At the prow of a large galley stands a tall blond woman with ample breasts and a gleam in her eyes as she stares at the rocky coast under the moonlight. She is gazing outwards with one arm around the figurehead's shoulder, her tricorne hat rests on the newly carved head.
The sculpture is one of a muscular man with open arms, his expression is both hopeful and eager, like he is welcoming the waves. A grin appears on Ruth's face as she catches the glimpse of a beach ahead and starboard.
“Release the anch'r!” She yells out.
She grabs her triangular hat and throws it atop her head without caring that it isn't aligned. She throws the end of her red scarf over her shoulder as she jumps back on the deck, her loose deep blue pants and white shirt flutter against the wind.
A hundred sailors in mostly black and red clothes welcome the order with cheers, raising their sabers, harpoons, and knives with enthusiasm. The rowers in the deck below bring their oars down into the roiling sea, bringing the galley to a stop.
The anchor smashes down into the sea with metallic jingling sounds. She makes her way through the sloppy ranks of those under her command, cackling as she swaggers along towards a skiff hanging from ropes over the water on port-side.
“We goin' t'night, ye rats!” Ruth yells out over the noise.
“Hurr!” They howl.
“If th'y raise a sword, lowers yers!” She instructs.
“Harr!” They growl.
“Loot'n plunder but y'all know th' rules!” She warns.
“Her', her'!” They respond, but a few let out dark chuckles.
Ruth doesn't pay it any mind, those hundred are new recruits she's found in Izla Meria and Port-Odo so there are bound to be breaches in discipline during the first raid, no matter that it's been a month since they joined her command at sea.
She's already told those of the old crew to hang back and let them be bloodied while they enforce the rules. Those comrades of hers are on the way up from the deck below, rowing because she didn't trust the new blood to navigate the treacherous coast.
“Jeremy!” Ruth yells at the rowboat
“Cap'n!” The short man with large shoulders holding the rudder replies.
“You'n yer dozen bow'rs best cock-block the Templar, no screw'ups!” She demands while hopping onboard.
“Aye!” He confirms with a sloppy salute. “What'f it's a wa'man?” He asks with a corner smile.
“Then cut'n shoot yer cocks to block 'er, stupid!” Ruth barks with a laugh.
She jumps over to the skiff. It roils violently but it doesn't seem to affect her as she walks to one of the archers sitting with an oar in hand and unceremoniously kicks him aside to take his place.
The two crewmen in charge of the hoists don't wait for their captain's orders before entirely letting go of the cranks, knowing that they'll be harshly insulted if they delay or take any of the usual precautions. The rowboat free-falls towards the turbid sea, crashing into the water with a splash.
“Pull'm hard or y'rats be scrubb'n tha bilge!” Ruth barks out to the other three rowers without waiting for the embarkation to settle.
They all lower their oars as three more skiffs hit the surface. The boats hit the beach and each delivers nine of Ruth's rats. It takes them four more round trips to bring all those that will take part in the raid to shore.
Ruth picked this village to plunder for three reasons, first because there is a juicy target there right now, second because the titled Lord that rules this demesne is in bad standing with his liege, third because it's very isolated so news of the attack will take weeks to spread.
They make their way north along the coast, walking under cover of night in sand and through a wood. After a half-hour's walk, they reach a fishing hamlet composed of two dozen cheap huts and three sturdy wooden buildings.
“Ya'll know what to do!” Ruth declares.
She raises a hand that she unceremoniously and impatiently waves at her crew. The sailors mete out in groups to surround the tiny village. She leads the vanguard of a dozen to move out.
They have skewering knives in-between their teeth, drawn sabers as their main weapons, and unlit torches in their non-dominant hand. The veterans avoid windows as they sneak behind huts.
Once everyone is in position around the village, Ruth snaps her fingers. The sound constructs she prepared for each group's leader relay the noise and her crew rushes inside the village from every direction in complete silence under cover of night.
She draws her saber and sprints out with the vanguard, heading for one of the wooden buildings at the center while the archers make their way to the plaza. The rest of the rats are far behind so that they can fall onto any brave fisher that leaves their hut before they can organize a resistance.
The vanguard splits into pairs, one for each of the three wooden buildings' front and back doors. Four of those duos don't encounter trouble so they use their unlit torches to bar the exits.
It prevents anyone from coming out as well as serves to warn the undisciplined rats from plundering since items of value are meant to be divided among the crew and the food is to be left behind for the villagers.
The last two pairs encounter an equal number of armed soldiers in chain-mail guarding the building's entrances. Sounds of battle erupt as the veterans launch a surprise attack by jumping out of the night into torchlight and work together to slit one of their opponents' throats.
The two pairs deal with their other target by using their sabers to hack them to pieces before they can recover from their shock. The four rats then light up their torches and use them to block the building's doors.
The twelve among the vanguard then hurriedly return to gather around their tall blond captain to give her the flow that they haven't used. As they've been preparing for this for over a week, Ruth ends up with around a hundred portions.
That amount of energy is far from enough to deal with this juicy target if he is given the opportunity to gather his subjects' flow, not that the pirate is skilled enough to compete if it was.
She uses a quarter to make a large fire construct that she launches at the wooden structure's roof before retreating further with her vanguard. Flames spread out very quickly from the epicenter but the shouting villagers all over the hamlet aren't concerned with a burning building.
Five groups of a dozen new recruits with bloodthirsty expressions emerge from different alleys to surround the structure, homing in on the blazing building like rabid dogs while Ruth and her veterans hang back.
“Evil wulda brought tha' down on 'em heads and crak'd the skulls that made it out.” One of Ruth's companions notes with a mean cackle.
“Truth.” A woman replies, chuckling along.
“Y'rats 're dead stupid.” Ruth berates with a deep chortle. “Woman's got more tits than that! Would've broken th' burning wall to rush in wit' bare hands and rip 'em apart!”
The group explodes in laughter just as the front door of the building bursts into shards. A man wielding a sword runs out with six soldiers behind him, they hastily threw their chain-mails over their night clothes.
They clearly didn't have the time or courage to fit their leather armors and tabards on. The only sign that the man is a Noble is the seal ring on his left hand's annular, Ruth can't see the crest but she knows it depicts a fish jumping out of water.
He used to be a Baron under Grace Odo before she seized his lands. He is trying to defect with this village and a few others to a Count who still serves the Duchy's titled Noble, unlike Port-Odo.
This Lord Stagon has been going around levying taxes that were delayed because most soldiers left for the war, he isn't a bad liege but neither is he a good one. As far as Ruth can tell, the man wants to use the coin as a gift to buy himself a good piece of land.
“Butcher'm!” Ruth yells the order out.
The pirates launch at the group with weapons held high. A handful of harpoons fly out, killing an unlucky soldier who receives one in the throat while disabling two who take them in the thigh and arm.
The Noble isn't titled any more but his former subjects have yet to change allegiance so he still has access to five portions. Ruth doesn't know whether he's been accumulating energy but she doesn't care as she isn't going to take any chances.
Stagon raises his hand to assemble an air-blade so she interferes by using the flow floating around her to make a wind construct. The Lord frowns but manages to finish his construct with only a slight delay.
The air-blade is two meters long and thin as a blade, it immediately flies out at the screaming pirates charging the Noble. Blood erupts as the construct cuts through torsos and limbs in a straight line, shattering weapons or bending and slinging them away from the hands that held them.
Ruth counts a half-dozen fallen before the air-blade dissipates from running out of flow. She extends her hand out to focus on her link to the wind construct and directs the air to fiercely blow at the Lord.
Lord Stagon stumbles back, causing him to fail to properly receive the two rats charging his flanks. He makes a surprised expression as a woman's saber leaves a shallow gash in his chest after splitting his chain-mail. The other attacker merely manages to stab his left forearm with a long fishing knife.
The Noble slashes out with his sword to force his opponents to retreat. Meanwhile, Ruth's new recruits slaughter the rest of his escort by pouncing on them, like a pack of hungry wolves angered by the deaths of their mates but fearful of the one that got them.
“Kill 'im dead, you dirty landlubbers!” Ruth swears at her crew. “Bite'm if ye have to!”
The rats start harassing the Noble with their weapons, which prevents him from retaliating or making another construct but don't cause more than flesh wounds. Ruth uses the rest of the energy in her wind construct to send a fierce gust at Stagon.
He staggers under the pressure, receiving cuts to his forehead and right biceps. The Lord cries out in pain but doesn't let go of his sword. He has a fierce look on his face but his gaze spells the despair he feels clear as day.
Ruth draws her saber and charges the Lord with the vanguard. While she crosses the dozen meters, a lanky sailor with red hair recovers his thrown harpoon only to launch it again at the Noble's torso.
Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon.
The weapon pierces Stagon's chain-mail and impales him through his left lung. The Lord drops to his knees with an expression of incredulity. He looks like he can't believe he is going to die in this way, like a fish trapped in a barrel to be harassed until death.
“He's yours, end it!” Ruth tells the redheaded sailor.
“Please!” Stagon begs.
The young pirate ignores it to nod at his captain. He rips his harpoon out and plunges it sideways into the Noble's throat. Ruth laughs out and kicks Stagon's chest to send him barreling into the ground which has turned to a bloody mud.
“Gotta kick'm down, young'n!” She tells the sailor with a mean cackle.
Ruth strikes the rat's back with her left palm, sending him stumbling forward over the dying Lord. She sheathes her saber and waves at two veterans who pick her up by the legs to raise her above the unruly crowd which is already starting to scatter. She then assembles a sound construct with her reserve of energy to amplify her voice.
“Use yer flow to snuff that fire out and bar the building, then y'all gather at the plaza wit' the rest!” She screams at the top of her lungs.
Her voice resounds throughout the hamlet. The rats start moving towards the Temple while those around her work together to smother the flames ravaging the wooden structure, an essential and basic skill for sailors who have to protect sails.
Ruth is utterly unconcerned about the population because there are fewer villagers than there are pirates in the hamlet, even if she counts the fossils and the fledglings who couldn't put up a fight if their lives depended on it, which it doesn't.
She arrives at the plaza and forces her way through the panicked crowd of adults that her crew herded over here. At the center is a small pile composed of what few weapons and tools the hamlet had to confiscate.
“Settle down! We ain't sail'd 'ere to take that rusty crap!” Ruth yells at the fishers to almost no effect.
The pirates start kicking and hollering at the people who didn't quiet down, making much more noise than there was before. The tall blonde simply grins and messes with her tricorne as she enjoys the chaos.
She scours the area to search for Jeremy and his archers but they're nowhere to be found, what's reassuring is that the Templar isn't there either. She absently notes that it's better than finding bodies, even if only that of the temple guard.
As she walks over to the Temple's entrance, she pauses and turns to glance at an approaching commotion. Jeremy and his archers are forcing their way through the crowd. They enter the plaza with a woman of thirty springs that wears a silver lion tabard with an equally recognizable sword at her waist.
Ruth swears under her breath because she told them to disarm the Templar but doesn't comment because it's likely Jeremy agreed to leave her with the weapon in exchange for her surrender.
Three of the freed crime-slaves from the original crew follow behind that group, dragging a man and a woman with their hands tied behind their backs by rope. They throw them at Ruth's feet before forcing them to rise in a kneeling position. Both fresh recruits have dark bruises on their faces.
Silence falls on the plaza. It is soon disturbed as her veterans drag three more rats in the same state out of the crowd to join the first two on their knees. They all seem angry but slightly afraid as well. The fools, Ruth thinks, they still don't realize their situation.
“Captain Ruth, I presume. I am Templar Beatrice.” The Templar speaks up, nodding very slightly.
The tall blonde raises one of her clear eyebrows as she looks down at the temple guard, somewhat amused by the manners and audacity she is displaying in front of her bloodthirsty crew even though she only has the skill to be assigned to a meaningless fishing hamlet.
“In all her honor and glory.” Ruth replies with an equally dismissive nod, abandoning the accent and jargon of a pirate.
Those who know her know that it's a sign she means business. The captain goes further, she raises her hand to her hat to make the temple guard think she'll take it off as a sign of respect but merely turns it in a way that puts it further out of its proper place on someone's head.
“Of which I have very little.” Ruth continues with a mean smile.
“So, I have noticed.” Beatrice notes with a frown. “These villagers live here peacefully and have paid their taxes, what is the meaning behind this violence?”
“Ha!” Ruth chuckles.
Those of her crew with fresh blood erupt in laughter but the veterans and the crowd remain quiet. Noticing, the new recruits quickly quiet down. Many of the unruly sailors who couldn't keep their characters in check during serious matters have already experienced Ruth's fiery temper during the voyage here.
“Violence, where?!” She asks mockingly as her eyes pass by bloody weapons and faces without stopping. Beatrice holds her tongue, aware that she's being baited and unwilling to play that game. “Ah, there!” Ruth exclaims, pointing at the five kneeling sailors.
“These ruffians were attempting to have their way with innocent villagers.” The Templar reflexively explains but then realizes that it sounds like she's justifying herself. “The Order will hold you responsible for the behavior of your crew if you do not maintain discipline.”
Ruth brings her hand to her heart like she's deeply offended by the insinuation before turning a dark glare to the handful of prisoners. The veterans standing behind them draw their knives and place them on the offenders' throats.
“You are aware that the Empire punishes rape with ten years of forced labor as crime-slaves, are you not?” Ruth questions. “And execution by quartering for the vilest offenders.” She adds almost absently, causing the five to feel a cold sweat run down their backs.
The man and woman first dragged to Ruth's feet hang their heads down in culpability, and likely an attempt at receiving a lighter punishment. The other three open their mouths to protest but the veterans put pressure on their necks with their knives to silence them.
“Speak, what crimes have you three committed.” Ruth orders.
“Ah' dropped mah lit torch, tha's it!” One exclaims.
“More like you threw it.” The old galley-slave says, kicking him in the back with his knee which causes the threatening blade to slice a layer of skin.
“S, same.” The next sailor says, gulping as he glances at the aspiring rapists.
“...” The last one, a middle-aged woman, remains pridefully silent.
“She tries'd to run with coin taken from a shack.” The one holding her speaks up.
“Arson and theft! Those are grave offenses to the Kingdom's Law!” Ruth exclaims theatrically. “Good thing the Lord is dead!” She bursts out in laughter.
She is joined by the new recruits but, once more, both veterans and villagers don't make a sound. The former have stoic expressions while the latter don't even dare to raise their chins even though they are paying close attention.
“Not to mention there's a sea the Empire does not rule close-by! How lucky!” Ruth adds, causing another round of chuckles.
Beatrice places her hand on her sword's handle, her expression growing grave and solemn. She had thought that these unruly soldiers were sent by Port-Odo to deal with the Lord but now knows that they clearly weren't.
As her crew's derisive hilarity reaches a peak, Ruth suddenly flicks her extended fingers at the kneeling sailors. The veterans slice their throats in one go with perfect synchronization, like they've been waiting for this signal all along.
“No!” Beatrice exclaims, her eyes wide open in horror.
The Templar draws her sword while impotently reaching out to the sailors who are drowning in their own blood. Jeremy's archers draw the arrows already knocked on their bowstrings and aim them at her.
She freezes and can only watch the sailors slowly expire with blood gushing out of their throats while their executioners hold their shoulders to stop them from falling over. They try to fight for their lives, of course, but what can they achieve with their hand tied behind their backs?
“I'm not a damn lawwoman so I don't fucking care if you break the Law!” Ruth shouts at the crowd.
Faces have turned snow white and there is more than a few villagers puking at the dreadful vision, even some among those who drew blood during the short skirmish join them. The plaza would be deathly silent if not for the wet noise of the food leaving their stomachs and the gargling sounds made by the dying sailors.
“How can you be so cruel? None of them deserved death and one was just a thief!” Beatrice exclaims, pointing at Ruth with an accusing finger.
“A thief that tried to steal from all of us!” Ruth addresses her crew without even deigning to look at the Templar. She leaves under silence the fact that coin taken from huts will be returned. “No one under my command breaks my rules and lives to tell the tale! The captain is the Law and the sea doesn't forgive!”
“Yes, captain!” Those of her old crew yell out.
There are some among them who are a little green but none hesitate. The fresh rats join in to acknowledge her declaration with hurried voices. Ruth nods in satisfaction and makes a backhanded wave at the executioners. They let their dead victims drop to the ground and rejoin the crowd.
“Throw the loot next to that pile of rust, we'll distribute it it at the earliest light in the morrow... which should at lunch!” Ruth commands.
A few nervous chuckles arise at her jest but none has the stomach for true laughter after witnessing the brutal way their captain enforces her rules. Yet, these people have joined in to be pirates and they've just had their first victory so their spirits soon recover at the mention of the riches they've seized.
“Y'all 're fresh water sail'rs, but y'all still got ale, right?” Ruth asks threateningly. She barely waits for answers to come out of the crowd to continue. “Bring it out, you got's paying costumers!”
Ruth bursts into laughter as many split from the crowd to run home, she knows they'll be back real soon with drinks, if only to ensure that her crew won't come looking for them. She turns to the Templar, utterly ignoring her baleful glare to seize the sword between two fingers and pry it out of her shaking hands.
“Ya've got a Temple tah' take care of, so git!” Ruth dismissively orders the woman.
Beatrice presses her lips together as Jeremy and his archers escort her inside the tunnel that plunges underground and leads away from the nearby coast. Ruth doesn't pay any more mind to the temple guard.
It isn't worth caring about the Order according to her. They will fight her if she runs into a number of them but it isn't likely for them to hunt her as long as she chooses her targets well and doesn't cause massacres, they'll be too busy to deal with her rats with Caeviel in turmoil.
In fact, she chuckles inside as she thinks that they'll be making these peasants richer by spending the coin from their own taxes in their hamlet. She runs her eyes over the crowd and spots a very well built man who looks about twenty-five.
“Where is the damn tavern in this Lake forsaken moldy place?!” She barks at the man.
“There.” He points a somewhat shaky finger at a slightly large hut on the edge of the plaza. “Mold came from your ship.” He adds defiantly.
“You got guts.” Ruth notes appreciatively. “What do you do?”
“I'm a smith, carpenter, and lumberjack.” The man responds pridefully while squaring his shoulders.
“I'll need a good fuck later if you're interested, follow along if you've got the stamina to get drunk and then run a marathon.” Ruth proposes crudely in a blunt tone.
She swaggers over to the closed tavern without looking back. She kicks the door open and picks a table in a corner. She drags a bench against a wall and drops down on it with a groan.
“I'm Greg.” The man announces as he walks in.
Ruth makes a cocky grin and waves towards the counter to tell him to take the booze out. Most of her ship's officers and those who led the groups on the raid arrive not long after to celebrate.
The brawny villager requires quite a few drinks before he joins in the singing. Once the aged owners arrive, Ruth pulls the married couple over and gives a detailed count of everything they consumed so far in a blurry voice.
“You...” Ruth represses a hick-up. “Keep count now. How much's the beer?” She asks.
“Barrel's ten copper.” The wife indicates nervously.
“A whole keg for ten coppers!” Ruth exclaims with joy. “Cheap, even if it's almost a whole silver!” She adds.
“It is precisely one silver.” Jeremy comments with a laugh.
“Idiot!” Ruth slams her tankard on the table, startling the owners as they were about to explain they meant a real barrel and not a keg. “Copper 'ain't be silver!” She affirms with an exaggerated slur in her voice.
“What wisdom, capt'n.” Jeremy says, rolling his eyes.
“Shooh!” Ruth chases the owners with a wave. “Bring about th' keg, got's da coin tonight!”
“Where we going next, capt'n?” Jeremy asks.
“The Izla, and north in spring.” She replies. “And shut up! I'm drunking!” The man chuckles but turns aside.
“Why are you so good to us?” Greg whispers.
“Best to 'ave good ties 'ere, 'case we need to lay low.” Ruth grunts reluctantly. “Now drink!”
Later that same night, the two stumble back to his hut and crash on his bed. Too drunk and impatient to undress, Ruth takes a dagger out and uses it to rip their clothes off before straddling the man with her hands on his chest. She starts riding him with fierce enthusiasm, not that he would lack any according to a regular woman.
“Give me a reason to come back! Plenty of studs in every port!” She provokes.
“Hrm.” Greg grunts, his pride chasing the last of his drunken stupor.
“You're really strong, aren't you?!” Ruth barks in glee as her thrusts receive hard returns.