-[Chapter 020]-

The Sea Dragon’s Roost was on fire. Razazil observed the unfolding battle with growing concern. His wounded sailors were being brought back in ever greater numbers while his enemies were showing no signs of slowing their assault. In a show of defiance and bravery, freshly bandaged men and women sprung up from below the decks to take their place in the barricades alongside their comrades, but not every wound could be so easily mended.

The Red Hands and the Iron Sentinels kept pushing against the ever-shrinking perimeter of the Sea Dragon’s Roost and the Admiral’s forces had so far been unable to check their advance. With his crew outnumbered, Razazil had to rely on his enemies exhausting themselves against his fortifications, like waves crashing against a rocky shore, for the day to be won. The fighting drew ever closer to the ships moored on the edge of the harbor. Magic projectiles and gunshots were now being exchanged between the buildings in plain sight of the Admiral. The sound of clashing sabers occasionally cut through the overwhelming noise of screams and crackling fire, but it was gunfire that reigned supreme, even in these close quarters.

Amidst all this chaos the two-headed ogre XO returned to his Admiral to deliver his report. It appeared as if a piece of shrapnel or an errant bullet had grazed one of his heads, leaving a deep gash across his brow, but that did not seem to bother the hulking creature in the slightest. Fueled by adrenalin and the thrill of battle, he kept wiping the blood from his face, agitating the wound further, likely not even realizing its severity.

“We have no more fresh reserves left to commit into the fight,” the XO reported. “Some of our guys have been brought in for treatment for the second time already. Spells and drugs are keeping them going for now, but I worry for their lives. Many will die of arcane fever after the battle is over, if this continues.”

“Then have our sailors fall back behind the barricades,” the Admiral commanded. “Sod the warehouses and sod the damned port! Let it burn! We will make our final stand under the cannons of our ships. I reckon that will be enough to break the enemies’ advance.”

Just as the XO set out to relay the Admiral’s orders to the troops, Razazil sighted a frightening beast emerge from the blazing city streets. The creature set its sights on the line of barricades guarding the ships and roared. The monster was covered in a thick grey fur and carried a massive wooden club in its hands, which was easily the size of a grown man. On its neck was perched a smaller critter—a hobgoblin—who used his reigns to steer the dim-witted beast towards his enemies. The green jockey wrestled with the beast in an effort to keep it from wandering off on its own.

“So, the Red Hands have brought their trolls?” Razazil remarked. “Didn’t expect the orcs to share their toys with an elven crew...”

The dirty beast swung his club left and right as it hobbled down the street. Advancing behind it were several marines of the Iron Sentinels, clad in full plate armor. The elves carried large tower shields and formed a tight defensive formation from behind which several bowmen occasionally emerged to fire down the street at Razazil’s retreating crew.

The Admiral recognized the danger that their rapid advance presented to his sailors and moved to counter it. “I want all cannons aimed on that troll!” he ordered in a thunderous voice. It was almost ethereal in nature. Not even the loud noise of gunfire cracking across the harbor could snuff it out.

Any and all gunners that had the line of sight on the troll aimed their cannons down the street and waited for the order to fire. Most of the ship’s guns could not, however, be turned towards the lumbering beast, as the broadside was far too wide to cover the narrow path of the creature’s advance at such a close range.

“Fire the canons on my command!” Razazil ordered.

The Admiral held in his breath as he waited for the right moment to unleash the cannonade. The old dragon-kin pirate closed his eyes and focused. He then activated an ability that granted him arcane sight. {Battle Vision} was an ability of the highest tier, only attainable through countless years of rigorous training in leadership. It was the perfect tool for any officer who sought to lift the ever present fog of war that was the bane of battlefield command.

With his eyes closed, peering through the swirling smoke and crumbling walls that covered the battlefield, he could now see his men and their enemies as they moved from building to building in a frantic melee. Razazil noted several of his sailors holding positions along the street that the troll was rampaging down—the very same street that he was about to annihilate with his canons.

“Take cover!” he ordered his men without a word spoken. “Raking fire incoming!” The command was given telepathically and was part of the Admiral’s {Battle Meditation} skill, from which the {Battle Vision} ability was derived.

At the behest of his command, the red figures of his sailors ducked into whatever cover they could find, opening up a clear firing line on the troll. Razazil then gave his gunners the order to shoot. The Admiral reached out with his hand and directed the gunnery crews with his finger, imparting a guiding presence into the minds of the sailors. “Fire!” he yelled and the cannons opened up on the hapless troll with incredible precision.

The first shot that found its mark all but vaporized the hobgoblin jockey mounting the troll, the second and third struck the beast in the chest and stomach sending him falling backwards, bones broken and organs crushed. When the smoke from the cannonade begun to clear, it became clear that three out of seven cannonballs had landed on target. The others had passed close by, scattering the line of Iron Sentinels shadowing the troll, which, unlike the dull beast, had the wherewithal to seek cover when coming under fire.

The violent death of the troll finally halted the advance of the elven warriors, but they did not resign to remaining behind cover for long, now that their brutish vanguard had been felled. Once it became clear that no more cannonballs would follow, they moved to reform and tighten their shield wall, intending to stand their ground. A moment later a blue wall of energy appeared in front of them. Once fully conjured, it rose up about two stories tall, shielding the street behind the Iron Sentinels from canon fire for as long as it would last.

“Fire at will!” Razazil ordered. “I want that barrier spell broken! Do not let them advance any further.”

The canon crews immediately set to reloading their guns. Seeking to carry out the Admiral’s order, they had soon poured volley after thunderous volley into the barrier, but the magic wall did not falter. Neither, however, could the elves advance past it for as long as the barrage persisted.

While the Iron Sentinels held their ground on the right side of the harbor, the street on the left of the plaza erupted in chaos as a green tide of monsters emerged from the city streets beyond. In a fortunate twist of fate, or, perhaps, as a sign of poor coordination between the pirate crews, the Red Hands had chosen to charge just as the advance of the Iron Sentinels had been halted. Either way, the Admiral now had the opportunity to tackle his foes one at a time. But good fortunes alone would not suffice to carry the day, as the Red Hands by themselves looked to be outnumbering the defenders two to one.

Orcs in their hundreds came swarming down the road towards the Admiral’s ships. They tore into the barricades and clambered up the walls, trying to force their way into the fortified buildings beyond. When met with determined resistance, they would attempt to flush out the defenders with fire and steel. Many of the orcs were hit by gunfire or stricken by spells, but scant few of them went down for good. Their sheer bloody-minded rage and endurance carried the brutish creatures through the worst of it. As always, the {Blood Frenzy} racial trait of the greenskins came in handy for these assault troops as they kept on fighting long after any other creature might have passed out from their injuries.

“We won’t stop a Red Hand charge with gunfire alone,” Razazil noted from his past experience. “We have to wear them down and scatter the horde first.”

The Admiral once more closed his eyes, activating the {Battle Vision} ability, and reached out to his men fighting in the buildings on the left side of the harbor.

“Prime the demolition charges! Then fall back towards the ships,” he ordered. “Deny them everything. BURN EVERYTHING!”

Razazil knew that scorching his own supply stores and workshops was a costly proposition, but his foothold in Port Malus and the 9th Hell was worth much, much more than whatever loot and provisions he had to give up for it.

While the willful destruction of plunder and loot was frowned upon by most pirate crews, the employment of scorched earth tactics were not that uncommon—the desire to burn what you could not take with you or to destroy that which you did not wish to hand over to your foe came as second nature to those who pillaged the fortunes of others for a living.

Almost immediately following the Admiral’s order the houses along the path of the Red Hands’ advance began to combust. The street soon grew to resemble a roaring furnace as the frenzied orcs triggered the traps left behind by the retreating defenders. As the houses around them blew to pieces or were set on fire, the greenskins were funneled back out onto the street and into the sights of the ship’s canons. Stunned by the loud explosions going off around them and with nowhere left to hide, the hapless orcs were rendered easy pickings for the Admiral’s sailors who sniped at them with vengeful glee.

With the orcs now suitably clumped up in the open, Razazil gave the command to fire the cannons. This time it was the lower deck; this time it was grapeshot. The cannons let loose in rapid succession, unleashing a cluster of densely packed munitions and shrapnel with each shot. They were devastating against massed infantry. Rank after rank of charging greenskins was cut down by the wall of lead balls as they impacted them head on, tearing flesh from bone; limb from body and ferocity away from the green tide.

At first it seemed like the cannonade had managed to check the Red Hands’ advance, but as the smoke once more cleared it was revealed to the defenders that there were still a lot of orcs left alive. Even so, for the moment their assault had been halted. Those orcs that could still move dug in behind the rubble and piled up corpses of their own dead to shield themselves from the Admiral’s snipers high up in the ship’s masts. They were trying to hold on to what ground they had already taken. Sporadic fire was exchanged between the defenders and the Red Hand sailors while the latter awaited reinforcements.

On his part Razazil had precious few options left when it came to taking the initiative away from his enemies. The cost of halting the combined assault of two pirate outfits had taken its toll. He surveyed the thinned ranks of his marines holding the barricades in the plaza below the ship—many of whom were wounded—and weighed his options. There were still a few holdouts left in the harbor from which his sailors could launch a counter-attack into the flanks of either the Hands or the Sentinels, but that would leave the other party free to resume their attack against a much depleted defensive line. It seemed like a risky proposition to go on the offensive with his much depleted crew, given that the old Admiral did not know how large a force his enemies had held back in reserve for just such an occasion.

“We need to consolidate our lines,” he told his XO. “We will have to rely on the cannons to carry the day now. This could turn into a siege.”

Having taken stock of his situation, Razazil began to weigh his options. He could order his men to stand fast and fight in the plaza, which would allow him to keep at least some of his storehouses intact, or he could abandon it all, cut short his losses and leave the harbor to his enemies. A third option briefly crossed his mind: to make the best of his remaining defenses and to try and bleed his enemies for as long as possible, before eventually retreating. It would soothe his injured pride and make for a strong statement of defiance in the face of overwhelming odds, but even though the old Admiral gave it as much consideration as he did the other options, he had already decided against it.

His mind made up, Razazil reached out to his sailors with his {Battle Meditation} skill to deliver his orders. “To all remaining holdouts, fall back to the ships! We will make our last stand onboard the ships! Make ready to abandon the plaza. Leave nothing behind! BURN IT ALL!”

Using the brief lull in the fighting that the withering cannonade had bought them, Razazil’s crew fell back to the relative safety of the plaza. There they gathered their wounded comrades and carried them onboard the ships alongside any supplies that they had managed to salvage along the way. The retreat was well organized, which was a testament to the skill of the crew and its commanders, but it was still a retreat. The Sea Dragon had been forced to admit defeat.

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As the last sailors abandoned their posts, the barricades surrounding the plaza were rigged to blow by the marines manning them. Kegs of gunpowder were used to swiftly demolish the improvised defenses while incendiary charges were triggered inside the surrounding buildings, denying their cover to the enemy for as long as the fires burned. Not a single house was left untouched by the steady hand of a sapper—the entire harbor was now a blazing inferno, racked by exploding stores of gunpowder, magical ingredients and alcohol—but that did not mean that the old Admiral had given the order to set sail and abandon it just yet.

With the plaza now opened up for butcher’s businesses, the gunners and sailors set about covering all of the remaining approaches from behind the safety of their ships hulls. If the enemy desired to drive him from the harbor, then the Admiral had resolved to make it as costly for them as possible. Only now, without supply stores and port facilities to protect, or friendly targets to avoid, he was in a much better position to bleed his enemy. If the harbor was doomed to fall into the hands of his rivals, then Razazil would rather see it razed to the ground and paid for with the blood of his enemies before departing.

“They are bringing up canons!” one of the spotters in the crow’s nest yelled. The sailor pointed to the barrier that the elves had thrown up.

When Razazil searched the battlefield for the canons in question he found them situated well behind the protective barrier spell. The Admiral smiled as he recognized the folly of his foes. He considered the move a bluff, as the few canons his enemies could bring to bear against him could do little against his ship’s own broadside. As soon as the Iron Sentinels would lower the barrier he could unleash a cannonade of his own, far in excess of what their few guns could achieve. If it was their intention to pressure him into leaving the harbor with this empty threat then they were sorely mistaken.

“Hold your fire!” he ordered his canon crews. “Load solid shot and make ready to fire on my command! We will annihilate them once they lower the barrier to shoot at us.”

Meanwhile the gunnery crews of the Iron Sentinels pushed a third canon out into the open and directed its stubby barrel down the road at Razazil’s ship. They then set to loading the gun behind the safety of the arcane barrier.

While the Iron Sentinels made their preparations, the Red Hands did not sit around idly either. To follow up their initial advance they had brought forth several of the Admiral’s wounded sailors and formed them into a living wall.

“Your orders, Sir?” The XO asked as he gave the hostages a solemn look.

“What can I do?” Razazil asked in return. “If the Red Hands advance, we will have to fire through our own men…” There was a hint of heavy-heartedness in his voice, but the old Admiral did his best not to reveal his doubts. He had to remain steadfast in the eyes of his crew, no matter what.

“Damn cowards,” he muttered to himself. “I will gut you all for this act of barbarism.”

But the orcs did not push the hostages forward to cover their advance. They instead resorted to hiding behind them while a new barricade was being constructed out of the debris lying in the streets. At the moment they remained just about as far out from the Admiral’s ships as the Iron Sentinels were. An uneasy silence settled in as both sides waited for the other to make the next move.

While surveying the burning harbor with his {Battle Vision} ability in search of hidden troop movements, a curious sight caught the Admiral’s eye. Having finished stacking the rubble and charred lumber to form their barricade, the Red Hands brought up several stubby canons and positioned them behind the newly formed wall.

Just like the canons of the Iron Sentinels, the Red Hands had positioned their guns well behind an obstacle. But, unlike the magic barrier guarding the elves, the orcs could not simply lower the pile of rubble to shoot at the Admiral’s ships. It was as though they did not plan on having a clear line of fire at all…

Perplexed by the strange tactics of his enemies, Razazil looked to the Iron Sentinels and found them raising the barrels of their canons up into an absurdly steep angle. The old Admiral followed the suggested firing arcs of their guns and came to a harrowing realization.

“They won’t lower the barrier to fire!” he announced to the crew of his ship. “They will fire over it!”

The XO looked to the admiral in confusion. “How is that possible?” one of the heads asked.

“Short barrels mean fast drop-off,” the other head answered. “They are going to be shooting up to hit us! Those are bombards they are using!”

“The bastards have such weapons?” the first head asked. “The Guild banned the use of siege weapons in the Nine Hells!”

“Yeah, well we can call a time-out to discuss it with them,” the other head answered. “I bet that they are going to be real eager to listen to our complaints.”

“Raised the magic barriers!” Razazil ordered. “Make ready to cast off! Signal the other ships to leave the port immediately!”

“Sir!” the XO objected. “If we raise the barriers now, we won’t be able to fire our cannons if they charge at us!”

“I am well aware of the risk,” Razazil said, “but I am not going to sit around and wait for them to blast us into the oblivion. As much as it pains me to admit it, the harbor is lost. We need to withdraw before they begin their bombardment. If they land even a single [Kraken] shell on one of our frigates, the ship would be torn in half!”

The XO complied with the Admiral’s order and set the crew into motion raising sails and making ready to cast off.

Several pirate mages moved to erect arcane walls around the Admiral’s ship. They followed the observations of the Admiral and made sure to tilt them upwards so as to better shield the vessel from shots that might come at it from above.

“Damn you, Basil!” the Admiral hissed. “You may just have cost me my access to Port Malus. Your father was cursed and so are you! I should have broken our contract a long time ago…”

With the barriers raised and mooring lines cut, the ship was made ready to cast off into the Astral Sea. Admiral Razazil drew his furious gaze across the burning remains of what had long been his quarter of the port—the Sea Dragon’s Roost—and swore vengeance upon his enemies.

Sporadic gunfire erupted from the positions of his dug-in foes. They were fired well out of sight and range of the ships, so the shots probably rang out in celebration of their victory. At least, that was what the Admiral thought at first.

“Yeah, celebrate while you can!” Razazil yelled towards the city in a thunderous voice. “I will be back to reclaim what is mine! Mark my words! Admiral Razazil will see both of your crews made to pay dearly for this!”

As if responding to his curses, the celebratory gunfire coming from his enemy’s positions grew more intense.

“I WILL BURN YOUR SHIPS!” Razazil yelled. “YOUR FLAGS—I WILL WIPE MY…”

The Admiral’s soft spoken farewell speech was cut short when he witnessed both the Iron Sentinels' and Red Hands' sailors jumping over their fortifications and charging forth, towards the plaza.

“They are attacking?” the XO asked. “Now? But why?”

The stampeding mass of elves and orcs began trickling into the plaza. The shattered remains of barriers that Razazil’s crew had erected were still burning, but the pirates clambered over them regardless; crawling over one another as if running from death itself.

“We can fire at them, Admiral!” the XO exclaimed. “The guns are loaded. Just give the order to lower the barriers!”

Visibly confused by the actions of his enemies, Razazil raised his hand, but did not give the command to fire. Instead, he looked on as more and more of his enemies crowded into the plaza. He then noticed the crews of the enemy canons turning their guns around to face the city. But before the gunners could fire them they were struck by a volley of arrows, cutting down a fair few of their number and sending the rest running towards the plaza.

“Well, I’ll be damned,” Razazil whispered. “The red bastard has arrived.”

He once more activated his {Battle Vision} ability and searched the burning streets of the Sea Dragon’s Roost. Razazil’s enemies had now been reduced to a disorganized mass, forced into a rout towards the shore of the harbor. Soon the Admiral sighted the source of their fear; the cause for their sudden rout. Clad in shimmering plate armor, several crimson shapes appeared amidst the panicked ranks of orcs and elves. The paladins charged again and again, slaying every single foe that crossed their path without so much as taking a telling blow in return. Only when hit by gunfire did the crimson caped warriors relent for even a moment.

The archers responsible for scattering the crews of the bombards now revealed themselves. Clad in black, the rangers dashed across the burning rooftops, their shapes cloaked by the plumes of black smoke lingering over the harbor. They rained down death and misery upon the pirates in the streets below, never overstaying their welcome—a volley or two and they were gone, leaving their enemies jumping at shadows in search of a target to shoot at.

Razazil growled. “Where were you earlier?” he wondered out aloud. “I lost so many men for it all to end like this—this absolute butchery?”

Amidst the chaos of the rout one of the Iron Sentinel gunners got a crippling shot off on one of the crimson paladins. Seizing the opportunity to strike, a nearby elven warrior went on the offensive and delivered several powerful strikes with his mace. The elf pressed his advantage and cornered the shield maiden against a burning building. Scarlet’s faithful servant managed to hold off the Iron Sentinel for a while longer, but her defensive posture broke when two more bullets struck her. Severely injured, she was forced down on her knees. Blood dripped from her lips as she held her shield over her head, trying to keep the elven warrior from delivering the finishing blow.

The elf tore away the shield and raised his mace for the strike. Just then a bolt of green energy pierced his neck. Along the way the magic arrow passed through his shield and the solid steel neck guard like they were made out of paper. The mortal blow sent the man stumbling sideways into a drainage ditch. He was dead by the time he landed.

A black clad ranger abandoned his vantage point on a nearby rooftop to help the wounded shield maiden below. He threw down a smoke bomb at her feet. Hidden by the billowing plumes the ranger then carried the shield maiden away from the field of battle. All the while their companions delivered covering fire, pinning down the pirates and drawing their attention away from the wounded paladin.

As the ranks of his enemies thinned before his eyes, Razazil realized that he needed to intervene or all of them were going to end up dead. Dead hostages were going to be of no use to him.

“Take us back to port!” the Admiral ordered his crew.

He then directed his attention to the rear line of the battle and closed his eyes as he once more activated his {Battle Meditation} ability. Peering through the burning buildings and rising smoke he could visualize his dead and dying enemies as well as the members of his own crew that had been left behind—some still breathing; others no longer among the living. Their bodies took shape before his eyes in fine detail as his arcane vision crossed the battlefield. The minions of Basil von Doom, guarded from such prying eyes by magic wards, only appeared as clouds of red mist. He could see their presence, but nothing more.

On the outskirts of the burning harbor Razazil sighted two abnormally strong individuals. Their shapes were clouded by magic interference, but he could identify others in their company, such as the succubus walking alongside them. He could also visualize his own crew following close behind, Ivar Razazil among them.

The Admiral focused on the largest of the amorphous blobs of energy and reached out telepathically to the person. “Halt your attack, I need to take as many of the bastards alive as possible,” he said. “This is Admiral Razazil speaking,” he added.

“Consider it done, Admiral,” Basil replied. “Good to know that you are still alive. I am pleased that we could be of assistance.”

The fires all across the harbor began to dwindle, as if they had been cowed into submission by the sheer will of the approaching beings. The crimson warriors and black clad rangers halted their pursuit of the fleeing pirates and disappeared from sight. It all happened so quickly that their hapless foes failed to take notice. The orcs and elves kept up their mad dash for the plaza, not realizing that at this point they were running from ghosts.

“Stand down!” a woman ordered in a roaring voice that carried across the plaza. Dressed in blood red armor that was adorned with holy scripture, she issued her command from atop of the tallest rooftop that was still standing. Scarlet’s position left her open to incoming fire from nearly everyone gathered in the plaza below, but she did not even bother to raise her shield in defense.

“Those who surrender will be spared!” she announced. “Submit or die!”

When the surviving pirates standing below her realized where the voice was coming from, they directed their frightened looks to the speaker—some also their guns.

It was not a wise decision to make, threatening Scarlet like that. The few fools who had done so found their throats slit open in a flash. They didn’t even notice the shadow of the killer moving among them, but the sound of their comrades gargling blood was enough for most of the pirates to freeze in place.

“If you so much as threaten us,” Schwartz announced to the helpless pirates, “then you will die.”

A deathly silence settled over the rubble strewn plaza. Both orcs and elves stood shaking in fear in front of the blood red paladin, incapable of turning their heads to catch a glimpse of the shadowy man lurking among them, lest either one killed them on a whim.

Likewise, the crew onboard the Admiral’s ship had been rendered mute by the sudden turn of events. Not one sailor among them could muster the resolve to either cheer for their victory or to lament the loss of their comrades. Witnessing the casual brutality of Basil’s forces—the piles upon piles of pirates that they had slaughtered in mere moments—was enough to turn the stomachs of even these hardened sea wolves.

“Take us back,” the Admiral ordered his XO. “We need to gather up the prisoners and send them down to the priestess for her rituals. Focus all of our efforts on saving the lives of our sailors. The presence of Lord Doom will guarantee our safety in the meanwhile.”

With the fighting brought to an abrupt end by the intervention of the dungeon keeper, Razazil left his XO in command of the ship and sat down on the deck to try and collect himself. In spite of all that had just happened, all the bloodshed and horror, he knew that the worst was still to come. As he pondered on the coming audience with Basil, the key in the pocket of his vest felt like it was weighing him down something fierce.

The Admiral reached into his pocket and pulled out the cause for his concern. “Are you sure that you want this?” he asked as he examined the key in his hand. “Are you sure that you want to go out there in search of the truth?”

He looked towards the harbor and sighted Basil’s hulking form as it emerged amidst the charred ruins. The dungeon keeper led his party through the ranks of terrified orcs and elves like they had nothing to fear from them. Basil’s confidence proved justified as not one of the pirates so much as dared to look at him.

“And what if you find the answers that you seek?” Razazil asked. “What if you find out what we did to you… what will you do then?”

For the briefest of moments Razazil considered throwing the key overboard, into the endless void of the Astral Sea, but he ended up pocketing it instead. “It is not for me to decide. We must all pay our debts someday.”

Basil’s voice once more forced itself into the Admiral’s head. “I have come for what was promised,” he said. “I have come to discuss the legacy of my father.”