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10th of Midyear, 4E 200
Off The Coast Of Stros M’kai…
“No one bests an Orc!”
Captain Robyn Hawkton raised his weapon just in time to block the incoming swing. His assailant’s orichalcum blade crashed down hard against Robyn’s cutlass, jarring his arms. Robyn clenched his sword hilt with both hands, his brow furrowed and teeth gritted as he tried - futilely - to push back against his opponent. The Breton man was down on one knee before the charred helm of his ship, at the mercy of a towering Orc with thick, dirty braids that had just beheaded his first mate. Robyn squinted through long strands of brown hair plastered to his face, meeting the Orc’s fierce yellow eyes.
The Orc stepped in close, boots grinding against the deck, and with a snort raised his weapon high. Robyn frantically rolled to the left, just barely dodging the downward cleave. He staggered up onto wobbly legs, nearly tripping over the arrow-riddled corpse of another of his men as he backed down the afterdeck. The Orc closed the distance in three broad steps, his sword again raised.
“This is the end, human. Any final prayers to whimper to the gods?” the green-skinned brute sneered.
Robyn took another step back, his breathing quick and ragged, the blade in his right hand quivering. What little pride the young captain could still muster hoped the Orc did not see the fear in his eyes. Not that it would even matter soon. Robyn’s gaze swept over the horrendous scene before him: his ship, the
Arslan’s Fortune, littered with fallen crewmen; its once proud, white sails torn and flapping wildly as flames engulfed the topside.
The clash of steel and desperate battle cries filled the night air as what remained of Robyn’s men fought on against the pirates who had boarded their ship.Not even four bells ago all had been well. After being blown off course earlier that day by a harsh gale the
Arslan’s Fortune found its heading and was set to reach High Rock only slightly off schedule. What some among the crew had feared to be an ill happening was just an inconvenience that drew sighs of relief once passed. Unfortunately, the merchantman had gone far enough astray into dangerous waters to attract the attention of a band of pirates. They gave chase under cover of darkness. By the time the night watch finally sighted the pursuing ship it was already too late. Mage fire had rained across the decks as the brigands surged forward, soaring through the air and skimming across the water by way of magic. Captain Hawkton and his cohort managed to slay the first wave of attackers, but the reprieve was brief. The enemy vessel bore down on them at full speed ramming into the
Arslan’s Fortune, the pirates dropping boarding ramps and swinging across in scores.
“I’ll take that as a ‘no’.”
Robyn’s eyes widened as the Orc bellowed savagely and took a mighty swing at his midsection. The captain stepped to the right and brought his cutlass up at an angle. There was a metallic snapping sound as the end of Robyn’s sword was broken off by the sturdier orichalcum blade. The Orc swung again, a second overhead strike that Robyn evaded, ducking past his foe and dashing toward the stairs that led down to the main deck. A roaring sphere of flame flew out from the nearby pirate ship and slammed into the steps ahead of him, erupting in a blinding flash of fire and sparks. Robyn threw an arm up as the shockwave knocked him backward. The wooden stairs vanished in a splintering blast, collapsing into a smoking heap that spat embers across the deck. Behind the captain, the Orc closed in again, his heavy steps thumping against the planks as the plume of flame rose high.
Robyn rolled onto his side and hauled himself to his feet. With a sharp breath he glanced at the ruined length of his cutlass then hurled it away, the broken blade skittering across the deck. His hand went instead to his belt, closing around the hilt of his dagger. The surviving crew were fighting like cornered beasts, and even a handful of passengers that had been aboard the
Arslan’s Fortune had bravely joined in the defense of the ship. But the attackers were well-armed and had a number of powerful spellcasters among their ranks. Cones of flame and writhing arcs of lightning tore through the defenders just as often as blades did.
Captain Robyn Hawkton had never been a man to give in to despair, but he could recognize the direness he faced. If this was indeed to be where it ended then he should not die cowering.
With a silent prayer to Kynareth, matron of the seas, Robyn drew his dagger and took a defensive stance as the Orc’s sword rose high above him.