Edrik squinted up at the sky, peering past the clouds at the sun. It was more pleasurable than looking at the other occupants of the boat, that was for certain. An ogre and some foul-smelling beggar wrapped in bandages. He'd considered throwing the bony, emaciated man off his boat when he had first strode up the gangplank as if he owned the place, but the deferential manner of the ogre warned him. If he was playing, Edrik could put up with a bad smell for a week, especially as it was only just detectable over the stench of fish guts.
He glanced at the sun... midday. They would have to leave soon to catch the tide. Clearing his throat, he put on his most authoritative voice.
'Alright, laydees and gentullmen...' he began, the ogre looking around for the lady '...we will shortly be departing for the fabled land of Lustriaah. I suggest that if you know others who wish to embark on this fine vessel, that you should let them know now. Thank you. That was your captain speaking. Thank you.'
...
Beneath his feet, Kritch stirred from his slumber, ears pricking. His knowledge of manthing speech was excellent, and he let out a little squeak of joy at the words of the pretentious fat boatlord. Lustria! Soon-soon! Rivers of warpstone! Cities of gold! He could hardly wait.
But... what was that? There was a dry, musty smell in the air, and Kritch's nose twitched apprehensively. A deadthing! Long dead, by the smell, and cured by heat and sandblasting. Fresh linen, too. From his studies of the histories of the Old World, Kritch guessed this must be a mummy, a packleader of the deadthings. But what was it doing going to Lustria? Kritch whimpered to himself softly, and his paw clenched. Stealing his warpstone! He knew Nagash had been a notorious consumer of the stuff, and the desert deadthings were his servants, right? He wasn't so sure of this, but it made sense. Angrily, he pulled one of his knives out and slammed it into the bottom of the boat, thrusting it in deeply. He couldn't let this happen, no-no!
A leak sprung around his knife, and he hastily pulled it out, and a small stream of water began to leak into the hull. Bad-bad! Tearing a strip of cloth from his filthy robe, he stuffed it into the hole, but the water kept coming in. The manthing boatlord couldn't come down here, he couldn't afford it! Resignedly, he sat on the leak, letting out a little squeak of dismay at the cool temperature of the water. This was going to be a long trip.
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