The Untamed Sea (IC)

[Lady Mon]

The Untamed Sea
The Novdum

"Port Haven is straight ahead Captain!" Called a human crewmate from the Crow's Nest of the ship.

"Aye! Raise the sails and get ready to anchor next to the dock." Captain Maria Bishop ordered as she stood at the helm steering the ship towards the dock while the crew worked hard on raising the sails.

Today was a successful day for the crew of the Novdum, just a few hours ago they were able to track down two merchant ships belonging to a human kingdom called Plaolia. The two merchant ships were transporting rare gemstones as whole as gold to their destination and since these ships were carrying important cargo, they were being protected by a galleon. When the Novdum engaged with the galleon, Maria felt an adrenaline rush like she never felt before during her time sailing the Untamed Sea. The galleon was actually a challenge to take down unlike other ships that Maria and her crew have sunk before and it actually brought her joy when she faces a challenge. Most ships that she has encountered usually either surrender their loot or they just abandon ship as soon as they're spotted on the horizon. But luckily the galleon and even the two merchant ships wanted to put up a fight against them to protect them.

Despite the galleon and two merchant ships putting up a tough fight, they ended up surrendering after the galleon sunk and after her crew boarded the two merchant ships. Maria of course let the surviving crew of the merchant ships and galleon live and even dropped them off at an island where they could be picked up by any passing ship. Once they gathered the rare gems and gold from the merchant ships, Maria set sail to Port Haven where pirates go and sell their stolen goods for gold. Port Haven was the first pirate outpost founded by the first pirate captains who first arrived in the Untamed Sea. Port Haven was the perfect outpost to go to due to the island being surrounded by fog making it hard for local authorities to find and raid it. Maria soon came out of her thoughts as she saw that they were approaching one of the docks to Port Haven with the ship's sails raised.

"Drop the anchor!" Maria ordered to which her crew did stopping the ship completely next to the dock.

"Alright crew, let's get this loot unloaded and sold. After that we'll go to the tavern and I'll pay for all of our drinks!"

The crew cheered as they got to work on unloading the loot with Maria helping them. However, unknown to the crew of the Novdum a strange figure wearing a hood watched them from a distant as well as looking at the other ships that have docked at Port Haven.

[Arkeyana]

Chapter I: Shoal

[Port Haven, Untamed Sea]

Elsewhere at Port Haven, a large sailing ship of unusual make set anchor.

It was odd not the manner of being any form of exotic design, but in that it had bizarre features up close-masts too spindly, too much rigging, and other out of place details-that felt like it was a mimicry of a ship, rather than a proper one. The elder seamen, the ones who knew the oddities of this particular vessel, would recognize it well enough, though.

It was The Shoal, and its mimicry was most deliberate. A colony of sapient Mimics, The Shoal had been emulating the vessels of other races for who-knows-how long, often running all manner of errands for those that sought discretion and stealth. The fact it had hove to here was one of two things: Either it was seeking new employment, or collecting payment for a mission-often in the manner of raw meats.

One by one, the cloaked, masked "crew" of The Shoal made an appearance, gliding along its deck and perching on rigging and masts like birds, swiveling back and forth to observe the waters and shore as a smaller contingent slid down off of a spontaneously-grown gangway and into the streets of Port Haven, dark figures surrounding an androgynous character with pale mask-Medusae, "Captain" of The Shoal.

[Rhinocera]

The Untamed Sea, aboard the Darkened Dread

Durogar Ograk’s eyes flew open, waking from his slumber in a start. Whatever nightmare he had been having had already began to fade from his memory, though he assumed it had something to do with his great defeat at the hands of the Elves. Still groggy despite his startling awakening, he began to collect himself, taking in his surroundings. He could hear the crashing of waves against the hull of his ship. He saw and felt the sheets on his bed, the finest silk money could buy. When he was younger he had slept on a dirt floor, then a cobbled floor, then a wooden deck. How things had changed, he thought to himself. He rose from his bed and dressed himself, a black shirt and pants, followed by a belt that held his Cutlass, followed by his black coat trimmed with red, then his trademark hat. He pulled on his thick boots, took a quick look around, and left his quarters.

Immediately outside his door stood two burly orcs, who had stood guard for their captain while he slept. He had know each of these men for over a decade and trusted them with his life, though he paid them accordingly to make sure that trust wasn’t misplaced. As he stepped out of his cabin the two orcs departed without a word, as the captain needed no protection while awake onboard his own ship. In truth, he likely didn’t need it while asleep either, since his cabin door was wrought iron and his crew loyal. It never hurt to be careful though, as you never knew who would decide that it was their turn to put their name down in history as the man who killed the great Durogar Ograk.

Walking through the halls of his ship, Durogar observed the crew going about their tasks. The work was diligent but the demeanor was casual, a good sign on an orcish vessel. A captain who drove an orcish crew hard at every waking moment was a captain that would find an axe in his skull in short order. Orcs we’re an unruly race that didn’t take well to strict discipline, such discipline needed to be saved for the proper moments.

As Durogar made his way to the deck he saw a pair of hulking figures, dwarfing even himself. Taggan and Taggon, the only two Ogres aboard the vessel. There presence on the deck could only mean one thing.

“Morning father, about time you joined us”
Durogar turned to face his daughter, her jovial tone offset by his serious voice. “Our bearings Samara?” She shook her head, he was never one for chit chat when he was working. “We will arrive shortly after nightfall captain” she responded. “Good” stated Durogar. He looked at his daughter, his adopted daughter actually. Standing at a towering 5 feet 3 inches tall, she barely stood past half his own height. A human female, Durogar had found her aboard a Slave ship nearly 20 years ago during a raid. Bold for a child, she didn’t cower when approached by the towering Orc, a fact which amused Durogar greatly. After finding out that her parents had not survived the journey, Durogar had taken her in and raised her as his own, alongside several other adopted children, both orcish and human. Samara had always been his favorite though, and she knew it. She had experienced the sea at a young age and took naturally to it, and Durogar had worked tirelessly to prepare her for the dangerous life that would follow should she walk in her fathers footsteps. She was trained by master swordsmen and taught to defend herself as best she could. She was skilled and talented, but even so Durogar worried. Taggan and Taggon were Durogar’s method to alleviate such concerns. Two ogres who he had freed from captivity years ago, that had elected to join his ranks. Handsomely compensated and naturally loyal, these ogres served as Samara Ograk’s personal guard, ensuring her safety as she voyaged with father.

Stepping away from his daughter, Durogar took the wheel of his ship as he looked across the deck. Mostly Orcs we’re seen toiling away at their duties, but there were a handful of humans as well, and of course the two ogres. As the hours ticked away, Durogar and his crew went about their business over the course of an uneventful day. As nightfall approached, Durogar saw it in the distance. They were nearly there. Handing command of the wheel of to his daughter, Durogar retreated to his quarters. He was believed dead by most not aboard this vessel, a fact he intended to exploit while possible. Even the ships flag was that flown by the many ships associated with Durogar, not the flag flown by his own ship. His personal flag, an orcish skull with two broken tusks, sat secure in his quarters. The flag flown was the orcish skull with one broken tusk, often flown by captains who had sailed under his orders as part of his pirate fleet at one time or another. Not an uncommon sight for those well versed in the politics of piracy, as many captains had served under him over the decades. Presently, his daughter Samara presided as the official captain of the Darkened Dread, with Durogar still presumed dead by the masses. The longer he kept it that way the better, for now at least.

Samara stood at the wheel of the ship, guiding it into dock slowly and carefully. After the ship had docked, Samara and a dozen crew members, including her personal guard descended onto the dock, with sufficient funds in tow to requisition supplies, rum, and hopefully some information. The Darkened Dread had arrived at Port Haven, only time would tell what would follow.

[Ceystile]

Bran the Raven
Hooded Crow, Port Haven

“Removed beyond the evening chill,
The father sat, and told them tales
Of wrecks in the great September gales,
Of pirates coasting the Haven Main,
And ships that never came back again,
The chance and change of a sailor's life,
Want and plenty, rest and strife,
His roving fancy, like the wind,
That nothing can stay and nothing can bind,
And the magic charm of foreign lands,
With shadows of palms, and shining sands,
Where the tumbling surf,
O'er the coral reefs…”

“Nope.” Captain Brannen Hargrave huffed at the parchment he’d been writing on for the past half an hour before crumpling it up and tossing it in the vague direction of the wastebasket. It missed, and a calico cat uncoiled herself from the pirate’s sumptuous red velvet blankets and made to go chase it across the wooden floors. “I’m just cranking out pretentious shit, it seems.” The half-elf sighed, the myriad of objects in his black braids clattering together like some maniacal wind-chime as he head moved. He was interrupted in his musings by a knock upon his canon door, and the pale, bespectacled face of his navigator peered into the dimly lit room.

“Sir, we should be making landfall soon…er, Captain?” Bran turned his dark eyes to the human, straightening himself up to his full height.
“Excellent, Canary. Thank you.” Bran brushed his ink-stained fingers on the grey of his pants as the pair made their way onto the deck, the salt air ruffling the short blond curls that gave Canary her nickname. “Captain, what were you doing back there?”
“I was writing an epic of our glorious exploits, of course! At least, I was attempting to.” Brushing off his bright blue leather coat, Bran ordered his crew to make anchor once they reached the docks. "Port Haven...my mother told me all about this place."

[Ormata]

Captain Niossae Kelkas zá Micos du Uclary
Inanaluma
N by NW of Port Haven, 12 NM

The heavy smell of salt and fish was one of the first things he’d gotten used to, the sea rolling gently beneath black boots as the man stood upright upon the deck. He didn’t even really notice the shift of the waves as they broke upon the bow, the polacre making good enough speed as it crested one wave to the next. The sails billowed out, driven forward by a warm wind the man knew was not entirely natural. There was little interest in following the laws of nature, which stated that speed by one route would be lesser than another due to the currents, when one could force their own will upon it. He knew he had hired the wizard for something good, that old man sat about near the bowspit with his face lost in the folds of his robe, cragged hands twined about staff.

Birds flew above them, catching the stray dregs of the unnatural winds. Seagull cries rang-out as sailors called to one-another, as men moved about the deck here and there. They crested another wave, the bow crashing down into the water, and the whole of the vessel creaked and groaned like an old man. The flag flew high above, though, almost taut in the wind. Few dared challenge the red flag and golden saber, though some had tried once before and the man did not doubt that another would one day try again.

Heavier boots on the deck as one emerged from down below. Niossae could smell his selective perfumes. “Mister Chamor,” the Captain nodded, partially turning his head as hands clasped themselves behind his back. “How soon?”

“Five hours, Cap’n. Or four. It’s hard to gauge our speed like this.”

The deck planks creaked again. Four hours would mean they’d be arriving as the tide was coming out to meet them, as other vessels might be leaving their own anchorages. It might prove an issue, were they unprepared. “Good enough. Tell Cinelli before you go back below, he’ll know your meaning,” came the reply after that pause.

“Sir.” With that, Chamor edged past Niossae, moving up forward to wake the wizard. Hands grasped the ratlines as a few of the hands made their way up the mast to relieve the topside lookouts, their lithe forms soon shrinking as they climbed like monkeys. One man glanced down, flashing a smile and…

...and he died. At least, someone who’d looked at him had died. The edge of the forest erupted in white smoke and orange flame as near-twenty muskets fired in volley, practiced, precise, and a half-dozen of the fishermen had gone down with screams among the rows of their catch. Here and there men rose up with their own muskets in hand, uncertainty spoiling their aim, as another forest edge rose-up with a wolf’s howl. Pirates charged out from the tropical shrubbery, blades and breastplates gleaming in the sun, and they soon ran amok the fishing camp. Niossae hadn’t known how bad things had gotten, only that a group of salvagers had found a wreck with a certain artifact aboard. He’d been interested in claiming it.

The smell of the dead had reached them far before anything else. Merfolk were laid out in the sandy beach in rows, some missing chunks of flesh, some merely having dribbles of blood leak from their ears. Piles of gleaming scales dotted the encampment, many of the fishermen at work to remove more from the corpses with their blades. Some had been singing as they worked, smiling, laughing. It was merely a job.

The elf’s boots sunk into the sand as he walked between two rows, his eyes drifting down. Niossae wished he hadn’t. There was nothing more disgusting than slaughter turning into a casual practice. Young, glassy eyes had stared up at him, intestines open to the breeze.

He shivered back to life. The ship rocked again, slow before it swayed the other way fast, and he could see his First Mate and Quartermaster further aft, leaning on the railing, talking. Her eye glanced his way, that subtle raise of the eyebrow as quick as a cat. She knew something was off, something was bothering him, and as much as Niossae valued his reputation as a cold professional the Captain could value the fact that she wasn’t as blind as most others. He knew she’d had value the moment her galleon had come his way. In a way it made the elf glad.

A groan escaped his lips, a hand scratching his chin absentmindedly, and Niossae leaned upon the railing as well as he searched the edge of the horizon. He couldn’t stop going back to the sight before, to those eyes, to those guts. What was it that irked him so? What made that slaughter any worse than the dozens of others he’d witnessed, than the remains of the sack at Port Sandovar, than the destruction of the refugee vessel Coronal at the hands of an ork fireship? What made the slaughter there any worse than the sight of hundreds of floating corpses who’d raised no blade, been a part of no war? What made things different?

He supposed it had been the laughter.

The stone was cold in his hands. It was always cold. Raising it out before him, the silver chain dangling just beyond to sway in the breeze, the man looked at it as he’d done a few times before. A red gemstone glowed gently in the center of the rather plain piece, no artwork having gone into the piece of jewelry. The fishermen had been offered a large sum of gold for the piece, an artifact of old providence, though he couldn’t tell why. Cinelli hadn’t been able to discern any importance from the gem, nor from the miniscule inscriptions about the back.

So much death for such a small thing. Why?

”Please, god! Spare me!”

They were pitiful cries, the few who’d lived half-prostrate in the bloody sand. Some were crying, incoherent, others staring off into the distance, accepting of their fate as the dead, but a fair number begged for their lives. Niossae stood before them, the wizard inspecting the necklace with an appraising eye far behind, while a semi-circle of men ringed the prisoners. He’d never known any fishermen to be natural soldiers, nor warriors, and these had not broken that trend. They’d fought and died just as they’d seemed to have lived.

“Tell me about this,” he’d asked, voice level. It was an open question. He hoped they had a shred of humanity left in them to know what to care about.

“A man in Santo contracted us to find it,” one blurted, a half-elf with a torn nose and cut-off ear, “he wanted it enough to pay us five thousand gold each to find it.” The wastrel looked up with wide eyes to Niossae.

“And the dead?”

“They swarmed our divers and boats as we tried to reach the wreck. Had no choice. They forced us to kill them.”

Young eyes had looked up at him, glassy, dead. They had not been the eyes of a warrior. The question had been answered. One of the piles of scales lit up in flames, men tossing acorns into them as the wizard whispered words of power. The effect on the prisoners were instant as a few of the pitiful jumped-up with new vigor. Eyes opened wide and mouths gaped in impotent, silent protest. They did not know what to say.

“Take me with you,” said a gnome, her hair blackened and burnt at the tips, “I can make explosives. I can make powerful explosives. Please. Take me with you.”

“What would I need an explosives expert for?”

She gestured with a hand at the corpses, a smile touching the corners of her mouth. “Look around you. Depth-setting’s hard at first, but I got it right after a few tries. Most folk died without a scratch on em. It’s a fortune’s worth of expertise for free. Just take me with you. I know who you are. I know what you can do. I can help you.” As the woman had spoke, the fear left the tones of her voice, her pride creeping in. She had a sense of self-worth in her, bolstered by the slaughter. It disgusted Niossae to the core of his soul.

He hadn’t even thought to draw his pistol. All he knew was pulling the trigger in an instant’s span, the little death-rattle the gnome had made before she dropped to the ground.

He looked at the horizon. They’d taken on no new crew with the fishermen, and none were likely to find the graves. They crested another wave, and the small shapes of the island began to emerge over the horizon. The navigator had been wrong about his assessment. Good.

“Land, ho!”

It had been three hours of time before the Inanaluma had turned into the harbor of Port Haven, her sails furled, no oar dipping from her flanks. No, the water itself pushed the vessel along, the sea and the will of a wizard at the bow who knew what he was doing. As they moved, Niossae picked out ships here and there that he recognized as notable in the piracy game. The Shoal was present, less a ship and more a creature, and his skin crawled at the sight. The Darkened Dread was docked as well, her tall sides and cruder construction typical of orc ships while her captain was anything but. A few others were here and there that Niossae knew, though few had a reputation as the Inanaluma. Few vessels could lay claim to having plied the waters for a century. As the Captain’s mind was focused on the other vessels the ship came into port easily, quickly even, and soon enough men were jumping across the thin blue strip of water onto the quay, tying the ship up at the bollards. Soon enough the brow had been laid out into place and his boots thudded down its length.

He needed a drink.

[Rhinocera]

The Shores of Port Haven

Samara Ograk wandered the bustling streets of Port Haven, a handful of her crew in tow. She was the captain of the Darkened Dread, with her father presumed dead by nearly all but their own men, and she presented herself as such. She walked the street with a confidence and presence that commanded respect. Most of the dozen crew she had descended into the port with had returned to the ship, supplies and rum in tow, but she still walked with 4 orcs. They had acquired nearly everything they needed, aside from the information the sought out.

The entire reason they had set sail was because of a rumor, a rumor regarding the location of a mystic artifact. Why her father was so enamored with these mystic artifacts was was beyond Samara’s understanding. Too often had Durogar spent tremendous amounts of time, gold, and blood in the pursuit of magical relics only for them to turn out to be little more than trinkets with little practical use. The everlasting chalice had been one such prize, with its only mystic property being that it turned whatever liquid was poured into it into a rather good red wine. An interesting party trick for sure, but not worth the dozens of lives spent on its acquisition. Of course, legend had told that drinking from the chalice could heal its possessor of any wound, but that was simply untrue. Many mystical relics were similar, practically useless trivial antiques that had been exaggerated in legend. If she had to guess, this heart they sought after would be a hard fought, violently expensive prize with a superficial, worthless application. Samara almost hoped that they wouldn’t find it, but at her fathers behest she would genuinely try.

It was with this in mind that Samara entered a tavern, not incredibly busy yet, but it was still early. She was a good looking woman and many of the men had already succumbed to the effects of their rum and brandy, so plying secrets from them would be of little difficulty. A pretty face and kind words being all the motivation a drunken sailor typically needed to start boasting of their secrets. Of course, her orcish crew kept an eye open if she were to require assistance, but Samara could handle herself.

The Darkened Dread, Captains Quarters, Port Haven

Onboard his ship, Durogar gazed upon ancient maps and texts. Hemmnjir’s Heart was of the most fabled magical relics known in legend. It could grant its weirder immortality, the one prize that no amount of gold or blood could buy. Durogar had to have it, damn the costs whatever they may be. His daughter didn’t understand, believing it to be an old fools search for a remedy that didn’t exist. Durogar knew it was real though. It had to be. His one chance to circumvent the burden of mortality. And even if it wasn’t all the legends said, no one would have to know when they sold it to some pompous lord for a kingdom’s worth of riches. This heart represented the opportunity of a dozen lifetimes, one way or the other. Durogar would have it.

A sudden interruption brought Durogar back to the here and now, away from his thoughts on the heart. The news traveled to him quickly, shortly after its arrival Durogar knew of the Inanaluma’s presence. And with the storied Elvish vessels arrival, it’s even more storied captain was sure to be present. Captain Niossae had been a pirate longer than Durogar had been alive, a credit to Elven longevity. He had been a successful pirate as well, a credit to the man’s own mettle. Even with Durogar’s deep seated prejudice against the Elves, Niossae was an individual he afforded the courtesy of respect. Make no mistake, Durogar thought of Niossae as an elvish menace that would be better off at the bottom of the sea than roaming and raiding amongst the living, but he had respect for his potential adversary. To underestimate the Elvish captain was to likely die. Niossae’s intentions were what mattered now, had the Elf come in week of the same prize? That was the probable conclusion, his presence here at this moment would be too much of a coincidence. That meant the competition would be stiff and deadly, without a doubt. And if Niossae was here, there was little doubt that others would be in search of the heart as well. At least Niossae’s reputation made his presence apparent in short order, the lesser renowned seekers would be more difficult to identify. Hopefully they would be less capable.