There was pounding on the door behind them. A dim voice called questioningly, and another, louder bang was heard. Markus cursed, though he knew he should count himself lucky that the princess had locked the door behind them. That, and Emmaline seemed to be back to her old self. Once they got out of this mess, he'd give the witch her the necklace back, he reminded himself.

The blades flashed in the lamplight, sending shadows and light spiraling across the chamber. It was briefly halted by Emmaline's launching of various peices of furniture. The first one Mavikim ducked under, which meant it was flying at Markus. The pirate leaped out of its path just in time before it shattered into the ground. "Hey-!" He tried to call at Emmaline, but he was too busy to continue as she continued to throw various objects as he waded in and out of combat. His boot audibly scraped along the ground after another lunge by Mavikim, who was beginning to look a bit more desperate. He had the look of one that wasn't used to not being in complete control of the situation. How did that work for his Eunuch outside? Markus thought wryly.

Meanwhile, the Arabyan woman had slunk away from Emmaline's position, eyes still intent on the lamp. The action of the two men fighting had kept even the asp's attention from her, though it seemed Mavikim was acutely aware of her position. Abruptly, Mavikim made a wild sweep of his curved blade, swiping across Markus's guard. It was a bit less skilled than his previous attacks. Had Markus been a lesser swordsman, he wouldn't have been able to recover so quickly, but Mavikim's intentions became evidently clear once he made a dive passed Markus, grabbing for the lamp within the coils of the adder. Jahazra screamed in denial and scrambled for it as well.

Markus lashed out with his knee, crashing into the diving Mavikim's chest like a hammer. It stung the pirate, but it sent the Arabyan Pasha flying off course into a rough tumble along the hard floor. The asp hissed, but halted once it felt its lengthy body losing the item it had been wrapped about from a sudden lift and a shake. The Princess had more confidence than she had before, it seemed. Like a child yanking a toy out of their younger sibling's hands, she let the snake fall to the floor and held aloft the small brass item, giddy as could be. In fact, she looked positively wicked in the fiery light, cackling.

"Yes!" She cried, raising the thing high into the air above her. Markus had to admit the light and the sudden nefarious turn to the once demure woman was fairly alluring in a way. She smiled wickedly, rubbing the faded brass along its side with her diminutive palm. "The power is mine! The power of the dreaded Djinn that only sultan's wield! Mightly Djinn, kill all in the room save me and make me the Pasha of this land! Do my bidding under Allah!"

The pronouncement sent echoes across the room, and Mavikim looked utterly defeated; horrified even.

But after the seconds passed, it eventually became clear that nothing had happened. The asp flicked its tongue in annoyance and slithered lazily over to Emmaline as Markus sheathed his backsword. The tension and fear mounting in the princess, who now realized she had shown her true colors, was palpable. Markus smiled with a smug expression, letting it slowly sink in that she held a small pot, rather than a lamp.

"This must be embarrassing for you," Markus tsked, shaking his head and drawing out a brass lamp from the folds of his cloak. Emmaline cackled in surprise whilst the Princess's jaw dropped. The pirate chortled, unable to halt his amusement at the two Arabyans utter defeat. "You know, I wasn't entirely certain how to use this thing. I figured I'd wait and let things play out, so I did a small switch. Thanks for letting me know that you need to rub it..."

With a wicked smile, he did so.

An unseen force popped the top off of the lamp like it had been flicked derisively. Despite his bravado, Markus was a supersitious man. He did his best to hold his dignity in check once the swirling torrent of smoke and flame leaped out of the small brass lamp like a Tilean Typhoon! Up and up it went, gathering in size and splendor, filling the very top of the large bedchamber with its girth as the storm coalesced into a being the shape of a herculean man. Markus blinked, not entirely knowing what to expect. A part of him thought it was a daemon of the north, but Emmaline didn't seem frightened, only enraptured by the sight. The thing's skin was the color of blood and coal, depending on where the light hit it. Bangles were clutched to his forearms, and its beard and hair were braided and long. Its blazing eyes gazed about the room, emitting a deep rumble from its belly that erupted into a full blown laugh.

"So!" It said, its voice echoing with immense authority. It pierced the very mind and commanded obedience, though Markus knew it was a ruse. The pirate was not the slave here, so he raised his head high as the Djinn spoke. "My master and that woman whom I stole have been degraded! I have waited many years for such a sight. Who is it that summons me to such a treat?" It demanded, glinting with lusty interest at Emmaline until it followed the path of the smoke to Markus.

"Great Djinn!" He cried to it. "I have heard tale you do the bidding of any who hold your lamp! But I do not wish to enslave someone so great as you. Let us parlay, mighty one!"

"Parley?" The Djinn remarked, thinking. Its massive hand, somehow both gaseous and solid all at once, stroked its wispy beard. Markus gave another wink at Emmaline. "What would you wish of me, northern one?"

"I wish you send both me and Emmaline Von Morganstern back to our ship with all of the gold in this palace!" He cried, and an evil smile spread across his face. "But I do not desire for you to be without compensation, as your previous master had so rightly denied you! Do that, and I shall allow you to acquire both the pasha and the princess as your own slaves! To help you pass the time in your millennia of bondage."

There was a strange sound as the daemon, Emmaline could think of no other word for the thing, began to laugh with a booming basso that shook the dome above. At the same time both Mavikim and the woman, Emmaline presumed she was a favored wife, screamed in horror. The snake wiggled across the floor and wound its way up Emmaline's leg, around her hip and then to her wrist while she stared in slack jawed amazement.

"Very well," the being rumbled with a voice like an earthquake. Mavikim turned to run but the creature exploded into red smoke shot through with black veins the swirled according to a logic not of the world they stood in. Tendrils of the smoke coiled around the pasha yanking him off his feet and dragging him across the rug covered floor, his fingers scrabbling hopelessly for purchase. His wife only stood in gaping horrified silence as similar tendrils seized her and dragged her towards the brass lamp. There was a sudden detonation of smoke and Emmaline's world turned into a red haze as something vast and powerful lifted her from her feet. She heard wood and metal shattering beneath her and had the momentary impression of being caught in a tornado. Wind rushed past her and for brief moments she caught a glimpse of the starlight sky and the streets of the city below, far, far below.

As suddenly as it had began the smoke exploded away from her and she slammed down on the floor of Markus' cabin, landing on her bottom atop a pile of golden objects which seemed to litter the floor. Makus materialized from the smoke beside her looking dazed and then the smoke began to suck inwards towards the brass lamp. Mavakim and his wife were still in its grip and as she watched they were... sucked into the lamp, looking for all the world like soap bubbled being pulled down a drain. There was a sudden cessation of noise that hit like a cannonball, broken only by the rattle of the brass cover of the lamp settling into place.

"What in Sigm...." Morgan busted in through the cabin door, cultass in hand, freezing halfway through the oath as he beheld Emmaline, naked and bruised atop a scattering of gold plates, coins and other objects of value. Markus was already picking himself up, white knuckles relaxing from the hilt of his blade. Morgan was silent for a long moment, then huffed in disgust.

"You know what, I don't even want to know," he declared, stepping out of the cabin without another word.

Markus felt a bit sore on his backside, and a sense of vertigo had washed over him for a brief moment until he got his bearings. The telltale clinking of gold had halted, save for when he moved his hand, sending a small avalanche of coins tumbling down the veritable hill of gold that had accumulated in his cabin. It filled almost the entirety of his floor, covering his desk and even shoving into the underside of his cot. Markus rubbed his head, blinking as he adjusted. The sun was now almost fully lowered in the sky, so he gathered himself up and went to reignite the oil lamp beside the door.

As the flame kindled, he heard a groan behind him. Emmaline, stark naked atop the pile of gold, looked slightly hurt but very much healthy and alive. Beside her on the ground was the brass lamp, as still as if there was naught in it but air. Markus idly locked the door behind him so there were no more interruptions, and he knelt down beside Emmaline to check the small scratches on her lush form.

"I didn't think he would harm you, I'm sorry." He told her, sliding his callused hand softly over her stomach and up her chest. The captain looked past her at the very siezable treasure they had and snorted. "I think this is payment enough though, don't you?"

He produced her sapphire necklace out of his cloak fold and gently slid it over her head to hand about her slender neck. "Let's stay in the ship for the time being, ay?" He said, and then gave a wicked smile as his hand cupped her chin. "I wonder how we'll pass the time..."

Events of Araybian Nights

"Just a fishing smack," Markus reported, closing his telescope as he slid back to the deck with the grace of a cat. Emmaline peered out towards the green brown smudge of the coast. She could barely make out a splotch of white against between wind and water. The Hammer was bucking along with a soldiers wind billowing her canvas. They had left the city of Corsair's four days before, the crew was in good spirits having blown their pay in an orgy of booze and... well actual orgies. At Emmaline's suggestion each man who had agreed to sign on for the voyage to Lustria had been given a gold coin as a bonus and as a result morale was high. Much of the hoard had been spent. Fresh sailcloth, new cordage, paint, tools, nails, spars, powder, and shot had been purchased. Not to mention tons of food, salted pork, hard tack, barley, dried fish, dates and salt, all of which had been crammed into the holds of the Hammer, in some cases displacing the cargo they had taken on in Tobaro, some of which was now lashed down on the foredeck under canvas. Finally and most vitally were dozens of casks of rum, all securely stored behind the pursers table and guarded against over eager crewmen. Emmaline too had done her own shopping, having acquired the rudiments of a lab, several books of arcane lore, and a new wardrobe which gave her options beyond loose sailors garb. The lab in particular had sent Morgan into conniptions, there really wasn't any danger so long as she was careful, though having seen her stumbling about the ship, that didn't seem to reassure him.

"Third one today," Morgan agreed, both men sharing a sour look. They were holding a generally west south west heading and rapidly approaching the capes which marked the end of Araby and the beginning of the great ocean, threading the passage between Ulthan and the Arabyian peninsular. Markus would have been happy to strike at a ship if a rich prize presented itself, but there was little profit in chasing after fishermen, esspecially when their shallow draft lateen rigged boats could simply turn to shore and run into the shallows where it would be impossible for the Hammer to follow.

"Aren't we kind of far from any city?" Emmaline asked. Morgan made a dismissive guesture.

"Sure, but there are little villages all along the coast, most of whom boast a few fishing smacks if nothing larger. Emmaline tugged the bodice of her new traveling dress upwards irritably. The shirt of finely woven linen was form fitting, but the seamstress' assurance that it wouldn't slip had evidently been overconfident. A skirt of alternating red and gold stripes fell to just above her knees. The ensemble included stockings but she had opted not to wear those in the heat of the Araybian sun, settling instead for sandals in the fashion of southern Tilea.

"We will be rounding the cape in a few minutes," Morgan announced, probably more for her benifit than Markus'. The pair of them had spent several hours pouring over the charts before picking a route close to the coast to lead them out into the great ocean where they could turn south west for the run across open water to Lustria. From there they could pick up the brisk trades and head south before turning easterly in the great southern winds to race across and around the point of the Southland. Even those charts left a great deal of guesswork to be done, though Rahjad assured Markus that when they reached the Southlands, accurate charts could be obtained. The former prisoner had made they voyage as a slave, but apparently had traveled on enough ships on the eastern side of the Southlands to know what he was speaking about.

"Six weeks to Lustria, three down the coast, five weeks to the southern capes," Markus muttered, "then Sigmar alone knows how long up the eastern coast and to Ind." Emmaline knew that Markus was concerned that Von Roberts had a head start on them, despite the fact that Morgan predicted he would take the slower and safer route of feeling his way down the west coast of the Southland. The breeze began to stiffen noticeably and the pennon above shifted direction, showing a north westerly wind rather than the west north west they had enjoyed all morning. The vessel creaked as Sketti spun the wheel to maintain their course.

"Sail ho!" a shout came from the crows nest.

"What?!" Markus and Morgan said in synchrony.

"Shes coming out of an easurary the far side of the cape, just cleared the high ground," the lookout shouted.

"Three masts!"

Markus scrambled up the rigging half way to the cross trees and unsnapped his glass. Emmaline followed him clumsily gripping the ropes tightly.

"Sigmar's balls," Markus cursed as he peered through the glass. Anchored by an arm looped through the ratlines.

"What is it," Emmaline demanded. Markus didn't reply but instead passed her the glass. She took it with both hands and nearly fell to her death in the water below. Markus, expecting her clumsiness, caught her around the waist. She hooked an arm into the line the way he had done and extended the glass which, for a wonder, she hadn't dropped. Immediately the cause for Markus' concern became apparent. A three masted ship, all sails hung, was racing out of the bay from behind the low rock formation which had concealed it from view. It's figurehead was a leering dragon. The Sea Drake.

"All hands!" Markus bawled, grabbing Emmaline and half leading half dragging her back down to the deck. She followed greatfully.

"Bastard was waiting for us, probably using those fishing smacks as scouts, may daemons eat his balls," Markus cursed. Sailors who had gone of watch an hour earlier were pounding up from below decks, racing to their stations.

"Can't we just run away?" Emmaline asked, nervous because of the tension between Markus and Morgan. The first mate shook his head.

"We don't have the sea room to come around, northerly will take us flat aback and we might wreck on the rocks if we tried it, not to mention she will be in range before we can manage it, and can tack around us besides."

"We could out run her on a close southard, we can move closer to the wind than she can with those big sails, but that means running right past her. Its a clever ambush I'll admit," Morgan groused.

"What are your orders lad?"

Markus had half a mind to have them hit the Sea Drake with all they had to end it right now. They couldn't face her openly, but they might try to outmaneuver her. Hit it with a broadside while it tried to turn about. If they took out its mainmast it might crumble. Even with her superior numbers, Markus was fairly confident they could beat her if they boarded. But even as he tried to rationalize how good of an idea this was, he knew he was making it simply because he was frustrated. He wasn't used to letting rivals who wished him dead, live.

Emmaline and Morgan could see him hesitating, something he never let even the crew see. The woman placed a hand on his arm gently.

"We'll go south and try to grab the wind." He said not a second later. "Get the gun crews at the ready, Morgan and set the crew to head south along the coast. Em, see if you can buy some time in some way, or at least do some damage to that bastard's ship or..." He stopped short, remembering Emmaline's magical specialty. He pulled her aside as Morgan began shouting orders.

In the distance, the Sea Drake moved with increasing speed. They couldn't hear or see anyone on deck yet, but it would only be a few minutes before they were in range of their cannons. Markus doubted it, but he sincerely hoped their ship did not also have a wizard of their own. Emmaline was talented with what she knew, but she would be the first to admit she wasn't a battle mage. Even if she very much looked like a powerful sorceress in her new attire.

"Can you make our cannonballs have a bit of more impact? Can you make them acidic in some fashion or combustible?" He asked her once they were out of ear shot. It had to be quick so he could take the helm, but before she could answer, a big hand poked his upper back with a fat finger. Markus could smell ale and sweat, and he turned to see Sketti Hammerhand there, and two men holding casks of something strange just behind him. Casks that were vaguely smoking, wafting steam through small minute holes atop them. Markus gave him a questioning look.

"Captain!" The Dwarf declared proudly, holding up a casket of his own with one hand, impressed as ever with Dwarfen strength. "I think I can help ye bring up the fog of war, as it were. That is, if you're planning on escapin'."

His wink did not reassure the captain, but what choice did he have?

"There isn't much I can do, not with the time we have," Emmaline admitted, casting a nervous look over her shoulder at the rapidly closing Sea Drake. All of the possibilities Markus suggested were possible in fact, but each one would take hours of preparation for a single shot.

"Do what you can," Markus declared dismissively, clearly focused on the coming battle. He seized the wheel and turned them toward the northwest, the sails snapping fully taught as they took the optimum breeze against the fabric. That seemed like a better tactic to Emmaline than going south as he had said he was going to but she didn't pretend to understand tactics. The Sea Drake turned to match their course, surging forward as its greater sail area took the wind and made better use of it than the Hammer.

"Hand's aloft, set the royals but don't tighten em, keep em loose topman!" Markus bawled.

"Run out starboard guns and snub them down!" Morgan shouted, "then stand by to port but don't run out." Half the crew, those already on watch scrambled up the rigging and began to deploy more sail, though as Markus instructed they remained curiously slack. The other half thundered below the decks, the grininding rumble of the guns running out followed a second or two later.

Markus kept a hand on the wheel watching over his shoulder as the Sea Drake closed. There was a puff of smoke a second before a boom. The tafrail ten feet from Emmaline exploded in a shower of splinters as Von Roberts' bow chasers found the range. Emmaline yelped and ducked down. A second shot whislted over head splashing down ahead of them with a spray of water.

"Any time now," Morgan said tightly.

"A moment longer..." Markus said. Another shot cracked through the air, missing them by feet. Emmaline thought she saw the slightest twitch in the mustache of foam being thrown up by the Sea Drake as she raced towards them. Apparently it was what Markus was waiting for, with a snarl he threw the wheel over. The Hammer slewed hard to port, wrong footing the Sea Drake which had already commited to turning toward the coast. Emmaline realised that Markus had fooled Von Roberts by making it look like he was trying to run back towards Araby where the Hammer could use her shallower draught to hide out close to the coast. Instead the sloop slewed towards the open sea. The set royals billowed out like laundry snapping like coach whips overhead. They had been set to give the appearance of flight, but not lashed down so they didn't hinder the ship as it crossed the eye of the wind. For a moment the ship hung losing speed as it crossed the eye of the wind, then the sails luffed and she was accelerating again.

"Run out!" Markus yelled and the port side battery, emerged from their gun ports. Emmaline took a glass and peered through the eye piece. Von Roberts' was already correcting his mistake, his own guns running out. Worse still there was a figure standing on the quaterdeck beside Von Roberts. He was clearly Araybian and, from the arcane markings on his robe and the aura of power around him, a wizard.

"Shizz," Emmaline moaned a second before the side of the Sea Drake erupted in a cloud of powder smoke.

"The old codger's finally figured it out, eh?" Markus grinned, spinning the wheel one last time as the Hammer swung out to open sea. The Sea Drake wasn't a massive ship and he could tell it was built to give sloops a run for their money if the wind was with it. But The Hammer was still the faster and lighter. The seconds dragged on as the ship's continued to race around one another before the Hammer finally open fired, powder and deafening roars filled the ocean surface as the cannon's bounced from the sheer power of their shot. The Sea Drake had holes the size of men punched through it, though Markus couldn't rightly tell if it had permanent damage or not. It didn't matter, as Sketti played his little trick.

The Dwarf dropped strange casks of ice into the water made from some chemical Markus couldn't begin to pronounce. The ordinance burst into steam on contact with the warm sea, erupting like geysers so as to shadow the very air around them. It was when the last of the Hammer's cannons shot that it grew obscure enough to be unable to see thirty meters out, and so Markus made his gamble and set the Hammer full speed ahead. It was just seconds later that the Captain felt a strange twinge in his mind, followed by Emmaline giving a squeal in fear.

Lightning burst forth out of the fog with a crack like the act of a vengeful God. For a brief moment Markus thought they could somehow see them through the smoke. It would still take far longer than Markus liked to be out of range of their cannons, but after a second discharge of the spell was enacted, it became clear their wizard was simply guessing at their location. Markus let the ship go once it hit the wind, and it was just in time as he saw Emmaline crafting a spell.

"No!" He said, leaping over to her and placing a hand on her mouth. She said something muffled, likely sassy but he couldn't make it out.

"We can fight him later. We don't want them to know where we are, right?" He asked.

"Hmmmmrrrrmm," she agreed, and after a second he let go of her mouth. Her hair was frizzled and she tried to smooth it to preserve her dignity, but otherwise she was unharmed. Sketti made his stout way up from the deck to the aft castle where they stood, grinning like an ugly bulldog. It gave Markus a good look at his ivory and gold teeth. He held his hands on the belt loops of his pants as he strutted up to the Captain and the ship mage.

"So, how do ye like my concoction?" He asked the swordsman. More plumes of smoke rolled up behind them, and it was only when water splashed and the sounds erupted that they knew it was the Sea Drake firing all cannons in a vain attempt to hit them. Markus and Sketti were unconcerned, the darkly handsome man speaking about how useful the 'dry ice' the Dwarf had made was and how they could use it in future engagements.

Emmaline watched as cannonballs whipped through the screen of smoke. Geysers of spray gouted where the balls struck empty sea. The Hammer's guns had already fallen silent, nothing but the swivel guns would now bear and there was no point in wasting shot. Suddenly Emmaline felt a prickle across her skin. Von Roberts was no fool, he had hired a mage to counteract her supposed power. Which would have been wise if she had any power to speak of. Markus stiffened too, his magical proclivities warning him of the magical gaze as well.

"He is going to..." Emmaline began and then snapped a series of arcane syllables. A ball of fire tore through the curtain of smoke towards the Hammer. Emmaline only just managed to squeak a counterspell, the fireball bursting twenty feet short of the ship. She staggered from magical backlash scarcely able to keep her feet. Already she could feel a second spell building. More cannon fire whipped through the screen of fog, still blind but more accurate for following the wizard's fireball.

A second ball of fire, bigger than the first screamed through the curtain of fog. Emmaline caught it with a counterspell, faster this time but weaker as she was driven to her knees.

"They are going to burn us, bring us about..." Markus began but Emmaline pulled herself to her feet, gripping Markus' belt.

"No, I have an idea, we just need to bring one gun to bear," Emmaline whined weakly. Markus looked dubious but turned to Morgan.

"Helm over three points, gun captain's hold your fire till my command."

Emmaline pushed herself to her feet and half staggered down onto the gun deck. Smoke roiled and swirled as the crew frantically sponged and loaded the guns.

"Which one?" Emmaline demanded but Markus grabbed her and physically carried her over to the rear most gun carriage. Emmaline flung herself onto the gun, gripping the cannons barrel, still warm from firing and chanting her spell. Golden light began to spark and glow around the gun. She reached out, finding the track the last fireball had made.

"Fire!" Emmaline commanded, hugging the gun. The gun captain, one of the sailors who had come aboard with Emmaline, hesitated. Markus shoved the boy aside, siezed the slow match and touched it to the cannon. The gun thundered and leaped back, blotting out Emmaline's scream. There was a huge cloud of powder smoke glittering with motes of golden light.

Two hundred yards away on the deck of the Sea Drake, Kamal Al'Azred was about to send another blast of fire to obliterate the petty mageling on the deck of the Hammer. So confident was he in his impending victory that he never felt the subtle spell Emmaline had crafted. He never had any inkling of danger until a cannon ball shattered the tafrail three feet infront of him, quilling him with a thousand splinters of wood some as long as a mans forearm. The wizard collapsed to the deck, gurgling blood and rolling in his death theros. Unfortunately for the crew of the Hammer, the body of Kamal Al'Azred shielded Von Roberts from the storm of splinters.

"Got him," Emmaline said as she picked herself up off the deck. The blast had thrown her free of the cannon with some considerable force, the impact tearing her tunic open. She came rather unsteadily to her feet, grinning proudly. Markus' smirked back eyes flicking down to her considerable exposed bosom. She pulled her dress half heartedly closed.

By the time the Sea Drake broke though Sketti's wall of fog the Hammer was almost a league distant, running down the coast with sails set. The big square rig ship tried to follow, but it was a simple matter of sail plan. The Hammer could get within 40 degrees of the southerly wind that warped along the coast, the Sea Drake couldn't manage closer than sixty. Their courses slowly beginning to diverge as the afternoon wore on. Just before dark the look outs shouted that the Sea Drake was bearing off.

"Is he giving up?" Emmaline asked. Markus close his telescope with a snap.

"Sort of," he admitted, wiping his brow with a coat sleeve.

"He knows he cant close on us like this, so his only option is to tack out to sea, and hope to get ahead of us. He also knows that as soon as he does, we can cut out to sea, turn back and take the soldiers wind back north. He has to hope he outguesses me and catches us during the night."

As the sun descended, the coast looked clear as the saying went. The Sea Drake faded into obscurity before evening, try as she might. Markus couldn't have planned it better, because hadn't planned it. Oh the escape, yes. He and crew orchestrated that well enough. But he had the notion the Sea Drake was days or even weeks ahead of them on their journey, and now he knew Von Robert's was behind them rather than before. It was a stroke of luck, one of the few they had garnered since the voyage began.

Now, as evening fell, he let Morgan take the wheel and he walked down the steps to the maindeck. The men hadn't doled out drinks yet, but they were celebrating. Fernando made lewd gestures as he told a joke of a Tilean Courtesan and an Estalian Carpenter, sending Eckart in a fit of laughter that almost had him rolling off the ship. Brod snorted and smiled when he saw Markus, waving to the Captain as he was just about to walk past.

"Cap'n! I had to tell you something but..." He rubbed his unshaven chin, his paunch floating just above his belt, swaying with the ship as he contemplated. "Oh! Yeah, you asked for the witch to be brought up and grab some drinks, but when the lads went to your room it was locked. No answer either. Better go check on it."

Markus snickered. "Aye, got it." He said, taking out one of the jingling keys at his belt. He had wanted to bring Emmaline topside so they could all toast before the crew dispersed into the night, and then he was going to navigate the best course before dawn came. Perhaps she was taking a nap. He knew how much magic could drain someone, so the rakish swordsman stepped down below decks and made his way to his cabin. Slowly he inserted the key into the doorknob and opened the door, taking off his jacket without so much as a word so as not to disturb the sleeping woman. But as he turned and saw her stark naked on the table, he jumped in surprise. Just at that moment, the ship swayed. The captain's surprise along with the ship sent Emmaline tumbling end over end off the table to hit the floor.

"Em!" He called, rushing over to her. "Sink me, are you ok?"

Skeggi was like most ports Markus had seen in his time. Wide wooden docks bustling with activity, men hauling cargo along the wharves, smoke rising from chimneys within the ramshackle township. But surrounding the settlement were palm trees and denser jungle, and the howls of birds and strange apes were almost as loud as the men conducting their business on the docks. Flags of many nations rose up and fluttered in the midday wind. What was even stranger were the archaic pillars that he noticed with his keen eye that appeared along the town's outer edge and even along the shoreline like ghosts. No rhyme or pattern to them, and though there couldnt have been more than a dozen across the land within eyesight, everytime he thought he had spotted them all, another popped up.

Sketti smacked one of the deckhands to hurry up as they lowered the sails to glide more easily into the port. Markus stood vigil at the helm, his face stoic and a masterclass in control, a farcry from the savage pirate (and lover) the sorceress knew him to be. He was an oddity like that in certain ways. The Captain had ordered everyone to hide any signs they were pirates as everytime they entered a non-pirate port. Truth be told, they were actually going to make their real berth a few dozens miles away at a smaller, seedier town so his men could carouse for awhile, but Skeggi wasn't a town of law or prudishness. Even the staunchest of imperial patriots wouldnt have much in the way of complaint if a few mainland laws were bent or even broken.

"9 Fathoms!" Brod called from below as they lowered anchor. Considering it was low tide, that was a good sign. No wonder the larger brigandines sat next to the smaller sloops and lateen sailed vessels.

"You lot! Start unloading the cargo! Set it all up on deck for inspection!" Markus ordered as he descended the stairs of the aftcastle. "Halfdane, you're with me! Morgan, make sure these lads do their jobs quick and careful. There might be some grog on the line! And my lady...-" He said, turning to give a bow and a wink to Emmaline, who found herself on deck near the stairway. "You can come and go as you like. Follow me if you wish, but we're just going to find out where the business is we're to get paid from is."

After five weeks at sea Emmaline felt the land heave under her as she stepped down onto the gangplank. She made a grab for one of the pylons to steady herself, but missed. Rajav caught her by the elbow and steadied her. Markus, evidently had more experience with the phenomenon and continued to walk with his usual assurance, though Emmaline thought she could detect a trace of reserve in his gait.

"Land sickness," Rajav told her, "It will pass if you simply walk around." Emmaline grunted and continued carefully down the gangway and onto the wooden dock. The former slave had been teaching her the language of Ind during the voyage, as well as his strange stretching technique which he called 'yoga'. While he still decried her accent in the most strident terms, comparing her colorfully to all manner of wounded jungle beast, he grudgingly admitted she was making progress in both pursuits. He had even prevailed upon her to practice her sorcery, when she couldn't find more pleasurable outlets for her time, and she had constructed a small laboratory in a corner of the kitchen, to the alarm and fascination of the crew. Her study of the texts she had acquired in Araby had been interesting, but she didn't dare test many of the spells in the frequently heaving seas. Rajav hassled her less on this score when she made a show of studying, and as such she found it easier than arguing with him.

Skeggi was an old Norscan settlement and the high peaked rooves and slightly bowed walls of many of the buildings testified to that. As did several longships and their burly looking crews. The tropical locale had forced its own concessions to the architectural style. Windowless cottages had given way to large open windows over which screens of knotty local jungle wood had been affixed in crisscross lattice patterns. Roofs that would once have been made of thatch or shingle had been replaced with layered palm fronds which had been sealed with some kind of resin that made them shine with an oily luster. Many of the warehouses were rooved in similar fashion, though the sides tended to be cages of bamboo around four corner posts rather than solid construction as an Imperial would understand it. Crates of goods lay pilled under such shelters, invariably accompanined by muscular and bored looking Norscan's who seemed to act as guards.

"Well," Emmaline said, glancing at a particularly buff specimen admiringly, "I cant say the local scenery is without interest."

"A man who is a slave to his passions is..." Rajav began but Emmaline cut him off with a glare.

"If you are going to preach, I'll have you pitched into the harbor, I have been on a ship for a month and a half for Ranald's sake," she hissed.

"You are going to throw me into the harbor?" he asked with cool amusement, planting a hand on each hip in an exaggerated stance, the doubt clear in his voice. She lifted her fingers and wiggled them.

"I've been practicing remember?"

"And if she dosen't I bloody will," Sketti grumped as he thumped down the ramp, carrying a crate of pig iron on each shoulder. A feat made more impressive by the fact it took two of the human crew to carry a single box. There was a chorus of agreement from the sweating sailors, all of whom were looking forward to booze and what female company they could find, just as soon as they were able to complete unloading. Markus had mentioned another smaller settlement further out towards the jaws of the of the broad bay which held Skeggi. Emmaline unconsciously glanced down the bay, experiencing again the eye searing green of Lustria. Emmaline had seen the Drakwald in the summer time, but it didn't hold a candle to the green of Lustria. It seemed to all by sear the eyes with its vibrant profusion. Strange trees rose in an emerald wall that screened everything more than a few feet from the shoreline. Brightly coloured birds flapped and hooted among the gigantic leaves, their color serving to emphasize the universal green. There had been some effort to clear jungle, but farming had quickly been given up. Without the loam of the rainforest, the soil was thin and unproductive. There wasn't enough space for livestock to provide manure to renew the crops and the cleared areas were largely abandoned choked with long grasses and the small saplings which scouted for the advancing jungle. Judging by bundles of strange looking fruit and root vegetables which hung the rafters of small stalls, there was a degree of gathering going on further into the jungle. The air was rich with the perfumes of strange flowers, the smell of fish from the docks, and a pervasive undertone of loam and rotting vegetation.

Emmaline gave the Norscan a wink and then followed after Markus who was already, climbing up the hill towards the center of the settlement. Smoke was rising from forges in that direction and she could sense iron being worked. Iron was in short supply in the new world, and always in demand for tools, weapons, nails and the dozens of other items necessary for running a settlement and outfitting ships. That was one of the reasons shipments like the one the Hammer was carrying fetched high prices. That wasn't to say there was no metal to be seen. As they reached the more prosperous buildings, those which had timber and even stone facings, she began to see gold, much of it worked into strange patterns and alien designs. These were always secured and guarded, and hawkers called to her as she passed, trying to interest her with tales of distant ruins which had been looted by brave adventures. The familiar tug of gold fever disoriented her for a minute. When she looked up Markus had disappeared into the crowd.

The Captain didn't quite have the gold fever his lover did, but one never took up piracy without a bit of greed in his veins. He did his best to keep his eyes forward, toward the tangible sums he was about to make rather than the golden plaques that sat to his left and right. He kept forward, and Halfdan did as well. The big man was probably the most loyal crewmember Markus had, save Morgan and likely Sketti when he gave his word as a Dwarf. Even in the heart of the settlement, wide leaves and tropical fern-like plants popped up around them, the jungle sliding in, constantly trying to reclaim what had once been nothing but trees.

Despite his travels, Markus had never been to Lustria proper before. There was talk of deadly diseases and ravenous beasts whenever the shrouded continent popped up in any conversation. He could believe it, even among the buildings here. There was the shrill sound of some strange insect and hoots of some unknown primate in the distance wherever he turned. Halfdan glanced around suspiciously, unused to anything south of the Empire, which was still very far below his native Norsca in latitude. Ahead of them an Arabyan couple passed. A man in a cloak of red with a sharp, black beard and smoldering eyes led a shapely woman in bedlah attire across the dirt. The man muttered something to her as if to scold, but she glanced at Markus and wiggled her eyebrows as she was dragged along. Markus had never had an Arabyan woman before, and if it had been six months ago he would have tried to pursue something. As of now he simply pushed onward.

"Everyone in the Old World is here." Halfdan said in his rough accent. "It's like Marienburg."

"If it's anything like Marienburg, there's going to be plenty of thieves so keep an eye out."

Finally the two saw what had to be the center of shipping. A squat building, eloquent in a certain fashion with ubiquitous carvings and golden filigree along a few pillars connected to an otherwise mundane, wooden structure. Unlike most other buildings, the windowsills and the door were painted, and a large sign labeled 'SHIPPING' sat above the front porch. Markus ordered Halfdan to stay outside and stand watch while he went in to conduct business.

"Captain, Emma is gone." He said.

Markus spun and looked around, having sworn she had been just behind them. He sighed audibly. "I should have known she would slip off. It's nothing, just stay here and I'll be back. She'll be back at the ship likely enough." He turned and stepped onto the porch, smoothing his hair as he was about to open the door.

"Um Captain? She's back..." He said, halting Markus in his tracks.

---

5 minutes earlier.

Markus had disappeared and the streets sparkled with gold you could but touch were it not for the guards. A few grim-faced mercenaries stalked past her on some unknown business whilst a man in a feathered cap yodeled into the air, hoping beyond hope someone would toss him a coin. Something to her left caught her eye, and there was a boar's head made of pure gold set on a stand, a short mustachioed man with the smile of a shark bade her forward.

"Vak'sha! You there! Yes, you look like a woman who knows her riches, yes? Resplendent in those robes. You must be a magician! Many men would pay handsomely for your skills, so I hear." He told her, giving her no real room to speak. This wasn't Emmaline's first con, but the Boar's head sparkled so deliciously in the gleaming sunlight. The man's nosering swayed as he bobbed forward, his eyes filled with lust, but not of gold. "You came in that caravel, yes? The Imperial one with the strange colors? Must be an important vessel with such nice cargo within its hold. Of course, you can always find more coins to add to your collection."

Whatever he meant by any of this, it didn't really matter. He cackled and backed up a step, giving her a salute. "A pleasure to speak to someone so beautiful."

Suddenly Emmaline's arms were grabbed by arms thrice as thick as hers, and her body was lifted up so she couldn't flee. If she turned to look, she would be face to face with one of the Norscan guards she had 'admired' less than an hour ago. The rugged man smiled, winking back. "I vwouldn't struaggle," He advised, his accent even thicker than Halfdan's. He likely left his homeland within the last two years. "Snapping a limb is something we vwill do if you resist. Now let us go vfind your captain, aye?"

It did not take very long for them to find him, just at the foot of the Shipping house.

"Let me go!" Emmaline snapped, attempting to bring her magic to bear. Unfortunately, whether by accident or design, his powerful grip kept her from moving her hands enough to work the kind of spell she would need. He twisted her arms back, thrusting out her chest like the figurehead of a ship and marched her along the cordory road which served as a street in this part of town. Four more men emerged to join their companion and his captive, all equally impressive physical specimens and all well armed with crude but brutal looking steel swords. If any of the locals were inclined to help a woman in distress, the muscular phalanx surrounding her dissuaded them immediately. The snake bracelet at her wrist began to stir and Emmaline willed it to be still. For a wonder it seemed to actually work, the creature couldn't be said to take orders from her, but perhaps it was willing to wait and see on this occasion. The fact that the thugs seemed to be taking her to Marcus seemed a good sign, and it made sense to wait until she was closer to allies before she attempted anything.

It took only a few minutes to reach the shipping house, which seemed to form a natural blockhouse between the harbor district and the more inland area where the majority of houses stood. Smoke from cook fires and forges floated on the sluggish tropical air beyond and stocky Norscan women hurried back and forth with baskets woven of reeds and what looked to be strips of bamboo. Several wagons were hitched to miserable looking donkies just beyond the shipping house and shirtless man were loading barrels of ale from the back of the shipping house into the carts. Emmaline hadn't seen horses or carts closer to the docks, either because the surfaces couldn't take the weight, or more likely, whoever ran the local stevedores wanted to keep cheaper options out of the area.

"I think we found something of yours Mister Imperial," the leader of the pack called in badly accented Riekspiel, swatting Emmaline's bottom in emphasis.

"Which is good, because the iron that you brought is ours. We will pay you for it, but it wont go to these whoresons!" the leader bawled, making a rude gesture at several of the staff off the shipping house.

Despite the tropical surroundings, the dirt road between Markus and this entourage of extortionists seemed fitting for a strip of wasteland, particularly from the silence that fell on the street. Any of the colorful travelers or bustling locals quickly made themselves scarce, and Halfdan drew his thick bladed cutlass menacingly, ready to attack at Markus's slightest acknowledgement. The captain himself, having stepped off the porch, looked at Emmaline and then to her captor. Anyone, even Emmaline who didn't have his ire, could feel the tone change in the air. All the men knew, if they continued down this path, there was going to be violence. Markus hadn't even draw his sword, his murderous glare more than enough. Behind them all, the staff of the shipping house filled the windows to watch nervously.

"So, let me understand this." He said, crossing his arms, speaking as calm as death. "You want to do business with me, and to do that you stole a member of my crew, my woman, and are using her as leverage?"

"Anything to get ahead in the world," The norscan replied, his bravado having waned. He kept Emmaline tight in his grip, fish breath wafting over her head. "You look pirate. I would think you would understand."

Markus snorted, deciding not to explain something this primitive would likely not understand. Halfdan had twice the brains as this one. "Here's what will happen. You put her down, and you will tell me what you're willing to pay. If it beats this establishment, we'll give you the iron as long as you can guarantee the duke will approve.-" Even as he spoke, the Norscan complied and grinned, apparently unconcerned that they could meet those expectations. Emmaline began to make her way over to Markus as the captain drew his sword.

"And I want you." Markus declared, pointing his darksteel sword at the Norscan, who's grin disappeared.

"What?"

"Are you the leader of your company?" He asked, motioning with his head to indicate Emmaline should come stand beside him. As she did so, he wrapped his off-hand around her waist, pulled her close and gave her a thorough kiss.

"No, I'm... the enforcer." The big man replied, narrowing his eyes with suspicion, glancing at his partners to see they were just as confused as he was. "What's it to you, what do you want from me?"

Markus broke the kiss, holding her close as he spoke. "You touched my woman and threatened her life. Either one is grounds for me to kill you, but since you're potentially a new business partner, I'll give you a choice, northman." He remarked. "You can die here, at my sword, or my friend Halfdan can take you to our ship where you'll receive twenty lashes by the Bo'sun. If I were you, I'd take Eckard's whip over my sword, but it's your choice.

The enforcer looked around at his goons with superior smile. It wasn't quite as convincing as he thought it was and Emmaline could understand why. On the one hand he might believe he could take Markus in a fight. That might or, more likely, might not be true, but even if he did, having murdered the captain of the vessel whose cargo he was supposed to secure wasn't likely to gain his employer what he wanted. Realistically the sensible choice would be to take the lashes, but the Norscans were a warrior culture and facing that kind of humiliation wasn't something this though could afford to do and still maintain his position.

"I don't think you quite understand who gives the orders around here but I..." the Norseman's bluster trailed off in a sudden piglike squeal. He dropped his sword and staggered forward towards Markus, clutching at his side. Dark blood throbbed from between his fingertips.

"There seems to be alot of that going around," another Norscan warrior who had apparently just joined the party, sneered. The newcomer was naked from the waist up save for the pelt of what must have been a massive white bear when it had been alive. A golden chain fastented its two claws together around his neck. His hair was a blonde nearly as bright as Emmaline's own and he held a curved bloodstained dagger in his left hand, having just driven it into his minions side.

"If you want to kill him on your sword Captain, you had best get to it," the stranger advised, gesturing with the dagger to the thug who was now writing on the ground, blood spilling from between his fingers.

As Emmaline was busy losing the contents of her lunch over the side of the boat, Markus stared at the wooden planks on the rowboat, deep in thought. The churning sea rushed and shoved the craft gingerly, oscillating their position and filling their ears with the dull roars of the surf. The Captain of the Hammer clutched his sheathed, accursed sword, the scabbard resting over his shoulder. For miles in any direction, they were surrounded by sea. In the distance they could see a faded picture of land, but it would be hours before they reached the shore. The day was overcast and the wind tickled them, but it was not unpleasant. The vague sound of whispers that came with the wind were more unwelcome than the wind itself. Then again, these lands had been perpetually haunted in all the stories.

Mercifully, the Land of Chill was warmer than the rumors.

Markus had never been to Naggaroth, though he and his crew had an unfortunate run-in with Dark Elf reavers before. It was how he had acquired his black sword, and it was during that engagement he really started to respect Emmaline as more than a bumbling pair of tits. Unfortunately, he didn't foresee much more in the way of positive benefits when facing the dreaded elves of Malekith. It was almost guaranteed he and his lover would die here, on this strip of bare land on far end of the world. And yet there was nowhere else to go, and Markus was not going to die without spilling as much elf blood as possible.

The previous day, the Hammer had been sailing up the coast of the Sea of Serpents with all speed. Markus and his crew had been given a map from the Heinrich Kuaffhelm, the greatest loremaster of the New World. It was similar to most maps save one detail: the location of the fabled Tomb of Gold. After having survived the Lizardmen in their golden city, Markus had seen first hand the fabulous wealth the Lizardmen had in their hoards. It took very little to convince his crew and Emmaline to find the Tomb that was rumored to be unguarded by the scaled warriors.

On the ninth day at sea, the black sails appeared. Three dark elf sloops surrounded them and assailed the ship on all sides. Emmaline had been pitched overboard, and Markus could only dive off the ship and leave a rowboat untethered and floating upside-down in order to save himself and the sorceress. With clever magics she had kept them hidden from the sea-dragons that followed the dark elves, or the myriad of monsters that lurked within the 'sea of serpents,' but that left them stranded miles from the coast, idly floating with the wind.

If his men weren't dead, they would soon wish they were. The Black Ark they had seen in the distance had disappeared, and only by memory did Markus recall a dark elf settlement supposedly on the coast, by way of stories they had heard moored at Skeggi. They would go there and try to get his ship back, and if they failed, they would take the two small vials of poison Markus kept on his person to die swiftly and (relatively) painlessly.

Even if it came to that, Markus would kill for what they did to him.

"Your concern is wonderful," Emmaline said, finally bringing her head up and slumping against the side of the boat. She looked miserable.

"I'm not concerned," He said, aloof with his attention elsewhere. "You've gotten through far worse. We'll be on land soon."

Emmaline laid her head against the gunnel of the boat trembling faintly in the aftershocks of her seasickness. She was about as wrung out as she had ever been. The spells she had been working were not complex. Sea serpents were on average about as intelligence as the Altdorf street patrol which ranked them a little above dogs and a little below pigs. Even so, maintaining the illusions had been very draining. She was also trying very hard not to imagine the Hammer being swarmed by the cruel dark elves, its crew being dragged into the bowels of the Black Ark to suffer slavery and worse. More than once she had heard experienced crewman state that it would be better to touch off the powder magazine than submit to the Druckles as they slang termed them.

The land was approaching quickly, the wavelets beginning to toss the boat as the waters shoaled. Emmaline hauled herself up and started to wretch into the gray water. Markus let go of the oars and stood up, grabbing her by the arm and hauling her to her feet.

“No time for that,” Markus snapped, propelling her towards the front of the boat with a shove.

“It’s too rocky to properly land, we will probably…”

There was a sudden crunch and the boat pitched violently as submerged rocks stove in the front timbers. Emmaline squawked in alarm as she pitched violently over the bow and into the frothing waters. She gasped as she hit the surf. It wasn’t the icy kiss of death she expected, but it was cold enough to knock the breath from her. For a miracle she missed the large rocks just beneath the surface. Her natural buoyancy lifted her up and she sucked in a mouthful of salty air. A wave knocked her into a slimy rock and she stroked inexpertly towards the rocky strand. With the drive of the surf and a little luck she managed to wash up on the graveled beach, gasping and shivering.

“Markus!” she called as she forced herself up on her elbows. She needn’t have sounded so worried. The captain was was cutting through the water like a fish, dragging what few supplies he had managed to salvage from the boat, the wreckage of which was currently being dashed to splinters on the rocks.

“Ranald’s balls,” she moaned and flopped back onto her back, staring up at the gray and threatening sky.

The soft glow of the clouded sky above was eclipsed by Markus's standing form. She opened her eyes blearily and saw him looking down at her. He looked at her and suppressed a sigh or a curse. He was cutthroat, but he wasn't heartless. This was hard on both of them, and he knew they were walking into death anyway. But still, he wasn't going to have Emmaline keep him from that.

"I would pick you up, but since we have almost no food I'll need to save my strength, so let's go." He said, his voice strong and leaving no room for argument. She still whined a bit, and gave a curse again. He knelt down and grabbed her, but it was gentler than she might have expected. Slowly he pulled her upright, and when she had steadily sat up and didn't wobble, he wiped her blonde hair out of her face and looked at her.

He gave her a kiss. A lingering kiss that said more than he would, and then stood to his feet, holding out a hand. She took it, and once he hauled her up they started walking. Markus had returned to his aloof, grim self. Emmaline followed as best she could, only falling onto her face again once. Mercifully, they were both on more solid ground the next mile, with soft grass and warm wind. A large forest covered the horizon, the trees tall and ominous.

"Where are we going?" She asked.

"The elves went north, so we'll head north." He told her, stepping over a large patch of coastal reeds. Something furry skittered away, but Markus didn't pay it any mind. The wind whistled, but other than two birds riding the currents over the sea and the small critter, the land looked barren. It was hard to say if the quiet was the silence of an empty place or that of a lurking predator, and Markus wasn't sure which was more unsettling.

"Once we find good cover, I'll start a fire. We might can catch something to eat for dinner." He told her, and glanced back to see she was still close on his heels.

"I wish we could just head south back to skeggi, but..." She said, and he knew she was almost as loathe to leave the ship and the crew as he was. Neither of them were charitable souls or self-sacrificial priests, but Emmaline had a conscience despite her swindling and Markus was too bound by the Captain's responsibility to just let them die. Plus, they did not want to be separated. He also figured that to the south were the Lizardmen, and even though dark elves were known for slow torture, they were still closer to human. There was something about the man-reptiles of Lustria that was so unsettling. The cold intelligence behind eyes that shouldn't have it. The magics that could shatter ships, and the huge lizard warriors that would devour you if given the command.

Better to move north for now.

Emmaline didn’t argue with Markus, though it seemed to her that ‘move away from the psychotic torture elves’ would have been a wiser strategy. She might have been more vocal about the point if she hadn’t seen the points of jagged mountains low on the south. There was no way that they would make it over those mountains, certainly not wet and shivering as they were. The wind off the sea was already cutting, the sailors tunic (creatively tailored) was theoretically water resistant, though water resistant didn’t mean much when you had been literally submerged.



“Cold? Or just happy to see me?” Markus asked with a snort of laughter.

“Wha..” Emmaline began, then looked down and blushed.



They reached the edge of the forest. Mercifully the gnarled trees provided some shelter from the wind. That was the only mercy Emmaline could see. The forest was beyond foreboding. The greyish trees lowered over them, blocking what anemic sunlight there was. There was little enough undergrowth, probably because the jagged bows above did such a good job of blocking the sunlight. Several of the trees were in the process of being strangled by blackish purple vines with impressive and very unhealthy looking thorns. Several trees had died under the treatment, leaving skeletal armatures entirely composed of the climbing vines. Markus stepped forward with his sword, carefully scrapping the points from thorns as they passed through. Greenish sap, which Emmaline didn’t doubt was poisonous, leaked from the wounds. She kept close behind the pirate, careful to avoid scratching herself. It seemed impossible they would make any progress under such conditions, but twenty feet into the forest the thorns vanished. Perhaps the edge of the forest was the most dangerous zone, or perhaps it was some freak of nutrition or sunlight. Idly Emmaline wondered what alchemical properties the thorn sap might have, though her alchemical abilities were only slightly more advanced than her magical ones.



“Let’s keep moving while we have the light,” Markus said, grabbing a handful of off leaves and wiping the sap from his blade. It shone darkly in the half light, unmarred and, Emmaline feared, happy to be home.



Emmaline’s feet were screaming by the time Markus called a halt. Twilight was well and truly settled and it was becoming increasingly difficult to see. Even so Emmaline thought Markus would have continued the march if they hadn’t come across a fallen tree, whose uprooted bowl made a half cave for them to shelter in.



“These roots look pretty dry,” Markus observed, “shame we don’t have an axe.” Emmaline raised her right arm and made a downward slash with her arm. A glimmering flash of silver preceeded the tips of a dozen arm thick roots tumbling into the bowl.

“Or that,” Markus said agreeably. Emmaline flopped down and pulled off her shapeless seaman’s boots, rubbing at her throbbing feet. Markus gathered the severed timbers and piled them together to make a fire. He looked up at Emmaline who snapped her fingers, kindling fire into the dry wood.



“You’re not nearly so useless on land,” Markus observed charitably.

“How kind of you to say,” Emmaline retorted. Markus laughed and pinched her bottom as he passed, climbing out of the bowl.

“I’ll find us something to eat,” the pirate promised.





By the time Markus returned, Emmaline had managed to coax the fire into a decent blaze. She was no ranger, but even a poor gold wizard had a basic understanding of how fire and air worked together. The pirate appeared out of the gloom, a small deer slung across his shoulders. How he had managed to catch the thing Emmaline had no idea, but a sword stroke across its throat had already drained the things blood. He dropped it on the leaf litter thirty feet from the bowl and began filleting the thing with his sword blade. Emmaline didn’t even have a belt knife to help, but she found a couple of long sticks to make skewers. In a few minutes they had venison smoking on the skewers, the smell of hot meat making Emmaline’s stomach grumble. Shipboard rations tended towards salt beef, and she had to admit she was eager for something a little richer.



“Shame we don’t have any wine,” Emmaline sighed as she blew on the steaming meat.

“That is where you start wishing?” Markus laughed mirthlessly. The pirate captain wasn’t in a good mood. Emmaline knew the fate of the ship and the crew weighed heavily on him.



“Well I suppose I could have the Reiksguard and the Artillery School bring me wine,” Emmaline conceded, expanding her scope. Markus’ laugh was more genuine this time.





Emmaline opened her eyes as she felt something cold against her neck. She looked up and saw a dark figure, far too slender to be Markus, standing above her. Its eyes glowed almost violet in the attenuated starlight. It said something in a language Emmaline didn’t understand, but certainly wasn’t ‘keep sleeping in this hole in the ground’. Her heart hammered in her chest as she stood up slowly, hands raised.

“Well, aren’t you a pretty one, you’ll fetch a good price,” the creature, a dark elf to be sure, said in thickly accented Reikspiel. Markus was also standing, held at the end of a similar blade by another dark elf. Both of them were armored in some kind of scaly leather and wore cloaks that looked like they might have come from the hides of some great marine predator.

“This one looks strong,” the second elf declared, “a fine return on a hunting trip.” The elf grabbed the hilt of Markus’ dark elven blade and began to pull it free.

“What have we her…” the elf began but its question was cut off as Markus’ head snapped forward, his forehead connecting with the elf’s pointed nose. It exploded in a spray of blood and sent the elf staggering backwards. The one threatening Emmaline shoved her hard to ground and turned to leap at Markus. The pirate didn’t waste time trying to draw his own blade, instead he kicked out, sending a spray of ashes from the dying fire into the elf’s face. The Druchii staggered backwards but brought his blade up intime to intercept Markus’ thrust.



“Now we will see who the best swordsman…” the elf cut off suddenly as Emmaline struck him across the side of the head with a piece of timber. The elf tried to pivot to face the unexpected threat, but a second blow caught it and sent it tumbling to the ground. Markus stepped forward and thrust the point of his blade into the stunned elf’s throat. It started up in wide eyed surprise, unable to believe it even as its blood spilled to the forest floor. Raven’s cawed overhead.