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As we neared the opening of the river, the crew made preparations for tight confines. Due to the War Bird's size, it had to be kept in the middle of the river to avoid hitting the sides. While wide, this river was winding, so if the helmsman wasn't careful, the ship could easily slam into a sharp bend in the river. Two men were assigned to guide the helmsman, and the entire crew was at the ready to try and keep the ship from smashing into the shore with oars, two men to an oar.
"Steady on the helm", the captain was no exception, standing near the helm in order to convey orders.
"This thing is almost too wide for these turns...", I heard someone down the line from me mutter.
We stood like this for a good three hours, much slower than our travels across the lake. Finally we entered a straight, the vessel picking up speed as the water dragged it down a soft slope. The ship hit the shore with a shower of water, spraying the deck.
"Hmph, about time", the captain went to the bow of the ship, and looked out into the horizon spanning waters.
I gazed out at the expanse, out where the ocean met the sky, transfixed by just how vast it all now seemed. It was one thing to read about it, but to actually see it... As far as one could see, nothing but sky and water... There I stood, staring out at the vast ocean before me, realizing just how tiny I truly was. But once more my thoughts were interrupted, this time by a heavy hand landing on my back, knocking the wind out of me.
"First time seein the sea princess? Really makes ye feel small, doesn't it?", the captain smiled up at me, before walking off back to the helm.
I watched her go, before returning to Bulwarks side. As he cuddled up to me, I pet him, watching the crew set up fishing lines. I was curious as to why, but figured that question could be asked when everyone wasn't so busy. Up and down the deck, people were casting out long lines, the far end tied to the fife rail, the other weighted with a hook half a span long, a chunk of dried meat a good finger wide set onto it.
If I had to guess, they were fishing for Selachimorpha Cute Ferrum, also known as the Armored Shark, due to the chitinous armor covering its skin, though armor is actually made from the same material as its teeth. Really though, the meat is good, but the only real use for it, is to turn the teeth into arrow heads, even a single shark could have as many as three thousand teeth. Apparently in some cultures, the fins are made into filleting knives, however.
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The helmsman called out the time as they flipped the hourglass again, we had another two flips before we had to start back, and not a single shark had taken the bait. Though it seems this whole fishing venture was more of an excuse for the crew to have a small party on this voyage, as the captain had allowed a few pints of ale to be given to each of the crew. True to her race however, the captain is on her tenth pint.
"Anyone have any good shanties?", she called out, her cheeks just starting to turn red.
"Ye know none of us can sing miss!", called one of the crew, bringing about a round of laughter.
"Nonsense! Not as if anyone here can say nuthin!", and with that, she began to sing an off key, slurred dwarven shanty.
Suddenly, the barrelman called out that he had spotted a vessel over the horizon, and then as if they hadn't just been drinking, the entire crew grew cold stone sober. The flag wasn't being flown, and the sails were up, making it harder to see the mast against the backdrop of trees, but even so the entire crew brought up the real weapons from below, just in case.
The barrelman began to recite the details as he saw them: low water line, fifteen oars to a side, with the bow and stern curving upward, and grey bulky figures walking on the deck. That sounded like an Orik pirate vessel, a rather large one. Unlike their southern cousins, the Gray Oriks of the north relied heavily on the sea for all their resources due to the barren infertile landscape of their homeland. Oriks being what they are, this obviously led to oceanic banditry, driven by their desire for combat, and claiming trophies. Typically, all they really took was food, something shiny, and the skull of somebody they killed. The issue being, they really didn't see an issue with eating intelligent creatures, and often saw it as a way of improving their own strength.
As the Orik ship drew closer, everyone crouched behind the railing, armed and ready. As we watched, it turned twoards us, and seemed to get faster. Now I could make out the oars movement as the ship was also in full sail, but still the barrelman saw more than I.
"They got a ram captain!"
"Mages, water wall!", at her call, twelve men and women backed up and started chanting.
Closer and closer the ship came, showing the bravery and recklessness of the orik in full, as they charged a much larger vessel. I could see two orik shamans, and six archers all getting ready, these oriks weren't a new band of pirates. Now we could hear the pace drum, and one orik calling out the pace, for those who couldn't count.
Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon.
But as they drew close enough to fire their bows, the water before the ship heaved itself up into a towering wave as high as the mast. The arrows were swept up into the water, driven down into the ocean, and over the spray of the water we could hear the annoyed cries of the enemy.
"Drive the wave forth and end the spell!", I was confused by this order from the captain, but this was soon answered as they ran forward and dropped their hands.
The wave plunged itself forward, crashing down before cresting again, washing over the entirety of the enemy ship, sending several of the oriks into the ocean. Namely, the pace drummer, the shamans, and the archers, who couldn't brace themselves properly. With their mast shattered, ripped from the deck when the wave caught the sail, and their momentum killed, the oriks gave up on ramming us, instead throwing up grappling hooks amidst a hail of ice and acid bolts.
Shields held high, the oriks swarmed the rope. I grabbed another persons saber, and cut the rope, causing the orik on it to fall onto their fellows. However, there were six others with the orik were already climbing over the railing. The crew fell into ranks, the front drawing their sabers, the back readying more magic.
I below deck, the sound of battle above me, the dark rooms came into view slowly, but I didn't stop racing for the armory. The sounds of combat grew more intense as I ran into the room, the left wall holding staves, middle shelves holding different types of melee weapons, and the right most wall having different types of bows. At the far end, behind the cross bows, I found the short bows, the heavier ones were of metal, I even saw a mythril one, but I grabbed a yew bow, not strong enough for the metal ones. The sound of metal against metal, and bodies hitting the deck grew fainter as I manage to get back onto the deck.
The orik had the crew pressed to the helm, though the deck was strewn with both orik and crew bodies, the oriks natural strength had helped them press the crew back. But I saw something that just pissed me off... Bulwark had been gutted, the orik responsible having just walked out, a sneering grin on his fat, piggish face.
Apparently, I was even terrifying to orik, as fear covered its face when it saw me, right before the arrow I fired sprouted from its right eye, sending it to the deck, dead. My vision was clouded in black and red, my mind hazy with rage. I heard a trio of voices in harmony screaming, and saw the orik, and the crew, flinch at the sound, turning to me. I began firing arrows as fast as I could, my reason clouded over by black rage. Though I didn't get any kill shots by the time I ran out of arrows, I did hit several crew members in my careless haste. As soon as I started my counter attack, the orik charged me, stumbling over the corpses of their fellows in their haste to kill me.
Now, regardless of my lack of arrows, and being on my own, my rage led me to use a magic best left off of a boat. I bombarded the oriks with fire magic, retreating from their bloodied blades. The only thing in my mind, were memories of Bulwark, whom I had raised from a puppy, and a blinding urge to make them pay for his death.
My tail snapped out like a whip, tripping up oriks to be trampled by their allies, and the deck burned. Oh did it burn! Black and red flames consumed flesh, bone, and soul, rending the wicked orik to little more then piles of brimstone apon the deck. But suddenly, a shadow enveloped me, and my blood ran cold as a voice whispered into my ear, extinguishing the flames, and my rage with it, replacing both with a dark cold.
"That's quite enough."
Nobody moved, watching the masked shadow, their form seeming to wreath and ripple in the sunlight, their eyes burning gold behind the tigers mask, the stripes being gaps in the mask into the dark folds of the hood. They looked at me, as I watched his movements warily despite my fear, oddly seeming to like the fact. Without another word, they seemed to sink into their own shadow, vanishing, the cold sensation going with it. In their absence, I collapsed to my knees, taking a breath I hadn't realised I've been holding.
The crew surged forward, concern on their faces... why was the ship suddenly tilting sideways?
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I woke up in my bed, back at the fortress, pain stabbing all over my chest and arms. Looking down, my entire upper torso was covered in bandages, blood having soaked through in a few places. I set my head back down with a groan, the room was already full of bright spots, rushing about the room like wisps. I lay there, in my quiet room, thinking back to the attack... namely of that black figure.
My door creaked open, Azrael peeking his head, hair slightly aglow, into the doorway. Seeing I was awake, he entered.
"How do you feel?"
"Like I just got shot by several arrows", I smirked.
He smirked back, pulling my desk chair next to my bed.
"Well, you did resemble a puffer porcupine when you walked in", he seemed glad that I was well enough to crack jokes.
"Looking at my pock marks, I can imagine"
With a sigh, he just sat there, looking over my injuries, seeming to want to say something, but deciding not to.
"Spit it out, I can read your face like a book brother", I chuckled, but immediately regretted it, as pain punched my chest, causing me to cough.
"... It seems that when they tried to heal you, your wounds actually grew worse, your skin sizzling where they had touched you...", he looked at me, gauging my response.
"Well... guess I'm healing through a potion"
"once one is available"
While potions were generally better in terms of effect, healing magic was far simpler to manifest (especially in a church). Potions took time, ingredients, and a precise hand for optimal effect, all magic took was as little as a single class, and a good memory. Not to mention that magic was far more immediate, while potions could take upwards of an hour, and tasted like ass, at best.
But what made potions straight up inconvenient, was that their shelf life was so bad, they had to be used the same day they were made. Any method of preservation would dilute the effect to pointlessness, or straight up render it void. That being said, potions were really cheap, unless you were trying for one of the really potent ones of course.
"So... did you hear what happened?", I asked him, wondering what the crew must have seen
"According to the surviving crew of the War Bird, your hair ignited in black flame, and your irises seemed to shrink into points, as your entire eye turned pitch black. This was followed by a horrifying wail, and you going berserk on the orik", he seemed to have a question, but I had one that was a bit more urgent.
"And Bulwark...?"
Azrael closed his mouth, eyes looking down, and remained silent.
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