[b]14th of Sun’s Height Pirate-Lord Ambrose Mackin Wayrest, Greater High Rock[/b] --- “Five-thousand?” Hjalsten asked, just as exasperated as the first time he’d said it, which was three times ago. “Five-thousand.” Mackin said, “Five-fucking-thousand. I should have expected this. We were foolish for doing what we did.” Hjalsten nodded, unseen from behind Ambrose. Ambrose had taken Hjalsten and a few others away from the castle, those eager to leave and survive doing what they were meant to do instead of playing royalty. The others wouldn’t leave, thinking they had a right to stay because they took from the strong. Ambrose wasn’t quite as zealous about the situation as some others, so he took Hjalsten, Clotaire and Hali-el and made for the docks the day that a ghost from his past handed him a letter written by another. The cloaked group stood at the docks, waiting for the swift and small blockade runner to make port. It could not come fast enough. Ambrose knew that Ferrand wouldn’t attack the walls until his siege engines arrived or a white flag was hoisted. Knowing those who were staying, there would only be the oh-so-poetic jolly roger flying high and proud over their bloody corpses. Ambrose knew that would be the fate that would become of him if he stayed. Dupont, as slippery a snake the bastard was, he was also someone Ambrose could trust. Seemed quite the contradiction, but men are made of such opposites. “Hurry the hell up, Dupont.” Ambrose tapped his foot and folded his arms underneath his cloak, impatience itching beneath his skin. “Hurry the hell up, Dupont.” Dar’nakhet roared, he stood on his hind legs in order gain better sight. “Almost an hour now and we still have three frigates after us.” Dupont shook his head in disappointment. “Let’s see you take the wheel, oh wait, your paws don’t fit.” The Commodore cursed in Ta’agra as the ship shifted towards its starboard, knocking him back on all fours. The small and nimble blockade runner wasn’t something Dupont used to sail, his flagship was a refurbished destroyer, a vessel unfaltered by the waves of Iliac Bay. But waves are exactly what they capitalized on, the frigates behind them had trouble keeping up in today’s unusually strong winds and distance between them grew longer and longer. “Tack the sails and hold on tight,” Dupont yelled across the deck, he stole a quick glance behind his shoulder before twisting the wheel two turns around. The ship veered off to its port side and cut straight through a high tide, their pursuiters wasn’t so lucky, as two of three frigates were knocked off course and one of them collided with another of Dupont’s blockade runners. The last of the frigates was now a safe distance behind and the docks of Wayrest appeared within their sights. “Damn nice Dupont,” The Commodore laughed. “Rochirion and his ship will keep that frigate busy. Get ready for landfall now.” Somehow, after a blind gamble, Dupont actually survived his insane maneuver, maybe he will actually visit the temple of Kynareth for the favorable winds. “Ambrose Mackin!” He shouted to the docks. “Your salvation is here!” “And a saved man I am, Dupont!” Mackin smiled. Clotaire sketched a good court bow, Hali-el drew his lips tight and nodded and Hjalsten raised his middle finger to the siege camps beyond their view. The four of them hopped onto the brigantine, [i]The Pekoud,[/i] its nameplate shined in the sun and the name rang in Ambrose’s mind like a lover’s. Speaking of which, he could use a woman about now. “How was Stros M’kai? If I’d known it was you causing trouble for my little spit of land I’d have sent an invitation, not a warship. Man’s got to keep the peace though.” Mackin spat off the side of the ship. “Palaces of gold and fountains of wine. Ha, bet my arse that’s what it was.” Dupont gestured sarcastically. “Tell you the truth, I had a couple of Yokudan ships with their ballistas on my tail while Altmer ships with their glowing sails and arcane canons on the other side. I think we lost two-third of our fleet there, but hey, I did learn something-” “Alright folks, let’s cut the chatter for now and focus on getting out alive.” The Commodore stalked into the scene. “So you’re this Ambrose man Dupont always muttered about, well, do you have the coins?” “Should be here soon,” As he was finished talking, Ambrose’s old cabin-boy was seen running along the docks with a chest in tow, “I should have given the boy some help.” Heaving and panting, The cabin-boy let loose a hollow grunt and the chest pounded onto the deck of the brigantine. Ambrose nodded to the rather peculiar tiger-man. He couldn’t say he’d ever seen one of those and he had to restrain himself from pointing out just how peculiar Dar’nakhet was. Instead, he settled for a slight bow of the head, “Your gold. Couldn’t say I expected any salvation from Dupont to be free, ye ol’ seadog.” “Just like old times huh?” Dupont chuckled at the sight of the large chest. “Not bad for someone playing king. But The Commodore here expects a lot more for a man of your reputation. Have you heard of the rumors surrounding Torval?” “Do you Bretons ever shut your mouth?” Dar’nakhet fumed. He gave Dupont a sharp glance, reminding him that the Khajiit was ultimately in charge here. “There were three frigates chasing us, probably a dozen out there now. Let’s get going and you old lovers can have your drawn out conversations on the ship.” “Eh, he can get really unpleasant sometimes.” Dupont noted to Ambrose and his subordinates. He motioned for a large Nord sailor, who carried the chest onto [i]The Pekoud[/i]. “But, that cat has surprisingly sharp wits and tough guts.” --- Later that day --- [I]The Pekoud[/i], surronded by three other blockade runners, sailed at its top speed out of the waters of Wayrest. They have already lost one ship to the frigates of Daggerfall and another taking in an unhealthy amount of water in her hull. The small group of ships now faced another line of military ships, about a dozen smaller vessels ranging from corvettes to frigates led by a Manowar. Dar’nakhet screamed at the top of his lungs, telling the sailors to prepare their sails and those below to row at a faster rate. Even so, [i]The Pekoud[/i] was rapidly approaching the middle of a frigate and a corvette. “Do what you did before Dupont!” The Commodore ordered, much to Dupont’s distain. The Breton pirate kept his course straight, seemingly closer to being sandwiched by the blockade. At the last second before collision, he spun the wheel sharply towards the smaller corvette. Although the blockade runner lacked mass or a heavily reinforced bow, its rapid speed was enough the knock the corvette off course. Unfortunately, they were not able to avoid the frigate, whose hull scraped [i]The Pekoud[/i], sending sparks and wooden splinters onboard. “They are trying to board us!” Dar’nakhet wasted no time before leaping into action. As a wave of arrows and spells flew from the ship of Daggerfall onto the smaller runner, the boarding party also latched onto their deck. The Pahmar-raht pounced onto the first Breton raider, his claws found their marks on his opponent's neck and dug three wide bloody trenches. “Here we go Ambrose, get these bastards off my boat. I hope you haven’t forget how to swing a sword.” “Yeah, me too.” Ambrose said. Hali-el let forth a roar of anger and summoned a cloak of flame around himself, walking towards one of the ropes and burning it where his hand gripped it. The grappling hook burned white as he tossed it back at the deck of the frigate. Ambrose drew his sword, a shining cutlass, and lunged towards the first uniformed sailor that stepped close enough to him, skewering the man to the hilt. Pulling the sword free, he roared as he smacked a blade off course with his own and riposted, landing a downward strike onto the man’s skull and cleaving his face in two. Clotaire drew his bastard sword and joined Ambrose in the fray, hoping the old bastard wouldn’t throw out his back ripping the throat out of some Daggerfall landlubber, “Was there ever a day you thought a time like this would come?” “Yes, actually,” Ambrose said, felling another man by slipping his blade between his ribs and puncturing his heart, “The day that sonofabitch Brutus smashed the skull of the Valois guy. I would have let them go, but Brutus was always,” He grunted in exertion landing a hard blow to another Breton bastard’s jaw before kicking him away and shoving his sword in his gut, “Brutus was always too bloodthirsty for my tastes. Couldn’t make an omelette without wading waist-deep in the blood of chickens.” “We were young and stupid.” Clotaire said. “You still are. I’m still trying.” Ambrose roared a curse as he broke the knee of a Daggerfall sailor and buried his cutlass’s edge in the man’s neck, “Dupont, if I don’t make it, I’ll haunt you!” For the most part of the battle, Dupont busied himself in attempt to distance the runner and the frigate. And for the most part, he wasn’t able to go anywhere. Looking down at the carnage, he saw Dar’nakhet ripping out a poor sod’s arms with his fangs. Beside him, Ambrose and his crew cut down a good amount of their foes. “Dupont, if I don’t make it, I’ll haunt you!” Ambrose’s voice, mixed with the sounds of clashing steel, reached Dupont’s ears. “You’re not going to haunt anybody, not yet anyways.” He gave a desperate pull on the wheel but met no significant movement. Dupont spun to his backside and looked over the edge, just as he predicted, a piece of their rudder was now in the water behind them. He grunted in anger, whatever fortune they had earlier was now misfortune. This blockade runner was already battered during its collision, a broken rudder combined with damaged hulls meant that they were dead in the water. But the frigate was still relatively well. If they can use their ship, Dupont thought, they will take their enemy’s. “Change of plan here,” Dupont ducked under a fireball as he descended the wheel house. “We’re not going anywhere, and they still can, so we’ll take their ship.” He drew his own cutlass and threw a grappling hook across their starboard. Ambrose wasted no time in helping the members of the crew of [i]The Pekoud[/i] throw their own grappling hooks onto the frigate. Ambrose and his crew were among the lucky ones who made it onto the deck without getting their ropes hacked loose by axes. It was a hard fight, but many of the crew of the frigate were already dead and those who were alive were losing morale at the sight of being counter-boarded. They’d cornered the crew and Ambrose looked to Dar’nakhet to offer an ultimatum to the survivors, as per the rules and traditions of piracy. He could name off a few of his own crew that had come from the Imperial Navy and Hali-el was a former Dominion sailor himself. Dar’nakhet growled at the survivors, he issued an ultimatum in Ta’agra, to which most of their foes only replied with confused stares. Dupont repeated the same sentence in common Tamrielic, which most of his opponents adhered to. Blades dropped to the deck and spells were put out, Dupont smiled briefly, they survived in one piece. “Looks like Rochirion didn’t make it.” Dar’nakhet concluded. The blockade was comfortably behind them, the captured frigate sailed with two battered blockade runners behind it. “Karina and Farid got through, they even sunk one of Daggerfall’s corvettes.” “What now? We need to get rid of those prisoners and resupply.” Dupont said. “I know a village on the coast of Valenwood, there is someone that can sell us food and wine. As for these sailors, let’s just say an old Dunmer friend of mine specialises in ‘human resources’.” Dupont nodded. If it were up to him, he would offer his captives a chance to join him on the high sea. Alternatively, those that don’t pose a threat would be given a chance to return to their homes. But his decision was still subordinate to The Commodore’s, and he could see benefits, though cruel even to his own standards, of selling slaves. “Not bad after sitting on the throne for all this time,” Dupont patted Ambrose on the shoulder. He also inspected Hjalsten, Clotaire and Hali-el, a trio of impressive fighters to him. “And to all of you as well.” Even Dar’nakhet nodded his feline head in approval, a hard-earned gesture of respect. “Now, I still haven’t finished what I said before.” Dar’nakhet was gone to manage his new frigate, leaving Dupont and his guests from Wayrest. “You see, there was an attack on Torval by gods know who. We did hear some rumors though, that these people sailed ships made from bug shells and supposedly more powerful than the Dominion Navy. The Commodore thinks you’re going to help us snatch a chitin boat, but I think he’s on the skoomas. What say you on this?” “A chitin boat? I wouldn’t count on Dunmer being this far south and the only other people I can think of-” Ambrose stopped abruptly. “Shor’s bones, you’re not thinking what I am, are you?” Hjalsten stepped forward, looking at Dupont and Dar’Nakhet. “The [i]fucking[/i] Maormer. I’d heard rumors coming from some of the crews in Stros M’kai spreading any direction away from there but I didn’t believe them. The Dominion too.” Ambrose said, Hali-el turned his head and spat off the side of the brigantine. “First the Thalmor burn away the livelihoods of dissidents like my mother and now an alliance with the Maormer.” Hali-el grumbled. “You want me to help you take a ship from you-know-who?” Ambrose asked incredulously. “I was as surprised as all of you when I first heard this,” Dupont explained, Dar’nakhet was nowhere in sight, probably helping himself to the previous captain’s wine reserve. “My great-great-grandfather was a captain in the combined fleet, he saw Orgnum’s ships burned and Maormer sailors killed to the last man. Now here’s what The Commodore told me, people’s been seeing not one, but small fleets of Pyandonean ships. They apparently recovered well enough to return, possibly an invasion. You know what one of these chitin-hulls can do? My great-great-grandfather barely defeated one with six Imperial warships, now imagine us sailing one of those…” “Almost helps with the pain of knowing that that Ferrand bastard is going to burn my ship. I had twenty gods-damned cannons imported from a guy in Stros M’kai. I also a got a fair bit of moonsugar, skooma and some other things, but those twenty cannons cost me a fortune. I wouldn’t have had Wayrest without those cannons.” Ambrose said, “About this chitin ship though. How in Oblivion are [i]we[/i] going to steal [i]one[/i] of those things if your ancestor had a hard time with of it? According to you there’s small fleets. I don’t like the sound of that.” “Ah Ambrose, always the skeptic.” Dupont shook his head. “You are missing out to world while sitting in your castle. The Argonians are getting antsy for some reason and the Khajiits just finished their little kitty-fights. The South is weak, I sure you know what happened in Valenwood. The Maormers are coming, I’m sure of it. Torval was the prelude, a scouting mission I believe. When Pyandonea does strike, they will be focused against their enemies on land, we can attack while they are not aware, take their ships while docked. Think about it Ambrose, imagine Ferrand facing down whatever Orgnum has to offer.” “If they get to High Rock they can get to the Reach, Dupont. As much as I like the prospect of easy wins, I don’t want to turn a blind-eye while Orgnum enslaves any human he can get his snares around. I’ll help you steal a ship- to Oblivion with it- I’ll steal a fucking fleet if it meant I could run free with only wooden ships manned by men to worry about. Better the enemy you know than the one you don’t. I don’t like the sound of Maormer trolling the waters anywhere near Tamriel.” Ambrose said, jabbing a finger into Dupont’s chest, “Your great-great-gran’pa earned a name for himself killing Maormer so at least the only enemies he’d have to worry about were the gold-skins in Alinor and regular, ordinary men. You can toss me overboard right now if you think I’ll let Maormer traipse around anywhere near my beloved Reach and the only thing I’ll do is make off with my tail between my legs on one of their ships.” “Ambrose, calm yourself” Dupont took a step back and raised his hand. The Ambrose in front him was not the same Ambrose five years ago. There was an old saying of power changing the composition of people, in Ambrose’s case, ruling Wayrest definitely changed him. “We’re just going on conjectures right now, nothing serious. We had a long day behind us, why don’t we rest up so we can think better? And by the way, we have some ships waiting for you to captain back in Topal Bay.” He turned on his heels to leave but stopped for a brief second. “Welcome to your new life.”