Mordred
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A note about this story. This was originally meant to be for the Book of Piracy, one of the Book projects. Unfortunately, events occurred that blocked my access to the first part of this which has only now become available to me again. So, I decided to post what I have here. This is only the beginning of the Dread Captain's tale, which involves his vendetta against the remainders of the Slugwrath rule. Enjoy and discuss.
It was a clammy, wet day in the city of Deren. It had been raining non-stop for the past three days, and there had been no signs of it stopping any time soon. The rain was heavy, and left a heavy grey mist along the ground. Whole streets had gone empty and had seemingly vanished, with cold buildings with lit windows staring out into the grey days like the faces of some ancient peoples of old. Beautiful spires rose out of the mist like great towers on watch. Deren was normally a beautiful city, on a shining day, but now, it seemed a place of mystery. On these days of gloom, the people took refuge in their houses and inns; few would venture out into the downpour.
Through the heavy mists a single form worked silently through the city, moving steadily and ignoring the rain. Surely it was a shadow or a spectre of some kind that had wandered out from the near-by sea. Upon closer inspection, one might, with keen eyes, be able to distinguish that it was in fact a man. He had a large, broad-brimmed hat upon his head, with gold trim and a large golden feather tucked into it. His head was titled forward, and the hat even more so, so that his face was hidden. He also had a black, gold trimmed collar that folded back over itself coming up to his ears, which were pointed, showing him to be an elf. With his head titled, it made it so one could barely see the tips of his ears. One could see that he had long jet-black hair that came over the collar and fell down to his waist. He had swaddled himself up in a tattered grey cloak, which kept the rain from his bones. It dragged a tad behind his feet, but made no rustling noise. One could see the toes of finely crafted black sea-men’s boots upon his feet as he waded through the gloom.
He was striding surely though the center of a street, with buildings looming out of the haze almost menacingly. He suddenly turned to his right, making way for what one might discern as an inn or a pub. The man stopped before a heavy wooden door and took a furtive glance at the sign hanging above to confirm that it was the building he was looking for; “The Sea’s Haven.” He then took his hand, which was still under his cloak as he did so, and knicked upon the door firmly three times. He quickly withdrew his hand back to his mysterious form just as a slit was opened and leery eyes peered out.
“Who be goin’ thar?” a burly voice called out from behind the door. The man seeking entrance merely cast a stern glare into the eyes before him long enough to be recognized. The man guarding the door easily recognized the red eyes that stared into his very soul; they had an unmistakably familiar storm flaring within their depths. “Oh, it be ye.” He said, suddenly with an infinitely more polite and less gruff tone. “ What be th’ password?”
At this, the figure drew his head up to the slit and breathed the secret words to gain entrance. He was then quickly admitted. A quick glance in at the room he entered would be enough to tell you of what kind of place it was. There was a long bar tended by a stocky Drakel barman who had his hands full constantly running along the left wall. The rest of the place was taken up by an assortment of chairs and tables, most filled with people. The people at the inn were a slightly seedy bunch. Many were rough and roughhousing as they drank away their wits, and some were passed out in the corners. They had a rugged look to them, and most were sea-faring men who had borne many an angry storm. Their scars and course attire were a testament to that. A very little seemed to be more reserved, and merely chatted whilst sipping on their drinks amidst the uproarious laughter and shouting and generally boisterous atmosphere.
“May I be takin’ yer cloak, sir?” the burly, shirtless man who barred the door asked the elf with a grave sense of reverence as he pulled out a chair from an empty table for the guest.
The traveler replied with a firm but gentle voice that belied elegance and importance behind it, and instantly drew the gaze of those who were not already interested in the stranger upon sight. “No, that’s quite all right, my good man.” At that, the man bowed and shuffled away sheepishly.
The stranger ignored the attention he had gotten and took his seat, resting his feet up on the round table. The barman was able to get to him in a relatively short time and was told to bring him the usual; a flagon of moglinberry ale and a filling of his silver flask of the same liquor. He stowed away his flask for later, and took a sip now and then from the flagon. He was apparently waiting for something. Rather idle, he decided to pick out what conversations he could with his keen ears.
“What be ye thinkin’ o’ tha’ guy o’er there, lads?” an old, chiseled sailor said to his two younger companions, motioning to the elf.
“He be seemin’ like a rich lord to me.” Said a swarthy man of large build on the chiseled man’s left. “Did ye hear how he talked? Soundin’ mighty well educated. I be thinkin’ he be hear fer some peace. Them rich sods be stressed, I heard.”
“Bah, ye be sea-addled!” said the lanky companion on the right of the table. “He be seemin’ like a right gruff man. See what he be wearin’? He be tough as nails, I bet ye!”
“Aye.” The first man said in agreement. “I jus’ be wond’rin’ what be bringin’ him here.”
The cloaked man turned his attention to another lot of sea-men; there was a man with his co-workers, probably loaders from the docks, and a boy of no more than twelve, presumably one of their sons.
“Dad,” said the boy to the muscular, freckled man to his right. “can ye tell us o’ that ol’ salty sea cap’n again?” At this, the four or five men seated around the boy and his father gave out encouraging cries of excitement.
“Very well, lads.” The man gave in, not grudgingly. “But after this, we be off back to work, savvy?” Five or six heads nodded eagerly. “Now, there was once a lad born o’ the Wood Elves in a land far away from here. He was named after a great elf of a great order long gone; Mordred. Now, he be havin’ a great affinity fer th’ seas, he nat’rally made himself a livin’ off o’ it. But when wars broke out more frequently, he was called up into the Slugwraths’ navy. He worked long an’ hard, an’ he was eventually made Admiral o’ the navy he be servin’ in. ‘Round tha’ time, Alteon be knighted by a Slugwrath, an’ so set the gears into motion. As the Slugwraths grew crueler, more distand Mordred got from them, even as they be promotin’ him in th’ ranks. So, when Alteon be callin’ fer freedom, the Admiral was quick to help in what ways he could. With his direction o’er th’ seas, the Slugwraths were landlocked, an’ Alteon cornered them in Swordhaven, with Mordred’s ships in th’ rivers. The Slugwraths relinquished th’ throne an’ disappeared, an’ Alteon was given th’ throne.”
“Why not Mordred, Dad? Why wasn’t he made king?”
“He not be int’rested in th’ throne, nor was he th’ most public o’ dissenters. No, he didn’t get the throne. However, many of Slugwrath’s old followers escaped by water, an’ Mordred be wishin’ to seek them out an’ bring ‘em to justice. So, he retired as Admiral o’ the Royal Navy, an’ found himself a crew an’ a ship to make a name fer himself as Dread Captain Mordred. He ever be on th’ hunt fer those slippery rascals, an’ became legendary among pirates. He be Pirate Lord o’ the Great Southern Ocean, o’er to th’ west of here. Some say that with his reputation an’ fearsome powers tha’ he goin’ be th’ one to be Pirate King someday!”
“Aye, an’ I bet he will!” one man chimed in.
“I be doubtin’ tha’.” The story-teller rebuked. “Tha’ scurvy seadog not be int’rested in power. He’s got power, an’ riches. Some say he be able to command fiends o’ th’ deep, an’ tha’ he had found true immortality somewhere. Some be true, some not. But he not be lookin’ fer magic or power or King-ship. He be wantin’ to find those ol’ royalists an’ bring ‘em before the king. An’ he be fixin’ a bunch o’ wrongs he’s seen ‘long th’ way. But where he be, nobody knows. He be a quiet man, fer the most part.”
Hearing this, a grim smile came to the elf’s fair face. He knew the tale better than most. However, his humor died down quickly when he heard another customer permitted within the inn. The elf turned to see a man in red garb stride across the room over to his own table. He was a burly man, wearing coarse beige leggings and a red vest and bandanna, and nothing more. His rippling muscles were open for all to see. The man had a red bushy beard that came down to his shoulders, lending itself to his rugged look. And so the newcomer sat at the same table as the elf, and the two seemingly paid no heed of each other. When the barman came for the newcomer’s order, he was told to get him the usual, which was exactly what the elf had ordered just before.
The pair were sipping from their flagons, content to let the time go by. To all onlookers, they were just two seamen able to let a stranger drink in their presence.
“Did the weather follow you in?” the elf asked the seaman nonchalantly.
“Nay. And ye?”
“Nothing followed me.”
“Good, good.”
“How fares your fishing?”
“It be goin’ well, but the black eel has slipped from me net.”
“So it’s on the move then?”
“Aye. We be knowin’ where it’s headin’, though.”
“Really? Where’s the prey heading to, then?”
“It be flockin’ with all th’ others to Falconreach Bay.”
“That is ill-tidings. Eels are my favorite meal.”
“It be a long journey. One be needin’ to travel north an’ turn west, an’ bear through the frigid waters. One be needin’ to set out quickly to catch any eels.”
“Then I’ll set out at once. Thank you for the news.” With that said, the elf set his feet down and got up from his seat. Like a whispering shadow, he strode up to the barman and passed a gold coin in his hand for the ale. As he made his way for the door, he heard several men get up from their own seats and pay their dues as they followed him out into the stormy night.
The grey-clad traveler took to the misty streets, wandering in the darkness. He could easily hear the eight or nine sets of footsteps following him from the inn. He could also hear the sound of knives and daggers being pulled from leather belts, and the footsteps hastened.
The elf took a turn into a dead-end alley, and as he expected, the would-be-muggers followed him down it.
“Well, well, well…” a lanky looking rogue of a man said with a smug grin on his face as his prey came upon the dead-end. “What have we here, boys? Surely not some rich lord, all on his lonesome!” The man’s companions jeered at this.
“I’d advise that you’d leave me well enough alone.” The cloaked man said, his back turned to the drunken men.
“Oh, to be sure, mister.” the ringleader said. “We jus’ be wantin’ some o’ tha’ gold we saw ye holdin’. Savvy?”
“Oh, I definitely have a bit of metal with your names on it…” the elf said menacingly. He suddenly whipped himself around, and a flint-lock pistol was in his hand, pointed at the lanky leader. “Savvy?”
“Whoa thar, buddy.” the mugger whimpered. “There be no need fer tha’ thing. We just be beggars, ye know. We outnumber ye, so why don’t ye just hand o’er some o’ tha’ gold, eh?”
The man’s voice took a sudden change. It had been curt and polite before, with a hint of a British accent, but no more. When he spoke, he sounded like the harshest of bad-mouthed sailors your ears had ever heard. His head was looking at the assailants right in the eye, and they turned their own heads down in shame before eyes that smoldered like a raging maelstrom. “Ye filthy bilge rats be drawn by me booty, an’ despite th’ clear traps, ye accursed dogs keep beggin’ fer it! I’ll not be lettin’ the likes o’ ye take me booty! Ye be worth less than ol’ barnacle shells on th’ hull o’ me ship! I’ve seen rats livin’ more wholesome lives than ye! Now, flee now, an’ save yer worthless hides, or I’ll end up sellin’ ‘em fer me own profit!”
As he spoke such harsh words, the wind caught on his grey cloak and whisked it away, to reveal his garb in all of its splendor. He was wearing a white shirt with puffy, airy sleeves, and over his torso he wore a black vest with a weaving pattern of gold thread that made swirling designs that covered much of his vest. At his neck hung a red cravat of silk that came out from his collar and hung lightly atop his breast. He wore tight black leather pants with a pistol holster on his right hip and the scabbard of a rapier on his left. Oh his feet were fine, close-fitting and pointy-toed boots that kept out liquid quite well. Completing his attire was a black Naval Officer’s coat, with gold trimming and tassels and a coat-tail that came down to his ankles. It was from this coat that his high-collar came from. One could see the handles of more pistols poking out from pockets in the coat and the hilts of many daggers poking out from small sheathes on his leather legs. He was revealed to be a mighty pirate lord, armed to the teeth and expert in combat.
One of the men who had tried to corner the pirate recognized him from descriptions of him in Krovesport. This pirate had been constantly disrupting the trade of the big crime lords who ran the seedy town, and was worthy a mighty high bounty, dead or alive. He was the captain of the Dread Dragoon, the Pirate Lord of the Great Southern Ocean; Mordred. Seeing him, the man turned and fled back to the inn to gather the rest of his mates, who all worked under one notorious crime lord of Krovesport or other. As he ran through the mists, he could hear the sound of a pistol being fired in the distance, and the light clangs of steel against steel.
The crook banged on the door of The Sea’s Haven, and was quickly admitted. As soon as he jostled his way, still sopping wet, into the inn, he cried out: “’Ey! Cap’n Mordred’s been sighted in Deren!”
At this, men leaped off of their chairs and quickly poured into the drenched streets to spread the news. Many of them were no strangers of business in Krovesport, and were hoping to claim the bounty. Soon, almost all of Deren was abuzz with the news, and the drunkards and the crooks and the rogues and all the seedy characters were out and about to find the illustrious and notorious captain.
Mordred himself had quickly dispatched the muggers who had ambushed him and quickly fled the area, and sprinted off to the docks, where he knew his ship was. “The jig be up.” he murmured to himself as he ran, heedless of the figures who were now emerging and the endless rain.
Like a dark shadow he flitted though the streets, ever getting closer to the docks. But even as he sped on his way there, the guards of the city had been dispatched into the city to calm down the crowds, and had mobilized around the docks on the lookout for the pirate that had caused such uproar amongst the less fortunate citizens.
It was just after the docks had been secured by guards that Mordred arrived there. Every ship that was docked was under heavy guard, and there were patrols on the lookout for troublemakers. So, the captain had essentially walked into a trap.
“Great, now how will I be getting’ meself out o’ here?” he grumbled to himself as he surveyed the defenses. Fortunately for him, his ship was not docked, but rather hiding under water, ready to spring up in time of need. However, he needed to get into the water for his crew to see him first. Out of the corner of his eyes, he noticed barrels of gunpowder up against the wall of a warehouse to his right. Straight ahead in the gloom he could barely perceive what was King Tralin’s personal ship, where the bulk of the guards were. “Ohhhh, I be regrettin’ this, but I be left no choice…” the salty captain said to himself as he kicked down the barrels and began to roll them over to the ship.
The guards of course saw them roll out of the mists, and brought them onto the deck of the ship before harm could come to them. They were placed up at the bow of the ship, which faced in towards the warehouse. Now in place, Mordred took out another flintlock pistol and readied the hammer. “I hope ye forgive me fer this, Tralin…” he said under his breath as he squeezed the trigger.
There was an explosion and a burst of fire and timber as the bow of Tralin’s ship was rent asunder, and the ship began to tip forward. Guards went to and fro, trying to save what they could from the ship as it sank. Because they could not drown, they did not fear for their own safety as they braved the depths to save what they could.
In the confusion, Mordred snuck past and began to climb up a ramp onto an upper level of the docks, where there was a swiveling crane ready to launch him into the water. As he climbed, he could hear that some guards had noticed his ascent and followed him up the ramp. Some shots were fired at his heels, but to no avail. The captain was first to reach the crane, but he had guards only seconds away from catching him, unless he came up with something quickly. He latched himself onto the rope hanging from above on the crane, and quickly drew forth a dagger. His keen eyes found the rope that held the crane in place, and with a flick of his wrist, the dagger cut clean through it. He was sent flying in the air as the crane whirled around, launching him straight into the water.
As the last of the bubbles disappeared, the guards looked on stupidly, waiting for him to show his head above the now calm water. Instead, there was a low rumble coming from the dark depths. There was a sudden massive burst of water and sea spray as a large object emerged from the water. Guards fell back from the force of the water colliding into them, adding to the tumult as the stumbled. When the spray cleared, a massive ship was in the harbor, bristling with cannons. It was a blackened ship of the line, with three masts and a prow decorated with a leering dragon; the Dread Dragoon.
“Close the gates!” the captain of the guard cried out to the two towers that manned the gates of the harbor. With as much speed as was possible, the men turned the large wheels, and shut the heavy wooden gates closed, blocking all escape.
On the deck of the pirate ship, the Dread Captain was at the helm, with his orcish first mate, Gurlak MacDurvall, standing by his shoulder. They made an odd pair; the fair, lithe elf and the hulking, burly orc. While not as finely dressed as the captain, Gurlak was well garbed in a green coat of leather and leggings of rich wool. “So, Cap’n…” Gurlak began, scratching the purple bandana on his head as he looked warily at the guard. “What d’we do now, ye think?”
Below them, the crew busily worked about; arming the cannons, loading their pistols, readying their swords, and battering down all the hatches and whatnot.
“Alright, ye filthy curs!” the captain bellowed from above, stopping all actions upon the deck. “We be trapped like bilge rats; do as I say, and ye all be getting’ yer worthless, rancid hides outta here in one piece! But mark me; ye be sheddin’ no innocent blood this day! Th’ guards cannot be killed by ye, lest ye be wantin’ to kiss th’ gunner’s daughter and sent to th’ Locker!” All of the crew nodded enthusiastically. “Now, bring out th’ blundergat, ye pathetic zeel-spawn!” At hearing the captain bark so, the entire crew set about to turning a massive wheel upon the deck. As they did, Mordred turned the wheel he was at wildly about, so as to steer the ship towards the closed gates. As he did, a protion of the deck opened upwards, and a large gun was slowly rising from the trap-soor. Within a few moments, a large turret was out for all to see in its grandeur; the blundergat was a weapon made up of several oversized blunderbusses rigged up into one turret, capable of the fire rate of a gatling gun. It was a relic from an old era of Lore that the Dread Captain now utilized to deadly effect; a weapon like no other on the high seas.
Gurlak grunted with understanding as he leapt down from his perch by his captain’s side. With a few steps of his large gait, he closed the distance towards the turret and pulled himself up into its chair of power. He aimed the weapon right at the gates, to the horror of the city guards.
“Fire!” the captain barked out, half-delirious on the thrill of this adventure. The first mate was only happy to oblige, and fired a barrage upon the wooden gates. The first shot blew a hole through the bar upon the gate, and the second tore a hole through the gate itself. Round after round was fired, until nothing but a few splinters hung from the hinges. The obstruction cleared, the ship pushed forward at full speed, a speed one could not consider possible for such a large ship. And before any could make any further attempts to stop them, the entire ship and their famous captain made their escape without so much as a bruise to show for it.
While the guards began to clean up the wreckage, the crew immediately set to celebrating this adventure. Only Gurlak and Mordred retained their composure as they stepped within the lavish confines of the captain’s quarters. Once within the sealed doors, the two immediately began to converse over serious matters.
“Did ye find what ye were lookin’ fer?” Gurlak questioned as he raised a mug of ale to his lips.
“Aye,” the captain said grimly, paying no heed to his drenched clothes as he sat upon a cushioned chair. “Slugwrath’s court-magician, Xander, has escaped from our eyes.”
“How’d he manage getting’ past them rangers? They be th’ best watchers an’ spies in th’ kingdom. Nuthin’ gets by ‘em.”
“Xander did.”
“So, where we be headin’, then?”
“We be settin’ sail fer Falconreach.”
The Dread Dragoon was just now rounding the coastline to ease into Falconreach Bay. Their week-long voyage was unremarkable, barring the negligible braken encounter. It was just after midnight now, and the full moon shone upon the abandoned city, its dilapidated walls long in disrepair. Eerie lights shone from the windows of the Guardian Tower-or what was left of it anyways. The upper levels had long ago collapsed and fallen into the bay. Arranged haphazardly were ships bearing flags of the Slugwrath rule; blackened banners with a golden dragonhead wearing a three-pronged crown. As the ship slid noiselessly into the bay, the entire crew assembled on the deck to take orders from their Dread Captain.
Mordred stepped forth from the captain’s quarters. His presence immediately demanded the attention of all the sailors. The first order of business was lowering the anchors. With but a hand motion, the Pirate Lord directed two of his crew, a young elven woman and an elderly man, to lower them. While they busied their selves the captain turned his attention back to the rest of the crew. “Vhelzek’Hur,” he called out quietly, pointing to a surly drakel. “Man th’ blundergat. When th’ time comes, ye’ll be firin’ at their ships, an’ sendin’ ‘em to th’ Locker.”
“Aye aye, cap’n,” the drakel whispered, saluting his superior. He then gathered some of the crew by him and set to raising the massive weapon.
“Now, I be needin’ Gurlak, Haskill an’ Olaf, Lydia, an’ Kry’Illad to accompany me.”
“Aye aye, cap’n,” the first mate, two dwarven twins, a human woman, and a female Drakel said simultaneously. “Where’re we headin’, cap?” the woman, Lydia, asked.
“Let’s take a walk,” the captain said, a gleam in his inhuman eyes. When the picked out members of the crew heard this, they went for the weapon rack right below the upper deck. Gurlak took for himself two cutlasses and a few pistols. Haskill the dwarf took for himself a large battleaxe and a mechanical crossbow. His brother Olaf took a series of pistols that had been modified with dwarven technology, and a few throwing knives for good measure. Lydia took for herself a rapier and blackened blunderbuss. Kry’Illad the Drakel armed herself with both a cutlass and rapier, and a Drakel energy glock-gun for sharpshooting. Thus armed, the team assembled around their captain by the port side of the ship, facing the boats.
With but a nod, the captain sent his selected crew an unspoken message. Together they cautiously hoisted their selves over the banister and clambered down the side of their sleek ship, sliding below the depths like specters. From there, they slowly sank to the bottom of the bay, the depths illuminated by the moonlight above.
Slowly, they marched towards the beach of the bay with purpose. As they did, they prepared their weapons with solemn ceremony. Travelling in silence, they began to ascend as they neared the surface. When they finally breached the calm, mirror-like surface of the water they found their selves standing just below the Guardian Tower. With great dexterity they climbed up to the main path which wound its way up and around the cliff. Taking care not to make too much noise, they tread lightly as they made their ascent, until they were within sight of the base of the tower. Standing guard were four men, garbed in chainmail and wearing tunics with the Slugwrath livery; black with the family insignia emblazoned on the chest and shoulders and trimmed with gold.
Seeing this threat, the captain took up a throwing knife in both hands as he motioned to Olaf to do the same. Blades in hand, they made their throws, landing lethal hits on all four targets’ necks silently. They did not tarry as they stole their way up to the rotting doors of the Tower, taking care not to step on the limp bodies lying by the path. Olaf did make a pint of reclaiming all the knives, though.
Gurlak first tried the doors, only to find them barred, as to be expected. Rather than bashing the door down easily, the orc stepped aside for Kry’Illad to open the doors discretely. Glock in-hand, she fired a focused laser down the center of the door, burning away their edges and eating through whatever plank had been used to bar them. She then motioned to her companions to push up against the Tower’s walls. As she pressed herself up against the cold stones, the Drakel guided her tail to push the doors open. As soon as this was done, a barrage of arrows flew out of the doors. If they had not taken refuge by the sides of the doors, they would have been skewered.
Following the arrows was a platoon of soldiers, all in the Slugwrath livery. They grunted in confusion at the lack of dead bodies, and scratched under their helmets at the sight of their comrades lying dead, looking like pincushions at this point. All in all, there were about twenty men in all who had come outside, all bearing longbows in their hands and a sword or mace or axe at their hip.
While yet unseen, the band of pirates leapt into action. Mordred plunged a dagger into a soldier’s back whilst sticking through another with his rapier. Gurlak charged in, brandishing his blades and mowing down soldiers with the speed and ferocity that had made orcs famous on the battlefield. By his side was stout Haskill, downing his foes with his battleaxe. While Mordred fought off some men preventing him from joining them, Lydia, Olaf and Kry’Illad picked off what foes they could from afar. Within a minute, all the soldiers lay dead at their feet, without so much of a scratch to show for it.
“So much for a discrete entrance…” Lydia said bitterly as she kicked at one of the corpses.
“Ye be thinkin’ wrongly, me dear Lydia,” the captain said suavely as he pocketed his dagger. “The bilge rats and curs all be down below in th’ basement no doubt; th’ war room collapsed long ago. They not be hearin’ us ‘till it be too late, lass.”
“I… suppose,” Lydia grumbled. “But how were they waitin’ for us to come through the doors like that?”
“Ye forget who they are,” Gurlak grumbled. “If caught, they’ll be imprisoned or hanged. These be but precautions they always be takin’ when in meetin’s; ain’t been one this large since Slugwrath was in pow’r.” Upon mentioning the previous king’s name, Gurlak spat at the ground.
“We best get moving,” Olaf interjected as he stroked his red beard. This said, the group began to make their way through the ruins of the Tower. They made a left turn after coming in through the doors, and strode straight ahead until they came upon the bottom half of a statue of a woman. Haskill wiped away the grime from its golden plaque to read: “’Lady Celestia: Ever peaceful, she watches over us still.’ Whaddya make o’ tha’?”
“I’ve heard o’ her befer…” Mordred mused. “Struck down some years ago. Surely someone o’ import.” Before moving on, the captain removed his hat and took a short a bow. The group turned right from the broken statue, to find their selves in what looked like a kitchen. Built into the floor was an opening with four metal bars running across it. From this came hushed voices. Kneeling down over the grate, the party could see a large banquet table. Seated all around were men and women of nobility and military power from the Slugwrath reign. At the head of the table was a wizened old man, garbed in dark grey robes and wearing a crooked, pointed hat.
The arranged party of Slugwrath supports were chatting idly; their food was gone and their wine nearly deleted. “Bleh, this place reeks of bacon,” one lady garbed in fine Sandsea silken garments said prudishly above all other voices as her nose shriveled at the stench.
“Indeed,” a man garbed like a well equipped soldier said, nodding his head. His short beard was greying, and his head bald, but his garb showed him to be a general from the old armies. “Those bumbling Guardians musta done something here…”
Arranged by the walls of the chamber were several soldiers, standing at attention for the slightest sign of trouble.”Okay,” Gurlak said under his breath just enough for his comrades to listen in on. “I’ve got a plan. Kry, ye’ll cut these here bars. We’ll drop down ‘n’ take down th’ guards ‘n’ cut off their escape. We’ll have ‘em scurvy-ridden, sea-blasted bilge-rats right where we want ‘em, eh?”
As the Drakel set herself to work, the wizened old man stood up, tapping a half-empty wine glass as he did. “Attention, ladies and gentlemen; attention!” the seated members of the festivities hushed at his call, and began to listen intently. “Good. I must say it’s great to see you all once more. It feels like only yesterday; we were having lavish parties, paid for by the taxing erm, well, taxes, we placed on the peasants. And life was good! Your bellies were full of food and warm drink, my friends, as they are now! But back then, we didn’t need to hide away in the darkest corners of the world as we do now! Which is why I’m so glad you ade it here today; many years were put into arranging this. All the bribes, all the murder… But it’ll be worth it in the end. It’s almost worth it just to see you all again!
“But of course, looking at you, I can only be reminded of our dwindling numbers. We’re a dying breed. A certain someone’s been picking us off one by one these past few years, and nobody seems to want the ol’ days back. The days when we were living the high life, and everyone else strained to support our power! We built a kingdom on the backs of the people, and by the Lords, we’ll do it again!” At this, all the occupants of the room cheered. “That’s why I’ve called you all here. No, it wasn’t to hold a party, r see old faces or chat. This is for business, my friends.”
At this, many people grumbled. “Not one of yer crazy schemes agin, old man!” one lord called out as he stood up abruptly. “Your plans have never worked, Xander! Face it; the prince is lost, Slugwrath himself has come into hiding so even we can’t find him. There’s nothing left to do! The old days were great, but the past is past. There’s no way-“
“Duke Drahil, I appreciate the input,” Xander began, closing his eyes in annoyance. “But I’m afraid that’s not the kind of attitude I like!” The old wizard’s hand shot out from under the confines of his baggy robes, firing a blast of Ice magic that froze over the duke’s mouth, preventing him from speaking.
“Mhmmhnnn!” the duke cried out in vain. Realizing that he could not break the ice with his mouth alone, he ran over to a torch on the wall, where he held his ice face over the flames in an attempt to thaw himself.
“Much better,” the wizard said cheerily with a sneer on his face. “Now, then, as I was saying, before the idiotic duke interrupted… Ah, yes. To business. We may not be able to restore the Slugwrath bloodline for some time, but I do know how we can regain power.”
“And how is that?” the general asked gruffly as he took another chug of his mead.
A shadow emerged from behind Xander, by the altar hidden in shadows. A man strode forth, garbed in metal armor with a black coattail hanging from his waist. In his hand he held a nodachi. His long black hair contrasted with his sharply pale skin. From above, Mordred sucked in a breath. “Cap’n Hugo…” he breathed, almost hissing the name as he traced the scar on his face.
“Pirate Lord of the Great Sea, at your service,” Hugo said, bowing.
“A pirate?!” raved the general, his mouth nearly frothing. He himself stood up abruptly, knocking over his chair and sending his platter and flagon crashing to the ground as he did so. “It’s one of his kind that’s been picking us off! You really are mad to think you can trust him, Xander!”
“Calm yourself, General Pilate” the pirate said soothingly. “I’m you’re only hope.” The general fumed and grumbled to himself as he fixed his chair and sat down, his face still beet-red. “Now, what you need is a way to bend the people of Lore to your will so they don’t rise up like last time.”
“Impossible,” a baroness scoffed, turning up her nose at the thought of peasants.
“Not unless you can control an Old One,” the wizard pointed out. At this, the entire room was hushed.
“I-I’m sorry,” Duke Drahil began, his jaw free of ice, but still cold. “D-did you say an Old One?”
“Yes,” the captain noted. “Old pirate legend tells of an artifact known only as the ‘Eye of Kathool,’ capable of bending Kathool ‘Achoo to the user’s will. I know how to find it. So, here’s the deal; I get it for you, your wizard over there uses it to bend the people to your will, your control the kingdom, I get a spot in the court as well as privateer status and protections, and the Slugwrath prince comes to claim the throne. It’s a win all around-except maybe for the people, but who cares?”
It was just then that Kry’Illad finished cutting through all the bars. “I’ve heard enough,” she hissed through her teeth, her reptilian nature taking some control. The raiding team leapt down the opening, weapons readied. The next moments were a blur of motion. Pistols were fired and knives thrown as the assailants descended, throwing the room into havoc. What guards survived the projectiles quickly closed in on the intruders, only to be cut down shortly.
With the guards all disposed of, the Dread Captain sauntered around the table, two pistols ever at the ready in his hands. “Well, well, well…” he mused out-loud with a grin on his face. “This be like an early Frostval present fer me. All th’ bottom-feeders o’ this world I hate th’ most in one place.” As he paced around them like a cat ready to pounce on his prey, a duchess rose from her seat, her mouth opening to speak. Without a moment’s hesitation the captain pulled his trigger on her, and she slumped back into her seat, lifeless. “Anyone else be havin’ complaints o’ these turn o’ events?”
The faces of all the exiled supporters turned ashen-grey, save for Xander and Hugo. Xander merely sneered, shadows disfiguring his face to monstrous effect, and Hugo seemed to be as calm as ever. “How’s your eye holding up, Dread Captain?” the armored captain questioned with malice, referencing the scar across Mordred’s eye. The only response the black-clad captain could give was a savage grimace and a low growl.
“I can’t say I expected you to crash our little soirée,” Xander began as he pulled himself up and began to pace around the table. “But I’m not surprised that you did. So, I suppose you’ll either kill us or send us off to the Swordhaven dungeons, hm?”
“Aye, tha’ be th’ plan,” Gurlak said gruffly. “Ye killed th’ innocent, built success off o’ th’ poor, abused yer power, an’ have evaded justice fer far too long.” Saying this, the orc fired his own pistol at the general, killing him with a fatal shot. “That’s fer me wife an’ kids.”
“An’ ye,” Mordred ssaid with venom, turning to Hugo. “Ye be havin’ real nerve, tryin’ to sell off th’ entire kingdom like this. Ye give upstandin’ pirates an’ privateers like us bad names. Th’ Eye not be fer mortals; ’specially not this lot.”
“Is that fear?” Hugo shot back, gripping his nodachi. “I’d love to accompany you to Swordhaven, my friend, but I have matters to attend to, such as getting the Eye for my client here.” This said, the captain’s form blurred, and he vanished.
“Yes, this has been great and all,” the wizard said nonchalantly as he examined his fingernails. “But I really can’t end up in either the Underworld or Swordhaven. Much work needs to be done, you see.” When Xander had finished speaking, the entire cliff began to shake and rumble.
“What was that?” a baron cried out in fear. Overhead, dust and rubble began to fall from the ceiling as the rumbling grew louder and closer, and the quakes stronger. All the meanwhile the wizard’s smirk grew and grew, until a portion of the ceiling and wall behind him came down with a great crash. When the dust cleared, a dragon stood where the wall once did, panting heavily from the exertion of clawing through earth and stone.
“It’s amazing what you can control with sheer force of will!” the old wizard called out as he clambered up the dragon’s side and seated himself on its shoulders. “Ta-ta, for now, pirates! I’d take some of my friends along for the ride, but I’m not sure how Xaryxos here would like that!” With that, the dragon and his rider flew off into the night.
“You’ve gotta be kidding me…” Haskill murmured under his breath. “He can control a dragon?!”
“Apparently, he’s not left-handed,” Gurlak noted.
The party table erupted into despair and cries of “He left us here with these pirates?!” and “Oh, this was not how it was meant to go at all!” or “I really do wish I had some more of this wine…”
“Alright, ye bottom feedin’ sea-scum,” Olaf called out. “We’ll be escortin’ ye to our ship, an’ from there, we’ll take ye to Swordhaven fer trial. That is, considering ye haven’t been too nasty to th’ rest o’ th’ crew.”
Realizing their plight, the twenty-seven exiles got up from their seats and began to tramp their way through the Tower dejectedly. When they were above ground once more, the Dread Captain took up a flare gun and fired it into the dark sky. Below in the bay, the Dread Dragoon replied with a salvo of blundergat rounds, quickly decimating the group of Slugwrath vessels.
When they reached the incoming tide, the captured nobility balked. “Keep moving,” Lydia said gruffly, pushing a noblewoman closer to the water’s edge.
“Y-you can’t expect us to tromp down there!” Duke Drahil protested. “We’ll surely drown!”
“Th’ water be breathable,” Gurlak noted.
“B-but this is made out of the finest imported silk!” the duke continued as he tugged at his fine garb. “It’ll surely be ru-“ Drahil was interrupted by a gunshot from Mordred that sent him face-up into the bay’s waters, where he floated.
“Any more objections?” the caption questioned as he blew away the smoke from the barrel of his pistol. The entire group of nobles scrambled to get into the water. More than one of them muttered their pleasure at not having to hear the annoying duke anymore.
Under the waves they made their way towards the Dread Dragoon and her anchors, and from there climbed up to the ship. The crew immediately seized the captured exiles. Two noblewomen were killed and thrown overboard for some past grievance with a crew member. Those who remained were quickly taken to the brig, where they woul wallow until their arrival in Swordhaven.
As Gurlak took the helm of the ship, a small black shadow passed over the moon’s surface, closing in on the ship. Just as the ship was setting off, the shadow alighted upon Mordred’s shoulder. “Ah, there ye be, Wyrd,” the captain said contently to the raven now perched on his right shoulder. “How be yer trip?”
“It was fine, captain,” the bird cawed.
“Tell me, how many love nests did ye leave in th’ middle o’ th’ night this time?”
“That’s hardly of your concern, you salty old pirate.”
“Yarharhar, I guess that be true ‘nough. Now, if ye not be mindin’, I need ye to send word to Alteon of our arrival in Swordhaven.”
“Not until I get some proper vittles and rest!”
“Very well, me feathered friend.” With that, the two retreated into the captain’s quarters.
The gangplank fell from the large blackened ship heavily. As soon as it fell, twenty-three nobles garbed in tattered rags of what must have been fine clothes once marched slowly down to the pier. Each was shackled so as to prevent escape. As soon as they alighted onto the stone piers of Swordhaven, royal guards took them into custody and led off to the dungeons. Just as two men began to pull the gangway back up into the ship, a captain of the guard removed his helmet and called out “Captain Mordred of the Dread Dragoon!”
On the deck of the ship, the black clad elf strode up to the gangway, motioning to his men to leave it be. “What be ye wantin’, cap’n?” the Dread Captain called out.
“King Alteon the Balanced as requested your presence in the palace!”
At this, the sea-captain removed his hat with a flourish and bowed respectfully. “If it pleases th’ good king, very well.” Replacing his hat, the captain stepped down from his dominion and followed the guards through the streets. As they made their way to the palace, people in the streets caught sight of the city’s guest. Some responded with “That’s the guy who caught those exiles! Finally, some resolution…” Others took to him less kindly. “Bloody pirate” and “Damned thief” were common insults.
They eventually stood before a great wooden gate leading to the palace. “Open the gate!” the captain of the guard ordered to the men on the wall. They set themselves off to work, and in a few moments, the gate was fully opened. The group continued onwards through the courtyard of the palace, and opened its gilded doors. From there, they made their way down a long open hallway leading to the throne. All along the walls hung banners of the Alteon reign. After a decent length of time passed, they were before the throne. As the guards parted for Mordred, the black raven Wyrd alighted on his shoulder, cawing in his satisfaction.
“It has been some time, my friend,” Alteon said kindly, stroking his beard thoughtfully. “Once again, you come before me with a gift.”
“Indeed, good King,” the elf replied, losing his gruff seaman’s voice and taking on one of elegance and nobility. “I hope this helps heal old wounds.”
“Many of the wounds these people have inflicted can never be fully healed, I’m afraid. Now, tell me, how does one come upon such a large number of the exile court?”
“A humble pirate has his ways.”
“I’m… sure he does. What’s intriguing is that you’ve caught or slain almost every one of those vile, blackhearted nobles. According to our records, only one remains at this point.”
“Xander…” Mordred seethed.
“Yes. A sly villain, he is, but do you really want to continue this mad quest? You’ve already brought justice to fifty-seven of the old court; must you hunt to the very last?”
“I must. If not for myself, then for my family.”
“What will you do once you’ve caught that magician?”
“…”
“My apologies. I didn’t mean for it to be so personal.”
“It’s all right, my friend. I… suppose I’ll try to put those crime lords in Krovesport out of business.” As the captain said this, he flicked a dagger around in his fingers.
“Never any rest for an old sea dog, eh?”
“I guess not.”
“Well, if there’s anything I can do to help you on your quest after Xander, just tell me. It’s the least I could do to show the gratitude of my people, and myself.”
“You are too kind sir. I’ll be sure to take up that offer if the need arises.” The sea captain removed his hat and bowed respectfully, before returning to his ship.
“May the gods old and new help you on your journey,” the king called out after him.
< Message edited by Mordred -- 5/25/2013 13:19:17 >
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