Calliope awoke in darkness coughing wetly as she sucked in a lungful of dry air. The cell reeked of blood and her hands recoiled from slick ropes of entrails as she groped about trying to get her bearings. She was aware that she was naked before she was aware that she no longer wore the manacles which had separated her from her magic.

“Ilvin’ya’va,” she whispered and a globe of pale light appeared, bathing the room in silvery radiance. The body of a Blood Axe mage lay on the ground and there was blood everywhere. A great bite had been torn from where the neck joined the shoulder, ripping out the network of veins and arteries that sank down to the heart. His chest had been ripped open also, perhaps by claws that all but bisected him from sternum to crotch. Her former clothing lay strewn about, ripped and torn, as did the manacles burst open as though they had tried to contain tree trunks. She wiped blood from her face and tried to remember what had happened. She had some dim memory of the mage chasing her down here, but what happened after that was vague and fuzzy, as though she had been struck in the head. Instinctively she reached up to touch her face and her hand came away tacky with half congealed blood. It took an effort not to wretch, she must have lain face down in the spreading blood while she was out. Grabbing for the remains of her sarong, she wiped feverishly at her face, clearing away as much of the blood as she could.

The sounds of battle echoed from down the tunnel. She couldn’t have been out too long then. As carefully as she could she stripped the cloak from the slaughtered mage, casting a wary eye left and right for whatever creature might have done it. The robe hadn’t been too clean before it had been splashed with gore, but it was the best she could do. She pulled it on and raced up the tunnel towards the light.

When Calliopie reached the mouth of the tunnel she paused to peer out into the sunlight. The Witch’s crew were still fighting, though the odds must be very long indeed. Drawing a deep breath she began to focus her magic, intent on evening the odds in any way possible. 

“Previ…” before she could complete the spell, there was a sudden silence and then a panicked scream from one of the Blood Axes. Whatever had unerved them, within moments the pirates were fleeing, stampeding for the rubble ramps that served as exits. Calliope lashed the backs of the fleeing pirates with darts of arcane energy, pitching the victims onto the rocks in piles of tangled limbs. It probably wasn’t necessary, but in politics and in war, it rarely hurt to put the boot in while the other fellow as down. Within moments the amphiptere was clear save for the crew of the Weather Witch and some dozen dying Blood Axes.

Calliope stepped from the mouth of the tunnel, gingerly avoided the corpse of a Blood Axe who had been brained with a flag stone. Jim, the young somewhat naive sailor, came running towards her his face filled with concern.

“Lady Call…” he chocked off as he took in her blood spattered mostly naked form, his face going ashen as he stammered to silence. Calliope rolled her eyes.

“Don’t just stand there,” she snapped, “find me some clothes, and have Sketti send some make sure none of those runners like our ship better than theirs, or decide to burn it just to be safe.”

“Uhhh… yes ma’am,” Jim squeaked turning on his heel and running off towards the Dwarf. Calliope rolled her eyes and headed off to find Markus, along with a change of clothes.