Yes. Good deal for all. They take our pearls, and give us jewels and magic in return. Valen helped us more than this old
grishnak thought possible."
Nate leaned forward, smiling. "And I'm sure you've kept your end of that bargain? No one mucking about where they're not supposed to, eh?"
The chieftain's smile disappeared like fish flashing silver in the bright sun. "We have honored our agreement, eggling. None who have approached the cave have left alive. Not even those of my own tribe. It is forbidden. I tell them that dark things walk there, evil magic. Your father's treasure is safe."
"My – our treasure. Father's been dead for some years now."
"That I know, eggling. And it saddens me." He narrowed his eyes, the spines on his head rattling as in a sudden breeze. "But you do not speak like your father. You speak like the men who come to cheat us, because we live simply. Those who would take our treasures and give us lies and empty promises in return. You do not intend to break the agreements that have been made, do you?"
"Of course not. Twenty of the sets will go to your people, as agreed. It's only fair, since you guarded them for so long. I'm sure you could have gotten through Father's wards without your entire tribe getting killed. Now that Raelin's dead, there shouldn't be any trouble selling them."
"Then we are agreed. You may go to the cave as you wish." Nate stood, and headed out into the bright island sun. The two older men stayed behind, chatting about their lives and what had happened since last they spoke. Nate wasn't listening – his eyes were on the future.
* * * * *
The goblin lay flat against the rock, and nodded slightly toward the
cave entrance. It was clearly visible, even from this distance – it obviously wasn't a natural cave. Salt-spray covered the rocks around the entrance, and only a single small tree had managed to take root. "That's it, boss. Everything looks just the same."
"And you checked it out? It's safe?" Nate leaned against the rock face, a wand in his hand.
"As well as I could. A few people have been in over the years. Some man-big things, mostly smaller stuff. One good-sized creature, I think. Nothing has come out. Stinks a bit, like dead things. I think the protection-things are still working." The goblin's nose twitched. "Didn't want to get any closer. Might have gotten blasted."
"Don’t worry, I'll take care of all that, Nebrin. You just come with me, and I'll deactivate the wards, so you can look around. All right?" The little goblin nodded. "Now stand still. This is going to tingle." Nate pulled a few things out of his belt, and made a few arcane gestures, spoke a few quiet words, and laid his hand on the goblin's shoulder. With a whisper of mystical energy, Nebrin disappeared from sight. The captain repeated the same procedure on himself, and walked quietly toward the cave, his hand on the head of the goblin beside him.
The cave was lit by a crack in the ceiling that let a shaft of light shine across the small room. At the entryway, Nate cut himself with a knife and let a few drops of blood seep into the keystones of his father's wards. As intended, it faded at the will of a blood relative of Valen, and they passed through the outer ward without harm. Inside, they found a few bones, mostly small animals, with a few boars and lizardfolk mixed in. Still invisible, the two pressed on, going deeper into the cave. Nate spoke a quiet word as they left the faint light from the ceiling, and suddenly the room was suffused with a yellow glow.
They both yelped and jumped back at the huge skeleton sprawled on the floor in front of them. It looked serpentine, though it split into six massive heads instead of one, each topped with a draconic skull. The skeleton was at least fifteen feet long, from tail to nose-tips. Nate whistled softly. "That's a hydra. Killing one of those is no mean feat. Father's wards were more potent than I had thought. Everything must still be here."
A few hours later, it was done. Three heavy chests, each full of solid platinum silverware, had been dug from the soft mud inside the cave. Another, smaller box contained the magical set stolen directly from the king. Everything was just where it had been left, years before.
Nate looked around at his men, and frowned. "Shouldn't Grutog be here? This would be much easier if that brute were helping. If he's down lazing on the beach, I'll tan his hide. I'll –"
Most of the crew looked around, perhaps a bit dully. "No, boss," Nebrin piped up. "he's bringing that big crate you wanted from the boat."
“What crate? I didn’t ask for anything else.”
A few of the workers shrugged. “That’s what he said. Ask him,” continued the goblin.
“I think I’ll do that.” The young captain’s brow furrowed. “Once we get these down to the ship, that is.”
* * * * *
Tratok stood with the chieftain as the crew carried heavy, mud-encrusted chests onto the beach a fair distance away. The hobgoblin watched the crew, and spoke to the Sha’galok in a low voice. “Is it done?”
“I took care of it. Everything seems to be going properly. Will be done soon. He should be –“ The lizardman stopped suddenly, nodding toward the approaching form of Captain Reynolds. “Talk later.”
“Care to let me in on this precious little conversation,” called Nate, “or is it only for old men?” He stopped a few paces from the two of them, and a few crew members followed behind, forming a rough semicircle. A hand rested on a wand at his hip. “Just what has been going on here while I’ve been gone, anyway? Seems some of my crew has been following orders that I never gave them.”
“What are you talking about, Captain?” A growl crept into the voice of the hobgoblin. “I’m not sure I like your tone,
sir.”
“And I’m not sure I give a damn. You two are plotting something behind my back, and I’m going to put a stop to it.” He pulled the wand from his belt, knuckles clenched white. “First you, traitor, and then the old lizard. And then the village. You’ve all outlived your usefulness.” Arcane words began to roll of his tongue, and the wand in his hand began to glow with a sickly green-black light.
Tratok’s mailed fist took him straight in the jaw, and the power that the young mage had been gathering dissipated harmlessly. Both men drew their weapons, and Sha’galok hissed and moved between the combatants and the group of crewmen. “Stay your weapons. This battle is between them, not us. Let them finish it.”
The two men wrestled on the sandy beach, fighting for control of the wand. Tratok was by far the stronger, but Nate much faster. As Tratok wrested the wand from his grasp, the captain’s hand moved like lightning, pulling a short blade form inside his sleeve and slicing into the hobgoblin’s abdomen. The mail he wore turned the killing force of the blow, but hot blood still stained the sand. The two rolled apart and stood, breathing heavily.
Tratok pressed a hand to his wounded side, and pulled the heavy morning star he carried from his belt. As he did so, Nate spat more arcane words, flinging a handful of dust toward his first mate’s face. Tratok stumbled back, blinded and reeling, as the spell flashed in his eyes. Leaping over the sand, Nate grabbed the man who had raised him for the past nine years by the shoulder and stabbed him in the armpit, just above the joints of his armor. He crumpled, blood pouring from his side. Nate stood over him and laughed. “First you, old man. Then the rest.” He leveled the wand at Tratok’s head.
“Stop!” The shout came from the forest, and a man-shape stepped from the darkness. Electric energy crackled around his fingertips, and both hands were pointed at the young captain’s chest. “Do it and you die. Son.”
A whisper of confusion ran across Nate’s face, and the rest of the crew. Only Tratok laughed, though he coughed blood at the same time. “About time you got here, old man.”
“What’s going on here? What is this trickery?” Panic and fury warred on Nate’s face, and he shook the wand-tip, still glowing with deathly energy. “Who is this man?”
“You know damn well who I am. I’m your father. Now drop that wand.”
“No you’re not! My father’s dead! And so are you!” He started to point the wand at the shadowy figure, but a blast of lightning took him straight in the chest. He flew through the air and dropped to the ground, twitching and smoking.
* * * * *
The flap to the chieftain’s tent opened, and Tratok stepped gingerly through. Naya had done wonders for healing his injuries, though he was still a bit light-headed from the blood he had lost.
“Your son will live, captain.”
“And so will you, it seems, you old goat. I’m not through with you yet, despite what my son might have wanted.” The elderly pirate grinned as he sat next to the Ig’nalok chieftain. “Guess I’ll have to kill you myself, one of these days, eh?”
“Good luck. Now I now how rough your family can be.” He sat down carefully, his ribs still tender with newly-healed flesh. “You’re feeling all right? The petrification has completely reversed itself? And your soul back where it should be again?”
“I’m fine, I’m fine. I told you this would all work out. That madman’s off my back, we’ve got the money, and everyone’s happy. Or close enough. Maybe a little extreme, but we are talking quite the sum of money. Enough to retire, for all of us. I don’t have to be both a decoration on Sha’galok’s necklace and the masthead of my own ship any more. Everybody wins, and I’m still young enough to enjoy it.” He chuckled again. “Unlike you two old men.”
Sha’galok frowned. “What about your son? What will you do with him?”
“I’m not sure, to be honest. He meant to kill you all, I know that. He’s earned his fate. I hear piracy is still considered a crime in these waters, so I might drop him off with some well-meaning sea captain, to make his career. After all, it’s not every day you capture the son of Valen, the scourge of the seas.”
“Aren’t you worried about being captured?”
“Dear me, no. That awful pirate Valen’s been dead for nine years. Nobody’s looking for little old me. Why would I be worried?”
