"Good job," Markus told her, letting his blade linger in the dark elf's throat for a few moments as the blade lapped up the blood. He wasn't quite sure what purpose it served when Markus was relatively uninjured, but he felt the thing thirst and saw no harm in it. Pulling the sword out, he sheathed it with an ease despite his eyes gazing at the corpses rather than his scabbard.

"I doubt those are the last two dark elves in Naggaroth." Emmaline said, dropping the bough to the ground and wiping her hands on her dress.

"For once, you're right." The pirate agreed, kneeling down and searching the still-warm cadavers. He found a few coins of unusual mint, a green vial of Sigmar-only-knew-what, as well as a simple steel dagger. Pocketing the coins and the liquid, he spun the knife betwixt his fingers and presented it to Emmaline, hilt first. Once she took it, he unclasped a cloak and experimentally wrapped it about his form. There was a small splotch of blood on the tail end, but he doubted that was an anomaly in drucchi society. "Take off the elf's shirt and shoes, and wrap the cloak around yourself."

"I suppose that would work," she pondered, considering. "The armor?"

"Not sure. It might fit me, but it would never fit you. You'd be best acting keeping yourself cloaked." He said, and when he saw her looking at him dubiously, he smirked a smirk that showed his teeth. He looked somehow both handsome and yet very much like a shark. "You're not fat, but no elf has tits like that."

They got dressed quickly, and whilst Emmaline asked for and gazed at a few of the coins for her 'magic' which Markus was certain was her only motivation, he dragged the naked corpses into the reeds to keep them hidden from any more wandering patrols. Afterwards, he took the knife he had granted Emmaline and shaved as closely as he could. No elf he had ever seen had facial hair, and though he only sported a small fraction of what could be considered a beard, he needed to be as elf-like as he could.

"Do we know where we're going?" Emmaline asked as Markus slid the knife up his left chin.

"I'll follow their tracks." He explained. "They stepped lightly, but with luck I can do it. Do us a favor and don't breathe too loudly or stumble. And we won't go exactly where they came from. Just close enough to see if we can find any sort of settlement. We don't want to be where others are expecting our dead friends. We just want to walk in as if we already belong."

While Markus might pass for an elf from a distance Emmaline was less sanguine about her own chances. She was shorter and far shapelier than any elf she had ever encountered back in Altdorf. Not that the snooty bastards had given anyone much of a time of day. Her best chance, she thought, was to stay far away and try to keep Markus between her and any potential trouble, which, come to think of it, was always pretty good advice. One of the elves had a small but ingenious crossbow in his possession, no bigger than a pistol, though wider where the arms spread in an odd vertical arrangement. Emmaline, rightly skeptical of her chances with a blade, took the small weapon and fired a bolt into the dirt so she could practice reloading. The tossed the bodies into the hollow beneath the tree and covered the remainder of the fire, the carcass of the dear, and the unlamented Druchii, with leaf liter.



Fortunately Markus assertion that he could track the elves seemed to be true. Emmaline wondered where he had learned the skill. Markus didn’t speak much about his past, and usually found more productive uses for their time together than idle conversation. She knew he had been in the Imperial Navy before he turned pirate and she thought she had heard hints to the fact that he was some nobleman’s bastard, though what part of the Empire he might be from was a mystery. Even his accent, corrupted by too much time among sailors, was difficult to place. The walked for perhaps an hour through the forest. Here and there an orange fungus of some sort climbed from the ground to encrust the bark of the occasional tree. Small stream beds cut the landscape here and there, often filled with fallen timbers and knife bladed ferns where the banks had undercut existing growths.

“Why aren’t they following the stream beds, surely it would be easier going,” Emmaline panted. The Druchii’s long boots were far more comfortable than the shoes she had left behind. They might even be stylish if she could find something that would go with the odd bluish hide they seemed to be made out of. Not everything elvish was magic, but the craftsmanship of those ethereal beings seemed to imbue their artifacts with something very close. Breathless as she was from the unexpected exercise, Emmaline still felt like she was doing better than she had any right to.



“See how the dirt is scraped back to the rock,” Markus said, pointing with is sword to where large lumps of shale protruded through the bank of a stream.

“Flash floods I’d say, the look of those clouds, there could be sudden downpours at any second,” he told her. Emmaline looked skeptically at the clouds but knew better than to doubt Markus when it came to judging the weather.

“Also, I think they know better than to be predictable,” Markus said, his voice suddenly grim. Emmaline gasped when she saw what he was looking at. A human body, naked save for rags, had been tossed onto one of the bladed ferns. Judging by the blood staining the leaves, the human had been alive at the time, though also by the blood, not for long after that. A pair of crossbow bolts were through the corpses knees, evidently shot from behind.



“What in Shyalla’s holy cunt is going on?” Emmaline asked. Markus turned and headed along the top of the bank, pacing like a panther as he examined the scene.



“There were more of them, probably a score,” Markus said, squatting down to examine some scuff marks on the bank. “After they killed this guy they headed inland.”



“Well I think our friend here would agree that a score of elves is a good thing to avoid,” Emmaline pointed out, nodding with her chin towards the partially dismembered body.



“Right,” Markus agreed and lead the way east in the direction the party had come from.





“It’s a ship,” Markus said as he slithered down the small rocky hill to where Emmaline waited, the elven cloak wrapped tightly against the sea breeze. The forest had grown thinner and the streams began to run as they had gotten closer to the ocean. The salt water blowing in seemed to disagree with all but hardy grasses and stringy lantana vines. She had begun to doubt whether Markus’ tracking was as good as he seemed to think, but this seemed to be vindication. She wriggled up the hill. Markus put one hand on each of her buttocks and shoved to give her a boost, lifting her head above the central spine of the outcropping. The headland they were on formed one arm of a small bay with a gravelly beach. In the center of the beach, where one of the streams flowed out into the ocean, stood a small ship. It was clearly a Dark Elven vessel, low and rakish with what seemed to Emmaline an improbable number of sharp edges. It had been grounded on the beach, hauled far enough up that it canted slightly to one side, a long rope bound it to a massive tree that defied the salt and projected out of the bank of the creek, drinking in the watery sunlight. Only three elves were in view, dressed in garb similar to that Markus and Emmaline had stripped from their victims. Two of them stood by a long plank that ran from the ship to the beach, a third stood a complicated looking device on what she thought of as the fo’castle but probably had another maritime name which Markus would delight in correcting her on if she tried to use it. A trio of humans were also visible, lashed to a grating amid ships.



“Looks like they landed here and most of the crew went off to … what?” Emmaline pondered as she clambered back down into concealment.



“If there is a city near here, they might have been hunting down escaped slaves,” Markus said. “Big group goes inland, runs into them. Kills some and captures others. The rest scatter.” It was a good theory, it certainly explained why only two of the ships company had come across Emmaline and Markus.



“So what do we do?” she asked. Markus grinned at her.

“For once I have a plan that can utilize all of your assets.”





Emmaline sobbed as she was marched across the beach towards the Druchii raider. Her feet, once again bootless, scrapped on the gravel, making her hop and stagger gingerly. The wind cut at her body, now naked from the waist up completing her misery. All three elves on the ship turned to watch, though they relaxed quickly as they made out a figure in elven armor behind the prisoner. The elf by the bolt thrower turned his weapon back out to sea, though his eyes remained on the prisoner.



“Please, I cant go back!” Emmaline whined, great crocodile tears rolling down her face. They were perhaps thirty feet from the nearest elf when he called something out in his own language.

“Please!” Emmaline shrieked, “Sigmar help me!” The shouting precluded any chance of her captor being able to communicate with the elf, at least for a few seconds.

“Silence wretch, why are you naked,” the nearest elf sneered in accented Riekspiel. Markus, who until that moment had been mostly concealed behind his ‘captive’ stepped passed her.



“Hey, don’t knock it till you’ve tried it,” the pirate told the elf, and then shot him through the bridge of the nose with the handbow. The elf staggered backwards in shock and then collapsed to the beach in a heap. The second elf was already moving. He leaped at Markus like liquid metal, a cruel blade clearing its scabbard without so much as a whisper. Markus hurled the empty weapon into the elf’s face. The Druchii dogged it effortlessly, the look of contempt still curling his lips as Markus’ sword came around in a windmilling cut that separated head from shoulders in a spray of blood. The third elf abandoned the heavy bolt thrower for a repeating crossbow, lifting the weapon to spit the two humans where they stood. Golden light flashed and the crossbow was suddenly twisting like a living thing. The elf screamed a curse and threw the weapon away. It turned a half circle and went off, a quarrel suddenly projecting from his hip. The elf went down with a scream as the impact drove the bolt deeper. He crawled three feet across the deck and tried to grab at a spear that was racked along one gunwale. Markus’ boot caught him square in the face and he went limp. There was sudden silence save for the whimpering of the shocked human slaves and the gentle lapping of the gray ocean.

“A pirates life for me,” Markus grinned.

Markus moved his head from side to side to stretch his neck, the sword absorbing the blood sent a shiver up his spine as if he'd been tickled or found himself particularly sleepy. Luckily he felt the effects of neither, and not for the first time wondered if the sword's powers were effecting him in some adverse way, or if he simply felt the echoes of its pleasure. Seeing as the dark elf he killed that had it did not look any worse for wear, he felt it safe to assume the latter, at least for the moment.

"Let's check to see what this bitch of a ship has below decks," He said, not deigning to look back at Emmaline. Whether she followed or not did not matter to him, as long as she didn't start screaming at any nearby gulls to alert any other potential adversaries to their position. Markus snorted at the thought, and then strode across the deck. The planks were dark and made of strange wood that barely creaked. He went to the central door, where the stairs would lead below decks. He opened it and found the assumption proved true, so he stepped down the five steps of the wooden stairway.

The first doors on his left and right were closed. Briefly he considered opening them, but the third door, the second to the left had bars over a small aperture much like a jail cell. It drew him closer, sword held before him. Inside he could hear soft moaning and murmuring, and the smell was undeniably parallel to the unwashed streets of marienburg. He stepped to the portal, his hand slowly reaching for the latch...

Behind him a door burst open, swinging wide as a dark elf reaver leaped out with sabre in hand. He did not gloat or give preamble, instead stabbing Markus with a killing stroke. It almost worked, the blade getting caught on a chain-link of his armor just before Markus stepped to the right, batting away the sabre with his own blade. The dark elf was quick, riposting with a sinuous feint and another stab, only held back by a wide parry from the privateer. They parried and cut and stabbed in a brutal dance, the walls scarred from their flying steel. The drucchi had the advantage, his blade smaller and his reflexes quicker. No doubt the elf had practiced swordplay longer than Markus had been alive, and if the captain had his old backsword he felt he would already be dead.

Markus redirected his style, going for an unorthodox routine and side stepping in the tight quarters. The dark elf mirrored his movements and managed a cut across Markus's cheek, drawing fresh blood down his face. The elf smiled wickedly, pressing his advantage and stepping forward only to suddenly flinch in momentary blindness. Markus' sword had engulfed in flames, the captain stepped to the left again and swinging his sword in a terrible backhand cut that bisected the dark elf's head, cauterizing the sliced skull even as it was split in two.

Slowly the dark elf's corpse fell against the wall and slid to the floor.

"Close," Markus said to himself, breathing a sigh of relief. He wasn't a talented mage. In fact he was less talented than Emmaline, and that was saying something. But he knew just enough to keep himself alive in an otherwise deadly encounter. He let the top of the dark elf's head slide off his blade and bounce on the floor, and felt certain if there were any other elves on the ship, they would have come to this one's aid. Markus yet again reached for the door where he felt the slaves were kept, and when it opened, he found he was right.

Over two dozen men and women in nothing but rags, some even completely naked, huddled together and shivered in fear. Some stared blankly at the wall, devoid of hope despite it staring them in the face, whilst others eyes darted back and forth like prey animals. In the back he saw two elves, likely high elves. They sat together, and though they had a look of defeat on their faces, he could tell they weren't husks of their former selves at the very least. They were also the only slaves to look up in surprise at Markus walking into the room.

"The dark elves are dead." Markus declared after waiting a few, pregnant moments for the other humans to react. When there was yet again no reply, he barked at them. "Your masters lie dead!"

A few of them turned to look at him, their brows furrowing in confusion. A woman pulled her hand out of her mouth, having chewed on her fingers so much they were mushed and broken. She blinked and stared at him, as if looking past him to some cruel jester behind the captain. "Dead?"

"That is not possible." Another said. "No, no... not possible."

"We will sail this ship up the harbor, who will help me?" Markus asked. They all gazed at him now, including the two elves. The natives of Ulthuan did not speak, however. They merely looked at one another knowingly. Markus found out why a moment later when one of the men began to scream, higher pitched than Markus thought possible for any man with any sort of dignity. More accompanied him and others wailed and moaned in abject shock.

"No! They can't be dead!" A younger woman screeched, approaching Markus like the walking dead and reaching for him, clawing at his arms. "Do you know what they'll do when they find out!?"

"We will be tortured! Mutilated to the very soul!" An older man howled.

Gnarled hands reached for Markus, the slaves turning berserk. They bore wild eyes and frothing mouths and desperate energy erupted from them as they approached Markus and then swarmed his position. Markus saw murder in their eyes as they charged the doorway where he stood, leaping at him in abandon. He was confused, but somewhere in the back of his mind he knew they were too far gone. They blamed him for their inevitable fate. Even freedom was too frightening for these wretches. Another man might have attempted to close the door or try and reason with them.

The dark elf blade was ensconced in aqshy, flames roaring to life as his blade called to him in its thirst. For once, he and the sword were of the same mind. He ran the first slave through, pulling his sword out and cutting through two of the other zealots, lopping off a head as his blade buried itself into a collarbone. He let the bodies fall and stepped back, hacking a man down and piercing another's throat, his eyes set and his face grim. Blood soaked the floorboards as they relentlessly charged, Markus giving ground but cutting more down as they surged like a wave of bony locusts. They tripped over themselves and their fallen slaves, but when their advance slowed, Markus took the initiative and moved forward himself, cutting through them like wheat. Poor, helpless and staved men and women, people had freed. All fell before his blade as buckets of blood and corpses fell onto the floor, until there was naught but seven slaves yet alive. The very old, the very young, and the two elves that had watched intently.

Markus stepped over the corpses and into the room again, blood spattered on his drucchi trousers and cloak, his exposed flesh freshly cut from fingernails and the cuts of the dark elf swordsman not minutes ago.

"Will you help me sail, or not?" He asked the elves, and to their surprise he spoke in their tongue.

"Why would we help someone who just slaughtered his own kind?" They asked when they found their tongues.

"Tell me, were you captured by the elves of Naggaroth by happenstance, or did you come to the new world to slay your own kin?" He asked them. They stared at him silently for many moments. Slowly, they stood up together and gave a nod.

"We will help."

“Ranald’s balls,” Emmaline goggled as she came down from the deck to find the slaughter in the hold. “They butchered these poor people rather than let them free…”

Neither Markus, the elves, nor the few surviving prisoners bothered to contradict her mistaken assumption. Blood oozed from the wounds, though it didn’t flow as freely as it might have had the wounds not been partially cauterized by fire. Emmaline had covered her naked chest by the simple expedient of taking a second cloak and wrapping it around her front, binding the two garments in place with a short length of rope. There was a slight jingling as she moved. A cynical person might have thought she had looted the fallen elves of any coins they carried and tucked them down her improvised tunic.

“Can we set sail, they might come back at any moment,” Emmaline fretted as Markus pushed past her. The high elves tried to follow suit, but Emmaline, in no mood to be pushed around, pivoted and blocked them. One of the elves bounced off her rump as she turned and followed Markus up the narrow companion way.

“We are aground,” Markus told her in a tone that suggested he was working to suppress a ‘you idiot’ at the end of the sentence.

“The dark ones will have laid a sea anchor,” one of the elves called past Emmaline.

“In case one of our vessels chanced upon them if nothing else. We might be able to use it to haul ourselves off,” the elf explained. As the reached the deck Emmaline saw that he was right. A dark hauser of rope ran from a capstan at the rear, sinking down to vanish into the water.

“Do you think they will return before high tide?” Emmaline asked. One of the elves shrugged.

“It depends on whether they have done with their sport,” he told her, noble face twisting with distaste. Markus scowled and stared out to see, licking his lips as he tasted the wind.

“Probably three or four more hours before the tide is in enough to float us,” Makrus declared.

“Do you think the three of you can drag us into the water?” Emmaline asked.

“Put your backs into it!” Emmaline encouraged as she sat on the railing, eating an apple she had found in one of the holds. Markus and the pair of elves paused to glare at her, though none of them suggested that she help. With a silent will they braced themselves against the capstan bars and heaved. The ship groaned and then shifted another six inches, scrapping the gravel beach as the keel slid and then bit again.

“Well don’t stop once you have momentum on your side,” Emmaline chastised as she chewed the delicious flesh of the fruit. Evil degenerates they might be, but the Dark Elves certainly ate well while at sea. The sweating males paused and one of the elves, Indrin he said his name was, muttered something in his own language that made the other elf laugh.

“The tide will be at the hull in another twenty minutes,” Markus said, resting his forearms on his bar. The remaining slaves had remained in their hold, unwilling to join the attempted escape no matter what threats Emmaline had leveled at them. It wasn’t, she thought, that they didn’t believe her, just that they were far more scared of what the Dark Elves would do when they took back the ship. Emmaline gave serious thought to at least driving them into the forest so that they didn’t weigh the ship down, but she couldn’t quite bring herself to send them to certain death in such a fashion.

“Perhaps we can… Asuryan burn them,” Idrin cursed and he bared his teeth. A dozen dark elves were emerging from the forest edge, laughing as they drove a pair of raggedly dressed slaves ahead of them with whips of what looked like thorny vines. Two more elves led a dwarf by a catchpole that was fastened around his neck. Emmaline hopped down, placing timber between herself and the approaching elves.

“If we can hold them off for twenty minutes…” Markus began. One of the Dark Elves shouted something to the ship in his own language. Perhaps wondering where the sentries were. Emmaline walked down the deck, crossing over to put more distance between her and the approaching foes. Idrin shouted something back at them. All the elves stopped, the slaves forgotten. One of the dark elves shouted in alarm and a moment later crossbow quarrels were thumping into the hull. Emmaline squeaked and ran the last few feet to the large bolt thrower. She hauled it round to face towards the elves who were already rushing towards the ship. One of them shouted in alarm and threw himself flat. Emmaline pulled the lever and the strange device spat out a half dozen bolts one of the elves dropped, a quarrel in his neck, another fell cursing with a shattered leg. To Emmaline’s amazement the dwarf grabbed the catchpole and broke it in half, tugging the startled elf off his feet. He grabbed the splintered end and drove it twice into the downed elf’s face. The first blow shattered the creatures proud nose, the second punched the thin bone at the back of its eyesocket into its brain. The dwarf roared at the other two bloodied slaves but both were cowering prostrate on the ground.

“Run!” Emmaline shouted, though the Dwarf needed no encouragement, he raced across the beach at a lumbering trot, as fast as his stout legs could carry him. One of the dark elves lifted his cross bow to slay the escaping dwarf but Emmaline bleated a word and thick choking smoke blossomed around the would be marksman. A bolt flew from the oily mess, tore a gash in the dwarfs shoulder and vanished into the sea. Markus stood up and fired his own captured crossbow, though if he struck anything Emmaline didn’t see it. The dwarf pounded up the plank then turned and kicked it away.

“The capstan!” Emmaline shouted, making a wild gesture with her free hand. A quarrel slammed into the bolt thrower a few inches from her hand and she yelped and threw herself to the deck. The dwarf took hold of the capstan and heaved. He was nearly as broad as Markus was tall and his muscles were immense. The corded up and bunched as he heaved. With a titanic scraping sound the hull began to drag across the gravel. Markus and the two elves jumped to their own bars and added their strength and a moment later Emmaline felt the water beneath them as the were afloat. The ship began to pick up speed as it moved towards its anchor.

“Cut the line, get that lateen around!” Markus was shouting. Fortunately both elves seemed to know something of sailing. Emmaline pulled her knife free and cut the line to the anchor in three quick strikes. The lateen sail slapped in the wind for a moment before the elves hauled the boom into place and it billowed out, beginning to drive them out to sea. Markus had made it to the tiller where he crouched down for cover against the crossbow bolts and elven curses that were hurled at his departing back. Indrin’s friend, whose name Emmaline hadn’t caught, took a step towards the dwarf. A fist the size of a ham caught the elf across the jaw and dropped him to the deck.

“These are friendly elves,” Emmaline shouted in alarm. The dwarf spit a gobbet of phlem and blood into the ocean.

“Nay soouch thing lass,” he glowered, glaring at Idrin who was keeping a safe distance.

"A dwarf," Idrin spat. "Just when I thought our luck could get no worse."

"What was that, Elgi?" The Dwarf asked menacingly. He gave the elf a black look that spelled violence. Markus was not adverse to that in most circumstances, but he did not allow bickering to take hold of his crew. Nor would he stand by and let it happen here while there was the barest hint of hope. He stepped forward, sheathing his sword.

"Unless you wish to become slaves again or worse, then stow it." He ordered, deathly calm. The elf and dwarf both looked at him like he was a fish that had climbed a tree. The other elf seemed surprised as well, but did not immediately go to argue. Markus continued. "You can kill one another after we've gotten out of here. For now, survival takes precedence."

"Can he even sail a ship?" Idrin asked, vaguely waving at the dwarf.

"I can kill elves." The dwarf promised, eyes glinting.

"Good, we'll need that soon." Markus said, drawing confused gazes at him. He had just begun to turn before he caught the looks. "We're sailing north to the drucchi settlement. I'm going to get my ship and crew back, and you'll help me."

"And me!" Emmaline pipped in, though the glares she received made her button her lip.

The elves laughed darkly, almost drucchi-like to Markus. He needed to remember all elves had the taint of Khaine in them. "No human." The unnamed one said. "You think now that we are free we will go back into Malekith's den? Your companions and ship are gone. Lost forever. You would have better chance walking into the frozen north to the very bosom of the chaos gods."

"Just like an elgi to be faithless," The dwarf challenged, closing his fists dangerously. Emmaline backed away from the muscle-bound dawi and slid behind Markus. The Captain was not certain if the dwarf was on his side because of a debt from being freed or if it was just to spite the high elves, but he would take it. Above them the sky was still grey, but the wind began to pick up from the east with a small howl. As if the wind itself commanded it, the two elves unsheathed sword they had procured from the dead drucchi, pointing them at the dwarf.

"I am one of the faithful dwarf, but there is faith and there is suicide." the elf said.

Markus pointed his blade at Idrin, who pointed it back at Markus. The dwarf didn't need a weapon, rather instead opting to snap his fist forward and grab the saber blade with his meaty fist. Blood seeped out of his palm, but he held it there, eyeing the elf with murderous intent. Behind them all, Emmaline picked up a crossbow to help, but as it rose up her grip slipped and she dropped it. The bolt struck the floorboards of the deck and she squealed. No one paid her any mind.

"You gave me your word to help me." Markus said.

"We agreed to sail the ship, not to go back into Ss'ildra Tor." Idrin retorted.

"Are you telling me a human and a dwarf would go against the drucchi when a the elves of ulthuan will not?"

Markus saw the question strike a nerve, the elves wincing. He knew they felt a struggle in themselves. To go back to Ulthuan alive, when so many of their kinsmen had died, and all they could say was they had been captured and then set free by a lowly man. Markus merely stared at them, the dwarf growling like a bulldog but keeping quiet. Eventually, their cuation gave way to honor, and the elves lowered their swords.

"Very well," the nameless elf said.

"Asuryan bless you. And your name is?"

"Sulandar."

"Markus Flintbrook, and the bimbo is Emmaline Von Morganstern."

"Hey!" She called, but they paid no heed.

"Morek Ironbeard." The Dwarf replied, snarling at the elf but keeping himself from going on another tirade of insults. Markus nodded, smiling at them wickedly.

"Let us say hello to the dark ones." He declared, and called for them to cast off.

"Are you really still messing about with that Elgi trash?" Morek grumbled as Emmaline finished lacing up the bluish hide armor. Markus had been correct in his assumption that no elf would have anything close to her bust, nor her hips, and she had been forced to cut the garment down the front and lace it up over a section of cape. The end result didn't look particularly elven at close range but she could hope that from afar it might not be immediately apparent.

"Well its that or dress up as a slave I guess," Emmaline replied a trifle tartly. The pair of them were at the prow where Morek had just finished reloading the repeating bolt thrower, or as he called it, that piece of elgi trash. Come to think of it Elgi trash seemed to be a fairly common adjective with him. The dwaf was hefting a pair of sea axes meant for cutting lines in an emergency. In his hands the ornate weapons seemed almost prissy, but Emmaline didn't doubt they would prove effective. Markus and the two elves were busy at the sails. Despite their words, Emmaline suspected it was only the fact that she and the dwarf would side with Markus that kept them from knifing thier rescuers and heading for Ulthan.

"Speaking of appearing like a slave," Emmaline said and crossed over to the dwarf. Morek backed a step at her approach.

"Stop that, you are as skittish as an elf," she snapped. Predictabley this froze the dwarf in place as his rage percolated. Emmaline put a hand on either side of his collar.

"Dwalarek kestor pharidas," she whispered and pulled the collar free, the metal momentarily as pliable as cool spring water. The spell faded and Emmaline dropped the collar with a crash, its considerable weight restored when the spell had run its course. The dwarf glared at her for a minute but then seemed to relax.

"My thanks Manlette," he grumbled.

Markus wasn't sure why Morek had come aboard muttering about filthy manling magics, but it looked to him like Emmaline had solved the problem of his slave collar. He busied himself by raising the mainsail as Indrin and Sulandar prepared the wings and checked small rivets in the ship Markus wasn't entirely familiar with. For the most part, Elven ships were much like human vessels, but the design was far more sophisticated and there were a few added features Markus wasn't entirely familiar with. He felt he was roughly in command but he would follow their lead on maneuvering.

"Let's cast off!" Markus called, and with Morek's help in hauling the anchor up, Indrin set the ship in a short curve to the mouth of the inlet. To Markus' surprise, the ship started to move almost immediately. The ship's was keen edged but it was bluffed above the water and sharp below, sleek in design. If he had to guess it gives the hull a finer entry and a long run as she goes aft, which made sense but there was something more to the ships. Perhaps it was the material? He couldn't say.

Markus made it to the helm, taking the wheel as Indrin looked out to the open sea. Markus gave him a look, and to a man unused to elves he would think the slave was simply wanting to go home. But Markus knew while there was longing, he was making his peace with what could happen very soon. The elves were cruel in their way, just as the dwarves were greedy and fatalistic, but the elder races had a nobility Markus envied. Something about them men could only aspire to.

"I assume we're going north?" The Captain asked.

"Directly north, yes." Indrin said softly. Sulandar stepped lightly up to their level on the aftcastle, if it could be called such on a ship that ran so low in the water.

"How did you and your men come to be here?" Sulandar asked Markus. The swordsman gave the elf a smile that showed his teeth.

"We're pirates," He said, and they both looked at him hard. He knew they would judge him, but elves were so used to warfare on the ocean, they at least had common ground. "Don't worry, we're not foolhardy enough to go after Ulthuan vessels, but we are trying to gain membership in the Sartosian council. We need to go to Ind, by far Cathay. Lustria was our most recent stop."

"You seem worldly and well spoken for a pirate," Sulandar said, eyeing Markus up and down. "But I don't doubt you after what I've seen you do."

"Pirate, merchant, the envoy to Karl Franz, who cares?" Morek said, stepping up with them. It was hard not to hear his approach. He walked like a bulldog and every step creaked on the ship, which was saying something. Even Markus and Emmaline made barely a sound on the mysterious dark wood. "As long as we get to kill some elves."

"Dark elves." Indrin corrected, glaring at the dwarf.

"Whichever elves collared me. On that we can agree, aye Elgi?" The dwarf said. The dwarf didn't bother looking at the elf when he finished his question, rather stepping over to the side of the ship and watching the forest drift away as they slipped out toward the northern coastline. Markus saw the elves, as put off by the dwarf as ever, but steeled. They were wary of going to this 'S'sildra Tor,' but Markus knew the hatred between the elvish races. When a drucchi got within sword distance of either of his new companions, they wouldn't hesitate.

And they would enjoy it.

The coast had a kind of bleak beauty to it. They drove north under a lowering sky keeping the land in view of their port side. At first Markus had tried to keep close to the coast, but was bedeviled by frequent shallow reefs that spread from ridges of volcanic basalt that forced them to tack hard into unfavorable winds. After the second repetition and with Indrin’s assurance that they could safely cruise further out, Markus had acquiesced. Both the wind and seas were steadily rising and even Emmaline could tell that the squally wind would be a full scale storm by nightfall. Despite the worsening condition the Dark Elven vessel cut the water as clean and gracefully as any ship Emmaline had ever traveled on. She didn’t point it out to Markus, but she suspected the Hammer wouldn’t have done near so well in similar conditions. Idrin and Sulandar worked tirelessly with Morek providing muscle, somewhat grumpily, wherever their skill alone wasn’t sufficient. Emmaline lacking the skill and the inclination to do any of the actual work of sailing, prepared a simple meal of cheese and bread from the stores and served the crew. She even tried to feed the few surviving slaves, the smell of slaughter in the hold was so bad she nearly vomited to enter it. The pitiful creatures refused the bread, cowering back in fear of retaliation from the dark elves when they took the ship back. That was a more likely outcome than not, but Emmaline didn’t imagine these slaves would be any better off for being hungry when it happened.





“We should put out east into deep water,” Sulandar was arguing when Emmaline came back on deck, “we can wait out the storm.” Markus shook his head violently.

“The storm is the only chance we have to slip into the city,” he countered, “I’m not going to miss it.”

“Surely you can’t mean to sail into an enemy port in the midst of a storm,” Sulandar asked aghast. “Its.. its…”



“It is called having balls Elgi,” Morek grumbled, running a thumb along the edge of a boarding axe, “Not surpised you haven’t heard of it.”

The gale howled intensely as the the rain batted against the deck like artillery, pelting all on board and filled the already loud wind with with the noise of battering droplets. While never pleasant even with his vast experience, Markus was used to sailing in trying conditions. He felt goosebumps on his skin as much of his body was both warm and strikingly cold at different extremities. His dark hair matted to his face, his eyes steeled and piercing the veil of wind and blackness.

"Hard to port!" a fey, elven voice cried from the front of the ship. Markus spun the wheel, turning the ship as quickly as he could. The lightning flashed overhead, and the vague shape of the land that he had perceived as mountains were suddenly illuminated into monstrous shapes out of nightmare. Huge towers of jagged spires laden with wet corpses set around temples of obsidian and blood, all built in tandem to make the countenance of a great screaming visage in the brief flash. It started Markus's heart for a moment, and if he did not know any better, he thought he might have awakened a heathen god better left undisturbed.

"Raise mast!" Markus called back over the din. Lightning flashed again, giving him a glimpse of the deck. Morek ran across toward the mainsail rope as Sulander held onto the aft lines, yanking them down for all his worth. Indrin's figure was mid-leap from the foredeck onto the main deck, and behind him, dead ahead, was the maw of the bay. The world was continuously instantaneous intervals of light and darkness and roaring weather.

Spinning the wheel, Markus felt the ship sink dangerously low before launching into the air once it slapped against an oncoming wave, holding on for dear life. He felt as if he heard Emmaline squeal below him under the deck, but he knew that was impossible due to the noise. It was the last great interval before they made it into the inlet, where the waters were rough but manageable. Thankfully, the ship was far steadier than any manling vessel would be and almost skimmed to the darkwood docks where deadly sloops were anchored.

He knew no one would be out in this storm, but he still could not but feel eyes watching him. Something older than even the elves, and he couldn't help but feel on edge as they slid somewhat roughly into a vacant area, knowing this might be the last time he would ever sail. With luck, they wouldn't find any dark elves. Just his ship and the crew...

"Sigmar willing," he said and chuckled darkly. He knew in his stomach there would be blood spilled before the night was through.

Emmaline was thankful that her time on the Hammer had hardened her stomach against sea sickness. Even so she would have happily spent the day casting her accounts to Mannan if it meant she didn't have to walk into a Druchii citadel. She had asked Sulandar during a brief moment of respite whether she would be better of pretending to be a slave. The High Elf had pronounced they were all doomed anyway, but on balance a pretty human slave would attract more attention than a slightly short elf wrapped in a heavy cloak. Morek of course had no option, and had nearly punched Emmaline when she mentioned it was a shame there were no Dark Dwarves to disguise himself as.

"If your ship is here, it will be in the slave pool," Idrin sail as he pulled his own disguise into place.

"Slave pool?" Emmaline asked in confusion. The harbor around them was filled with sleek raider, but nothing that looked human, or with the bulk of the Hammer.

"It is a secondary harbor in the caves below the city," the elf explained, "your crew will be there too, those who are still alive."

Emmaline tried to picture a harbor that was underground but it was hard to imagine.

"Why dont they..." she began but Idrin made a chopping motion.

"We are on borrowed time already, I haven't time to explain every detail," he snapped. The elf was trying hard to look serene, but his waspish tone and the tightness at the corner of his grey eyes betrayed his fear. That was only to be expected, a High Elf could expect horrors far beyond death if he were caught in this place.

"Why don't we just sail in there?" Emmaline persisted. Idrin drew in a breath to snarl a response but Morek and Markus both took a step towards him and he quieted.

"There is no reason for a corsair to sail in there, it would raise the alarm. They take ships in there and force the crew to rip them apart for scrap and timber. Its one of the ways the underscore that you are never getting out." Forked lightning snapped overhead to underscore the remark.

_____

Emmaline walked in the middle of the group. Sulandar was at the front with Markus and Idrin at the rear, their pointed ears a better disguise than the stolen arms and armor would be. Emmaline kept her cloak drawn tight and kept close to Morek, reasoning that her plumper than elven form might be somewhat attenuated by comparison to the dwarf's bulk. They were moving away from the docks past what seemed to be warehouses for naval stores with a heavy smell of hemp rope and seasoned timber, moving roughly paralell to a canal that Indrin thought lead to the Slave Pool. There were a few Druchii around, but they were distant sentinels huddled in dark cloaks and staring out to sea, watching for enemies or perhaps hoping to see the ships of rival founder in the fury of the storm. The arched windows of some of the buildings were lit, but no one seemed to be on the street.

"What in Ranald's name?" Emmaline whispered as they began to round a corner that took them away from the docks. By chance she happened to look back to where their stolen vessel, nameless as far as she knew, lay against its dock. Ragged figures had emerged from the hold, they were shouting though over the wind and the rain she couldn't tell what. Not that she needed to.

"Ranald's balls! The slaves are raising the alarm!" she hissed. The ragged survivors were willing to sell out their would be rescuers in hopes of gaining some kind of mercy from their dark masters. Fortunately the deserted nature of the docks was working against them.

"We have to run for the ship, we wont get a dozen feet," Sulandar breathed, tensing to run.

"It is too far for me to burn," Markus growled. Emmaline glanced at him with a question in her eyes. He gave a stern nod.

"What are you..." Idrin began.

Emmaline whispered the words to her spell, drawing a sigil beneath her cloak. Two hundred yards away the masts of the nameless ship shimmered as their tips transmuted to silver. Instantly lightning stabbed down out of the sky directly down onto the conductive metal. Three bolts crisscrossed within a heart beat of each other. The top deck of the ship blew apart in a spray of burning debris and pieces of bodies. The flaming rigging seemed to fall in slow motion, slapping across the deck flaring up as timber began to catch. Emmaline looked green and unwell at what she had done.

"A fire at the docks is a good distraction, and the only way out is with my ship," Markus said with grim satisfaction.

The elves looked as if they were about to explode with violence, though whether at Markus or dark elves, the Captain wasn't sure. Still, that fire was good. They would need it before long.

"We're here, we're in the belly of the beast. If you weren't prepared to do what was necessary you would have stayed on the boat, now quit fretting and let's go." Markus told Indrin and Sulandar in no uncertain terms. It wasn't exactly what they wanted to hear, but it was needed. They didn't acknowledge Markus after an initial scowl. Instead they started to walk forward, and the other followed in their way. Morek's face was grimly set, his corded muscles ready to rip apart the slim bindings he had on at a moments notice.

They passed a small jetty and an small outpost structure, though mercifully no one was at their station. The wind was harsh and the rain almost unbearable, but the fire behind them wouldn't be quenched so easily and what drucchi there were on duty flocked to the commotion even as the ship's wooden planks began to crack and the masts swayed from the wind and burn damage. Emmaline slipped and fell, hitting the smooth pavement of the dock but thankfully landing on her hands.

Morek helped her up, and Markus turned around in time to see it. He cursed.

"Dwarf!" Markus cried, eyes stabbing at the bearded one. Morek looked at Markus with a confused expression, and the Captain switched his gaze to the north at the spires above. If even one elf had seen a slave help up a plump dark elf without reprimand, or even a dark elf slipping on stone... Even in this weather, elves were graceful beyond what humans were capable of. Just to save face, Markus ran up and backhanded the dwarf. Morek's head didn't snap to the side, and honestly Markus felt like he had struck a stone statue, but the dwarf did grunt and glare at him dangerously.

"I had to," Markus whispered. Morek glared at him, but eventually stepped back and bowed his head.

"I'll get ya for that later," The dwarf said.

Markus helped Emmaline keep her feet and then hurried on to catch up to the elves, who walked as if the wind did not touch them. They were almost at the tunnel that led into the underground quay.

Emmaline was queasy. She had just killed a half dozen slaves whose only crime was being afraid of their Dark Elven masters. She squeezed her innards into compliance, certain that no sentry would be deceived if a supposed Druchii corsair started puking their guts up. With difficulty she dreged up one of the few lessons Albrecht the Magnificent had ever bothered to teach her. Education hadn't been his priority when it came to his pretty apprentice, but a few things had stuck. She focused on the golden wind, allowing it to blow through her and carry away her anxiety. Idrin grabbed her arm.

"Stop it!" he hissed, "My kind aren't as blind to the flow of magic as yours." Emmaline heroically resisted the urge to elbow him in the pit of the stomach, but she ceased the meditation, her momentary anger having purged her churning guts.

"What is wrong with you," the elf demanded.

"I never killed anyone before," Emmaline replied to the evident confusion of all except Markus. They assumed her to be a seasoned cut throat by association.

"Keep it together," Markus grunted as they approached the tunnel. It might have started out as a natural cave, but the dark elves had carved pillars out of the living rock. It wasn't pleasant to look at, all sharp eyes and leering faces that reminded Emmaline of the worst clown masks she had seen in Altdorf as a child. Two elves in plate cuirass with skirts of shining mail stood guard. Each wore a tall pointed helmet and carried a long spear with a wickedly convoluted point. Both bore shields marked with the symbol of a sea dragon. It was clear they weren't expecting trouble, both were back inside the cavern to avoid the rain, but as they approached they stepped out to take their places.

"Kalawan indrad us'the?" one of them called to Sulandar who had strode to the head of the group. He called a response in his own language and made a gesture. Emmaline steeped to make sure Morek was between her and the Druchii sentries.

"Ene'we, Ene'we astaralai?" the second sentry asked.

"Farinduril Drakan taris," Sulandar responded. Whatever it was, it was the wrong thing to say. Both elves tensed and began to lift their weapons. Sulandar stepped inside the reach of one of them and stabbed his sword into his opponents neck, using his own bodyweight to drive the Druchii back into the cavern and out of sight. As he passed Sulandar slashed backwards with his sword, intending to decapitate the second elf, but he turned with unbelievable speed and got his shield up. Sulandar's blade bounced from the laqured wood as the Druchii dropped his spear to pull his sword. Morek's ham sized fist caught him in the neck. The elf's helmet whipsawed sideways with an audible crack as the blow propelled him into the tunnel after his fallen comrade. Morek chuckled madly and sucked his fist, which now bled from a pressure cut to the knuckles. They hurriedly moved into the tunnel and paused, waiting for some alarm. There was nothing but the roar of the storm and the illumination of the now spreading flames. Emmaline looked back and saw something large and winged highlighted against the moon. The figure of an elf was bestride what looked like a vast horse with the wingspan of a gryphon.

"A sorceress," Idrin muttered, though how he could tell sex at this distance Emmaline had no idea. For the moment it seemed she was focused on the fire, though with magical assistance it wouldn't be long before the blaze was damped.

"You had best hope your ship can fly," Idrin muttered to Markus.

The water hitting the pavement in a rush of diminutive waterfalls splattered loudly behind them as they entered the strange, roofed quay under the rock. To their right was the docks and ships floating in sloshing water, and to their left was the cavern and waves that stretched into the darkness. Markus had only heard a few tales of the Drucchi, but from everything he had heard and seen, he was intimidated by the prospect of what might be lurking under these controlled waters. He had no way to ascertain on if they kept their sea drakes in the same cavern as they did their moored ships.

There were only muted lights within the cavernous dockyard, the elves needing only a paltry amount of illumination to work by and the lightning that flashes every few moments sent the silhouettes fleeing to reveal real shapes of statues and carvings in the stone. Markus followed a mere step behind the elves, all three moving with purpose as Emmaline and Morek tramped behind them.

"Were either of you ever here before?" Markus asked the two Ulthuanites, who glanced his way.

"No, we never had the privilege." One said sardonically. In the gloom, Markus guessed it was Indrin. "We were captured on a raid in the north and were transported to a Black Ark. It was our luck the Ark had an overabundance of slaves and we were transfered to come here and work the mines. I suppose either way, we found our paths here."

The captain's eyes caught a stairway a hundred paces to the front on the right wall, leading into the stone where he couldn't determine. To its left, a few slaves worked the docks by pulling aloft mooring lines and carrying crates to designated areas. If he dared to hazard a guess, there were two drucchi present overseeing the distribution of what little they had to work on during the storm.

"Then we don't know where any of these exits lead. Great."

The Hammer's prow loomed taller than the sloops of the drucchi, and the only other non-elven ship looked to be a strange seafaring vessel with three square sails and a box-like shape. Markus couldn't fathom how that thing might move in the water, but it wasn't his ship. As they approached The Hammer, the ships gangway was still out which was a blessing. A poor, pathetic slave with no fat on his miserable body was walking down from it onto the dock. The lacerations on the man's skin looked to be where they had drained out the fat, Markus thought morbidly. Likely that hadn't happened but it was hard to look at.

He took the lead ahead of the elves, stepping up and making it onto the deck, followed by the others. The familiarity hit him, and he began to feel confident again. Even if they didn't escape, being on his own ship was a boost of morale.

"What if the crew isn't on board?" Emmaline whispered.

"Then I'll kill every dark elf in this place." Markus said in a curse, and as unlikely as that was, at that moment he meant every word.

"I think I see them," Emmaline said in a hushed voice. She could feel the tug of magic being worked outside. Weather magic if she was any judge, which she wasn't really. Against the far side of the cavern was a palisade wrought of some black metal, wrought into hooks and spikes. Several miserable looking crewmen huddled inside under the watchful eye of two more elves. Even as she said it four more members of the crew came up from beneath the Hammer's decks, hauling crates of provisions. The Dark Elves were forcing the crew to strip the ship before tearing her down to her timbers. Make work to break the spirits of their prisoners. Luckily it didn't seem like irreperable damage had yet been done to spars and rigging, though a significant pile of provisions stacked on the dock suggested the unloading was well advanced.

"Even if you can retake the ship," Idrin muttered, you cannot sail her from this place without wind. "This is a place ships come to die human. Once they pass into this cavern, they never return."

"Is it the nature of Elves to bitch and complain aboute every plan," Emmaline asked acidly, finding a safe channel for the fear that was gnawing at her stomach.

"I'll not hear such from a human slut!" Idrin snapped, his own fear finding the same pathway.

"Ay reckon it's just about time to be killin' elves," Morek growled, taking Emmaline's side against the elf as naturally as breathing. "And I for one am not to particular about the flavor."

"Shut up," snapped Markus with harsh intensity. They followed his eyes to where "I think I see them," Emmaline said in a hushed voice. She could feel the tug of magic being worked outside. Weather magic if she was any judge, which she wasn't really. Against the far side of the cavern was a palisade wrought of some black metal, wrought into hooks and spikes. Several miserable looking crewmen huddled inside under the watchful eye of two more elves. Even as she said it four more members of the crew came up from beneath the Hammer's decks, hauling crates of provisions. The Dark Elves were forcing the crew to strip the ship before tearing her down to her timbers. Make work to break the spirits of their prisoners. Luckily it didn't seem like irreperable damage had yet been done to spars and rigging, though a significant pile of provisions stacked on the dock suggested the unloading was well advanced.

"Even if you can retake the ship," Idrin muttered, you cannot sail her from this place without wind. "This is a place ships come to die human. Once they pass into this cavern, they never return."

"Is it the nature of Elves to bitch and complain aboute every plan," Emmaline asked acidly, finding a safe channel for the fear that was gnawing at her stomach.

"I'll not hear such from a human slut!" Idrin snapped, his own fear finding the same pathway.

"Ay reckon it's just about time to be killin' elves," Morek growled, taking Emmaline's side against the elf as naturally as breathing. "And I for one am not to particular about the flavor."

"Shut up," snapped Markus with harsh intensity. They followed his eyes to Rajad, the Indin crewman who had been teaching Emmaline to speak Indi. He stood on the other side of the barricade, gazing right at them. He made a guesture and then vanished out of sight returning a moment later with Sketti. The firstmate had a black eye and a nasty scalp wound but he brightened when Rajad spoke to him. He tried to look up towards Markus but Rajad blocked his movement to forestall him giving away their position.

"Damnned good eyes on that one," Morek muttered. The sailor and the first mate had a quick conversation and then Rajad flashed his hands several times.

"If that is a count, then the whole crew is here," Emmaline interpreted. There was a clanking of metal and a dozen dark elves with spears and shields, marched out of a side tunnel.

"They are comming for the slaves, probably to fight the fire," Idrin told them.

"With me," Markus told them, leading them up the planks in their gear and onto the deck of the ship. Two drucchi were up top, folding rigging and keeping an eye on things, though the last thing they expected was the need to be alert for anyone save the watch captain finding they were meandering about. Unfortunately for them, Markus and the two elves, once on board, approached them straight away. The two drucchi saluted in their strange fashion, but the three did not answer with words. Instead their blades sang out, catching the drucchi by surprise and ending their miserable lives before they could even cry out.

Morek rushed forward, grabbing one of the fallen drucchi swords. He spat on the weapon with distaste, but ran forward with it to the stairway leading into the brig. Emmaline followed at Markus' orders, wanting her to use her expertise in metallurgic magic to free the crew and quickly. As Indrin and Sulandar stood watch to replace the drucchi they had just killed, Markus dragged both corpses to the back of the ship and dumped them over, relieving them of their knives and swords beforehand. As Markus returned, he heard Indrin whisper. "They're almost here!"

The two elves moved back from the ship's railing, taking positions back on the aft castle to keep themselves visible but out of immediate scrutiny as Markus hurried downstairs, just as Emmaline and Morek were opening the chained door.

"A bloody dark elf!" Sketti roared when Markus elbowed past Emmaline, but when he removed his helmet, the dwarf engineer's ire was cooled, and he let out a sudden and hearty laugh, bellowing "Captain!" Sketti had some cuts along him, but nothing a dwarf couldn't handle. The rest of the crew followed suit with cheers and laughter. Morgan looked relieved and proud, thankfully looking none the worse for wear save a few whip marks. Markus would normally be happy, but instead he merely tossed what weapons he had to the floor. He was too pissed off to even pretend he was glad to see them. They were only halfway done.

"Brod, Edard, Frankfurt, and you Sketti, take these. Halfdan, take the chain from the door. In a few heartbeats we'll have a dozen dark elves here what thinks you're still slaves. On my signal we rush them up top. Care not to hurt the two on the aft, they're Ulthuan elves with us." He said, unsheathing his own accursed blade. There was a short, pregnant silence. Emmaline started to speak, but Markus cut her off with a murderous look. She pipped up, and he turned back to address the crew. "We can celebrate later, but right now I'm no mood for drink or merriment. We will wash the Hammer in drucchi blood before we set sail out of here with their corpses laid on the side of the ship. Leave no one alive or so help me I'll kill you myself and feed you to the sharks."

"Aye! You heard 'em!" Sketti said, his cheery disposition replaced with an expression of grim determination. The other men got to their weapons quickly, and those that couldn't stretched their taut muscles. Morek tossed the chain to Halfdan, who measured the length of the heavy object in his big hands and slung it against the ship wall for good measure, nearly splintering some of the wood.

Emmaline gripped the lock and whispered her incantation. Nothing happened. The strange elven metal indifferent to her magics. Sighing she gripped the bar instead, and splintered it to rust. The crew burst free and grabbed their weapons. The approaching dark elves might have been taken aback as their former slaves rushed at them from two directions but they reacted like professional soldiers. With a shout the approaching elves pivoted into two echelons, locking their shields against the rush. For a moment they onrushing crew faced a wall of evil sigils and glittering spear points. There was a tremendous crash and the formation flew appart in a spray of metal, blood and gore. One of the carronades on the Hammer had evidently still been loaded and had been used to good effect. The elves had no time to regroup, the crew, all experience sailors, weren't phased by the roar of cannons the way landsmen were. They tore in with desperate fury. The elves were grabbing for swords and swatting with shields but the shock of it was too much. Emmaline saw one elf go down with a split skull, another lost a hand to a hacking blade. There was curious sound of deforming metal as a length of chain smashed the side of his helmet deforming the metal and whipping his head sideways with a crack. The fury of the crew as like the sea in a storm. Their fear transmuted into blind rage. One of the crew, already spitted on a spear, grabbed his killer and wreched his neck sideways.

With nothing useful to add to the developing rout, Emmaline hurried up onto the Hammer, feeling an odd sense of security despite the fact the ship was in such dire straits. The Hammer was a home of sorts, for all of its complicated associations. She looked at the rigging and tried to figure out what needed to be done to get it sailing. Then she realized there was no wind to drive the sails. How were they going to get out of here? Emmaline wracked her brain for a minute trying to think of a solution. There was a sudden hissing at her wrist and she looked down to see that the snake bracelet she had aquired in Tobaro had roused itself. It slithered down onto the table and turned to look up at Emmaline with its emerald eyes, hissing in a complicated cadence.

"Huh, that is a good idea," she agreed, "but how would I..." She was interupted by more hissing. Emmaline nodded her head as the snake made a guesture with its tail. She opened the draw and drew out Markus' navigational instruments and hurried up onto the deck. She retreated to the poop deck and knelt down behind the wheel, pulling a set of brass dividers from the leather case she started scratching at the deck, marking out arcane sigils on the dark timber. It was difficult to know whether Markus would be angrier about the defacing of his deck of the damage to his instruments, but she figured she could worry about that later.

The point of the sabre bit through the well-made mail and poked into the meat of his pectoral, but it was a light wound. Markus knocked the sword aside even as the drucchi pulled the sword out of the wound for a second strike. He took his cloak in his offhand and whirled it about his arm, his accursed sword clattering against dark elven iron in three passes. Markus pushed the drucchi back, ignoring the wound and fighting with a controlled savagery. The dark elf face was unreadable behind his helm, but a strangled cry rang out from him when Sketti shattered the drucchi's leg from behind with a metal rod. The elf went to his knees, and the dwarf placed the rod at the elf's neck and crushed his windpipe with his stout muscles.

All around the cohesion of the dark elves had been shattered and they fought one against two or three of Markus' crew, one by one being cut down or leaping over the side of the ship, unwilling to die for a mere human vessel. The towering Halfdan himself picked up a dark elf and threw the screaming raider further than Markus thought possible. Markus didn't see where the dark elf landed in the gloom, but he heard the splash.

"Captain!" Brod bellowed, the normally pot-bellied man looking positively lean compared to his normal self from the lack of food he had been provided the past fortnight. Markus rushed over to him, and the man pointed over the stern. Dark elves were scrambling, but one wearing an ornate devil-horned shoulder guard cape roared in their vile tongue, organizing the swordsmen who trickled in from the commotion. Even a few of the ones that had jumped ship had crawled back onto the docks and went to rally themselves by their commander.

"We need to get this ship moving," Markus said, but even as he spoke the words, he saw the dark elf commander stumble. The captain looked to his left and saw Idrin lowering a crossbow, the string still quivering. Unfortunately the commander wasn't dead, however. He rose back up and waved his hand, shields rising from the staggered formation, quickly gaining cohesion to protect their lord. Markus cursed and ran back to the deck, crying out to raise anchor and get the sails down. He knew there was no wind, but if they could at least get out of the docks they would find the gale they needed. As men ran to their posts, he saw Eckard nearly stumble over Emmaline. Her bottom in the air and her eyes on the deck with his navigational equipment.

"What are you doing, woman!?" Markus demanded as he hurried over to her.

"I'm just about..." Emmaline replied, furiously scratching runes and sigils into the deck, she added a final flourish. "Done!" Golden energy lit the runes, pouring out as though lit from golden fires beneath. The tempreature plummeted and the hot dense air of the Druchii's slave pens plunged downwards to fill the gap. The sails luffed and began to fill even as ice crystals began to form around the tafrails. Markus turned to scream orders, but the terrified sailors needed no instructions. They hauled the canvas tight and the Hammer began to move, no faster than a saunter, out towards the main harbor. The dark elves had formed a compact wall of shields and were moving along the quay sheltering from the crossbow bolts and improvised projectiles being hurled by the fleeing pirates. It was a shame that none of the guns would bear on the tight packed formation. Emmaline saw that they were making for a great chain that was sunk beneath the canal, clearly intended to seal the way to the harbor.

Morek evidently saw the problem too. He grabbed a barrel of powder and leaped over the side onto the quay. Howling an oath to Grimnir he charged towards the dark elves. Emmaline saw fire spark on the barrel a few moment before the dwarf charged through the shield wall, earning several cuts as he dove between the spear blades. His meaty shoulder struck where two shields joined and he crashed through in a confusion of flailing arms and legs. The powder keg went up with a concussive boom that rattled Emmaline's teeth. The formation flew appart in a gout of flame and fire, shields and spears flying in all directions. Several limbs and a couple of helms hit the Hammer's deck in a series of thumps. Emmaline balled her fists with the effort of concentrating, keeping the arcane wind blowing as canal behind them froze over.

"In a minute..." she gasped, "we are going to have to deal with that skank of a pony riding sorceress."

"Bastard! He stole my idea!" Sketti roared, shaking his fist as the scorch mark that was once Morek. Markus wasn't extremely knowledgeable in the subtleties of dwarf culture, but he imagined a non-slayer going out in a blaze of glory in front of one who had taken the death-oath was much like a cat panting and wagging its tail. Either way, his death was what they needed to make it out so Markus wouldn't begrudge the departed dwarf. The Hammer lazily floated out of the maw of the great cavern and into the cloudy weather of the night. Rain still pelted the deck, but the maelstrom had died down to a mere tantrum of a storm.

Markus looked up and saw the silhouette of the sorceress eclipse the small glimpse of the moon, riding upon her flying steed and raising a staff. Markus felt the hairs on his skin raise, and he felt a heat radiate on him. He had the briefest moment to consider the implications before he leaped, and a pillar of light pierced his position on the ship just the next second. Wood splintered with the flash of lightning, but luckily it didn't cut through the entirety of the caravel.

Out of the gloom a spasm of dark mystic missiles streaked through the air and hit poor Holdman. As the druchii magic entered his form, he had a single second to give a look of depair before he began to wrack with something inside his body. He convulsed with such violence that when he hit the ground he bounced as he clawed his very eyes out, blood seeping out of every orifice. Brod tried to get a hold of him but Holdman's boot hit him in the chest, sending him sprawling as Holdman let out a final gurgle and died. Had the pirates been a more charitable bunch he might have hurt many more in his death throes. No doubt the sorceress had counted on humans to be less selfish than dark elves, but everyone aboard was too pragmatic or afraid to vainly help Holdman. The man began drowning in his own blood, and Markus did him the favor of severing his neck so he might not have to die from suffocation.

"Why isn't she attacking the ship?" Sketti asked after firing a pistol at the witch, who was far enough away to nimbly dodge it.

"They want our ship." Markus explained, drawing his blade, bledwydyr, out of Holdman's corpse. "Likely with some plot to dupe an imperial trading port in some scheme. I can appreciate that, but not with my bloody ship!"

"Can't you do something about that?" Markus yelled at Emmaline as another blast of arcane energy slashed down, blasting a smoking hole in the decking. Emmaline ducked under the spray of splinters with a squwak. Now they were clear of the of the tunnel the storm winds filled the sails to billowing. The Hammer took the bone in her teeth, picking up speed as the she made her way across the dark harbour.

"Magic you idiot!" Markus roared in exasperation. Emmaline put her hands on her hips.

"Oh really, use magic?" she snarked, then ducked under a blast of arcane energy that shattered ten feet of bulwark to splinters. It was one thing to work a few minor spells, but to go up against a sorceress who might very well remember a time before Sigmar strode the land.

"Well we have to do something!" Markus roared.

"Captain!" Sketti shouted, pointing a finger at the entrance to the harbor. A great chain was raising slowly from the water, dripping black droplets down in an ebon rain. Emmaline watched in horror as their escape was slowly but surely closed off.

"Guns!" Emmaline shouted, "ready a broadside!" She didn't have time to explain the plan to Markus, so she simply ran down the companion way to the gun deck. Markus' bellow sent most of the crew running down after her, barefeet slapping the deck as they came. The crew seized the ropes and hauled, running the guns out in a series of rattling booms. Emmaline climbed on to the first cannon, wrapping her arms and legs around it.

"Uhh... Ma'am..." Calder, an old salt from Hochland, asked.

"Not that we don't appreciate the view," he continued, making a gesture to her rump as she clung to the gun. "But we will need to aim"

"Don't worry about that that, just fire when I say! Markus, hard a... left!" she shouted. Emmaline began chanting and fortunately Markus must have heard because the Hammer began to slew to port. The quatering wind became following, straining the canvas and piling on speed.

"We can't even see!" Calder protested, Emmaline's body blocking what limited view there was through the gun port. Emmaline ignored him, watching the dark elf chain as it rose from the water, following the line to where it met the stone in a great black iron ring. Arcane words spilled from her lips and hostile spells lashed down from above, but due to the turn, the bulk of the ship was now between Emmaline and the elven sorceress. The pegasus screamed in anger as the witch dove towards the ship.

"Fire!" Emmaline shouted and heard the snap of the flintlock a moment before the gun went off with a collosal crash of exploding powder. Emmaline clung on to the barrel as it rocketed backwards until it snugged up against the ropes, the sudden jolt sending her flying back into the surprised crew and bearing them to the ground.

"Back to...right!" she shouted but Markus had already seen what had happened. With a little arcane encouragement the ball flew true. Shattering the masonry that secured the ring in a spray of black stone. The chain dropped into the harbor like a decapitated snake. There was a cheer from the crew still on deck as they scented freedom.

Emmaline staggered up onto the deck in time to that the sorceress and her pegasus had swooped down, hovering a score of feet above the harbor entrance. Dark energy was gathering around her, coalecing into a spear of dark energy. It was impossible to be sure what the spell was, but she knew it couldn't be good.

"Have any other ideas?" Markus demanded.

"Just one," Emmaline responded. She waited another few moments while the fell strike gathered, and then threw her hands up. The chain exploded upwards from the water like a serpent. The pegasus realized it's peril a half second before a ton of steel hit it from below, the end of it glowing gold with the spell Emmaline's cannonball had carried had been burned into the link. The creature screamed as its legs and rib cage were pulped by the blow, it screamed it's death scream and fell from the sky. The sorceress leaped free, her dark spell fogotten as she lifted away from her dying steed on wings of darkness. Emmaline swatted at her with the chain but the ancient elf brushed it away with ease. The Hammer was racing between the tower now, a storm of bolts stabbing into the hull. A moment later they were free, bursting out into the open sea.