Gunshots echoed in the deep. The mist held shapes, and it was often far too late to tell if it was an ally or foe before the blade pierced your side. The fog was lifting, but all too slowly as the blood began to cause the deck to become slick and stained. An eerie howl shot out of the darkness, indicating that Sron had found a kill during the calamity, though it was drowned out by the screams of the dying. 

Markus had nearly run into the back of a bare chested Rasheek, ebony skin outlined in metal studs that ran from his lower back to the bridge of his nose, with a scimitar the bulk of a shield that he moved with haunting ease. Markus backpedaled and whipped his sword across to gain distance as he took measure of his foe, who leaped back with an agile gait that spoke of many years upon the sea. "Brabandos will take you to de Capten!" he roared. 

The scimitar was thrust through the fog and nearly gave Markus a push cut, who retaliated by knocking the blade up high to gain room for a counter, though his foe was no amateur and pulled back to strike again before Markus could run him through. It looked like this battle would take longer than he thought, until the Rasheek's chest exploded from behind as a black powder weapon discharged. The man fell to his knees, and blood began to pool out of his mouth before he hit the deck heavily. Sketti stood behind him, smoking blunderbuss in his hand.  

Suddenly a loud twang could be heard, and a slight weightlessness to the weathered witch. 

"What in the blazes?" Sketti grumbled, before Calliope and a shit covered man in rags fell out of the smog and onto the burly Dwarf, nearly breaking the deck and sending them through the next level. Nearly. 

The fog would clear as the Weathered Witch slowly sailed out of the entrenchment of foes, revealing the carnage that had been wrought upon them. Markus helped Calliope up, checking her eyes and arm to make sure she was still able to stand despite her protests. Sketti stood up next, pushing the dirt laden prisoner off of him, who had subsequently been knocked out from the fall. "We will need him, trust me." Calliope said, as she blew some of her hair out of her vision. 

Markus gave a nod, though his face went from stern to severe when he looked at the deck of the ship. A dead ogre, along with over a dozen Arad men were slain. Though they had not come out without casualties. The clear air revealed Corsica slain, cut and stabbed though surrounded by five dead Corsairs. And Phil held the body of Will, who had died fighting, having killed an Arad as the Arad killed him in a double thrust. 

The east wind blew, bringing with it the stench of death. A stench that would likely follow them, Markus knew. He looked toward the rising sun, and behind them, a Galley capsized in their wake, as the surviving two ships fled from the scene. 
[hr]
[i]The next day...[/i] 

"I trust you, but the men are getting skeptical." Markus said to Calliope as they walked through the lower decks, having just spoken to a few members of the crew on how their 'guest' was doing. Phil and Bill were in the mess hall with Halvar, eating what rations they had left, making sure to leave the most 'prime cuts' for Achmed, the supposed Prince of Dalib Shara. 

"I know wealth when I see it," Calliope replied, testily. "He might have been covered in shit, and he might act like a little shit, but he is of noble blood." She was mature enough to know Markus was not questioning her, but giving her fair warning and concern should this turn out to be a fool's errand. The battle had done wonders for Markus' credibility as Captain. None of them had expected to survive, and yet they had. 

Though Calliope had become even more of a subject of scrutiny after the excitement had died down. They had buried their dead in the sea, and they still grieved for comrades lost. And as they did so, they needed something to aim their ire at. Calliope was the best fit. Her witching had scared them, when the shadow dragon had engulfed the enemy mage. What's more, there were rumors she had led them into the trap, or that she whispered into Markus' ear and he obeyed. The ex-merc had grown to enjoy Calliope over the time they've known each other, but he did well not to meet with her in private unless absolutely necessary (or late at night) to dispell the notion there was an enchantment over him. 

Their new guest had not helped either. At first, when he awoke, he was congenial and very happy. He claimed to be impressed beyond imagining, and that such a battle against the odds had never happened since Sayrahed the Sailor in the age of myth. However, he soon began to lose his rose colored glasses, and demanded a bath. A bath in the drinking water, something that Markus agreed to once Callipe had confided into him who he was. The next day, the prince had been an insufferable lout, and both Markus and Calliope, along with the rest of the crew wished to run him through with their blades. 

Markus and Calliope turned the corner, the rakish swordsman gave a chuckle. "You know I always heard it was good to have friends in high places. Didn't know it would take this long to cash on it, though." 

"Am I not a friend in high places?" 

"Yeah, but unlike Achmed I see no signs of you not being hard to handle." Markus said with a smirk, stopping at the door to her quarters. She gave a giggle that to others would likely sound sinister. 

"Well, you've never had a friend like me." She said cryptically, and disappeared into her room. Markus was amused, but he needed to continue with the orders of the day. Stepping out onto the deck, the day was windy with light clouds to the south, but it was hot and humid as all hell. He heard Jax call from above. 

"Land ho!" the half elf cried. 

Markus and Jim, who had been up on deck with him, headed over to the southern edge of the deck to overlook the sight of the shoreline. Even at this distance, the city was visible. Curved spires overtook the sky like smooth, bloated mushrooms surrounded by pillars and vast plazas that were centered upon exotic gardens behind the great walls of the High section. It was only a fraction of the city however, and the disparity of wealth was apparent. 

If one were to take Calaverde's population and multiply it tenfold, they would not be able to fill the streets of the vast shantytown that surrounded the inner gates. Buildings of clay, sand, and stone looked like vast honeycombs or rock formations, though the carved nature of them spoke of human work. Below them, wooden shacks and tarps were raised like an immense plain of poverty. The poor and destitute wailed to Hayashim for mercy, or to one another for some boon. And yet somehow, merchants made killings in the streets just as the thieves guilds did. Markus saw a few larger buildings, nondescript and boarded within the poorer section of the city, and he knew what resided in their. Pashas of criminal organizations thrives within, living nearly as opulently as the Sultan likely did in his grand Palace. 

"By the Gods..." Jim breathed. 

"No," Markus said as he looked at the teeming masses who could barely afford the clothes on their back. "This is man's fault."
[@Penny]