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"A ship is ever on a Captain's mind." Markus agreed, giving his best courtly bow as he backed away, his offhand holding the golden handle of the chest. He pulled it up slightly and spun, letting go and grabbing the handle with the other hand in but a moment, and the two pirates made their way to their escort, Mumuks who would lead them back to the Weathered Witch until called upon again. "If it means more gold, I'm not complaining. At least for the moment." he whispered to Calliope with a glance, and they found themselves on the streets and back to their ship within the hour.

Once they made it to the docks, the bustling crowd of the merchants waned as they made way with all of the guards that accompanied them. Even over the commotion and calls of 'movie it!' by the guards, Markus could hear the men on the ship singing a tune.

Soon we'll be warping her out
through the locks,
weigh hey, roll and go!
Where the pretty young girls
all come down in their frocks
To be rollicking Randy Dandy-O!
Heave a pawl, o heave away!
weigh hey, roll and go!
The anchor's on board
and the cable's all stored
To be rollicking Randy Dandy-O!


Jax nearly fell out of the crow's nest when he spotted the Captain and the First Mage, waving and yelling in his charming Caelic accent. "Och! Why if no' me mother's luv! It's th' Capn an lady Calliope!" he called to himself and all those that could hear, then roared down at the crew. "Off yer arses lads and step to! Capn' comin' aboard! Oi Sron! Get tha' bone out ye mouth ye mutt! The lady'll zap ye tae frogs I ken-"

While he continued to bark down orders as if he held a position of power, the lads were heaving new cargo aboard, something that Markus would need to ask his Quartermaster about. Though he suppose he shouldn't be ungenerous. The ship looked extremely well repaired considering they were only gone for a night. The guns were in place and Jim was even in the middle of polishing one as Markus and Calliope stepped aboard.

"Off with ye! Get that sail back to it's place before I misplace yer 'ead!" Sketti threatened. shaking his meaty fist at Halvar and Will. With them on their way to continue their duties with naught but a nod of acknowledgement and joy at seeing the captain, Sketti stepped up to Markus. "Me heart's glad tae see ye lad. I thought the dervishes ripped ye apart. So! What happened over in the palace? We rewarded?"

"We're about to find out." Markus said, shaking the chest before bidding Calli to lower the thing. "But what's all this?" he asked, waving his hand at the new barrels being set below. Even now Sron carried a cask below decks, his nose and ears twitching as if somewhat bothered by the contents that might seep through the tightly packed planks of wood. There were still eight more barrels on the deck to be loaded under.

"Oh aye. Apologies Captain, but I thought since we were here, might as well make a profit aye? Spices they be! Will sell for a pretty penny in Andred shores, or wherever else we might be docking in the north. It wasn't cheap, but it didn't hinder our stores overmuch." Sketti promised. "Ye needn't worry, lad. I only bought enough with our left over money stores. We still have most of our savings, and plenty to spend on ship repairs."

Markus considered for a long moment. If these were spices indigenous to the region, they could perhaps be sold thrice what they cost here elsewhere, particularly these days after all of the pirate activity in the Arad Luin, ironically enough. With a small snort of a laugh, the Captain knelt down, and as he began to open the latch, Sketti stood between the crew and the chest, though it was also partly to get a better view for himself. The Dwarf Gold lust was evident in his eyes.

The chest opened to reveal just what Sketti expected. Gold. Probably quadruple as much as what Sketti spent on the barrels of spices, gleaming in the heated sun of the desert skies. Not only that, but a few items as well. Markus closed his eyes, and then opened them to use his magesight. Gingerly, he reached for a glove that looked as if it fit his hand. It called to him in a way he couldn't decipher, and as he lifted it up it shifted into a thin guantlet.

Still eyeing it, he tucked it under his arm. "Hmmm..." he mused, and picked up an item he had specifically questioned the Sultan on, having heard of such a thing popular among spellcasters with flair in this region, and tossed it Calliope, knowing it to be a unique item she would no doubt enjoy. As she would examine it, he would give Sketti the only diamond in the chest. The Dwarf caught it greedily, grinning from ear to ear while Calliope examined what would be her prize. It was very intriguing.


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Calliope took the sarong in her hands and turned it over, fastening it around her waist to the obvious disappointment of several nearby crewmen. It wasn’t surprising that the Sultan knew how to give flattering gifts, that was a prerequisite of a ruler after all, but there was more going on her than met the eye and Calliope vastly prefered to be the player rather than the pawn.

A line of sailors was already forming at the gangplank of the Witch when Calliope came back on deck. In any port there was a certain amount of flotsam that washed up. Mostly they got too drunk and got left in port when their ships set sail, or the quarreled with their officers and got put ashore. Most of those queue looked to be of the sort, shabby men gone half native and living on the streets, desperate for a berth that would take them back to more civilized areas.

Though it was arguably her job, Calliope really wasn’t a seasoned enough seafarer to decide which, if any, of the men were a good fit for the ship. She was about to hand the task over to Sketti when he was done arranging the stowage of spices when a strange man caught her eye. He had the dark ebony complexion of a Southlander, perhaps from Punt or Kush but his face was covered with strange tattoos and ritual scars, a small bone, possibly from a bird pierced his nose and large ivory earing hung from his ears. He was talking animatedly to a small woman with curly hair and spectacles, who was dressed in a hodgepodge of northern garments and Arad Lund attire.

“Halvar,” Calliope called, the Northman looked around guiltily though he didn’t seem to be doing anything obviously nefarious. Perhaps it was his natural reaction to being called upon to work when he'd rather not be doing so.

“Start interviewing these people,” she ordered, making a negligent gesture at the line of hopeful sailors.

“We need two or three top men and a half dozen deckhands,” she told him.

“And a gunners mate if you can find anyone that knows which end of a cannon is which,” Grimey piped up from where she had been hidden behind one of the guns.

“And a gunners mate,” Calliope agreed equibbly. Halvar smacked his fist to his chest in what Calliope took to be a salute and strode away to do as he was bid. Markus could make the final determination once he was done with Sketti.

“You two!” Calliope called gesturing to the bone studded man and his female companion. Both of them came forward, the black man striding confidently, the woman following with a nervous expression. The black man’s teeth spread into a broad smile. They were stained a reddish brown perhaps from chewing something. She gestured them aboard and took a seat on a barrel. A sail had been rigged to provide some overhead cover and relief from the hot desert sun.

“Are you looking for passage?” she asked bluntly. The blackman nodded.

“I am X’pillae,” the man pronounced, clicking his tongue to make the first syllable of his name. He struck a pose, placing a fist on each hip. Despite the overblow theatrics of it he was an impressive man, though he clearly hadn’t been eating as much as he was used to.

“And you?” Calliope prodded the hereto silent woman.

“Mari,” the woman said, looking down at the ground and blushing. She was pretty in an understated sort of a way, though the spectacles made her look older than she was in truth.

“We aren’t taking on passengers,” Calliope informed them, assuming that they were interested in renting a cabin but X’pillae was shaking his head before she finished.

“No no dragon lady, X’pillae is not cargo, I have skills to sell!” he declared grandiloquently.

“Skills such as…” Calliope prompted.

“Among the Kinombe I was a great man,” he said with the same air of practiced theatrics.

“A speaker with spirits, a walker of dream, a…

“A witch-doctor?” Calliope interrupted impatiently. X’pillae looked a little put out by her interruption but he went on none the less.

“That is not the term the Kinombe would use, but yes, a witch doctor,” he admitted his accent making the last word sound like dock tar.

“Can you heal the sick?” she asked, intrigued in spite of herself. Instead of responding X’pillae drew a long dagger of some sort of polished bone from his waistband and drew it across his chest. Blood sprang from the gash immediately, flowing down his torso in red rivulets. The witch-doctor began to chant and gesticulate, rising to an undulating crescendo. Activity on the ship ceased as sailors watched the bizarre spectacle. WIth a final stamp of his foot X’pillae concluded whatever it was he was doing. To Calliope’s amazement the wound was closed as if it had never been. X’pillae brushed blood away with a contemptuous gesture. There wasn’t a single whiff of magic about it that Calliope could sense and she was impressed in spite of herself.

“We don’t have any spare cabins, but if you are still interested we will pay you as the ships doctor, a junior officers share. It wasn’t a particularly generous offer but X’pillae’s mouth split in a broad grin and he bowed from the waist. Calliope drew a single silver piece from her pocket and tossed it to the man who snatched it from the air and made it vanish with practiced ease. She shifted her gaze to the girl.

“And you? I suppose you are a mermaid?” Calliope asked sardonically. The girl blushed and looked at the deck.

“No Lady Calliope,” she half murmured. Calliope sat up straighter at the use of her name, while she wasn’t exactly keeping it a secret it was more than she expected a random stranger on the dockside to know. The woman’s blush deepened at the reaction her words had. She really was quite pretty now that Calliope had a closer look at her.

“We ah… we have met before,” Mari went on. Calliope raised an eyebrow, she certainly didn’t remember meeting the woman.

“I was a scribe with Captain Vennagas’ delegation, we stopped at Calaverde to water before we sailed south,” Mari added. Calliope nodded, Vennagas had been a madman from somewhere in Eastern Andreed, he had some bizarre notion about about a Fountain of Youth located in the jungles far to the south. It was the sort of nonsense that people with too much time on their hands and too many books sometimes came up with. He had asked Calliope for funds to underwrite his expedition, a request which she had politely declined though she had fed and entertained the Captain. An adventurous air was something which she had tried to cultivate, partly as a distraction for the mob and partly because it gave her access to intelligence she might otherwise have missed.

“Ah, I see, and how is the good Captain?” she asked.

“Dead,” Mari replied promptly, looking up to meet Calliope’s eyes through her thick glasses.

“We were swept far south by a hurricane and shipwrecked, the natives killed most of the survivors but I ran away into the jungle. I would have died too but the Kinombe found me and carried me away to their village.

“She was to be a sacrifice to the Rain God,” X’Pillae added helpfully. Calliope shook her head, not in negation, but because it was impossible to imagine the mousy young woman surviving to tell such a tale.

“I take it you aren't a sailor then? I don’t believe we have need of a scribe on…”

Mari fell to her knees and clasped her hands together.

“Please, please I can keep the books, I know accounts and I can learn anything else I need!” Calliope considered it. The Witch didn’t have a purser at present which might eventually become an issue. At present Sketti handled the pay and food, but he could probably use a hand given all the other duties he handled. Besides the girl really was quite pretty.

“I can pay you as a landsman and you can make space for bedding in the hold,” Calliope decided.

“Sketti will show you the ropes, you can work as his mate and as a lob-lolly boy for Mr X’Pillae,” she concluded. Lob-lolly boys, or girls in this case, were responsible for dragging the wounded from the deck, cleaning wounds, and generally helping out the ships doctor.

As Calliope was speaking a group of armed men mounted on camels made there way down towards the dock. They were dressed in the chainmail of the Sultan’s palace guard and they carried long lances across their saddles. Grimey stood up and looked at the men and then began to clean one of the small swivel guns that were used to repel boarders. The gun technically shouldn’t have been loaded, but judging by the care Grimey was showing with the flint lock, it almost certainly was. Her caution appeared to be needless however because the camel riders stopped twenty meters from the ship and the Sultan’s Vizer rode forward, carrying a roll of parchment with an elaborate seal.

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A booted foot kept the swivel gun from turning on the Vizier, and Grimey gave a disapproving grunt until she saw it was Markus that stood over her. She let go of the gun and gave a guilty smile. He couldn't rightly blame her for being overcautious. The Mumluk guards that escorted the darkly robed man made way in a way that could be considered 'violent.'

Any would-be sailor that stood in their way they shoved or knocked off the side of the dock into the water, uncaring if they could swim. Those that weren't sent into the depths were muscled away or into one another. The Vizier didn't seem to mind or even notice. He simply stepped off his camel with the help of two bare breasted servants who served as footstools.

Markus stepped off the railing and motioned for his crew to sheath and holster their weapons, and to step back. They did so somewhat reluctantly. Halvar lowered his axe, muttering in Norgardian. Markus hadn't been blessed with learning the northern tongue but he guessed it wasn't flattering or welcoming. Sron growled audibly, though when Sketti tossed the rib he had been chewing on down the stairs to the lower decks, Sron headed after it. Sketti winked at Markus.

When Rashem stepped onto the deck, he looked less than impressed on the decor of the ship, or perhaps it was simply the less than reputable crewmen that were present. Markus was luckily still in his silks, though he had his frock coat over it. He wasn't someone who flaunted decadence. He would have taken it off completely, he just hadn't had the time to change yet to be honest. He gave a small bow to Rashem, gesturing for the Vizier to follow him. With a subtle look from Calliope that told her she was to follow, he led him to the Captain's Cabin.

The Mumluk's remained on deck, as still as statues save for their sneers and their very alive looks that spoke of violence to anyone who dared threaten their overlord.

"A quaint vessel." the Vizier said as he entered, gazing around the Cabin. To most it would be an impressive room, but to he it probably looked more rundown than any foyer in the Palace. Markus preferred it that way, truth be told, and he sat down and offered Rashem as a seat as well. Calliope took her position, at Markus' right hand, standing tall and at attention. The Vizier glanced at Calliope's sarong for a brief instance, seemingly amused.

"It's not as grand as the flagship of your sultan's powerful navy," The Captain explained, unable to help himself but reminding the Vizier that the Sultan was the true power here. "But it's kept us alive through many ordeals. Fast, and she hits hard, as does her crew. No doubt you appreciate our skill in that regard?" Letting the question hang, though it was a question that answered itself, and Markus smiled as though everything was in his favor in this small meeting.

"Ware arrogance Captain. It leads to downfall, so the legends say." The Vizer replied back, showing his teeth. "But yes, we have a mission for you. If you would honor us with your service again. You will be reward handsomely once again, of course. All servants of the Sultan are treated generously."

Markus and Calli shared a brief look, before Markus replied. "We are delighted. What is asked of us?"

Rashem flourished his hand to allow his robe sleeve to slide down his meaty arm, and he produced a scroll with an unbroken seal, slicing through it immediately and unrolling the edict. To the pirate's surprise, when he laid it upon the desk, it was a map, not a message. A very accurate likeness of the Arad Luin's coastline, with much of the rock landmarks and islands that dotted the inner sea near the coast. "We believe we have found the place where the vile Bloodaxes make berth, Hayashim curse them. After your fight with them, and our navy having harrased them continuously, they are far weaker than they have been in a decade."

He placed his finger upon one of the inlets of a group of islands not eighty leagues to the northwest, the trail between here and there among the ubiquitously placed islands made more than a little sense to Markus on why they believed the Bloodaxes resided there. It seemed a perfect spot to both hide and defend, with two small islands at their flanks and rocks surrounding all ways but one to enter. "You are tasked with sailing there and bringing back the head of their leader, Abis'Lakar. A ferocious corsair, known for his taste in slaves."

"It is good you have no pretty women aboard, else he would perform terrible acts upon them." He continued, and then added as a theatrical afterthought. "Other than the lady Calliope, of course." Grinning widely, one could see some of his teeth were made of ivory, and others of gold. "Forgive me, her mannerisms are so unlike those of a woman in our lands. Most are much more demure and obedient."

Calliope smiled. "Perhaps you are simply used to women who are enforced to your company." she said. "You will find that most are unlike how you experience them. It's only natural for you. A man of your station would no doubt be popular with people of my gender even if he is lacking in all things a formidable man could offer." Her words were dipped in sugar despite the actual topic of her statements, and Markus placed a hand over his mouth to hide his chuckle.

The Vizier simmered, but as he opened his mouth, Markus cut him off. "We accept this gracious offer from you and your sultan, and thank you for your no doubt faithful recommendation, your excellence. Would you care for any refreshments before your journey to the Palace?" Calli's feigned smile would had enough poison to fill any goblet. The Vizier declined. "Thank you, but I have many tasks to finish. A Sultanate requires a keen mind. I will leave lesser, more singular matters to you and your witch. Good day."

As he stepped out of the room, Markus had a closed mouth smile. Without the prince or the sultan, he supposed things could get rather heated with an upjumped cutthroat of a man who suddenly had immense power. But no matter. Their ship was all but repairs, and they had a healer and a woman who was no doubt being given a crash course in handling Sketti's brash personality at this very moment. "I constantly find myself wondering if the Gold is worth dealing with the Sultanate." he said to Calli, and he leaned back in his chair to consider. "Any thoughts?"
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Calliope shot a final glance at the retreating Vizier. The man had not been best pleased to see Achmed return, but knowing what she knew of the prince she supposed she ought not hold that against him. The Vizier was playing at something, but whatever it was she didn’t have enough information to understand.

“I notice he didn’t commit any of Dalib Sahara’s glorious navy,” she commented. Markus chuckled at the comment. Arad Lind was not renowned for its sea power. The galleys that pirates and powers of the Arads used were ideally suited to the rocky coast and its fickle wind, but they couldn’t mount the kind of heavy guns nor carry the amount of canvas that fleets from Andred and Vrettonia could boast. Timber too was a problem, with few native trees, shipwrights worked on a single piece build rather than laying down frames and strakes. While this was a more efficient use of timber, it limited the total size of any given hull. Finally, Arad society did not lend itself to the kind of technical specialization that the Northern Kingdoms enjoyed. Pirates like the Bloodaxes could be a danger, particularly if they had numbers, surprise and magic on their side, but ship for ship a square rigged northern vessel like the Weather Witch was far superior. Unfortunately, tight seas, like those around their island base, were the perfect place for the galleys strengths to shine.

“It probably is more trouble than it’s worth,” Calliope agreed.

“But we are going to need more than one ship if we are planning to capture the dowry when it sets sail. Pirates and privateers aren’t going to follow you if you don’t have a reputation, and that means that you, we, need to win some victories. Wiping out the Bloodaxes would be a good start.”

Calliope unstoppered a bottle of wine and took a swig from the neck before sitting down beside the Captain.

“They have more ships than us, we need to find a way to neutralize that advantage.” She stared at the map the islands were the real problem, so long as they could use them for cover and concealment, it would be a struggle. If only she could sink the islands into the sea. A sudden thought occured to her and she tapped the largest of the islands, though not the one the base itself was located on, with a fingernail.

“Could we land some men here at night?” she asked. Calliope wasn’t a naval strategist as such, but she was confident that Markus could sharpen the idea.

“If we could lug a gun up onto those heights, we might be able to force them out from between the islands.”

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Markus took the bottle of rum and downed a fair portion of it in a single wig, placing it on the table as if he had taken a casual sip. The man placed a hand on his chin, his free hand sliding up to where Calliope had indicated. It was less than two miles from the other island that mirrored the larger one. With proper elevation it could fire right into any ship escaping.

"That isn't a bad idea." he reasoned, his mind going over the guns in the ship and their poundage. With the long nine they might be able to fire accurately enough to frighten any escape plan the Bloodaxes might have. "The problem isn't landing men there. As long as we do it just after twilight and with the wind at our backs we should be able to have a few scale. The problem is getting the guns themselves up there. The terrain's perfect for a vantage point but gaining ground is another issue."

"I could perhaps help in that endeavor." Calli said, waving about her hand for a moment as an apple that had been on the counter suddenly floated up to hover above her palm, seemingly on its own accord. Markus knew enough about magic to know it would be far harder than what she was suggesting, and such a heavy item would need more than a wave of the hand. But it was certainly going to help as well.

His wink was all the answer she needed to her offer, and Markus took another drink, before sliding it her way. "Whatever happens, it can't be more dangerous than what we went through the other day." he told her, giving a frustrated, almost comical look. She chortled and continued to drink. It had been a long night, they needed a drink. "Only we can have a difficult night in a palace built for opulence and wealth." she replied.

As she spoke, the Captain took his silk shirt off and replaced it with the frock coat he had on the back of the chair, preferring his usual, more rustic apparel as they spoke strategy. "This is a bit off topic," he began, slipping his strong arm into one of the sleeves. "But after we finish this job, milk the Sultan for what he's worth. We're to move northward and ravage who we can until we can plunder the dowry ship."

She nodded as he continued. "Once that is done, and we have the means to burn Calaverde to the ground. Where do you plan on going next? After Sebastian is hung by his balls in the city square?" It was obviously a rhetorical question. "I'm thinking we go north through hammer pass, in the Sundered Sea." Referring to the shallow, recently made sea not centuries old. Stories say two Gods battled and cracked the very earth, creating a sea during the last invasion of Demons upon the realm.

"We won't exactly want for Gold. But there's plenty of real estate there." he said, smirking. Plenty of business opportunities to go their way.
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Calliope finished her wine and refilled the glass, pouring over chart on the table. Her finger traced the line up through the Sundered Sea. It was a good plan, the area was rich in coastal trade and a good place to make a name for oneself. They would need allies, both to capture the fleet and to attack Calaverde and no man would sail with someone who he didn't know, no man worth his salt in any case.

“Well I suppose we can burn that ship when we get to it,” she said, considering all the work that lay ahead of them She mistrusted the Arad’s and their schemes but there seemed no point in turning away gold while it was to be had. They knew the Bloodaxes were weakened from the loss of their mages, even if they had more in their lair. In the back of her mind Calliope was revisiting her old schemes to bring Arad privateers under her banner, certainly being part of the raid that destroyed a notorious pirate band would be good for her reputation.

Above them the deck creaked and rang with footsteps as the crew bought supplies and powder aboard. There were spirits too though Sketti had complained that rum couldn’t be found here. The booze of choice was a type of palm wine that smelled sharp enough to tickle the sinuses. Calliope didn’t supposed the crew would mind, booze was booze afterall

“What tide will be best to set sail on?” she asked eagerly.

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She was eager; excited even. That was good. After their hard fought battles and lack of real rest the last few weeks, they needed some extra energy. If they pulled this off, it would get them something they never had since they started this crew... A means to launch a fleet against Calaverde. Calliope might be the one directly tied to the place, but Markus could smell the blood and smokepowder already, and the spoils that came after.

"We sail with the morning tide." He told her. "Now get some sleep, that's an order."




A day out at sea, and Markus could still see vultures in the distance flying overhead. Circling as ominously as fate. He wondered if they learned to follow the trail of the BloodAxe Corsairs, or if they simply smelled death in the air. He couldn't tell. At this moment the Weathered Witch had weighed anchor near one of the mountainous islands, using the vast rock formations as cover as they awaited nightfall. The destruction that the Weathered Witch had caused the fleet days ago had kept them from sparing any ships for patrols, likely as not. It was a gamble Markus took, and it had paid off, it seemed.

Just as the sun was reaching the horizon line, Markus called for all hands to begin moving. Ropes were thrown and sheared and planks were hauled to the aft deck, Halvar giving a deep bass, hooting Norgardian cry as he and Sketti hauled the barrels and cannon balls, and hoisted the cannons onto the ingeniously designed pulleys Sketti had made not days ago, using Sron and his great strength to aid in that endeavor.

Markus desperately wanted to be the one to scale the mountainside and reach the top. He could almost see the wind whipping through his hair as he unsheathed his sword and told his men where to place the cannons. But he had to oversee down here, at least until the first cannon was on its way up. Calliope had persuaded him of that, so Jax the Lookout had scaled the walls. He was strong and light, his bare back glistening in the setting sun as he crested the mountain, leaping from one precipice to another, as if he was doing a merry dance.

Markus took his jacket off and gave both it and his hat to young Jim, who scurried off below decks, glancing at Calliope subtly as he ran. Above them, Jax had made it to the top, placing the rope he had been given around his arm, hooking it through a weighted grapple. Letting some of the rope swing out of his grasp to give better leverage, he spun the grapple in a whirl before sending it soaring onto the deck of the ship. Quickly it was hooked and aligned with the pulley.

Markus turned to the beautiful Witch and gave her a nod, indicating Calli to use her magic to help the Cannon ascend to the closest cliff edge. Another grapple was tossed, and Markus grabbed it once it hit the ship, placing it on the railing and using it to climb himself up the length of the rope, making his way up the mountain. Calliope would be able to use it once the Cannons were in place at the top.
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Levitation was a difficult spell to employ at the best of times. Unlike most spells that were complete once incanted a levitation spell had to be maintained for as long as you wanted the object in question to float. Calliope’s eyes followed the snaking rope that fell from above. The crew had climbed to the firing position and lowered it down. It was a thick hawser cable, braided together until it split five feet above the cannon, a noose like knot encircling the breech and the muzzle. She climbed onto the cannon and sat down upon the cold metal clearing her mind.

“Haul!” she yelled, and the rope went taught. The words of the spell slid off her tongue like rain dancing into a still pool, her mind focused taking in every detail of the cannon visualizing it floating upon a gentle zephyr of magical energy. The cannon began to rise as its weight decreased. Even for the mighiest wizard lifting several hundred pounds of metal hundred of feet in the air would have been nearly impossible, but she was able to make just light enough that the muscle power of the crew could do the job. The cannon rose steadily. Calliope not only had to keep her concentration but she also had to kick out with her feet, fending the cannon away from the cliffside as she rose.

“I heard, I heard an old man say… haul!...” the shanty rumbled as the men hauled at the ropes. Calliope looked out behind her has she rose. The sea was calm and the wind low, which was a mercy because keeping staton in high waters would have been all but impossible. This island was one of the outer barrier islands that protected the Bloodaxe harbor, to the left and right she could see the green shrubby forest that covered the front of the island, catching enough water from rains and sea spray which filtered through the rock to counteract even the desert winds which blew in of Arad Lind. Fortunately the rocky spire was high enough that they should have a clear line of sight from the peak.

By the time she neared the top Calliope was sweating and shaking from the effort of maintaining the spell. It was longer than she had ever tried to hold an incantation before but there was no choice now, the sudden failure of the spell at best would lead to her plunging back down the cliff as the men tried desperately to slow the rope, at worst the shock of a hundred extra pounds that hadn’t been there a moment before would part the rope and she would fall to her death. Despite the danger she felt exhilarated to be so high, the urge to spread her wings and … Suddenly there were hands reaching down to grip the cannon and swing it onto the top of the peak. She held the spell until they settled the long barrel into the wooden gun carriage and then released the spell. The wood creaked as the gun settled and she let out a long breath.

The view from the top of the island was spectacular. The broad bay below had been formed from the remains of an ancient volcano, each of the barrier islands a fragment of the caldera wall that the sea had battered its way through to form the four channels that led into the calm lagoon below. The Arad shore was green where water from a spring spilled down from a line of rocky hills to a broad beach. A makeshift pier ran out into the ocean where three ships, the long blood axe galleys, swung at anchor. A fourth was run up on the beach, smoke coiling from underneath it where breening fires were being set to burn away seaweed and barnacles that ships developed during long service. The copper plated bottoms of modern ships made the chore less frequent, but even the greatest warships occasionally needed to remove the trails of material that would otherwise slow their speed through the water. A fifth ship was winding its way through one of the channels. This was no galley or pirate vessel but a square rigged brig of northern design. Judging by the fact that the pirates did not seem agitated by its arrival, it must have been a trading partner. Markus was already studying it through his brass telescope. It made sense that the pirates sold what they didn’t use themselves, though Calliope hadn’t imagined that would be a factor in their raid. The extra guns and men might be a problem if the brig were inclined to fight, the Weather Witch’s main advantage was that she could out run the galleys in anything like a wind, with another square rigger dogging her, that might be a problem.
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The wind whipping, his fringe moving slightly before his eyes, Markus never lost focus on the western ship. Behind him, the men began to push the cannons up the small rocky paths they had attempted to clear, using carefully tied and well placed ropes and leverage to help guide them up into position. So far there was no activity save the western ship lazily guiding through the channels. Markus made a small grunt. "That's odd." he said, and he handed Calliope the brass telescope.

Calliope gave him a raised eyebrow at his statement, but took the telescope as she was bid.

The ship was a cog, one of the less expensive transport options for merchants and traders to haul cargo and goods across the Sea of Swords. It was slower than almost any other ship save a dingy (though of course it was still far faster than land travel), but it could hold quite a good bit of cargo. The biggest problem with Cogs were that they were only sea worthy to a limited capacity. A cog crossing the entirety of the Sea of Swords was a dangerous proposition, and even if it could be done, it was almost never attempted. Yet here was a cog of northern make, somehow right by the Arad Luin coast. It didn't seem right. He voiced his suspicions aloud to her as she looked.

Behind them, Halvar's roar at the deckhands and the grunts of the work showed they were still at it, though likely making good progress. Markus double checked the trajectory and distance between here and just past the cog, and judged this was as fine a spot as any to place the guns. They were well within range, and their 12 pounders from this height would devastate all but the largest flagships. That and no one would have a good vantage point to fire back at them.

There was something else that tugged at Markus' mind, however. Something off... Some lost detail that made him uneasy, but he couldn't put his finger on it. It was this lost detail that Calliope saw through the telescope as the image came into focus. The Cog seemed ordinary enough, with all the furnishings one would expect. The white sails covered most of the deck, keeping much of the crew concealed. But it wasn't the ship or the sails that she noticed, but the waves beneath the Cog.

There were no ripples from the ship's wake.

Swiftly, Calliope cast her magesight, and the entire ship lit up brighter than the sun. The beautiful sorceress nearly dropped the telescope in shock. "Illusion!" she all but screamed, realizing their folly a fraction too late. One of the men's grunts from behind sounded suspiciously painful, and as Markus felt his stomach sink when he opened up his own magesight at the ship, Calliope turned in time to see one of the men near the edge of the drop had been skewered with a falchion, and had been pulled off to fall to his death by a Corsair that had replaced him.

Hard, ragged men of the Blood Axes pulled themselves over the lip of the crevice, having hauled themselves up on hooks silently over the jagged mountainside, behind an outcropping of rocks. "Avast! To arms!" Markus called, unsheathing his sword in a fierce motion and casting a fireball at the nearest group of Blood Axes, incinerating the front two and sending the other two screaming to their deaths. The fire display caught his men's attention, and Halvar and the rest took up what arms they had, though they hadn't expected an engagement and only had belt knives.

The melee was brutal but short, with the new crew members being mostly deckhands and unused to combat. Halvar tossed a few Corsairs over the edge and kept a trio of wicked looking pirates at bay with a waving knife. The center man without a left arm, but the way his right arm coiled and slid through the air with his scimitar showed he was perhaps the deadliest one, grinning terribly. Markus whirled, ducking and dodging and riposting, slaying a striking brown skinned pirate with a well timed thrust. Not five seconds had passed before Calliope felt an immense shock from behind her head. The thick bun of hair on her head likely cushioning the blow just enough to keep her skull from cracking open.

The pirates had surrounded them, the leanest and most wiry of them having climbed from the steeper flank of their position. Without being able to pause and regain her sense, she was grabbed from behind, her hair yanked back and a knife to her throat. She could feel cold steel nipping at her skin, parting it teasingly.

"Drop thay wehpawns!" a voice cried by her ear. The way the world spun and her head ached, it was entirely too loud. She felt his grip on her tighten, and the knife drew blood. "Drop an' we spahe your crew! Refuse and die!!!" There was just enough competence in his crazed voice to beggar some kind of truth, and after only hesitating twice, Markus obliged, his sword clanging to the stone of the mountain. The rest of the surviving men followed suit, and before Calliope's world went black, she would see someone striking Markus from behind with the hilt of their sword.


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Hours later...


Her rump was nearly as sore as her head. The flagstones beneath her, while well carved, had a sandpaper-like texture that chafed even through her trousers. The room was dim, but still somehow too bright for her eyes. The only source of light was down the left hall; a single flame flickering in the distance, mocking her with its dancing. Next, she could feel her hands were pins and needles and stretched above her head. Chains tightly bound upon them and keeping them up.

But the truly horrifying feeling, was when she tried to summon her magics. The telltale sign of her senses awakening, the tingling and the euphoria of the magic in the air...gone. It was as if she had been entirely severed from the weave of magic in the universe, and all now had less hope. One who used magic often felt its presence like a second skin, and without it, it was hard to feel the taste of life for a short while. Or so the stories say.

An open door down the hall, as well as a myriad of footsteps announced the arrival of the multitude of scarred men that came to see their latest and most prized catch. At the fore was a large man, with proud shoulders and a gnarled, albeit charming nose. A red cloak cloth wrapped around his head to form a kufiya, and at his waist was a massive shamshir.

"The sorceress...awake I see." he said in broken northern. His eyes drifted up to her arms, and a broad grin stretched across his face. "Your cufflinks work I see. Not that I am surprised. They were made to cage the Djinn. You will find no spark of your witchery here."

The man turned to a shorter, more portly servant in a similar headdress, though he wore tan robes befitting of a master servant or chamberlain.

"Place her in the dancer garb, and bring her to my throne room." he told him. "Make sure she isn't roughed up too much. I like them pretty."
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Calliope ground her teeth as she tried to incant a spell. As her captor had stated she couldn’t summon up so much as a spark of magic. It was as though a leaden blanket had been draped over her mystical senses. Grinning the smaller man stepped towards her pigish eyes hungry. Calliope swung her body upwards, ignoring the pain in her wrist as she wrapped her legs around the neck of the surprised servant. With a scream of hatred she wrenched her legs in alternate directions. There was a strangled cry and an ugly crack and then the unfortunate chamberlin slumped to the ground.
“Ah,” her surviving captor observed and then spoke an arcane word. Pain lanced from her wrists up into her body and darkness enveloped her.

Calliope found herself in the gray nothingness in which her spell craft sometimes transported her. At some level she was aware that she was unconscious and suspended from her arcane shackles. A massive presence moved in the dark, a shadow against the mist.

“Little Wyrm,” a voice like mountains grating together sounded in her mind.

“Who are you?” she demanded, turning on the spot in a vain attempt to locate the speaker.

“Have you no inkling little Wyrm?” the voice asked in amusement.

“The dragon,” she responded, speaking on instinct rather than on logic. She had fragments of memory, swooping down like lightning from the skies to tear the mage on the deck of the enemy ship to shreds in her talons.

“Good…” the voice rumbled, still circling her. The massive presence was obvious even to her muffled senses.

“What is this place?” she asked.

“The wrong question,” the voice responded. Calliope considered it, forcing herself to be calm and rational.

“Why have you bought me here?” she asked, and was rewarded with an immediate sense of amused approval.

“Better, I have bought you here to ask you a question. You are at a turning point in what you humans would call your destiny,” the voice rumbled.

“One fork leads to slavery for a time, perhaps for many years but when you are finally free you will find some measure of peace. The other is bathed in dark magic and ruin, but your desires can be yours.”

“That doesn't sound like much of a choice,” she admitted. A terrible barrage of images burst through her mind, burning ships, drowning men, cities in flames, black wings wheeling over head.

“Perhaps not, but if you choose to feed your hunger now it will never be sated,” the voice purred. Calliope folded her arms beneath her breasts definitely.

“You knew what I would choose when you bought me here,” she declared. There was a hollow booming chuckle.

“Perhaps Little Wyrm, but mortals have surprised me before. All you need do to attain what you desire is ask for my help.”

“Very well, help me,” Calliope asked the misty darkness.

“Then our bargain is sealed,” the voice rumbled.

“Our kind is patient, return now and await your killer from the seas…”

Calliope started awake. Two servants were dragging her by the arms, and she had been changed into a dancing costume of black diapponus lace. Her hair had been pinned back in Arad Lund fashion and she could feel make up on her face, dark charcoal eyeliner. She glanced down to where her dragon necklace should have been, to her shock, she saw that it was gone, replaced by an intricate dragon tattoo the spread over her left breast, her collar bone forming the ridge of its serpentine eye. Somewhere in the back of her mind she heard an empty booming chuckle.
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Hours later
Markus had found himself languishing elsewhere, though in a similarly chained way as Calliope, and likely the rest of the crew. As it stood, he had no idea where anyone else was. The fiends had knocked him out promptly, realizing keeping him conscious was far too dangerous with most of his crew still alive to follow his orders, so they decided not to risk it. Now, chained and ragged, he could barely see the outlines of the room he was in, the only light a small, soft glow beneath the door to his particularly dungeon cell. He didn't need his eyes to know this room was rank and dirty.

The door suddenly opening blurred his vision, but he refused to look away. He'd probably received a small concussion from the blow to the head, which was just the cherry on top of this entire scenario. Inside stepped an impressively built man, though his face was piggish and barbaric, with a large yet fuzz thin mustache drooping from his upper lip. His red sash tied around his belt was the only thing he was clad in above the waist, as he wore no shirt and only a hint of studded gold across his scarred body. He was flanked by two burly corsairs.

"So, you are the Captain, yes?" he asked him. "No?"

"I am." Markus said. He didn't exactly feel cooperative, but it wasn't exactly a secret either, so why not acknowledge it? The man grinned, showing filed, pointed canines.

"I am Mahal-Sabim, the King of the Blood Axe, and you've given me no end of trouble." The brute said. "Even acquiring your ship, five of mine are destroyed. Was it the woman that brought the great shadow from the sky? No matter, even before that, you had destroyed two of my ships and that cannot be allowed to go unpunished. If only you had come to me earlier, you might have been inducted into our ranks. But as it stands, I must gouge out your eyes and feed them to the birds, before I take your heart."

"I would have expected something more creative." Markus said dryly, and he received a kick to the chin for speaking out, driving all thoughts from his head for a moment as he tried to collect his thoughts, and he made sure he hadn't bitten his tongue off. The man continued. "Your crew is alive, but only so they can watch you die from below. Your death will be our entertainment. And the woman? I will keep her for my own pleasures."

Good luck, Markus thought. Even if everything he said came true, Calliope would find a way to cut this one's neck at some point. "When are you sentencing me? Tomorrow?" he asked.

"Now," Mahal said.

"If I'm dying now, answer me this-... How did you know we were waiting for you?"

"Ah, a mystery eh? The Vizier is my friend in high places, you might say. It seemed you meddled too much in both mine and his affairs. Too bad for you. Now, take him" he ordered his two corsairs, and they grinned nastily as they waded past their leader, hands reaching out to unlock his chains and drag him off.

"Come on, pretty man." One said, mockingly.
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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.

The God’s Laws I did forbid...

“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.

And most wickedly I did…

“I look forward to sampling you futher..”

As I sailed…

“After we take care of your Captain…”

As I sailed.

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!”

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His bare chest rose and fell, sweat beading off of his suntanned skin as he worked. Markus' eyes were closed, better to keep himself focused solely on the task at hand. Twisting his left wrist as fare as he dared, he dug the small tool of shrapnel he had procured with his feet into the right manacle, but after countless minutes of attempting to unlock the manacles, he realized the tool was too wide and burly. Instead he began to poke and prod at the old stone that had the steel locks in them, hoping to the Gods the stone had been eroded from constant use and erosion of the constant moisture over the years.

He'd lost feeling in his hands and arms hours ago, and it was difficult to tell if he was damaging his bones or muscles by the strength he put into chipping away the stone and yanking, but luckily they weren't privvy to his spellcasting ability and it gave him some aid in his efforts, shielding his skin from the worst parts of the exertion to save his sword hand for later, but it had been so long before he had seen any progress that he believed he wasn't making any.

A crank and a latch being open betrayed someone's entrance into his small room, and he dropped the piece of shrapnel to the floor and cleared his throat loudly to hide the cling-a-ding of the steel. A guard in casual corsair garb with a smell that surpassed Markus' expectations entered and closed the door behind him. Inside his sweaty palms was a meal of what Markus could only describe as lard with a hint of gruel. Truth be told, he had a small feeling of nostalgia for the rancid slop. He remembered when he lived on it for years as a penniless orphan on the streets of Kaerdwyn.

The pirate placed the tray at Markus' feet, and the Swordmage looked between the guard and the slop. "How am I supposed to eat that?" He asked, wiggling his hands for emphasis. As he did, he briefly felt a small bit of give on his right manacle, and it took all of his willpower to keep himself from showing his dawning surprise. The man chuckled wickedly. He opened his mouth to reveal three teeth made of ivory, with his two canines carved of sharpened brass. Evilly he leaned forward to lower his face with the Captain, and he said. "Prisoners who are truly starving find ways to get it."

Markus hadn't even listened, his eyes suddenly opening wide and his bare chest heaving as he mustered all of his strength in one sudden lurch forward. In an instant, his right manacle was free and dangling along the chain of his left, still stuck locked into the stone. Just as the seriousness of what was happening began to dawn on the corsair, Markus kicked out and sent the man onto the floor, his groin now covered in slop. Markus pulled again, standing to his feet and using all of his weight to pull. A loud snap echoed across the stone when his manacles tore out of the ruined stone, and he stumbled ungracefully over the fallen Corsair.

Both pirates did their best to get to their feet, looking drunk and dazed but moving swifter by the second. Unfortunately Markus' was a bit slower having fallen second, and the man stepped above him and stabbed downward with a wicked knife. The spellsword used his chains to redirect the thrust, and he curled his left leg behind the Corsair's and kicked with his right, causing the terrifying pirate to stumble and hit the back of the wall. Shifting his weight, Markus lifted his legs in the air and used the momentum to shoot to his feet with what little acrobatic ability he had, and lunged at the man before he could recover. Wrapping his rusted chains around the Corsair's neck, he twisted his wrists and pulled so hard he began to bleed, the blood from his arms slicking the inside of his freed manacles.

When the thrashing ended, Markus leaned down to catch his breath and strategize, rubbing his arms and hands to get the pins and needles back into his realm of feeling. "Think, think damn you," he whispered to himself. He knew they were going to execute him anyway in a big show. Why else would they keep a Captain alive? Killing one of their guards likely wouldn't phase them overmuch. But he also knew he needed to get out of these chains, and his eyes followed the sunlight from the barred window onto the floor where the small steel tool was...

He scrambled for it with a renewed energy and began to attempt to pick the lock on his cuffs, but realized it was still too wide. He cursed himself for a fool, before looking at the deadman laying on the floor. He realigned the tool in his hand from holding it like a tool to a small knife, and growling he crawled over to the dead man who notably had no keys save the one leading into the cell, and he pulled the corpse to the dark edge of the room, yanking over a left over, piss covered cloak on the body. He pulled the arm out from under the blanket and began his bloody work.

He stabbed between the bones in the radius and ulna, parting them with three shoves until he could fit his fingers inside. He pushed into the muscle tendons and began to pull with all of his strength, splitting the arm and two and leaving the wrist ruined. He cut the rest of the wrist off with a few more cuts and slices, bones pulling apart from ligaments and cracking like a chicken breast. The blood covered the ground as he worked his way up to the fingers, tearing the skin off of each until he found a bone that could fit in the lock on his manacles. Three fingers in, he found a winner.

He furiously placed the forefinger bone in the locks, hearing footsteps outside that made his heart thunder in his chest. Another clink, and suddenly he felt a small latch unwinding and the manacle opened. The footseps within the hall mercifully kept going, and he breathed easier. Quickly, he wiped the blood off of his extremities as best he could on the piss covered cloak, and then crawled back to where he had been, placing everything seemingly in place again, awaiting whoever would take him next.

A few hours passed, and he nearly fell asleep when the door opened again. Alert, he looked up and saw three guards this time, all luckily looking at him and the spilled food, figuring he had tried to maneuver it to his mouth and failing. The middle one grinned, and stepped forward to unlatch his cuffs from the wall, pulling him up awkwardly rough. "Come on, Prince of Pirates." He mocked, the Blood Axe men using that term as a jest at Markus' expanse. He might use it himself if he made it out alive.

Through the dripping stone corridors of the mountain fortress, the men shoved Markus along, edging him forward by the tips of their Scimitars until he made it to the vast central chamber, or more precisely, the throneroom that overlooked the chamber. A hundred roaring sea brigands were below, and at their front was the chained crew of the Weathered Witch, on their knees and prostrated, swords at their necks.

"Took you louts long enough. Bring him here," the Chief said, eyes filled with dreadful glee. Markus was shoved forward toward the center of the chamber, now flanked by two of the largest pirates as Mahal-Sabim looked at him with a terrible grin. "So, Prince of Pirates eh?" He asked, and without warning he punched Markus in the stomach. The Captain fell to a knee, not expecting such strength, but not unused to it either. Slowly, he got to his feet without being pulled up.

"Is this who you lot follow!?" He called into the cavern, arms wide. It was clear he was speaking to his crew though the words were meant for those of the Weathered Witch. Cries of "No!" rose like the tide. Mahal called again. "Who do you follow!?" He roared, and they raised their weaponry in fierce devotion. "Mahal Sabim!"

The uproarious display continued, but Markus with his head down began to hum. Among the jeers and cheers, no one could hear him at first. Calliope, chained to the side of Mahal, though only one not shouting began to hear the tune, and soon the words of a song. It was a shanty Markus had not sung in years.

A song to sing for beggars, a song to sing for saints,
A song to sing for wealthy men all wrapped and bound in chains.
Our treasure's not in gold, or in our piety.
Our wealth is in an answered call, the longing of the sea.


Markus lifted his head until he stood like a proud stallion, dark hair matted and long. His whispers became louder, until he could be heard by Mahal and his closest guards. A few looked between each other, and Mahal punched him again for interrupting, but Markus merely stood tall again and continued, eyes with the promise of death in them.

Stormy oceans carry us to lands we've never known,
To mysteries and buried secrets from the tales of old.
So hoist the sail and raise the flag, we do not stop for night.
We'll ride the wild winds and waves until the morning's light!

In smuggler's caves and tavern halls, we live by no man's rules.
We fly the colors of the living, free and proud and true!
We set out on the ocean blue to escape tyranny.
We'll keep our merry hearts alive so long we roam the sea!


As soon as his song ended, the others realized he'd undone his manacles. He reached down and yanked the left guard's basilard out of his belt, stabbing downward as if to sheathe it again, only the blade went into the man's upper leg. He howled as Markus cut open the throat of his fellow in a visceral spray of blood. He didn't give any warning or word, and tossed the basilard to Calliope as he reached for the Corsair's cutlass, barely able to meet the blade of Mahal in time to save his life. The sparks flew between the two Captains as they grimaced, locked in combat.
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Calliope caught the dagger as the camp erupted into chaos. She lunged towards one of the two guards holding her chains but the other reacted instinctively and jerked her off her feet. She tumbled to the ground the collar biting into her neck as the other guard pulled his own end taut. Calliope pivoted and flicked her wrist, the first guard screamed and clutched at the hilt of the dagger suddenly protruding from his right eye, dropping the chain. The second guard jerked her towards him but she turned and leaped allowing the momentum to carry her towards her captor, he realized his peril and grabbed for his sword a moment before she hit him in the chest with both feet sending them both tumbling down the stone tiers between the legs of the two struggling captains and plunging to the floor of the amphitheater below. The pirate holding her chain hit first with a crack, his body breaking her fall. She rolled to her feet pulling the sword free of the man's belt and thrusting it into his belly, though judging by his lack of reaction the ten foot fall had broken his neck.

She stood for a moment with her back to the stone wall. Above her she could hear Markus and Mahal exchanging furious blows, the acoustics of the ancient structure making it sound like battalion at war rather than just two men. Blood Axe pirates shouted in anger and confusion, their instincts dulled by drink and uncertainty.

“Lass look out,” Sketti roared and Calliope pivoted in time to avoid being disemboweled by a pirate with skin the color of polished mahogany, artlessly she hacked into his back dropping him screaming and twitching to the ground. She turned and tossed the bloody sword to the Dwarf who snatched it out of the air and howled a dwarven war cry at his staff wielding tormentors. The rest of the crew were on their feet also Haldvar throttling a distracted guard while one of the others pulled his sword free and hacked inexpertly at the chains that held them together. Calliope took a step towards them but a pair of Blood Axes steeped into her path, both brandishing rusty spears. Calliope's hands grabbed the long chains still attached to her brass collar and lashed out with the iron links like the tentacles of a cuttlefish. Instinctively the pirates raised their weapons to block and, as the chains wrapped the hafts of the weapons she jerked them out of their wielders hands. One of the pirates opened his mouth to scream but a seconds slash of the chain smashed his face into ruin spraying blood and teeth as he staggered back. The second chain hit the second pirate but this one was quicker than the first, catching the punishing stroke on his forearm and ripping Calliope towards him. She kept her feet out of desperation and struck hard at the pirate as he pulled her close, the flat of her hand crushing the cartilage in his throat with a pop that was audible even over the unfolding battle.

Sketti had reached the crew and was cutting them free, using the narrowing effect of the stone benches to buy time while the crew of the Weather Witch freed themselves. To Calliope’s amazement she saw Jim snatch up a lose flagstone and hurl it at an onrushing pirate braining him and dropping him to the ground with grey matter oozing from his ear. Calliope grabbed at the collar and tried to pull it free, but there was no obvious method of opening it, perhaps no method outside of magic. Flecks of razored stone grazed her arm and she yelped in pain as a Blood Axe musket ball missed her by inches. She turned and ducked into one of the entrance tunnels to avoid a second musket blast that struck sparks from the stone a few feet from where she had just been standing. Fortunately for her and her crew firearms were much less common in Arad Lind than they were in the northern kingdoms as a massed volley of shot might have ended the fracas before it began. Desperately she tugged at her wrist-cuffs, but the ensorcelled brass was even more securely fastened than the collar.

A blast of arcane fire washed over the doorway she was hiding within, setting fire to the passion fruit vines that were working to demolish the ancient stone work. Yelping in fear and swatting at cinders she ducked back into the tunnel, looking out to see a Blood Axe mage striding across the sand towards her. Lacking any obvious way to fight she raced back into the tunnel, heading down underground into the darkness. She emerged into what must have once been a holding cell for combatants or a storage room for props, it was difficult to tell in the darkness that filled the unlit subterranean space. Desperately she cast about for a means of escape but the only obvious exit was a collapsed tunnel filled with tons of fallen masonry and dirt.

“So you are the sea bitch that killed my brother on the Al-Hakim,” a sneering voice called from the tunnel.

“Mahal wouldn’t let me cut out your tongue when he was going to keep you as his slave girl, but killed while trying to escape… a different matter.” Judging from his voice he was in the tunnel doorway now, blocking any possible escape. Desperately she reached for her magic but, as before, found nothing.

Now is the time little drake. The voice thought/spoke in her mind. She felt the tattoo pulse with heat and then felt the heat sliding down her wrists into the cuffs. The metal grew hot against flesh, so hot that she couldn’t believe she wasn’t burning. She wanted to scream in agony but something inside her stopped the action. Suddenly she realized that the bracelets might be meant to hold a djinn, but only one djinn. Her eyes grew wide and her mouth opened in a primal snarl as she felt her flesh ripple.

The Blood Axe wizard stepped around the corner and raised his hands, a curtain of spellfire ripping from his fingertips to incinerate the foreign witch. The fire splashed across something black and glistening for a moment before the shock of what he was seeing caused his concentration to waver and the spell crumbled. The fading spell lingered just long enough to illuminate a pair of serpentine eyes the size of pomegranates and the double row of white finger long fangs that were the last thing he ever saw.
Hidden 4 yrs ago Post by POOHEAD189
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Meanwhile above the clamor of the battle, Markus and Mahal viciously dueled above the precipice. The Chief of the Blood Axes swiping his blade before him, causing the Weather Witches captain to thrust himself back out of the blade's range, striking his Cutlass with his own from behind, the blade's momentum pinning it against the wooden railing. Markus stepped forward and stuck the foreleg of Mahal with his heel merely seconds before Mahal punched Markus in the face.

Gods the man was powerful. One punch had Markus' head spinning. He snarled and caught himself before he stumbled, barely deflecting the next stab by thrusting his blade from up under the Chief's sword to drive it skyward, locking the blades for a moment. Markus pressed his free hand against the blade in a half-swording manuever and pushed them against Mahal's shoulder, yanking his sword down to make a draw-cut. Blood spurted as he hit a nerve near the pectoral, splashing Markus in the eye and blinding him temporarily. Mahal cried out in a way he would never admit to with his crew memebers, and he headbutted Markus, striking his sword hand as he yanked his own sword away. It was with the flat of his blade, but it managed to disarm the Captain and send him reeling.

On instinct, Markus flung himself on the ground to dodge the follow up attack he knew was coming. Mostly blinded and without a sword, he knew he was in trouble.

Realistically, Markus knew he was the better swordsman. But he was unused to the Cutlass, and he could barely feel the presence of his Backsword somewhere below. Wiping his forearm against his eyes did a bit to help his vision, but not by much. Once he could get a good look at Mahal, he saw the chief looked wild and unruly, his shirt torn and blood matting his chest from the cut Markus had given him. He was still armed and as combat ready as ever, however, eyes balefully glaring at Markus.

"My people once owned these waters." Mahal said, stepping forward menacingly. He saw there was little Markus could do but back away, so he took his time. "Back before the Sultanate and the Dark Wars. When we found a trespasser who had nothing to grant us, we would imprison them and ransom them. If no one paid, we cooked them and served them as a feast to the Gods." A hideous laughter escaped his parched lips as he stepped over a line of rope. "Tonight, I feast on your corpse, welp! It is good the Vizier brought such a fine feast to me!"

Markus squinted and took one more step back, his foot bumping into a corpse of one of the corsair's Calliope had killed. The Vizier information he would use soon, but for now he needed to focus. He looked down and saw a small knife in the dead man's hand. Without hesitation, he picked it up and held it before him defensively. Mahal drew himself up, eyeing the blade that seemed only a quarter of his Cutlass's length. "Do you insult me with such a thing? Die with what honor you might have."

"I will," Markus replied, stoic. He turned and grabbed one of the ropes hanging over the side of the precipice. "Once it's my time. How will you die, I wonder?" The words were lost on Mahal as Markus cut the rope, and only at the last second did the look of confusion and terror appear on his face as the rope under him suddenly coiled about his ankle and yanked him off the ground to slam into the wall.

Above the fighting below, Sketti would brain a Blood Axe Corsair with his steel arm stump before halting and seeing the eponymous Blood Axe flag unfurling above them along the wall. The flag was massive, at least 50 feet in width and thrice as long. At first the Blood Axes cheered at the sight, seeing it as a victory for them. But suddenly two figures materialized out of the cavern above the flag. One of them, Mahal, upside down and dazed. The other was Markus, who dragged him along by his hair.

Utter silence followed, and Markus cut the man down to hit the floor at his own feet and not the hundred or so odd feet below. Mahal seemed barely conscious enough to stir, but Markus roughly pulled him up to his knees at the very edge. "You have a choice!" the Swordmage cried, his voice echoing across the chambers to reach every ear, even Calliope below. He seemed both terrible and mighty at this moment, and as dangerous as a mad wolf. "Lay down your weapons and surrender, or this will be your fate!"

In one, horrible moment to the crew of the Blood Axes, they saw as their Chief and Captain was slit like a cake down the center of his chest, opening his bronzed skin and revealing his still beating innards with three quick cuts. Markus tossed the bloodied knife below, and just as Mahal was falling backwards, Markus reached into his chest cavity to grab the man's lungs, holding him up. He pulled them through his ribs, and then yanked them end over end to flap behind his shoulder like a pair of wings.

"By Alfrikr, a Blood Eagle." Halvar gasped, knowing the grisly death as an invention by his own barbaric people.

Blood poured off the edge, and after a few moments, the devilish Captain kicked Mahal's back and sent his corpse tumbling into the depths of the hidden bay.
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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.
Hidden 4 yrs ago Post by POOHEAD189
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What seemed to have dragged on for a day lasted but a few minutes. The crew of the Weather Witch held their ground despite being outnumbered and surrounded. Later the Captain believed it was out of surprise and lack of cohesion from the enemy, due to the prison break in the midst of their triumph. Perhaps if Markus had lost, or even took another minute to slay Mahal, his crew would have been slaughtered.

Little did he know that Calliope had no small part in that victory. Though he expected just as much. He hadn't seen her, but he knew she was far too unpredictable and dangerous to be among the corpses. The new crew member Reginel had a nasty wound on his shoulder, and one of the triplets had a gash upon his head. But there had been no true casualties. That impressive fact, coupled with the grisly death of the Blood Axe leader had led most of the corsairs to fall on their knees in surrender.

Those that hadn't had either been stabbed in the back by their allies or they had fled into the twisting cavern system of the vast rock they found themselves in. At Markus' orders, Halvar and Sron had gone off to slay any they found, unless they surrendered themselves immediately. He wouldn't lose potential crew members due to a misunderstanding. For Jim's part, he had made it to Sketti and had given him Calliope's orders, and he had sent Jax back to the Weather Witch along with the wounded to keep it under guard.

When Calliope stepped out of the shadows, she would see the majority of the occupants of the cavern were dozens of meters up in the 'throne room,' but she found herself face to face with Sketti, who was ordering some of the men to check the Blood Axe ships for loot and hidden foes. The mad Dwarf did a double take when she walked out naked and covered in blood.

"Somehow I am not surprised!" He said finally, giving a small bark of a laugh as he shook his shaggy head. He pointed his brass stump at some of the loot, where some brown breeches and boyarina's travel top and accompanying jacket was presented. "Ye can put that on, or walk the stairs naked and get back yer sorceress attire. Either way you'll be going up stairs if you're looking for the captain."

With that he went back to work and dismissed her, needing to keep an eye on everything. They might have won but as far as the Dwarf engineer was concerned, they were still in the belly of the beast and any good Quartermaster didn't relax until the mead was poured. The First Mate still needed to regain her Sarong regardless. Once Calliope was sufficiently dressed and she ascended, she would find the Chieftan's Chamber filled with knelt Blood Axe Corsairs.

At the center of the backwall, atop the throne of skulls and ivory sat Markus, fine chin resting on a fist as each man approached and recanted an oath of loyalty to him. The Captain's visage was as deadly as his sword, and he heard each litany without emotion, save a measure of his gaze. Upon his shoulders were impressive pauldrons of a praelian lorica segmentum armor, and a black cloak he was told Mahal only wore on special occasions.

When Calliope entered, Markus betrayed his grim visage with a smirk. It might have been a grin but he likely didn't wish to appear soft, and he gestured for her to come forward.
Hidden 4 yrs ago Post by Penny
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Calliope came forward at a regal pace. She had found a cloak in the pile of loot that covered her but the breeches proved to be too big to be practical. The cloak was of a fine grey leather of some animal that she was unfamiliar with and subtle patterns had been worked into it by a cunning leather worker. She had cinched it around her waist with a cord of black silk that had probably once been a scarf. This only partially maintained her modesty as the cloak didn’t quite cover her blood smeared breasts and the resulting v ran almost to her belly button. It would have looked weak to keep a hand clutching the garment closed and so she didn’t bother. It was good to see that Markus had survived, though she couldn’t claim to be surprised. It was hard to imagine that the crew would fight off such fearful odds if their captain had succumbed.

The former Tyrant of Calaverde reached the foot of the throne, her gaze not lingering on the dead bodies. For some reason the sight of them made her feel strange and so she didn’t linger. She offered Markus a slight bow, not deep but perceptible. The kneeling pirates began to whisper among themselves, muttering about witches and demons and ill omens. Among their kind any woman who presented herself so openly as Calliope was to be despised, but they dare not show their feelings openly.

“Congratulations on your victory Captain,” she called to Markus in her orators voice, clearly audible throughout the cavern.

“I am pleased to be able to tell you that the last of their mages is dead, it turns out that his faith that the manacles they forged could hold a djinn was misplaced.” Truthfully she was still unsure of how she managed to escape the arcane restraints, a lot of what had happened was hazy like a dream she had once known but had now faded. Unconsciously she touched the tattoo that spread over her chest, her mind supplying the feel of dragon scales to the nerves in her fingers despite the fact it was perfectly smooth. There would be time to unpack what had happened later but for now she saw no reason in adding to her reputation by claiming to have broken the restraints herself. Afterall, if Markus intended on adding these Arads to the crew, overawing them now wouldn't hurt.

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