• Mature • I. Blindsided

[Kasoria]

25th Trial, Ashan 719a
Bay of Yaralon
8th bell

"Black flag! Black flag off the port bow!"

"Shite."

"Well, that fucks that plan, dunnit?"

Captain Senter ground his teeth for a moment, but let no outward sign of nerves show. It was a hopeful strategy, after all. Built more unlikely luck than probabilities. He'd hoped the Lucky Lady could slip past whatever blockade was in place before the sun had fully risen; the Blackbrine pirates were scallies like any other, and mayhap they'd still be recovering from their grog the night before. A bell, maybe two, was all they'd need. To slip into the harbor of Yaralon, sliding and gliding over the still water, while twilight still had yet to wake the world.

Then the cry went out from the crow's nest. A finger was thrown out in the direction shouted. All eyes followed it and there, skimming across the waves, was a red-sailed vessel. The wind filled and swelled the canvas, propelling her towards them with eerie speed. The deck was alive with milling figures, so thick on the planks they seemed like an infestation. Already they could hear the curses and jeers and oaths shouted across the expanse of water between them. See the glinting of first-born sunlight off every weapon from harpoons to iron-wrapped cudgels. But that was not what caught Senter's eye. That was was not what set his crew to muttering and stammering.

It was the black flag. Known by all those who'd any dealings with pirates. Surrender and you might be spared; fight and we will kill you all and make this burning hulk your tomb, after we've picked it clean. The Captain of the Lucky Lady swallowed as hard as he could without making a sound. Then he started reminding people who held sway on this ship.

"A'right, get a fuckin' move on, would yeh?" Those first words shook the spell that fell upon his crew; the next shattered it completely. "STAND FUCKING TO! Or into the fuckin' water you'll go!" He flung up a hand and pointed at the weathered face in the crow's nest. "You! Geddown here now, wiv' the rest!"

"Aye, cap'n!"

Senter prowled the quarterdeck, like the railing was the only thing keeping the beast caged. He snarled orders and spat condemnation. One hand stroked the pommel of the sword at his hip. The other was constantly moving, pointing, waving, gesticulating. He was the center of attention and from that center blossomed constant movement. The sailors unfurled fresh sails, and stowed anything on deck that could come loose in a brawl. Kilmain and his trio of associates went below for a few chimes, then returned laden with weapons of all kinds.

"Mister Bridger?" The helmsman grunted, hands not leaving the wheel. "Keep to the fastest currents and the swiftest winds. If we can run instead of fight, all the better."

"Aye, cap'n."

A tall, thin figure in a red robe sidled up next to the captain. Both men watched the vessel speeding towards them. Senter scowled at it, as if his ire could somehow nudge it off course. The thought made him swivel his anger to Legonne instead. "What fucking good are you if you can't turn the wind and waves against those bastards, hmm?"

"I could try," Legonne said, with the patience of a man that knew his craft very well, speaking to one who did not. "But all those sails? All the speed they have? I would slow them, not stop them."

"What about fire, then?"

"When they get closer," Legonne said again, voice low and confident. His hands slid from the folds of his robe and he cracked his knuckles. Senter swore he heard crackling like burning logs instead of bone. "Within a hundred feet, and I'll burn the sails to ash, then the rudder. Leave them drifting."

There was a creak above them and both men looked up to see the man in the crow's nest making his way down. A short, lithe, and powerful body swung itself up and over the railing, landing with bare feet on the yard arm. He wrapped one arm up with rope and let himself fall, parallel to the mainmast. The rope slowed his progress, and ten feet from the deck he let go of the rope-

-landed with his knees already bent, rolling forwards and then up to his feet in one easy movement. The lookout came to a stop before the Captain and the Mage. All three wore that same hard, set look of men knowing a fight was coming, and they could not run from it. Senter nodded to him, then jutted his jaw towards Kilmain.

"Get yerself ready, Mister Thagoras."

Kasoria nodded and filled his hands. The sloop ground ever closer across the calm waves. Senter turned to his mage and nodded one more time. Legonne gave a half-bow in return, then walked to the edge of the quarterdeck. He raised his arms and the air started to hiss and hum and whine with powers ageless and unstoppable yet invisible. Even as they scurried about their duties, the crew of the Lucky Lady cast quick glances his way. But while he was just a man with his hands up, he could be ignored.

Then balls of fire exploded into life above his palms, and there was no looking away, now.

"Come forth," the mage whispered, eyes fixed on the cutthroat-laden sloop. "Come forth and burn."

[Kasoria]

"Cunt sends a scare into me sometimes, I swear."

"Nothin' wrong wi' that. Shows yer still sane."

Kilmain threw "Thagoras" a look, but didn't say anything. Little bastard came out with some right weird shit now and then. Stuff that made him wonder what was rolling about in his head. Or maybe he was just a lot sharper than he passed himself off as. Quiet and watchful and retiring, so very unlike most sellswords. Until the time came for words to be forgotten and blood to be shed. Then Kilmain knew "Thagoras" (and he didn't believe that was his name for even a trill) was all business.

Fucking well needs to be this morning.

All but two of the sellswords were standing at the wooden railing, watching the sloop draw closer. They could make out faces now. Tattoos. Grins. Mayhap even read the curses on those lips. Best surrender now, boys. Fucked and burned, you all will be. Languages that none of them spoke were hooted and howled out across the water. But the pirates had yet to let loose with any arrows or bolts. They were picking their moment carefully. Saving their fire for close range, when every slung missile would count.

Kilmain looked up and saw Tupsis' ragged arse vanishing up into the crow's nest. His shortbow and fat quiver of arrows were with him. He'd be picking off anyone that looked juicy and vulnerable once it all kicked off. Mouthy little bastard ate like a horse, but he was worth keeping around. Most of the rabbits and birds he'd seen the boy eat, had been killed stone dead with a single arrow. Most times to the skull. Stopped the meat tasting like metal, the boy said.

While we're down here, doing the nasty work... with these wankers.

The sellswords Kilmain had rustled up and taken aboard with him weren't men he doubted. Neither was Thagoras, who he'd seen take about younger, faster men with his bare hands, and gave him a run for his money with a blade, too. But the sailors were... well, just that. Men who made their living from ropes and sails and fish and trade, but not warring. He looked around and saw none of the steady, steely resolve he saw on the faces of his own men. None of the restlessness hiding behind a stoic mask that seemed to mark out Mister Thagoras. No, these men were scared. They heard the curses. They'd all whispered and gossiped about what the Blackbrine pirates did to crews who didn't surrender.

They were armed, as best they could be. But would they use them? Would they fight? Would they throw down their weapons, hit their knees, and beg for mercy? Kilmain didn't know. But he looked beyond them, to the blazing flames that the mage had crafted, and knew that odd, mad, dangerous bastard was the key to it. He watched the Defier craft flames from the empty air. Marveled with the awe of the uninitiated as they grew larger, fatter, hotter. Senter and the helmsman and a clutch of other swabbies were bustling around, giving him a wide berth.

"Probably won't come to a brawl," Kilmain muttered, not taking his eyes off the mage in red. "Once he torches those cunts' sails, we'll be clear and-"

Then it happened. So fast and unexpected that everyone without exception was left standing, staring, stunned and stuttering. There was a blur of black behind the mage. A gleam of silver held low about its middle. Kasoria and Kilmain seemed to grasp what was about to happen, the combined century or almost of bloody deeds forewarning them, but... but still. They didn't cry out until it was too late.

Not at treachery spawned so close. Not executed so swiftly. Not from the grinning black face of Otrar, who was grinning no longer. Face unsmiling and determined, a mask of cold hatred, he lunged behind Legonne with that dagger of his, wrapped his other arm around his neck and-

"NO!"

-buried the dagger deep into the mage's back, and the flames about his head died, along with their hopes of victory.

[Kasoria]

How did you not see that coming, old man?

How could I have?

In the bells and trials to follow, Kasoria would ask himself that question, find that same answer. From them would arise who discussions, debates, recriminations and defenses. Was he getting too old, too soft to see such an obvious ploy? Was it obvious at all, when the mole in their midst was so far removed from the guise of their enemies? Could he have stopped it, even if he'd known? Well, yes, he could have. But knowing that and acting in time, being able to piece together a truth the size of the sky from fragments as big as your palms... there was a gulf between those two as broad as the ocean.

Later would come that time. In the moment, in that moment, all Kasoria did was scream out one word and start moving. To his credit, he was already sprinting across the deck by the time Otrar yanked the dagger out of Legonne's back. The mage's eyes popped wide and he coughed blood, but did not fall. His limbs were frozen in shock, holding back the agony for a few more trills. Kasoria was on the steps as Senter and his men turned. But Otrar was not running. He held fast to his victim, raised his dagger again-

Kasoria saw the cold, malicious pleasure in his eyes. A look that screamed "I win!" in any language. A sneering disdain for those that trusted him, foolishly and blindly. But as Kasoria came closer, raised his weapon, as the dagger went flying towards Legonne's neck for the killing blow-

"Fuck me!"

Something impossibly fast and clear and wet flew across the deck. It barreled past the mortals, the humans of flesh and weak wills. It came hurtling up from the water, as if the Orm'del Sea had birthed a chunk of itself and vomited it onto the deck. A column of water that seemed to have fins or wings came screaming between them, smashing into Otrar and knocking him clear off the ship. The black sailor gave a scream more of frustrated rage than pain, and Kasoria ran to the edge to see him-

Swimming away. Dagger forgotten, survival all that mattered. He was heaving against the waves, and right before the bowman up in the nest could draw a bead, he dived under them. Unseen save for suggestions of shadows... coming up against closer to the sloop... then going under again. He knew well the strengths and skills of the men he'd betrayed. He'd give the bowman no easy target, and Kasoria forgot about him.

For now.

"Th... Thag...?"

The sellsword with the false name went down to his knees next to Legonne. He shushed him even as his hand roved over his body, finding the ragged wound in his back. He felt it for but a trill, yet when he drew it away, his hand was soaked in blood. He looked up at the sailors around him and pointed at the nearest.

"You! Gimme yer shirt! Now, boy!"

There was enough ferocity in his voice, enough shock in their minds, that he was obeyed instantly. He jammed the wadded up garment under Legonne, the mage hissing and coughing as the pain struck him. He was on his back, staring up at the beautifully clear sky. Trials and trials they'd been without it. A whole season. Now it was back, and part of him was glad he could die now, and not then. Nothing worse than to die in darkness. It was too close to being forgotten. He blinked and even that seemed to hurt. Looked up and found that bearded Etzori with the mysterious past, staring down at him, eyes rank with concern.

"O... Otrar?"

"Aye," Kasoria growled. "Little cunt."

"G... Good plan, though... Never... Never saw it... coming."

"Shut up. Stop talking an' try to relax." Kasoria's head snapped up again, voice shifting from soft and soothing to a snarling roar in an instant. "Why the fuck isn't someone gettin' me a healer's kit?! Hurry the fuck up, you idiots!"

"It's... It's too late... You know that... better than most..." The mage looked up and gave a crooked smile. "When... When a man's... gonna die from... a blade, I mean..."

Kasoria gave a snort. He couldn't help himself, even in that moment. But for the humor, black as it was, he felt the mage gripping his arm. Holding tight to him, as if he were some anchor to the living world. That thought alone would make a man chuckle, darkly. Captain Senter knelt down, face torn between despair and anger. Kilmain was there too, his sellswords still at their posts, but their leader needing to see, to learn, and to-

"We're fucked. No way we can stop them now."

"We'll raise every sail we can," Senter shot back. "Every scrap, even run out the oars-"

"They're too close! We don't have a prayer of getting far enough away before-"

They went back and forth, but Kasoria barely heard them. He locked eyes with the mage and found the words he needed to speak.

"Have you got one last spell in yeh, boy?" He spoke lowly, keeping the words between them alone. "Somethin' that can help us out, one more time?"

Legonne swallowed hard, like a man returned from a desert. He was so parched, so thirsty, so... weak. But he could feel his spark in him. He looked up and found a snaking tendril of water slithering across the wood, curling around his head like a pillow. He smiled at Kasoria's expression and squeezed his arm a touch harder.

"My... guardian... All Def... Defiers get one, after... after a while. It... saved me..."

Not fucking soon enough, Kasoria thought, but chose not to speak it. He looked up quickly and saw the sloop drawing ever closer. Now he could match the words to the mouths. A handful of them were helping up Otrar onto the deck, giving him a sword even as he dripped water all over them. There were easily two dozen of the bastards. As many killers as there were men on the Lucky Lady. Within a few chimes, they'd draw closer and swamp them like a-

Fuck me. That's it.

"Hey? Hey!" He shook the mage awake, not letting him rest yet. Some corner of him decried the cruelty, but it was loudly shouted down. He was here to use his magic to protect them; healthy or dying, it didn't matter. "Don't you fuckin' die yet! I got a plan!"

"What was that?"

Kasoria looked up at the Captain and the Sellsword. Around them, the sailors were locked onto him, too. Eyes almost tearful, willing to grasp onto any shred of hope as they saw death cackling towards them. Kasoria heard the words "surrender" and "parlay" bandied out trills before; then the words "are you fucking mad?" coming swiftly after. They wanted to fight, wanted to win, to escape without bloodshed or the loss of vessel and cargo, but they had no plan, no hope.

So give it to them. No matter what it is.

Kasoria told them. It was a quick and dirty sort of tactic, so he sold it in a matter of trills. All the while the bleak laughter and howls of bloodlust grew louder. Until Kasoria was almost shouting himself as he said, "They think we're fucked, an' they ain't far wrong! But they don't know our mage is still alive, an' can still give us one more bit a' help. An' they ain't expectin' us to attack. Not now."

"Aye, because they know they'd win."

"No," Kasoria said, forceful yet patient, as if he were stating reality, not crazed desperation. "Not if this works like I just said."

Kilmain shook his head, but looked to his Captain. Everyone did, including Kasoria and even the dying mage. Who managed to shuffle and prop himself into a sitting position, hidden from sight and hilariously "safe" even as he bled out. Senter looked down at the mage, and Legonne gave him a firm nod. His eyes swam between fatigue and defiance. But he raised one hand... and his Guardian curled around it, before vanished back behind him.

"I... I have enough in me... for... for one more... cast."

Senter inhaled deeply. The air was sharp with salt and blood and fear. He looked over at the sloop now barely a hundred yards away. Coming in fast and at an angle. Clearly planning to broadside them and lash ropes and rigging to their prey. Swarm over onto the Lady Luck and pillage her. Pillage his fucking ship. It was a desperate and shoddy plan, but it was all they had. And their enemy was not expecting any plan at all, just panic and spasms of doomed resistance.

"A'right," he whispered the words, then boomed them louder. "A'right! Y'heard the fuckin' Eztori! We got once chance fer this, so get to it!"

The men broke from their huddle. They left the mage and the sellsword. Kasoria bent down one last time and clutched Legonne's hand. The mage clutched it back, wordlessly telling him that he was still alive. They locked eyes. They nodded. Words beyond that were not necessary. What needed to be said, said in that handful of trills, Kasoria parted ways from him. Crouched low as he hustled back to where Kilmain and the others were. Marshaling his own Spark within him, as much a weapon that day as sword and ax and fists.

The sloop threw its shadow over them, and Kasoria cast the only prayer into the void that he ever bothered giving.

Fates, let these fuckers die today, instead of me.

Continued here

[Nursia]

Good read! I enjoy the darker aspects of most stories. This was tooth and nail at the high seas, if I say so myself. Something where the risks are palpable, and the very real threat of death is clear. I have to give credit where credit is due, this is perhaps one of the better threads that I've seen, far better than anything I've written. Don't be afraid to embrace the darker side of your writing, because it suits you like a glove.

There's nothing I can fully criticize about this. Your flow and composition is excellent, and you get things done in few words.

Enjoy your rewards. You deserve it. I hope I get the next part of this story.
Player #1

Rewards

Knowledges:
Acrobatics: Scaling a Ship's Mainmast
Defiance: Guardian Elements
Leadership: Remaining Calm and Commanding in a Crisis
Leadership: Offering Hope to the Hopeless
Tactics: Infiltrating a Target to Ruin their Defenses from the Inside
Tactics: Striking from Perceived Weakness
Nonskill Knowledges:
NPC Otrar: Blackbrine Mole and Traitor
Wealth:
Renown:
EXP:
+10

Feedback

Understand that all criticisms are done in good faith. It would be a greater disrespect to not say anything in the face of problems. Please contact me through this account's inbox if you wish to further communicate on the matter of improvement, or if you feel as though anything is unduly harsh.

Player #2

Rewards

Knowledges:
Wealth:
Renown:
EXP:

Feedback

Understand that all criticisms are done in good faith. It would be a greater disrespect to not say anything in the face of problems. Please contact me through this account's inbox if you wish to further communicate on the matter of improvement, or if you feel as though anything is unduly harsh.

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