Calliope was marched up out of the subterranean chambers by a pair of guards. Each of the unwashed corsairs held a length of chain affixed to the collar around her neck, one to the front, and one to the rear. The arrangement meant that she was unable to lunge in either direction without the chain bringing her up short. She began to hum to herself as she was led up a flight of sandstone stairs and into the bright sunlight. The guards exchanged uneasy glances at his incongruous turn of events and glanced down at the mystical cuffs that were still fastened around her wrists, preventing her from using her magic. They were still firmly in place, indeed they seemed to be one piece and there was no obvious way for them to be removed. 

It was night time when they emerged into what appeared to be an ancient and half collapsed amphitheater, though the heat of the day still radiated up from the stones like a cooling fireplace. The amphitheater had probably been a fifty yards wide when it had been constructed, but the western side had fallen mostly to ruins and large purple blossomed bougainville had grown up over the remaining arches, their long thorns making them too much effort for the pirates to remove. Palm trees stood beyond them, their pale bark glistening in the moonlight and their dark leaves waving in the sea breeze. Illumination was provided by dozens of torches thrust into the sand of the base of the amphitheater and wedged into cracks in the stone work. They burned smokily with the familiar scent of coconut oil and filled the structure with a rudy flickering glow.


The eastern side was more or less intact, with four tiers of stone benches rising from a wall, eight feet tall and designed to keep the spectators above the action below. There were iron barred tunnels that lead into the darkness, though given the rust stains that infrequent rains had washed onto the sandstone, Calliope wouldn’t have bet that any of them could be opened. The stone work to either side of eastern wall had crumbled somewhat, perhaps it had initially been an earthquake that had done the damage but passionfruit vines were now growing between the stones, thrusting them apart with the determination of nature against the works of man. The structure crumbled in a jumble of stone blocks  that provided access to a sure footed man, as any sailor, accustomed to climbing the rigging, was surefooted. 

Mahal-Sabim sat upon a throne at the apex of the eastern wall. The throne was crudely carved from some kind of local wood and four skulls, each clumsily gilded in gold or polished brass adorned the hand rests and the large posts that supported the backing. A pair of large ebony skinned men with large wicked halberds and tunics of boiled leather stood guard on either side of him. Below him Blood axes cauroused drunkenly, the stink of sweat and Arak evident even over the perfume of bougainville and the coconut oil lamps. Several of the thugs were amusing themselves by poking Sketti with sharpened sticks. The dwarf was shirtless and chained to a stone post that might once have been a door lintel. Blood stained his impressive musculature and matted his beard. The pirates jabbed at him from out of range and hooted in laughter as the dwarf rounded on them like a bee stung buffalo, only to find himself unable to reach his tormentors. The game wasn’t without risk however, as Calliope watched the bosun caught one of the spears mid thrust and yanked it forward dragging its drunken wielder with it. The dwarf’s fist was the side of a roast chicken and it caught the pirate squarely in the jaw with a crack audible above the revelry. A half dozen sticks drove Sketti back before he could stomp the life out of the drunken pirate, and his fellows pulled the unconscious man back to safety. Other members of the crew were also visible, shackled together in a long line secured at either end by a stone bench, though Calliope couldn’t pick out Markus in the crowd.

“Bring her to me,” the pirate king crooned, crooking a finger at Calliope. The guards obediently lead her to stand before the throne. She continued to hum to herself.

[i]The God’s Laws I did forbid...[/i]

“A much more appropriate look for a woman,” he sneered, leaning forward to kiss her on the lips. She endured his reeking breath for a moment and he pulled back, arching an eyebrow, perhaps surprised at her lack of objection.

[i]And most wickedly I did…[/i]

“I look forward to sampling you futher..”

[i]As I sailed…[/i]

“After we take care of your Captain…”

[i]As I sailed.[/i]

Calliope's head snapped forward and she drove the flat of her forehead into Mahal-Sabim’s face. There was an audible snap as he nose broke beneath the blow and a spurt of hot blood on her face as the pirate king reeled back with a yowl of pain. Both guards yanked on their chains pulling her off her feet and tumbling her bruisingly to the tier of seats below. There was a dark chuckle in the back of her mind as she was hauled to her feet.  The pirate chief glared down at her, blood running from his nose and a lip he had cut against his teeth.

“I look forward to teaching you your place bitch,” he snarled, the words unfortunately nasally until he placed a hand either side of his broken nose. With a snap and a wince of pain he reset it and his voice returned to its normal menace.

“But business before pleasure,” he commented, raising his arms before addressing the crowd in a booming voice.

“Bring out the Northern Filth!”