“Gather the meat and bring them to the ships. Let none escape. The great storm rages and we must slake its thirst with the vessels in this pathetic place,” Rakotan bellowed, stomping down the gangplank onto the tiny dock this village used to launch its fishing boats. The waves roared as they pounded against it, stirred by storm born winds.
“There is no safe voyage home!” his pirates roared in unison. It held the ring of ritual, as was proper. It was the reason for their existence after all.
Dozens of skeletal sailors leapt from the Cerberuk, the three masted galleon under Rakotan’s command. They formed up in ragged ranks, each overseen by one of his lieutenants. The officers bellowed orders over the shrill wind and within moments each group was moving through the rain towards the little village perched on the cliffs above.
The Maw Pirates sang as they marched, their discordant dirge pleasing to Rakotan. They existed to end all life, just as their mother’s life had been ended. It was fitting that their lamentation be painful to the weak meat above. He squared the massive shoulders of his vessel and strode after his men.
The body was powerfully built, towering over the vessels of the other pirates. He’d worn it for many seasons and was still pleased at the rare find. Orokh did not often venture onto the open waves, so their bodies were highly sought after among the officers of the fleet. The meat rotted from the bones, but Rakotan could hold the vessel together for at least another few seasons. Past that and he’d need to hunt for a new one, much as he loathed the task.
He strode up the rain slicked cobblestones, eyes scanning the small cluster of buildings above. As he watched a knot of figures staggered from the largest, cloaksing flapping as they futilely avoided the deluge from the angry sky. Another weakness of these meat. Pathetic.
One of his officers directed a dozen pirates to pursue them. They would not escape. Few did, for his people were relentless. They neither tired nor rested, unlike the meat they’d come to harvest.
Rakotan followed his men, smiling grimly at a pair of pirates pulling a struggling young woman through the front door of a cottage. She shrieked and clawed at her captors, which accomplished nothing. The larger tossed her frail body to the cobbles before running her through the back with his cutlass. She mewed like a wounded kitten before collapsing, blood soaking through her thick cotton shift. It spread in a wide pool around her, though the rain labored to carry it down the road and into the sea.
A bearded man came roaring out of the cottage a moment later, an iron fireplace poker clutched in his hand. He wore nothing save a pair of brown cotton breeches, exposing a well muscled chest to the fury of the storm. He would make an excellent vessel.
The man slid to a halt when he saw the street full of ghastly pirates. Horror overpowered his features, his eyes widening in uncontrolled panic. He turned to run, but slipped in his wife’s blood and fell heavily. His knee cracked against the cobbles, loud and brittle.
Rakotan frowned as the meat let out a howl. If the leg had broken he would be useless as a vessel. He was about to step forward and settle the matter when something unexpected happen. The woman’s corpse gave a spasm, then rose to her knees. That wasn’t what surprised Rakotan. Anyone they killed would rise again. What shocked him was her eyes.
They had gone the flat grey of a pregnant stormcloud, indicating that she’d been inhabited by a potent spirit. Normally her body would have been animated by a geistloss, a virtually mindless spirit.
”Speak,” he commanded, stepping forward and laying a hand on the hilt of his cutlass. The eldimagus was forged from Enurian bronze, quite unlike the pitiful weapons his vassals bore. “Where have you come from?“
“Captain, my vessel was destroyed not a hundred paces from where we stand. The mage there commands the wind,” the spirit answered, dropping to one knee and averting his gaze. Rakotan recognized him now. Vestulus, one of his more obedient vassals.
“Show me,” he hissed. The spirit jerked an arm to the east, towards the largest of the buildings lining the narrow road.
A small pile of discarded vessels had accumulated near the door, and several others lay broken on the cobblestone road outside the building. The door was thick with pirates trying to force their way inside, while a few others dove through a window into what he presumed must be the common room.
Rakotan roared his rage, ripping his blade from its sheath and stalking up the road towards the inn. Each vessel he lost was one less he could offer to the storm. It would diminish his prestige among the other captains, something he must not allow.
He reached the building just as another broken vessel careened into the street. Rakotan stepped into the gap left by the former vassal, immediately scanning the room. A human woman was engaged in a lethal dance, slicing apart any vessel that dared stray too close. She wielded an eldimagus longsword of glimmering steel, four feet long and two inches wide. It was perfect for such close quarters.
Behind her a young man was using a table as cover, one hand poised to hurl another spellweb at a vessel that had just leapt through the window. Yet he was no young man. He smelled of the vampyr. That surprised Rakotan. He’d not seen a vampyr in many, many seasons, but he still recognized one when he saw it. Intriguing, but not nearly so much as the woman.
There was something about the way she moved, a grace he’d not seen in a century or more. She was godtouched, Rakotan was certain of it. . That made her beyond valuable. She was priceless. With a vessel like her he would be recognized by the Great Captains themselves. Possibly even the Admiral himself.
If he could claim her. Doing so would be very difficult, at least without damaging her. She wouldn’t give up without a fight, and he despaired at the prospect of subduing her without injury. Yet he must.
“Kill the vampyr,” he roared, stepping into the room and raising his blade. “Leave the woman to me.”
His vassals backed away, clearing a space for Rakotan to step forward. The woman eyed him warily, azure eyes narrowing as she assessed the threat he posed. She kept her weapon in a guard position, knees slightly bent and feet spread to allow her to shift stances as needed. Her breast heaved from exhertion, but her breathing wasn’t ragged.
The white fabric of her tunic had been sliced in several places, revealing silvery links underneath. That meant his men had landed blows against her, but had not delivered an actual wound. It spoke highly of the women’s skill. Not many could fight so many opponents and escape unscathed.
His weapon was both thicker and heavier than hers, one of the drawbacks to using Enurian bronze. Yet he preferred the extra weight. Lighter weapons like his opponent’s would be unable to effectively parry. That gave him an advantage, especially when combined with the enormous strength of his vessel.
Rakotan glided forward, launching an expiramental slash at her torso. His weapon hummed through the air, and would have evicerated her had she been there when it arrived. As he expected she pivoted, shifting out of the way to allow the weapon to glide by.
Her counterstroke was blindingly swift, but that too Rakoton had expected. Her blade flicked down like a bolt of lightning, seeking to sever his ankle and end the fight quickly. He shifted his backstroke, forcing her to abandon the attack or risk losing an arm.
The woman danced back, golden hair streaming behind her as she twisted. It was the only weakness in an otherwise flawless technique. It highlighted her vanity, for any true warrior would have shorn their locks to prevent their enemy from gaining an advantage.
Rakotan launched another strike which she easily evaded. He continued to test her, pushing her deeper into the room with a series of bold strokes. She gave ground, occasionally launching a counter attack. They were half hearted, as she knew he had the advantage. If she landed a blow that would cripple a mortal he would ignore it, and it might leave her open to a deadly counterattack.
She didn’t realize that he needed her body intact, or she might have fought more aggressively. As it was he was able to force her all the way across the common room. She dodged blow after blow as he slowly forced her into a corner near the bar. Then she had nowhere left to run. The fight began in earnest.
