4 hours later

The Weather Witch creaked lazily, which showed just how powerful the storm was outside. The Caravel, along with the Cogs and strange Arad Carracks were anchored within the cavern that housed the Blood Axe Corsairs, now having been integrated into Markus' crew. The Corsairs still outnumbered the western pirates heavily, but with a lack of cohesion in leadership and a desire to follow Markus after his brutal display at slaying their previous captain, they were given a fair amount of freedom.

The water was relatively calm within the sanctuary of the hidden docks, and so Markus had not felt too worried on staying aboard the ship. Thunder rolled in the distance, and the torchlights flickered within his cabin as he concentrated. Shoulders covered in his new blood red cloak, his dark eyes flicked to his opponent, meeting their gaze. Reaching forward with a deliberate hesitation, he finally made his move.

"Check," He said, removing Calliope's Knight from the chess board. He had never been what one might call an expert in the game, but he felt he was good. Calliope, however, was toying with him in his opinion. She had either played far more than he, or her mind was simply more structured toward strategy, at least on a certain scale. "And now-" He said, leaning back and crossing his hands behind his head. His shirt was unbuttoned and open due to the heat that permeated in the cavern. "I'll watch you somehow wiggle your way out of this one again."

There was a light, almost boyishly sly smile on his face. A farcry from the terrible warrior and grim captain he had been mere hours ago. As she made her move, he sighed. And now his queen was in davy jones locker. "As much as I like losing, I invited you here for more than just games." He said, and he glanced out the darkened stained windows of his cabin. The statement was a long time coming, but it came. "I wanted to ask how you would advise keeping the blood axes in line, but so far they seem complacent. Which begs the question..."

His eyes bore into her own. "We had forty men when we were granted the new recruits back on the mainland. Sketti did the count, and we have one hundred and twenty eight fighting men now. After we plunder the treasure ship...we might not need to buy many more mercenaries before we'll storm Calaverde. We could potentially do it now, if you thought they would be unprepared... which reminds me."

He reached for a sack that had been hanging upon the back of his chair, and he kicked his legs up on the table as he reached within. "We found a few things. One is for myself-" He said, patting the new ornate scabbard leaning by the table. "One is a map I'll need help deciphering." Plucking it out, he tossed the rolled up map to her, a seemingly unremarkable piece of brown, worn parchment. Tied in a purple ribbon, to her magesight she would see an enclosed glow as if contained within was an open flame. He stood up, and past the map she would see the next item he produced. In his callused hands was a strange and terrible diadem, studded with black pearls and at its center? A skull of black iron.

No one questioned whether Markus was in charge, but the Blood Axes were apprehensive about Calliope, even more than his own crew. If they didn't respect her position as his first mate, they would at least fear her. As he placed it on her head, he said. "You never told me how you freed yourself from the djinni shackles."
@Penny

“I… don’t really remember,” Calliope replied as she settled the diadem onto her head. It held some kind of arcane power, that was for certain, but the patterns it showed in her mage sight gave no hint as to what they might be. For a moment she tried to focus on exactly what had happened to her in the darkened chamber beneath the colosseum but her mind seemed to skitter away from specifics. Dimly she recalled a voice, and she was suddenly ravenous with hunger.

“It was something from the spell book, but what exactly I can’t seem to dredge up,” she explained, shrugging her shoulders. Arcane shock was not unknown and wizards sometimes forgot entire spells when they unleashed too much power too quickly.

“As for the map…” she unrolled the map and peered at the strange designs tracing them with the tip of her finger. It seemed to her to be gibberish then she reached for her empty wine glass and held it between her and the parchment. The runes changed into a swirl of different but equally incomprehensible garbage.

“I thought so,” she said with a hint of satisfaction in her tone.

“You need a seeing stone to read it,” she explained. Seeing stones were clear quartz crystals inscribed with magical glyphs that allowed them to penetrate arcane codes that were otherwise unreadable. Such stones were rare and valuable, taking years of work by the most skilled enchanters to create. She leaned back on her chair considering and then a slow smile spread across her face.

“The sultan’s vizier had one,” she recalled. He had worn it on a chain around his neck, mostly concealed by his robes, but she had seen it when he bowed to the Sultan.

“Which might solve our other problem too,” she mused. The Bloodaxes were cowed for the moment but they would find their spines eventually, the more so once they were back on their ships. They had no mages and so would struggle to fight the Weather Witch and her crew, but there would be little they could do to stop them from fleeing to the high seas. They needed something to help forge the pirates into a group. The Bloodaxes were not patriots or men of principle, they might object to following a foreigner but provided it led them to loot and pillage they would probably swallow their pride and fall in line.

“Dalib Sahara is maybe two days sail from here?” Calliope speculated. It had taken closer to day and a half to reach the Bloodaxe’s cove but the prevailing winds made the return journey a longer and more arduous proposition.

“We can keep out to see, keep their ships between the coast and our guns, and we can give them a taste of battle and victory.” That presumed they would win of course, but Calliope always presumed she would win. Some of them would die of course, and some would probably run off to escape service with Markus, but those weren’t the type of men they needed anyway. The survivors would follow Markus after he led them to victory, and they would get a chance to avenge the viziers betrayal.

By the Gods, the woman was dangerous. Not for the first time did he wonder why he trusted her so heavily, but he found he did. It wasn't simply mutual gain either. There was a common, dark spirit they shared. Cut any throat you can to get ahead, do what you must, but in the end you needed to trust someone, as you likely lied to yourself nearly as often as you might lie to others. "First mate, that's a sound plan," He declared.

Hearing her continue, he blinked. "So Sketti told you of the Vizier?" He asked, looking at her, both leaning on the table to gaze at the map. "I was about to tell you if no one had. I am trying to keep it under wraps so the lads don't get too worked up after fighting for their lives." The Captain seemed somewhat tired, and he rubbed his eyes. Clearing his throat, he said. "We'll tell them once we begin to set sail tomorrow.

At her sensible request, he decided it was time to turn in for the night. With a final nod to one another, Calliope exited the Captain Cabin and made her way to her room. Markus sat down on his bed and took the last swig of rum, before collapsing onto his bed and finding his dreams filled with blood and dragons. For some reason, whenever he spent time around his first mate, he found his unconscious mind wandering toward such topics.

The next day, he woke to find Sketti had done a bang-up job and secured all of the Blood Axe raw goods that could be grabbed and stored to keep the men provisioned on the ships. He had some of the BloodAxe men helping haul the goods to keep them busy, but they had all been served breakfast and had been treated amiably by Markus' directive. Walking upon the gangplank with his sweeping cloak and hard look, men parted and whispered among themselves.

He passed by Sron sharpening his notched blade, sparks flying off the small sharpening wheel. The Gnoll gave a grin that showed his wolf-like teeth, giving such a sinister air that had it been directed at anyone but Markus, one might think he meant to butcher them. Markus simply recognized it as his bloodlust having been enticed from the previous day. Gnolls were notorious for enjoying the meat of slain men, and he had feasted last night.

From all across the cavern chamber, men gathered as they saw the Captain walk passed them. Those that lingered were shouted at by Sketti, Halvar, and even the wee Grimey to follow. They had served long enough to know a speech when there was about to be one. He ended his walk just where his crew had been held prisoner the night before, right below the stone wall covered in netting that wound its way up to the open room where Markus had dueled their chief.

He uttered a small incantation. A simple spell that allowed him to jump thrice his normal distance. It was dangerous to those unused to it, but he had done it before. He leaped vertically, catching the net a dozen feet up to the astonishment of the men. Silently, he ascended the net until he had reached perhaps fifteen meters above the cavern floor. His form was illuminated by the newly risen sun through the holes carved into the rocks far above them. Markus drew his sword, and found all eyes were on him.

"Grant me this!" He called, voice raised as his backsword was lifted above his head. The sword gleamed in the light. "Grant me the sun, for you shall have your day in it! No longer will you be skulking in rocks and stealing from fishermen. No longer will you be ruled and not respected. Today, we will give new meaning to BloodAxe! You are now apart of my crew, but you may keep your name in honor. We now sail to Dalib Sahara, the very heart of wealth in the Corsair Strait. Once we set fire to their ships, we'll raid freely along the coast, and even the Sultan will tremble before our might! Grant me the sun, for I will rain it's tears upon you!"

There was a moment of silence before the crowd below erupted, particularly the BloodAxes, but his crew watched in satisfaction and enjoyment as well. It was likely lost on many of his northern men, but Calliope (and anyone familiar with alchemy) would recognize the eastern belief that the tears of the sun was gold.
@Penny

Calliope stood on the quarter deck as Sketti bellowed for hands aloft. The crew scurried up the ratlines and began the laborious task of reefing the royals. The afternoon breeze was stiffening and though the Weather Witch would cheerfully have carried all the canvas her masts could hand, they were running the risk of out pacing the corsair ships a'leeward. The galleys only had a single main sail and beyond that relied on their oars to force their way back up the coat of Arad Lind.

Through her spy glass she could easily see the three Bloodaxe ships mostly maintaining their positions between the Witch and the rocky coast. After some discussion they had decided to leave one of the galleys behind, stiffening their own crew with those who appeared to Sketti to be competent seamen. That cut down on the number of ships they had to worry about as well as bringing their crew up to something close to its proper strength. The former Blood Axes seemed reluctant to mingle with their crewmates but Calliope had no doubt they would do as sailors. They were, after all, literally all in the same boat. Markus had also decided to leave the remaining Blood Axe ships under their own captains and officers. The Blood Axes seemed to view this as a vote of confidence from their new chief though Calliopie, with better access to Markus' thoughts knew that it was actually more to do with the lack of experienced officers among their own crew. Sketti could probably have handled one of the ships and Halvdar, familiar as he was with the oar driven long ships of the north, might have managed another, but every other man jack of them were square rig sailors without the skills to handle the lateen rigs of the the galleys. Given that, Markus had decided that putting his own officers in place wasn't worth stripping the witch of her bosun.

Not that it seemed to matter. The Blood Axes had no mages and were caught between a hostile shore and the Weather Witch's guns. Any attempt to rebel against their new chief would be brief, and end with ships splintered against the rock coast. Calliope stomach rumbled in upset and she leaned over the railing and spat a mouthful of phlem and other, less identifiable matter into the sea. She had been violently sick out of the porthole of her cabin earlier, and though she couldn't swear to it, she thought their had been fragments of bone mixed with the bile. That raised a number of unpleasant questions which, for the moment she preferred not to think about. Unconsciously her fingers traced over the tattoo of the dragon that had inked itself onto her body when the amulet had dissapeared. All was well, she told herself.

"Down watch!" Sketti boomed, the reefing having evidently been accomplished to his satisfaction and the crew, save the top men and lookouts, slid back down the ratlines to return to their normal duties. It would be dark soon and she could smell the stew that was cooking in the galley below, preparatory for the rum ration and dinner. Darkness would be their cover then for the final approach to Dalib Sahara, though given that cities tall towers, it was unlikely to mask them completely. Still ships approaching the city would be no cause for alarm, not until they recognized them as belonging to the Blood Axes, or until the Vizier's agents told him a ship that he thought he had sent to its death was sailing into the harbor. Calliope raked her tongue along her teeth. She was looking forward to having that conversation with the vizier.

The Sea of Swords was calm this day as the sun began to sink. Land was not yet in sight, but various smaller islands that cropped up around the coast were visible in the distance to the west. Going a steady eight knots, they were to see the palace spires just before the sun dropped below the horizon. Markus had the wheel, keeping the Weather Witch steady with an idle hand. Truthfully, he simply wanted to watch over the Blood Axes and their approaching destination. Men had begun to cow under his eyes, he'd noticed. They were as vicious as a sea eagle's, apparently. Whatever helped maintain his image.

Calliope ascended the stairway to stand beside him, slightly more terrible in appearance than usual (which was saying something when it came to the superstitious crew) due to her diadem. Markus thought it fitted her, and if he was honest with himself there was an attraction to her he rather disliked. As much as everyone here was apart of the crew, and even acted like a true team, a pirate ship was a collection of cutthroats working for mutual gain. Somehow it wasn't the case with her, and it irked him to no end. He brushed it off. He was probably feeling the usual yearnings of a seaman that's not been at port with women for far too long.

A cry above betrayed Jax, and the Captain looked up to see him waving and pointing southwards. Markus knew what he meant. Hefting the glass scope to his eye, he grinned. "There it is." Markus said as the horizon suddenly bloomed before him in greater detail, and he was relieved to see what looked like large trees before the fading sun were towers the size of ships. He smiled and handed Calliope the scope. Markus whistled with two fingers to ready his crew, and they leaped into action. Grimey hung on the rope to add weight to it as Sron and Halvar used their rippling muscles to yank it down, lowering the back mast to slow the ship for their approach.

Sketti and Jim had hauled weaponry up onto the deck to keep everyone armed with crossbow bolts and ammunition for their wheelocks and flintlocks. Reginal the Vrettonian laughed haughtily and took a flintlock pistol, loading it like he was born to it and holding it in a professional pose, as if he was being called to duel. Bill and Will gathered up their arms and chainmail jacks, doing their best not to meet their deceased brother as of yet in the afterlife.

Calls from the Bloodaxe navy echoed across the water, and on deck they arrayed for battle. To Markus' delight, in the distance he saw the fleet of Dalib Sahab floating idly, unaware of what was about to cut into it like a swooping hawk.

The Blademage took the scope out of the dark sorceress's hand and said. "Would you like to open up with some fireworks once we're in range?"
@Penny

Calliope cracked her knuckles, casting a glare across the water at their Blood Axe auxiliaries. She wished they would shut up but supposed she ought to be grateful they appeared to be sailing in to the attack. A canny commander might see the chance to hang back and then catch the Witch between the Dalib Sahara fleet, such as it was, and the Blood Axes, perhaps be hailed as the savior of the city if all went well. Luckily none of the Blood Axes appeared to be as treacherously minded as she was or perhaps they just lacked the imagination.

"I think I can manage something," Calliope replied with a serpentine grin. In truth since she had returned to her nest she had been filled with a desire to wreak vengeance on those who had sold her out to the Blood Axes, under normal circumstances Calliope was cold, a plotter, but on this occasion she was in a mood to see something burn. Fortunately Dalib Sahara was handy. The fleet which protected the city, was, like alot of things in Arad Lind, impressive to look at but not tremendously effective. A half dozen ships lay at anchor at the mouth of the bay. Five of them were galleys, similar to, though larger than, the Blood Axe vessels. The sixth ship was a Galleon, purchased or taken from a northern fleet at some point in the past. It wasn't a modern design but the high hull and the heavy guns it could carry made it a serious threat. Whether there was anything other than guttersweepings aboard was another matter and likely not many of them. In Calliope's experience the Princes and Emirs of Arad Lind found it more pleasing to tell their Sultan that his ships were crewed by a hundred men and then keep the pay and rations assigned for seventy of them for themselves. That had hindered Calliope's own attempts to intrigue with them in the past, but it would work to their favor today. Unfortunately the ships were only part of the problem, two massive batteries were perched on either arm of the bay behind adobe walled fortifications. The guns were not new, and the crews were likely to be unpracticed, but they were still a serious threat even to the Weather Witch.

"Our arrival has been noted," Markus commented peering at the shore through his enchanted glass. Even without the magnification Calliope could see a large flame begin to billow from one of the many towers along the waterline, quickly turning crimson as some chemical or other was cast into it. Even so it was another minute or so before the first bells began to ring, and there was still no sign anyone onboard the guardships was awake.

The BloodAxe ship's sails waved about like the plums of great birds floating on the water, deceptively nonthreatening. But Markus made no mistake, the city before them was gearing up for a battle. Luckily, they had the drop on them, and they had experienced sailors and soldiers. There would be a stark shortage of such experience on the Dalib Saharan side.

Sketti was screaming to the new recruits, many of them having just left the city they were now about to ransack. Hastily they rushed to the Weather Witches guns, eight and twelve pounders. Eights atop and Twelves on the next level down. But while those were for the battle, Calliope was the shock and awe that kicked everything off.

The Blademage was deadly with both spell and sword, but he didn't have the raw power or repertoire that his first made did. Usually she would delve into her spellbook, but it seems she had taken this attack personally and had pre-prepared a devastating spell. Even the Captain felt a weight of despair when she began to speak in the Language of the Ancients; a harsh tongue of worlds past that blackened the very hearts of all who heard it uttered.

Her body was suddenly lifted up as if some great force clutched her, head and arms falling back to hang limply as the darkness coalesced around her lower body until the power climaxed, shadows of flame leaping from her eyes and mouth like fireworks to spin and whirl into the air before slamming into the ocean surface less than a mile away. The sorceress floated there in power, watching the water with eyes aglow.

Suddenly, a placement of water lost its very form and sank into nothingness to leave but a void. There was something intensely wrong about that very image, though it did not last long. An incredible roar echoed forth and fiery tentacles thrice as thick as mainmast burst forth, each becoming a tornado of flame and shadow that cared not it was spinning over an ocean, growing in power and momentum as they hurtled toward the enemy fleet.

The BloodAxes cried out in surprise and fear, but it was nothing like the faint echoes of screams and supplication that erupted from the enemy navy. Markus wouldn't forget hearing them immediately silence once the tornadoes reached their ships, and though half the navy was now being torn apart by eldritch wind and flame, there was still a few ships left to fend that had taken up their anchors quicker than the others. Luckily, the BloodAxes smelled fresh blood in the water, and their ships cordoned off to go after the demoralized ships that now pushed forward away from the devastation.

Calliope slowly drew downwards to stumble on deck, nose bleeding. Markus caught her from falling, and helped her to her feet, wiping her nose with a cloth and tossing it away in the wind. The sorceress snarled at the ships as they continued to burn, and Markus smirked.

"On to the city!" He cried to the others, and they cheered.
@Penny

The Blood Axe ships surged forward, great kettle drumbs booming the rythym as the stroke oars bit deep into the bay, hurling the ships forward with a violence that made their aged timbers groan and frothed the sea around their sharp prows. The defenders had, by now, gotten their oars unshipped, but they were pinned between the onrushing ships and their own harbor walls. With blood thirsty shouts and cracking timbers the Bloodaxes crashed into the defending galleys, abandoning their oars and swarming up over the bulwarks. Pistols and ancient firelock muskets cracked in the darkness, the puffs of light reminiscent of fire crackers at spring festival.

The Weather Witch herself rushed past the western most breakwater with only a few dozen yards to spare. At the tip of the artificial harbor sailors in the chainmail veils of Dalib Sahara were trying to manhandle the ancient bombard around to bear on the attacking ship which was now less than a bow shot away. Sparks flew and men tumbled to the grounds as men in the fighting tops poured musket fire into the

"Hand's aloft to reef sail!" Markus shouted as they cleared the breakwater and Sketti threw the helm over slewing the sloops headlong rush into a long beam reach which canted the deck sharply. Fire blossomed on the far side of the harbor as the guns there opened fire. A section of the front bulwark of the forecastle exploded with a ruckus swquark of protesting timbers. Men fell screaming hewn down but splinters of wood. A second shot struck just to the right of the bow sprit, raising a vast gyeser of water which pattered over them. Several other shore based guns spat flame into the night but Calliopie saw no evidence that their shot passed anywhere near them. Above them the crew were hastily looping the sail in quick inelegant reefs so they no longer caught the slackening land-breeze that flowed of the hot continent to the sea. Men cheered as one of the guardships flag came down and the Blood Axe red banner was run up. The cheer was short lived as the deck of the vessel seemed to burst apart in a great dirty spurt of fire reaching for the heavens. The concussion shattered the hull like an egg and the Blood Axe vessel was tossed aside like a toy, broken open amidships and swamping in seconds. The concussion hit them like a physical slap knocking several sailors from the rigging as they scrambled down to the decks. It must have broken every window hundreds of yards.

"Umberlee's tits!" Calliope cursed in shock, "Did they fire her magazine?" It seemed staggeringly unlikely that anyone posted to a guardship wanted to give up his life for the Emir. Markus spat and shook his head in disgust.

"One of the shore batteries hit their own ship, must have gotten lucky and set of her powder magazine, probably didn't have it stored properly," he growled. Another salvo of cannonfire tore from the shore batteries, only seconds apart, though that was luck rather than coordination. A whole appeared in their spanker which began to snap and his as it spilled air.

"Stand to your guns!" Markus shouted and the crew began casting off their lines and running out the guns they had loaded before the attack began. They crew hauled on the tackles and the gun captains crouched over their firing holes, firing lanyards in hand. Calliopie tried a spell but instantly felt counterspells forming from a dozen different sources. It was probably civilian wizards rather than the Emir's men, but enough diffuse attacks from enough different sources could defeat even the mightiest mage, and she had already almost exhausted herself.

"Sketti, put her a point a'larbord," Markus commanded and the Witch yawed and steadied, presenting her broadside to the batteries on the far side of the harbor.

"Fire as you bear!" Markus shouted with a flourish of his sword. The guns began to boom, first one, then a rolling salvo as all twelve starboard guns thudded back on their carriages. Powder smoke rose in a thick sheet but with her mage vision Calliope saw one of the gun emplacements disintegrate, a ball striking the barrel and smashing it from its carriage with a clang like a colossal bell. Near misses hammered the stone embrasure and the crew fell screaming as shards of stone eviscerated them. Calliope whooped in feral excitement her eyes gleaming at the roar of the cannons and the destruction they had wrought.

"Hard a'port!" Markus commanded and Sketti obediently put the helm over with a swing that left the wheel spinning free of his hands. By now the Witch had crossed nearly a third of the harbor on the momentum of her initial rush, bleeding speed rapidly from the maneuvers Markus was putting her through the only sails still driving her was and the shot torn spanker, that was flogging itself to pieces and she now moved no faster than a man might run. The ship heeled about, presenting her starboard, and as yet unfired, battery to the surviving shore artillery. Men leaped across the deck to their opposite guns, in most cases leaving their guns unsecured. That would have been dangerous at sea where a rolling swell might send several hundred pounds of iron rolling across the deck to maim crew and spring masks, but the bay was mill pond flat save for the ripples of gunfire, and besides this wasn't a day to even think about safety.

"Fire!" Markus roared and Calliope threw back hear head and crowed with laughter as the guns hammered out their message of death and destruction. By now the crews of the remaining two batteries, having witnessed the destruction of their fellows had fled, but the guns remained a threat and thus had to be destroyed. The salvo was less precise this time. One cannon fired early and the ball ricoched of the water like a skipped stone, arching high over the low buildings of the harbor front. Only one of the remaining batteries was destroyed, as a ball struck the hub of the carriage wheel, sending spokes flying in all directions, but the threat was ended at least for now.

"Hands to midships!" Calliope yelled as the Witch coasted towards one of the piers on what little remained of her momentum.

"Stand by to cast lines!" but she needn't have bothered, men were already leaping the six feet between the dock and the pier, their mates tossing them lines that were quickly snugged around the pilings. The Witch came to rest with a jerk as she snubbed up against the ropes and there was a moment of odd quiet before screaming pirates leaped from the ship onto the pier, swords and pistols waving.

The bulk of the sun had disappeared beyond the horizon, and what was left was blocked by the towering palace and the myriad of clay buildings beneath which gave the streets a shadowed and ill look. It was the perfect time for a raid. In their black hearts, even the pirates weren't for raping and murdering civilians, but the chaos of scared citizens did help keep the sultan's guard off them in an organized fashion.

Markus and Calliope had gone south with a few of their crew, while the rest had traveled west to distract the majority of the Sultan's forces. What remained of the BloodAxes that landed on the shore had run screaming into the city, cavorting and killing without care or conscience. No doubt when all was said and done, if any of the royal family was still alive at the end of the night, they would no doubt blame the Weather Witches crew for any atrocities against the unarmed populace.

The scene transitioned onto the ground in a lesser known street beside the bazaar as Mumlaks and lesser guardsmen ran in, in a staggered, disorganized fashion. Had they come in all at once, even Markus and Calliope would have a difficult time surviving. Now they crossed swords with the soldiers of the Sultan, having been cut off from the others in the chaos of the urban fighting.

Markus' blade crackled with lightning, lopping the head off of an unfortunate guard with baleful ease. He moved like a hunting cat, fluid but brutally, spinning to meet the next scimitar aimed at his back. His blade hadn't stopped moving, knocking the sword aside with a loud 'clang'. The soldier backpedaled and survived Markus's counter thrust only to attempt a strike at the Captain's head. Meanwhile, a flash of eldritch energy erupted a dozen paces away as four men were immolated by a spell from Calliope.

As he'd learned in training, he let the opponent's blade get in close so the enemy couldn't feint, subtly parrying the blow before shoving his point into the fool's neck, blood gushing forth into the sand. Suddenly Markus vanished, blinking across the street to cut down another Mamluk, arriving beside Calliope who slid her rapier out of another assailant. While she wasn't perhaps on Markus' league in terms of swordplay, she was practiced and deadly and more than made up for it with her spellcraft.

"You would have made a decent warmage," Markus said, his back to hers. They both dispatched a guard, Calliope with her rapier and Markus with a strange spell that shined white in a black flash, utterly disintegrating a Mamluk before he could scream in terror. Now wasn't the time to ask about the spell, and it wasn't nearly as devastating as Calliope's incantations. Instead she laughed, freezing the blood of anyone who heard it.

"And work under the rule of some king? I fight for no one but myself." She declared, dueling with mustachioed guard wielding a spear. Markus and her both spun, changing opponents mid fight. Markus' magical blade cut through the spear's haft as Calliope transformed the two soldiers he fought into asps who slithered away in anxious fear.

"You fight for me, don't you?" He asked.

"That's different." She chuckled, and he wasn't certain on what she meant. All the same to him, he realized. When he looked about, he saw the Sultan's forces had halted and organized, now streaming in from all sides like a wave of myth. Calliope began to chant, but Markus had different plans. He slid his arm around her waist and incanted quickly, both of them disappearing to the normal eye.

"Find them!"

"Curse you for fools, go after them!" They called below as the Captain and the Sorceress watch from the roof above, hidden within an alcove of torn fabric that waved lazily in the last breeze of the waning day.
@Penny

Some say when the world was young, the sun cursed the land's people for their sins and boiled it alive, so now the Ra'sheeks seek repentance every day to Hayashim for forgiveness. Others say the God of Beasts, Vargul, fought Baelyr the Just and remade the land like the splitting of a skull, creating the Sundered Sea and draining the water from the eastern lands to fill it with desert. Others still say that the Evergod plunged the land with unrelenting heat to keep men from venturing further in to give credence to the heathen gods that dwelt there.

All seemed plausible to Markus, who had seen enough black magic in his lifetime to not rule out any superstition, no matter how fantastical. Much of it had come from his beautiful companion as of late, who sat upon a relatively flattened stone above the wave of sand, seemingly bored out of her mind as the thieves in front of them argued and roughed one another up. Markus was a patient man, but they had limited supplies and if the fools hadn't figured out how to open the door to the vast rock before, he was going to take control. Better he than the sorceress stripping their flesh from their bones with a spell.

Calliope had advised him to let Hayikk the bandit and his crew of miscreants feel in charge on this illicit expedition of theirs. It was two days after Markus had killed the Prince which led to their trek through the desert, and three days under the thrall of the now-dead Sultan before that. Five days away from their crew and the sea. If Markus hadn't managed to speak to Sketti during their captivity, he would have been concerned the Weather Witch crew would be dead. But they had taken refuge back at the Bloodaxe hideout and awaited the signal to return to pick the Captain and his First Mate up.

Hayikk and his men had helped the two pirates escape in exchange for a share in the treasure of the map. Of course they both knew Hayikk would likely order their death once the treasure was found. But they'd cross that bridge when they came to it. Now, after long last the group of criminals had found the massive crag menacing the landscape above the dunes of sand, just before the sun had set. The heights above, around a dozen or so meters, led to an outcropping that gave them some shade as the sun truly began to disappear beyond the horizon. All was grey and blue now, and the runic gateway lay shut before them.

Upon the door were six sigils etched upon six 'circles' of stone that looked almost moveable, though it would take a strong man to realign them. Upon them were the images of two crows, a wolf, a shepherd, a lamb, and a serpent.

"Perhaps the serpent would be taken away by the birds, yes?" A sleazy rogue said, his greased mustache crusted from his spittle. He rubbed his hands together and glanced Calliope's way, not being the only one who gave lustful glances in her direction. Markus felt sorry for them. "Move the crow to the left and the center. Crows see all, they must be in the center!"

"Idiot!" Hayikk spat. He was a short man with a stout stomach, who's only saving grace was that he had a large mouth and happened to be slightly less dim-witted than his fellows. He slapped his subordinate. "The man and the serpent must come first, like the story of Achem and the Balishdir!"

"The gates cannot be thick, why not bash them open?" The most thuggish of them said, his arms nearly as thick as Markus' waist. If any of them should live to join the crew, Markus would choose him. The man might be a fucking idiot, but he could certainly pull a rope and haul a barrel when told to.

"They're made of stone, fool. Perhaps if we bash your head into it, it'll open!" Their leader cried. The last two thieves pushed at the doors to no avail.

"Need some help?" The Blademage asked, smirking. Hayikk snapped a glare at him, his ugly mouth looked like the back-end of a bloated puffer fish. "Unless you think you could do better, stay quiet friend. More than one man has lost his tongue mocking me."

As the crew delved back into arguing, Markus motioned for Calliope to come closer. The two of them had on a new set of clothes. Markus was befitted in a rich merchant's attire when he had been an 'honored guest', though he'd stolen some scale armor and a sand colored cloak to help him better fend from the weather or attacking beasts. The outfit was actually handsome on him, as it accentuated his shoulders and gave him a crisp style. Calliope wore abyssal black pantaloons and a crop top, though she sported her fiery sarong and kept a cloak for herself. At first she felt it was good to leave the harem veil she had been given, but with the sand billowing across the landscape, she had kept it. It brought the added benefit of hiding her lips when she was chanting a spell.

Once the sorceress leaned over, Markus whispered to her. At first they had tried to force the door open but Calliope had announced it was magically sealed. After having sat here for around an hour, Markus had figured it out. She began to chant for but a brief moment, motioning a rhythmic gesture with her fingers. The men jumped back as the stones began to turn and move with a rumbling certainty.

By order, the pattern went Crow, Wolf, Lamb, Shepherd, Serpent, and Crow. It was an old Aradian adage of the order of nature. The Crow follows the Wolf, who hunts the Lamb, who is guarded by the Shepherd, who watches for the Serpent, who is devoured by the Crow. It was supposed to symbolize the one who waits for the opportunity to strike will find reward, whether it is the dead wolf, lamb, man, or serpent. The crow feasts. An apt story, seeing as Markus and Calliope were very much like the two crows awaiting their 'friends' to move forward.

The stones struck home with a finality. Markus lifted himself off the small rock and gazed at the door expectantly. The others looked very perplexed, and one man pissed himself scared when the ground began to shake around them and sand poured from above like a running drain. Beyond the grains of falling sand, the door was now open, leading into the dark below. A strange sound came from the gaping maw of the rock as the air escaped it, like a beast growling with ill intent.

The footpads and the pirates gazed in awe at the ancient magical working as the doorway appeared, swallowing tons of sand without any apparent ill effect. Calliope gazed down into the darkness, but her keen eyes could discern nothing other than a series of stairs hewn crudely from the sandstone. Almost as one the bandits turned their eyes to the two pirates thinking, no doubt, that the time had come to remove their 'partners' from the endeavor. Calliope wagged a finger at them in a scolding fashion.

"It would be a shame for something to happen now when we haven't even seen what is inside," she pointed out reasonably. The bandits exchanged looks for a moment before the leader took charge.

"Nothing will happen of course, we have sworn brotherhood even though you are not of this land," Hayikk exclaimed, managing to sound hurt despite the fact he would almost certainly have put a knife in her back if she had been foolish enough to turn it. Calliope had not become the Tyrant of Callaverde by being overly trusting however. She pulled her veil tightly across her face and moved over to join Markus on the stairs. Lifting his blade he sent a spark of light down into the space below, though all this accomplished was to illuminate a bend in the stairs a few dozen yards down. There was a faint and uncertain stench from the tunnel below, perhaps putrefaction that had long been dried by sand and heat till it was hardly noticeable. Calliope threw her sarong back so that it no longer impeded her sword arm, the saber she had taken from a guard during the escape was heavier than she preferred but a blade was a blade.

"Shall we see what is inside?" she suggested eagerly.

A deadly glint was in Markus' eye and he grinned. "Let's."

No sound emanated from below, though it could have been drowned out by the shudders and worried whispers of the bandits behind them. Hayikk cleared his throat and strode toward the two dark corsairs. Markus, his stygian cloak swept back behind him, placed his fingers upon the strong of his blade and whispered an incantation, using the archaic word for 'fire' and 'enchant'. "Curuvin" and a white flame roared to life on his blade. It wasn't a large fire, but even so the men jumped back. Hayikk fell over onto his subordinates, though Calliope and Markus had already begun their descent into the dark.

The stench of decay grew more palpable as the two lightly stepped into a small hewn chamber of rock, on instinct stepping over any of the rougher rocky edges at the small 'archway' if it could even be called that. The light showcased a room of rock, but to their surprise the floor was littered with corpses. Mangled bodies wearing bronze armor and ancient helms lay strewn across the small cavern floor, bones and jaws broken. Their flesh was still decaying, but upon inspecting them, Markus could tell they had spent centuries within this room, their flesh only now decaying more rapidly due to the opening of the doorway behind them. At the end of the room, door of brass and framed with an archway of shining jade lay cracked open.

Hayikk peered into the room, eyes widened with fear. Only his greed kept him moving forward. Behind him, one of his band whispered. "What heathen spirits devoured these men?" in a raspy tone that echoed across the stone. The statement was followed by a haughty chuckle, coming from the sleazy mustached bandit. He was the last to descend, sword out and helm donned. "You fool, they must have simply starved down here-"

He stepped onto the crack between the stairway and the room; a low rumble caused everyone to turn. His bravado gone, the greasy man decided to leave his comrades to their fate, now taking three steps back up the roughly carved stairway to the exit. Little did he know he was dooming himself from the first. Markus laid eyes on him just in time to watch the walls on the stairway slam inward, halting the man's cries in one terrible instant, leaving him crushed into dust and, leaving the rest of them trapped here.

The torches flickered from the burst of wind with only the Captain's blade unyielding in its light. Hayikk cursed, throwing a bone at the new wall behind them. "That fool! Bloody coward!" He cursed. It took the big man to keep him from running over to kick the wall, and Markus shook his head. "We can only go forward," He remarked, somehow more thrilled at what lay ahead from the clear danger around them. It wasn't exactly a healthy mindset, but Markus had learned to live with it. Perhaps that's why he got on so well with a sorceress tyrant.

He opened the brass door fully, leading the way with Calliope close behind him. His eyes meticulous in their search for any more traps that lay before their feet. He stepped quietly, nearly half a dozen feet into the room before he saw they were in a vast domed chamber, with crumbling pillars and fallen cyclopean statues strewn in ruin from age and some violent cataclysm that had driven through here. Upon the edges of the rooms were suits of armor made of bronze and studded diamonds with helmets of horsehair. Beside them were silver scaled corseletes studded with lapis lazuli. A great hole had been wrought upon the left side of the chamber, leading into a dark cavern and upon the center of the room was a dias which bore an obsidian statue of a scorpion.
@Penny

he cut throats whooped with glee at the sight of the bejeweled armor. Their excitement seemed a little forced having just seen the only obvious means of escape sealed behind them but Calliopie had observed that men tended to believe what they needed to believe in order to keep going. If the claustrophobia oppressed them it didn’t hinder their rush to the armor where they began to immediately pry jewels from ancient settings with the blades of their short knives. Calliope was no antiquarian but it seemed to her that the ancient pieces would be worth more intact than broken apart, but there was no way to carry the stuff out even if they found a way to return to the surface. Besides something else was at play here, subtle magics so ancient they could no longer be glimpsed lingered in the chamber like the hints of a storm in the clear air.

“Look at this,” she called to Markus, pointing downwards towards carvings made into the floor. They must once have been sharp edged but the passage of ages had worn them down to indistinct indentations. Even if they had been fresh cut, they didn’t appear to be in any language she was familiar with. It might have been a spell, a warning or simply funeary rites. There were probably scholars or wisemen who could translate the inscription but a pair of pirates were not up to the task.

“Aiiiiie!” A scream echoed through the chamber and they both spun to find Hayikk frozen in an attitude of horror. He had a dirk in one hand and a black object he had prized from the scorpion statue in his hand. Calliope realised that the statue's eyes, though indistinguishable from obsidian at a distance, were actually rare and valuable black diamonds. It wasn’t the loot the caused the bandit to scream however. Out of the yawning gap in the wall sprang a massive dark shape, its chitionous hide reflecting the light of Markus’ sword. It was a vast scorpion, with a body the size of a wagon and a stinger larger that Calliope's torso. Hayikk cowered behind the idol, the instinct saving his life as the grotesque bug thing struck the idle, its six joined legs flailing and its stinger stabbing down onto the stonework beyond the thief, gouging a trough in the stone that struck sparks. Its pincers tried to wrap around the idol to snuff out the thief but the articulation of the armor like plates prevented it from grasping a target so close. It hissed in frustration and scrambled back to give itself room. All of the bandits were shrieking hysterically and snatching up ancient weapons that they felt might be more useful than their own modest armaments. Before Calliope could react a second scorpion launched itself from the cavern opening, this one aimed at the knot of cut throats. It scattered suits of armor like a childs pick up sticks as it carreened forward. This one managed to catch one of the bandits by the arm and its pincer snicked shut with enough force to take the limb off at the elbow sending the thief tumbling away screaming and squirting bright arterial blood that winked black in the fire light.

Calliope shouted something and prepared to leap forward, she would grasp its stinger in her talons and take a pincer in her jaws near the base, ripping it free and burning the creature's eyes, while using the scorpion's body as a shield against the second beast. She blinked in disorientation and lashed out with a spell, sending a wrist thick bar of fire blazing into the scorpion still trying to recover from its botched attack on Hayikk. The magic struck the creature and dissipated without effect other than causing it to whip around toward her. It must have been enchanted with some kind of spell protection by whoever had created the things to guard the idol. The scorpion lashed out with its stinger and Markus and Calliopie sprang apart to avoid the blow that shattered the ancient carvings to powder. Calliope gripped her scimitar with both hands and hacked down at the things tail, shattering one of the armored plates but doing little damage. An axe or hammer would have been a better weapon for the purpose, though Calliope supposed if she had the choice she would start out with a twelve pound cannon and work her way up.

“Watch the claws!” she shouted to Markus as she ducked under a flailing pincer and thrust the point of her weapon into the jointed ligature between its leg and thorax, causes a screaming his and a spray of ichor.

Markus had to dive out of a screaming tail's path, the appendage sticking into the stone floor where he had been not a moment before with a powerful 'thik'! Markus caught himself against a pillar, trying to steady his body as the other unstuck Scorpion scuttled across the barren floor, chasing the men who futily tried to keep at it bay with archaic pole weapons. The cutthroat with a dismembered arm vaguely shambled along, searching for his lost arm. Markus could tell he was in shock, but he guessed it didn't matter. He seemed unaware of his surroundings, showcased by when the Scorpion passed him again and casually clipped him in half with it's massive pincer, causing his comrades to cry out in alarm.

Markus turned and saw Calliope stab the monster in its 'torso' area from the otherside of the beast. He pushed off from the pillar and charged it just as its stinger flew free, 'whapping' against the ceiling above. It turned to swipe at Calliope, but the sorceress had already danced back. The blademage leaped, his Morcedyvve blade leading with a powerful chop to the thing's leg, like into the thickest part of its patella. He only cracked a bit of the ligament, but foul pus began to leak out of its appendage.

The thing suddenly scuttled backwards, crawling right over Markus to flatten him. The swordsman was bowled over onto the floor, smelling the thing's horrible odor and seeing the alien-like smaller arms working independently like tiny machines. He nearly gagged, knowing he hadn't a moment to spare. He thrust his sword up into the thing's thorax, and the Scorpion emitted a high pitched screech and raised itself further above the floor to rend the blade out of itself.

Markus obliged, pulling his sword out and rolling out from under the thing before it crushed him. He coughed, and saw Calliope grinning wickedly as she watched it writhe in pain, loose strands of hair flowing before her eyes. She uttered a word of command, her voice gaining a thaumaturgical air as it boomed. Markus saw the things blood escape it that much quicker, crawling along the ground towards Calliope as if it had a mind of its own.

The Scorpion was not dead yet, however. It wrenched its body forward in an attempt to snip Calliope in half, the woman trying to regain her sensibilities from her spell as she tried to dodge. Markus shouted 'Cresco!' uttering the oral command for increasing the cutting power of his sword. He suddenly disappeared from where he had been laying, as if he'd put on a ring of invisibility. Instead Calliope saw him appear half a dozen feet above the charging scorpion. Markus placed his free hand behind the hilt of his sword and fell, letting gravity do his job for him.

His sword pierced exoskeleton and inner flesh at the base of the thing's "skull," sticking it into the floor. Its body didn't register it was even dead at first, still moving three strides before it let out a pitiful escape of air, its body collapsing to the floor. Ripping the blade out of the beast, a spurt of ichor flew up and stained his shirt. He seemed not to care.

"Are you hurt?" He asked his First Mate, wiping his chin with the back of his arm. "We should go through where these things came from. It's the only way forward, I think."

10 days later...

"Or we'll make ye dance the hempin jig! Now get out of here afore we get the cat o' nine tales!" One of their new recruits, Harkspin, warned the representative. The flummoxed gentlemen climbed down jacob's ladder, and Markus was impressed the landlubber even made it back onto the longboat from the shaky rope ladder. The two sailors of Brangdenbar sat at the rowboat, beginning to row their oars before the delegate had fully gotten to his seat. Markus smirked at the fleeing men, chin atop his crossed arms, resting on the balustrade of the Weather Witch. Calliope stood beside him, both looking darkly composed, and yet as devilishly fierce as the rumors of them had began to say.

They sat perched at the mouth of Brangdenbar's Bay, all twelve of their eight pounders, along with four of their ballistae aimed toward the city and its docked ships. Too far off to hit anything, but close enough to cripple any ship that tried to move out of the docks before it could fully turn to engage them. The smoke not four hundred paces to the southwest was evidence of that. A foolhardy captain and his crew had attempted to sally forth and deal with the 'pirate scum' and was met with cannon fire and flaming bolts. Calliope had utterly engulfed the fledgling novice the boat had as its 'wizard' in no time. Markus had not even thought to call for swords, crossbows, or pistols. They had barely set sail before their doom had been thrust upon them.

The crew of the Weather Witch would do whatever it took to get their crew members back. The Captain admitted he felt personally responsible for their abduction. Jim, Sketti,, Halvar, and Jax had been taken after the four had bore witness to a particularly drunken night at shore whilst Markus and Calliope had delved into the Aradian ruins of the desert. As soon as the swordmage and the dark sorceress had returned to the ship with their booty, they had been informed of the arrest, and had followed the caravel Quicksilver day and night past the city of Basilos, through the sea gates and into the central sea. Now they lay in a cove forty miles south of Gallowsgate, a large city famed for its 'pirate killers,' where hanging buccaneers was a pastime. Though Markus knew the ignominious city actually loved pirates, as long as the freebooters gave a cut to the state and the nobles that called it home. Brangdenbar was a more conventional settlement, with a governor and a small communal navy. Large enough to pose a problem on the open sea but small enough to keep quarantined in the bay as long as the Weather Witch kept the strong point.

"Where are they going!?" Grimey asked, bouncing up to reach the two's ears. "You barely said two words to them captain! How the hell do you expect to get them back?"

"We'll run out of food soon." Sron uttered gutturaly from behind them, smelling the air as if in search for any stowaways or unwary new crewmembers to feast on. He was single minded, even dimwitted at times. But when it came to food, he was like a second quartermaster, keeping accurate records. "Only another weeks worth of grub, and we can't safely make port that quickly, right?"

"I've calculated everything." Markus said fastidiously, confident in his plan. He pushed himself up, planting his hands on the thick oak railing and watched the town, keen eyes placed on it in search of any sort of movement. " I asked them for an outrageous sum of money along with our friends. They won't ever accept the terms, but it'll give us some time. Time enough for tonight at least." His words were filled with hidden meaning, and he felt the eyes of his first mate on him. "It seems we picked an auspicious night to arrive. Did you know it's the Founding Day of Brangdenbar? Even with a pirate threat like us, local gentry from around the countryside will be gathered in the governor's palace to celebrate and pledge their loyalty to him, as they do every year."

"Which means the prison won't be guarded as heavily?" Grimey asked, the small lass perplexed as to what Markus meant. The Captain grinned, causing Grimey to shrink black and blush at the same time.

"It means that my first mate and I will go in and say hello once the sun lowers and we make it to shore. Once we do, we find out where our mates are held, free them...and then we kidnap half the nobles this side of Basilos." One of the newer crewmates gasped, dropping a broom. Quickly he floundered and grabbed it up, beginning to sweep again. Markus didn't skip a beat. "Once we do, we'll repeat my terms. Give us an outrageous sum of money and provision, or we'll hang a noble every hour past sunrise tomorrow."

It would have been an odd sight, if there were enough light to see by. The jolly boat swept in towards the shore, quick and quiet. Calliope sat in the back, dressed in a black ball dress that hung from one shoulder and clung to the taper of her body. The dress was made of several overlaid layers of thin black silk which gave it the appearance of a dark storm cloud when she moved. It had been altered to hug her form by the crew, many of whom were actually skilled with needle work from long years darning sails. She wore long black riders boots of polished black leather and had ruby bracelets and a choker around her neck. All of that finery was concealed beneath a blanket that wrapped her from head to toe, both to protect her clothing and keep her from catching what little moonlight there was. Markus was similarly swaddled to protect his own 'glad rags' as they swept in towards the beach.

"Keep to the plan," Markus said gruffly as the prow of the jolly boat crunched into the sand in the secluded cove west of the town. Calliope could see fireworks bursting above the tree line as the celebration continued, the distant boom, boom, boom thudding in syncope to her own heart beat.

"Ma'am," Sorn said nervously and Calliope nodded. The sailor lifted her bodily and stepped into the waist deep water, keeping her held up above the water to protect her clothes. Two sailors were doing the same for Markus, the indignity necessary for the to successfully pose as guests at the party. Within a few minutes they were both on the beach, dry and more or less unruffled. Calliope shrugged of the blanket and tossed it to Sorn. Were it not for the pirates hastily getting the boat back into the water they could have been a regular couple out for a stroll, albeit one that had strayed a little too far from town.

"We had best get going," she said, straightening Markus' vest.

"We don't want to miss the big show."

"Sir, madam, the party is being held in the governor's mansion down Aubrey Road. I could have one of my men escort you if you so wish."

A bright line of red spread across the provincial militia's neck. His backsword cleaned and back in his scabbard before the militia knew he was dead, Markus walked past him as Calliope coagulated the blood and kept it from soiling the man's burgundy uniform, buffed over a sturdy gambeson. Unlike the professional soldiers, who wore breast and back-plates and morion helms along with their arqeubus and sideswords, the militia did not wear any iron or steel save for the helmet. He suffocated to death on the floor, and the last thing he ever saw was the darkly enchanting Calliope looking past him with a raised brow, her fingers curling as his blood seeped into the air, collecting into an undulating ball of crimson.

"I was going to have him take us past the next sentries," Calliope said, bemused.

"We need three uniforms. If this town is like any of the others I've been in, there should only be another two or three men between us and the cells." Markus explained.

"Yes Captain," She sighed, standing up. The ebon haired woman stepped past the corpse but pointed behind her with her thumb. "But you're carrying him."

5 minutes later...

Markus had been correct, both here and onboard the Weather Witch. There really wasn't much in the way of guards at the jail. The two patrols they killed with little effort, and the gaoler himself was put to sleep with a simple spell by Calliope. Not out of any pity for his life, but she wished to cause chaos. Falling asleep on the job when it cost the lives of your fellows was a capital offense, after all. Markus let her have her fun, taking the keys from the snoring local and stepping past the desk laden with half-eaten cheese and walked into the walkway between the cells. Dirtied men roused and grabbed the cell bars or banged the heels of their hands against the iron, hooting and calling to be let out. Markus ignored all of them, though he cut the hand off an overzealous thug who reached out and tried to grab his carefully smoothed, dark coat. Blood spurted, but neither the blood or the grimy hand fell on the swordmage. He still needed to be presentable to the dinner, after all.

Sketti made his debut by banging his bronze stump of an arm against the iron bars of his cell as he roared. "Quiet ye louts, or I'll kill every last one o' ye!"

His voice was unmistakable, and if Markus had been unsure before, he knew just where his crew was now. The dark man approached, holding aloft a lantern that squeaked as it gingerly swung back and forth from the motion of the captain's stride, its hinges having gone un-oiled for many weeks. Sketti didn't need the light, as Dwarves were easily able to see in the dark. But the brightness of the light itself kept Markus' face hidden from him until he stood before the cell.

"Captain!" Sketti exclaimed, hopping up and giving a laugh. The big man Halvar looked up from his stupor, and when he recognized Markus, he grinned and shook Jim awake. Jax, as ever, was perched high up. They had been lucky enough to get a small window in their cell, Jax perched seven feet up like a bird. The half-elf gave a big smile when he saw the swordmage, hopping down into the stones with the rest of them. He spoke in his signature accent, quick and whimsical.

"I knew you'd come back, Cap'n! Sketti said it was a load of blarney, he says. Not so, says I. Stall the ball, I says." Jax said impishly as he hopped, his hair blazingly red even in the gloom. The crew mostly saw him at the morning and evening and in the mess hall, spending most of his duty swinging on the ropes or perched in the crows nest. One almost forgot how he liked to talk so much. "We goin' back to the ship or are we acting the maggot?"

"The latter," Markus explained as Calliope materialized behind him from the darkness of the corridor. The captain searched for the right key as they gave the first mate their greetings, and when the door was opened, Markus explained to them the plan...

---

It had been years, but he was finally in the midst of nobility again. His father had never liked bringing him around his friends in the gentry, but as a bastard-but-home-raised son he had been duty bound to go to such events as he matured. The food was nice, the men were often boring, and the women he could never tell. Some were bored and wanted to knock boots, as he was a rakishly handsome man with at least half of his foot in the aristocracy, but none of them ever wished to take it further than that. He was always embarrassed to try, anyway. He didn't even live in his father's estate once he reached puberty, but lived in a glorified guest house and kept the stables in check when he wasn't pursuing his own interests and attending to his duties as a member of the family.

"I believe this is Andalgo Vivaldi Concerto," Markus said as he stepped into the foyer with Calliope, looking particularly thoughtful. The music danced off the walls and oil paintings with a pleasant rhythm. He seemed both lost in his mind and yet very aware of everything going around them all at once. The orchestra brought back many memories.

Calliope looked at him with a raised brow. "That's correct, how did you know that?" She asked, and he could not tell if she was impressed or merely curious. He realized he had spoken very little of his past to her over the months and months of travel and the hair-raising dangers. She had been a very public, if regional, figure. He had certainly known her when she had first introduced herself in that dark alley of Calaverde over half a year ago. He must seem shrouded in mystery, not only to her but the crew. Perhaps that worked to his advantage.

"I'm a complicated man," He told her, his voice sly though his face was stoic as the chamberlain opened the door for them, letting them view into the large banquet hall where at least seventy men and women of means prattled on and drank their fill of wine. Three chandeliers hung above them, glimmering in the various lights as an orchestra played at the corner of the far end of the room. Every door had trained a soldier, as did every wall.

"The Lord Markus and Lady Calypsa Haukenbrook." He announced to the assembled party. Calliope's name probably did not reach so far, but it did well to be careful, regardless. They did not want to raise any eyebrows until it was time.

Calliope felt oddly nostalgic as they made small talk with the nobles. It reminded her of old times when she had entertained the Great and Good of Callaverde and they had all danced to her tune. Before they had all turned on her of course. Something primal rumbled in the back of her mind and for a moment she thought she smelled something like fire crackling over rock. Like all such moments it passed quickly and faded from her mind. Markus proved himself a man of hidden talents, though perhaps it should not have surprised her that so capable a swordsman found the less improvised footwork of the dance a natural fit. They shared a pair of dances, a slow waltz and a spritely sarabande before other partners drew them away. There was much talk of pirates and piracy, mostly of the ridiculous demands of one Markus Flintbrook whose vessel was currently prowling these waters. Did she know that they had captured a score of his men and planned to hang them on the morrow? Would she be attending? Did she want an escort to such a beastly business?

There was no formal feast, instead plates of food were circulated among the crowd by servants in party coloured livery. It was quite the display of culinary skill. Small ships made of mashed potato crusted with sharp cheese with little pennants of sauteed green onion. Elegant little roses made of slivers of beef or bacon. Little faux apples made from candied pork with gold leaf. Coiled and recooked noodles woven into patterns of trees with sauted meat for trunks and vegetables for leaves. Lime tart and custard pies, little mandalas made of nuts encased in brightly coloured sugars, butter short bread and almond crisp. Calliope wasn’t sure she had ever seen or tasted its equal. Drinks were served in a similar fashion and judging by the amount of wine circulating Calliope knew that many a noble cellar would need restocking in the morning. Claret and champagne flowed freely, as did crisp whites with an appley finish which was apparently a specialty of the islands. The drink was less to Calliope’s taste, her sensibilities having been eroded by the cask rum mixed with lime juice and gunpowder which was the sailors daily comfort. The apple brandy they served seemed a poor tipple in comparison, and she had to be careful not to toss it off to quickly lest she give herself away.



“May I have this dance Lady?” A nervous looking man with pinched cheeks and a receding hairline asked. Calliope extended her hand and took his.

“Callypsa Haukenbrook,” she introduced herself, performing a slight curtsey before lifting her fingertips to the proscribed position..

“Marcel D’amarlane,” he replied, touching his fingertips to her and beginning to circle as the orchestra took up the tune.



“I am not familiar with the Haukenbrooks, are you a local family?” he asked, making polite conversation. Calliope gave him the same vague account of overseas travel that she had given her other dance partners.

“Calypsa, its a strange name, have you ever been to Callaverde by any chance?” he asked.

“I’ve heard of it,” Calliope responded with understatement that didn’t amplify the statement. They curved and reversed direction, switching hands with easy grace.

“I had the pleasure of visiting there some years ago. I even attended a feast with the potentate there, Call… something was her name? A terrible sorceress, her own people rose up against her later that year, though I heard she escaped and cursed the city as she fled,” he pressed. Up until this point he seemed to be making conversation but something in her manner must have given him pause because he suddenly gave her a very appraising look.

“Calliope,” she supplied for him. “A very terrible woman I am given to understand.” Marcel missed a step but quickly recovered, though looking a little pale.

“My Lady I…” he began but she continued speaking over him.

“Can you imagine if she were here now,” she told him lightly, spinning through the dance step and coming in close for the stylized embrace.

“Walking here among us in secret?” she tittered as though this was the most wickedly entertaining thing she could imagine.

“Can you imagine what a woman like that might do if someone were to expose her like that? Why I bet she would flay a man alive! Perhaps burn his intestines alive. Maybe even rip his mind from his body entirely,” she tittered again, though judging by the now pasty white complexion of her dance partner, it wasn’t quite the light giggle it had started as. She blinked her eyes, her pupils suddenly slitted and serpentine, then, in the next heartbeat back to normal. Marcel made a choking sound and stumbled, colliding with a waiter who expertly kept his tray aloft while disentangling himself from the guest. Such accidents of drunken gracelessness were certainly common at this late hour. Marcel snatched a glass of brandy and downed it in a single gulp before casting her one more fearful glance. Calliope waved a gloved hand and waved with her fingers. He fled the dancefloor.

“What is wrong with that poor devil?” another woman asked as she took a glass of wine from the waiter.

“Always a mistake to attempt a dance you can't finish,” Calliope told her in a slightly disappointed tone.

"And where do you hail from, Lord Markus...?" The Lord Malon asked, having introduced himself as a wealthy landowner with a penchant for trading silks from as far as Ragba Shahir. His wife was a petite blonde wearing a white gown, silver gleaming from the earrings she wore.

"I am a landless man of small means, though originally I'm from a barony amongst border kingdoms along the valelands. The highway of men, they call it." Markus said casually, his eyes subtly moving to his left and right to watch his men get into position. A guardsman with an arquebas had disappeared behind a curtain, one second there and the other second gone from sight. The squat, soft merchant lord regarded him with a mild contempt. Even if Markus weren't a bastard, a duke of the border kingdoms would amount to little more than a baronet in other, more spacious areas of the human realms. A baron was little more than an upjumped gentleman to his mind, apparently. Ironic, considering it sees more trade than most of the inland kingdoms combined.

"I see, well then what bring you here, sir?" The lord's wife asked, fanning herself. She clearly thought Markus was fetching, and he had to hide a smirk. She wouldn't have the chance to ask him to 'escort her to see the gardens' while her husband talked business. Even as he pondered how to answer, another guard was gone from sight, and he could have sworn he saw a flailing hand disappear behind a large vase. Markus smiled.

"Gold, madam. I'm a soldier of fortune, truth be told. Some have called me a ne'er-do-well and a rogue, but I prefer to think of myself as simply more honest than the average lord or lady, who takes the gold from the poor through taxes and corrupt laws. Oh, speaking of which..." He said wryly as Calliope approached, barely suppressing a wicked little smile on her lovely face. She inclined her head to the Lord Malon and the Lady Heatherfin, placing a hand on Markus' chest and looking up at him. He placed his hand on the small of her back, giving her a wink.

"Fun party," Calliope said, nostrils flaring as if smoke would pour out of them like some wyrm of the great north. "Is it time for the crescendo?"

"The governor has not yet addressed the party. I will believe it will be in an hour." The squat lord said, raising an eyebrow in confusion at this entire interaction. The wife looked crestfallen at 'Callypsa's' familiarity with the rakish Markus. For his part, Markus laughed. It wasn't a chuckle, but a full blown cackle that drew attention from the closest lords and ladies around.

"The governor will address everyone shortly, believe me." Markus said. A capslock pistol fell out from his coat sleeve, slid easily into his hand, and he pressed the barrel of the gun to the lord's head before giving any warning to his intentions. The man was aghast, his mustache floundering as he tried to form words. Markus almost pulled the trigger, but he wasn't that cruel. Gunshots rang out and there was a wail of pain as Sketti broke an arm across the banquet hall.

As if wished out of nothing, the captain's off-hand now held Bledwydyr, the dark blade. He lifted it and pointed it at the crowd behind him to hold them back as the crowd began to panic and his men swept into the room with axes, swords and guns.

The crowd recoiled from Markus' blade like a sucking tide. Several glasses dropped and shattered and at least one woman fainted dead away. Calliope wove her fingers in a complicated pattern in front of her face and the iron window awning began to twist and groan, growing over the windows and sprouting thorns of bright sharp iron that barred any escape. One man ran at the closing aperture and tried to dive through. One of the metal vines snapped down and wrapped around his leg. The man screamed as several other vines joined it, ripping and tearing the victim in a shower of blood and gristle. The wet ruin dropped outside the window and the vines resumed their places, gleaming with bright blood. Several people vomited but the net affect was a contraction towards the center of the room, the aristocrats piling up in a terrified knot at the center of the ball room, each trying to stay as far away from the windows and their deadly guardians as they could.

"Was that really necessary?" Markus asked in a low whisper. Calliope shrugged her shoulders.

"I'm not a damned gardener," she replied a touch pevishly, the spell having put considerable strain on her, even more so now the vines had tasted blood. They rattled and hissed against the windows but she kept them in place with force of will.

"You'll never get away with this!" a puddy man in puce livery blustered.

"You might be right, if the Governer decided to set fire to the building he could kill the lot of us in one go," Calliope admitted. She cocked her head as though considering.

"Of course, that would mean cooking the lot of you like so many roast chickens too."