Within a wooden cabin stood three humanoids figures huddled around a communication crystal. The room had two circular carpets on the floor. One was between the doorway and the desk, while the other was under the desk and chair. Affixed to the far wall was a map of the land masses connected by the Ocean of Solace. Behind the desk chair was a square window with red and gold curtains. The curtains were drawn, and a clear view of the almost transparent ocean could be seen for miles in all directions. The smell of sea salt permeated every inch of the room.
“Captain, if we take this contract, we will never be able to dock at the Shattered Sky again,” said one of the people standing around the desk. He had feline features on otherwise human head. His ears protruded off the top of his head which was covered in black fur just like the hand he slammed down on the desk after having his say.
The man he was referring to as captain stood from his desk and turned toward the open window behind him. His hat was tricornered and colored black with red trim at the edges. His brown beard reached just above his chest which exposed his sun dappled skin due to the top buttons on his shirt being left open. At his waist dangled an impressive cutlas with a golden blade. The captains brown eyes stared across the waters in contemplation before responding to his subordinate.
“Only for short term, bosun. Once the Vasilly Empire takes all of the Griffin Kingdom and it’s surrounding allies, we’ll be able come and go as we please. The benefit will be in the additional slaves we can acquire to row the ship. Should this raid go well, and we capture this Deacon character they want so bad, The Sharkfin mercenaries will be the pre-eminent privateers on the Solace. Just think of the gold we could make with this operation alone. Besides, they mentioned an inside source that should make the days events very interesting, to say the least. Now, I need you to send a message to each ship in the fleet. I want to meet with all the sub-captains. Send your favorite whipping boy with the message. If only we had more slaves like him,” responded the Captain as he gestured for the two others to leave his quarters.
As the bosun closed the door he turned to the other attendee and they both shared a glance. The third man was a burly Crustacio wearing a bandana. His race’s outer skin was very tough and shell like. They often have flared ends to their joints making them look like walking corral. Famous for being able to travel to the furthest depths of the ocean, they can often be found working in the sea faring industries. They are not known as conversationalists. Most people are put off by their beady eyes that have no sclera, just pupils on stalks inside barren sockets.
“Where was the last place you saw Wavestrider?” asked the bosun.
Jeremiah Wavestrider sat in the cargo hold out of sight of any passerby’s, behind a large crate. In the hold he was able to avoid the constant harassment from the ships bosun. In the deck below him were dozens of other slaves constantly rowing the ship forward, compelled by their masters orders and the magic of the slave collars around their necks. Jeremiah was separate from them because he had a gift. He was a Sea Elf uniquely gifted at birth with both water breathing and wave walking. Although it looked more graceful than wave walking as he slid across the top of the water.
Whenever he was allowed to, he skipped across the ocean waves like a weightless fairy dancing across flower petals. It was truly the only time he felt free. In most sapient groupings he stood out with his pointed ears that stuck straight back instead of up like his more traditional elven brethren. His blue skin and three sets of gills on either side of his neck, also helped to separate him from the multitudes of other sea elves. They usually have a more subtle blue hue to their skin but his was full on navy blue. Jeremiah’s hair was cropped short and a dark green. Unfortunately for him, he’d been a slave since he was young. Barely remembering his family or where he came from.
Dangling his feet off the edge of crate, Jeremiah stiffened up when he heard boots coming down the stern stairs into the hold. He quickly scrambled off the top of the crate and around to the back. Knowing the sound of those boot steps only made Jeremiah worry more. Than a hand reached out and clawed his right shoulder from above, forcing him to roll forward and wince from the pain.
“I’ll always find you, boy. You smell like rotting fish. Even in here. Get up, slave. The captain has need of your particular talents,” said the Bosun crouched on top of the crate Jeremiah was hiding behind.
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He complied immediately knowing that if he refused it would mean another beating for him followed by them using the compulsion effect of his slave collar. Grabbing his now wounded shoulder with one hand, he got up to his feet and started toward the stairs.
“Not yet here, cook needs another sack of potatoes as well,” snickered the bosun with a feline glint in his eye. Just like a cat playing with its food.
Jeremiah switched his direction toward the sacks of produce almost as large as he was. He reached out for the sack just before the bosun booted him in the ass, sending him hurtling face first into the spuds. Peels of laughter came from the bosun as Jeremiah tried to extricate himself from the pile of sacks. He could hear the snickering of the wretched cat man as he left the hold and ascended the stairs. Jeremiah swore he’d get back him one day for all the years of torment. That day was not today, so Jeremiah began to drag one of the sacks toward the stairs in an attempt to follow orders.
On the deck of the ship stood the captain looking out over the waves with a spy glass. Jeremiah quickly dragged his burden over to a barrel of dried fruits the cook was digging through. He placed the sack against the barrel and the cook lifted up his head to see Jeremiah standing there.
“I don’t need the sack here, slave. Bring it to the galley,” the cook ordered waving it away.
The galley was across the deck and down another flight of stairs. Jeremiah knew better than to sigh or show any signs of disagreement. He hefted the sack up onto his back and headed toward the opposite side of the deck. It would have been easier if he took the stairs on the bow end of the ship, but I guess that’s why the bosun kicked him in the opposite direction. Just another humiliation he would have to endure. This was his fifth year enslaved to the Sharkfin mercenaries and it had been like this the whole time.
He finally made it to the galley and placed the sack of potatoes where the rest of the food was kept. With that he turned toward the door only to hear the captain bellowing orders up above. That was never a good sign, and he didn’t want to be someone that needed to be found when something was going wrong. Better to be within earshot.
Appearing on the deck as several sailors pulled rigging and unfurled sails, he could see the captain at the helm spinning the wheel to the right. With one foot out on the deck he was grabbed by the Crustacio and dragged toward the captain. His toes barely touching the deck. While this one didn’t torment him like the bosun did, the second mate never really paid him any mind either.
“The captain has a task for you, and you better damn well get to it,” said the second mate before depositing Jeremiah on the deck before the captain.
“Good, the sea elf. I need you to reach these three ships before the sun goes down today. Do you think you can accomplish this without causing any trouble?” asked the Captain.
“Yes sir, Captain Figaro. Are the ships within sight?” questioned Jeremiah as he stood up scanning the horizon but not seeing any ships.
“Flags have gone up for armada to close in before the end of the day. I need you to deliver these three parchments to each captain. Do you understand?” instructed Captain Figaro handing him three sealed round scroll cases in a shoulder bag.
Jerimiah nodded once but internally he was worried. If the ships were too far apart, he may run out of stamina before he made it back to this one. He broke away from the captain after pulling the strap over his head. Frantically he looked out over the ocean until one of the ships was in view. They needed to be within spyglass range for them to read the flags, so Jerimiah was confident he could reach that one. He dove over the railing into the almost clear water and prepared for what he knew was coming. A sharp pain came from the collar forcing him to surface quickly. Once above water he could see the bosun leaning of the railing clutching the slave control rod tightly in one hand and grinning a wide toothy smile. The bosun was never one to let an opportunity to teach the other slaves what would happen if they tried to flee the ship. He finally released Jeremiah from the magical punishment when Captain Figaro slapped him across the face and began berating him. Once again, the bosun ignored the effect the rod had on all those slaves rowing below them. It was not an attempt to help Jerimiah.
Once control returned to his limbs, he began swimming down into the water only to flip over and pick up speed. He shot out of the ocean and began skating on the surface in the direction of the far off ship. Once again feeling the wind whip through his wet hair as he danced among the waves. Without warning the water stopped moving and he was rooted in place. Before him rose the image of a man composed entirely of water. Facial features began to solidify as crystal blue eyes appeared in the head. Braided hair grew from torrents of water and looped around over its face which now closely resembled his own. Only the skin wasn’t blue, it was tan-brown like someone who spent a lot of time in the sun. It spoke before Jerimiah thought to ask a question.
“The time has come. I send a champion to save you. Hold on just a bit longer my son,” spoke Vatten God of Sailing and Water.