[IC] Gold & Glory: AU thread

[POOHEAD189]

A fat rat scrambled out of the ruined pile of what Markus could only guess at to scamper down the alleyway, fleeing from his approach. If looks could kill, the vermin's heart would have seized on the spot. Fortunately for it, Markus looked at everything in a similar fashion at the current moment, though he didn't exactly know why. Yes Emmaline ran off, and Sketti had too just before he'd made it within a mile to the docks, claiming he would go and try and find good deals on supplies tomorrow. However, on the bright side, he hadn't been killed or thrown out of the council. Indeed he and his crew had been given the chance of a lifetime! A slim chance, but still a rare one. Maybe he'd feel better after a good rest and a bottle of rum in his cabin.

The dockmaster gave him a wide berth as soon as he saw Markus, the Captain striding determinedly with his sword out to deter any would-be thieves. Markus didn't acknowledge him, instead turning down the wharves that led to The Hammer contentedly swaying on the soft swells of the sea. A distant call of 'Cap'n ho!' was answered by the same call further aft, and the gangplank was hurriedly lowered for his arrival. Markus looked up to find Morgan standing there, hailing him with a smile, clearly glad to see Markus still alive. It was why Markus trusted him. The man could be Captain in a heartbeat were Markus to perish, but he clearly did not wish it.

As Captain Flintbrook stepped onto the Maindeck, Morgan clapped him on the back. Halfdan and Holdman were topside as well, moving the last of the barrels into position to be better hauled tomorrow.

"Either the negotiations went well or they didn't happen at all." The Quartermaster commented. Markus did not wish to go into too much detail yet, but he wouldn't lie either.

"They...happened. We have a shot, but it's a long one. Tomorrow I want to sell everything, and then buy back as much provisions as this ship can carry." He replied in a whisper, walking with him towards the stairs that led down into the gallery. "I don't care if we sell the last of our coffers. Everything goes save the men's wage."

Morgan raised a bushy eyebrow at that. "I suspect there's something of a story there. The golden woman didn't tell us a word." The older man shrugged and would have gone downstairs had the Captain not halted in his tracks, simply looking at him. Morgan gave him a strange look, clearly perplexed and almost concerned. "What?"

"Emmaline is here?"

"Aye, she got here a bit ago. Had the lads draw her a bath-" Markus blinked incredulously. Bath water was taken from the drinking water, that might actually cost them! He thought of the fat rat that had scampered in front of him not a mile away, strutting out of the filth to scavenge some more elsewhere. "-She's in your cabin now...I thought you knew that."

Markus turned, the venom dripping from his words. "Must have slipped my mind." As Morgan watched him stalk toward his cabin, he shook his head.

"You sure she's worth this, lad?"

Markus didn't look back. "I'll handle it."

[Penny]

Emmaline lay back in the bath luxuriating in the hot water. It was difficult to heat enough water for a warm bath on a ship, the expenditure of firewood alone was very expensive, but fortunately a spell that would warm water was something even a novice could master within a few weeks. The tub itself was a large cask which had been halved when the top had been damaged and the interior sealed with copper. It was large enough for Emmaline to sit in with her knees drawn up and she was able to rinse her hair by emptying a jug over her head. Soap was less easy to come by. Sailors in general and pirates in particular, were not as a rule interested in bathing. Apparently the previous captain had felt much the same way as there was no soap to be found. Doubtless she could pick some up in the morning, or the afternoon more likely, when she went ashore.

She had stripped off her soaked clothes and dropped them into the tub. The silver she had taken from Von Roberts, perhaps a hundred pieces had survived her escape, lay in an upturned hat by the side of the bed, allowing her to run her fingers through the glittering metal at leisure. When she had hit the water, the weight of metal had carried her to the bottom. Fortunately she had been able to use a spell to breathe, a good thing because a trio of musket balls had drawn trails through the water close to her, though they were no danger by the time the reached her, it was clear that surfacing would have had its own problems. Walking to shore she had noticed that Von Roberts had men on the waterfront watching for her, or her body she supposed as they doubtless assumed she had drowned, and had been left with no choice but to walk along the harbor bottom to reach the Hammer, an exhausting and unpleasant task. Several pieces of silver had been used up to create arcane lights for the trek and it was a good thing a moon was up or people might have noticed phantom lights beneath the water.

It was a shame that her pistol had not gone off, she suspected that Von Roberts was not the sort to live and let live and though she was no sailor, it seemed pretty clear to her that bigger meant better when it came to ships. The code of Sartosa prevented ships in harbor from attacking one and other, but she was starting to wish she had started a convenient fire on the Sea Drake before she left. Emmaline picked up a comb, bought with her from her bagage when the last ship had been captured, and began to work it through her hair, tugging out bits of seaweed and driftwood that had become lodged in her golden locks. She had nearly completed the task when the door banged open. She gasped and covered herself with her hands before she realized it was Markus, who looked like he had lost a shilling and found a copper. She cocked an interogative eyebrow at him.

[POOHEAD189]

The next day

---

The sound of the clinking coins would have pleased any pirate, so it was fortunate Markus gave most of the lads the day off. The closest person that would perk up would be a certain golden witch Markus knew of, but she was far too busy at the moment. Morgan let the last bit slip into the large sack before tying it up as tight as a noose, handing it to Markus on the aft castle. Below, the elderly prisoner turned crewman and Brod were hauling off the last of the spices they had gotten from that Estalian ship they had yanked Emmaline and the cook off of. It did fetch them a pretty penny, and Sketti had come back with a good lead on where to go and sell the ornate arms and armor from the Dark Elves. All of it would go save a few hauberks and a sword Markus kept to himself.

Sartosa was strange looking in the daytime. The buildings were far less large and intimidating, and the castleships that rose twice as high as the largest brigantine Markus had ever seen had an almost comical quality to it. Not that he would underestimate the mangy dogs that dwelt here. He had heard enough legends about them to not take their fleet or savagery lightly. The keep and the buildings further up the rise in the land were formidable in stature and loftiness, to their credit. Coconut trees dotted the coast streets and tufts of grass burst out of any ground that wasn't covered with wood or stone.

"Might want to get a cat." Morgan commented, being able to partially determine Markus's thoughts. "Might get some vermin on the ship if we stay too long."

"We'll leave soon. Just keep the ship steady, old friend." The Captain reiterated, tying the coins to his belt. Below them, the carriage all of the barrels had been hauled on suddenly kicked up as the mule team began their canter. The tradesman had a kind face compared to what Markus had expected of a Sartosan resident, but he didn't let his guard down in their negotiations. Everyone here was as shrewd as a Tilean whore when it came to business. "Witch! Take a break. You're coming with me so I can keep an eye on you."

The Captain stepped down the stairwell to the main deck, amused at Emmaline's bedraggled appearance. Maybe next time she would keep him privvy to her sudden bursts of inspiration. With the men gone, he had her scrubbing every bit of the top deck, burnishing the windows and even sanding the masts. She wasn't finished, but he decided she'd had enough. The woman looked positively miserable, not used to working at anything except a way to keep herself from working.

Markus took the rag out of her hand, nodding to his cabin with authority. "We'll leave in ten. Get yourself cleaned up." She could hear the grin on his face next "Oh and wear that dress you came in on. We want the buyer to be suitably impressed in all aspects."
@Penny

[Penny]

Emmaline glared daggers at Markus as she dropped the Sigmar stone back into the basket. She avoided stamping a foot by a colossal effort of will before stalking back to the cabin. Slipping inside she latched the door and pulled off her clothing, swabbing herself down with a sponge, making no effort to hurry. Once she had cleansed herself of the mornings labor she took a comb and began combing her hair, patiently delivering the one hundred strokes until it regained something of its bounce. Finally she changed into the silken dress she had worn when she had first been captured. The dress was not better for having some of its stitching plucked out as improvised sucher. Even so it qualified as finery in Sartosa. Her palms were red from pushing the heavy sanding stone, though for a miracle she had managed to mostly maintain her nails. For sheer spite she waited a few minutes more before finally emerging from the cabin just as Morgan was reaching for the latched. The senior privateer gave her a frustrated glance which Emmaline did not deign to notice.

"Ten minutes?" Markus asked acidly as she joined him on the gangplank.

"It takes as long as it takes, if you like I can go back and put on makeup," she returned testily. Realistically she didn't have any makeup, though there were supplies on board with which she thought she could make a serviceable rogue and perhaps lip powder.

Markus seemed on the verge of reprimanding her further but glanced up at the sun and then walked down the gangplank. Emmaline followed as they made their way through the streets. Pirates in various stages of post-inebriation groaned and lamented their lots in life, most more ore less laying where they had fallen when their money or capacity had given out the previous night. There were no bodies actually visible, though Emmaline suspected that might be because they had been picked clean and tossed wherever was coinvent and out of sight. They moved up to a series of rickety looking warehouse that were built close to the dock but high enough to avoid the moisture from the harbor.

The spice merchants warehouse was near the outskirts, and was in somewhat better repair of the structure doubtlessly reflected the high price of the good stored within. Across the square stood a stockade of spaced timbers which had been woven with rope which looked to be discarded rigging from ships. The resulting cage was not particularly sturdy, but the several dozen captives inside had little incentive to go anywhere. Beyond the five or six bored looking guards with coach guns and halberds, there literally was no where for them to go. Emmaline gave them a curious glance and caught sight of a strange figure. Slipping away from Markus she crossed the square to the cage. A couple of the guards made half hearted proportions, but they seemed more interested in nursing their sore heads. The prisoner who had caught Emmaline's eye was a rangy man in his late forties. His skin was a dark mahogany and he was naked save for a loin cloth and a strange head dress that seemed to be a woven towel. He was sitting cross legged by the fence with his palms pressed together. As she watched he opened his arms and moved his hands through a series of graceful motions. It wasn't magic, though it clearly had the appearance of ritual.

"Are you looking for anything in particular madam or do you just wish to watch and old man do yoga?" he asked, his dark brown eyes cracking open.

"Who are you?" she asked, gripping the rope that separated them. He chuckled.

"That is not really your question is it?" he replied, continuing to move through his ritual. Emmaline considered it.

"Are you from Ind?" she asked, earing herself another chuckle.

"I am Rajad Singh," he replied. One of the guards took a concerned step towards Emmaline but she held up a hand in bar. The guard paused. He didn't know who Emmaline was, but she was dressed well enough that she might be someone.

"Right but that wasn't my question," She returned. Rajad chuckled again, the sound coming easily and naturally to his lips.

"Gracious lady I am from Salan, which is not Ind to me, but is to you," he replied equably. Emmaline turned to the guard, catching sight of Markus across the square looking none to pleased. His hand rested on the butt of one of his pistols and though it would have been a long shot she wouldn't have bet he couldn't hit the guard if he had to.

"I wan't this man out of here," she told the guard. The pirate goggled at her, the fellow probably would have been less shocked if she slapped him.

"Look here miss, these slaves are waiting to be sold, you can bid on them like everyone..." he trailed off as Emmaline lowered her hand into a pouch and produced a pair of gold coins. The guard licked his lips nervously and glanced at his fellows.

"I.. err suppose, if you squared all of us, its possible that this slave might have died of a fever," one of the older guards said, glancing around at the rest of the guard detachment to ensure his fellows were in agreements, which judging by their hungry looks they enthusiastically were. Emmaline produced a handful of gold and passed it out. Once the coins were distributed they pushed the slaves back from a gate with their halberds and then escorted the unresisting Rajad out before sealing it once more.

"Right now bugger off before anyone else sees you," the spokesman for the group declared. Some pirate captain had just been cheated of his fee, though possibly he would be squared by the guards for his trouble. Emmaline guestured to Rajad and walked back across the square towards Markus.

"You are to be my mistress then?" he asked in his thick accent.

"Yes, no, sort of," she replied, uncertain of how exactly to procced. Rajad's face cracked into an unsettlingly white smile.

"Thank you for clearing that up," he mocked. Emmaline, already not best pleased with how her morning was going shot him a hard look.

"If I am not a slave, then I could go anywhere I suppose, I don't need to follow you," he pointed out. Emmaline snickered.

"Those coins I gave the guards were counterfeit, and when they figure it out they will probably try to recapture you if they don't string you up by your wedding tackle. Your best bet is to get out of port as quickly as possible," she explained.

"Ah," Rajad said bobbing his head in acknowledgement, "In that case I believe I will follow you as you direct."

[POOHEAD189]

"I'll give you twenty crowns each." the fellow said; a lowdown fast talker if Markus had ever seen one. Slick backed hair and sporting a coat he must have cheated a rich merchant out of. He was a lanky man, slightly taller than the Captain, likely uninhibited by fleeting emotions such as "empathy" and "compassion." Markus had already spoken to a few men on prices, but in the market square he suspected to find some more established men with the coin to actually be able to pay for such a rare trove of arms and armor. While his hopes of being paid had yet to be met, this man here did tick every disreputable mark of a truly successful sartosan salesman.

"Two hundred each," Markus replied, his manner calm and his tone matter-of-fact. At this reasonable proclamation, the man guffawed incredulously. Even Markus laughed, though there was no mirth in his He was either a fool or trying to pull a fast one, and considering where they were, the latter was not only the most probable outcome, but the objective truth. The fellow stepped closer and whispered, as if they were committing a truly surreptitious affair.

"Forty crowns for a new partnership, eh?" He said, peeking over his shoulder as if he expected people to be dropping eaves. He didn't notice Markus' hand closing about the hilt of a knife, cautious as always. "I can see you'll be coming back a lot. Any man what can bring druchii arms is one to be rightly feared. If I were you I'd get rid of them quickly, before others start gnawing at your heels, eh?"

It was Markus' turn to lean in, and he said softly. "It's a big island. I'll find another buyer."

The look on the man's face as Markus turned to walk away was a mixture of contempt and shock. "Hold you damned pirate bastard!" He snapped, losing the facade of the trustworthy and magnanimous merchant. "Ok ok! A hundred and twenty crowns for each, and you'll not find a better deal on this Gods forsaken island! Go and find out if you think differently, wretch!" Markus turned back to see him red in the face, a pleading in his eyes. This time Markus did have some mirth.

"Sold. Was that so hard?" He asked as the salesman straightened his coat, smoothing his hair again to bring back the pleasant disguise.

The two conversed for another minute before the transaction took place, Markus receiving the sum he had hoped for. He knew the leech of a man would get double that when he sold it, but he had contacts and Markus did not. He had the money he and his crew needed. Raising the small chest of coins in appreciation to the man, who had given him the name Gilderoy, he turned back to see something his crew didn't need.

Emmaline spoke to what appeared to be a new manservant. Someone he wasn't entirely keen on having aboard his ship. Her blue eyes brightened when she saw him approaching, introducing the Ind man Rajad with a showy bow and wave of her hands, as of presenting a gift to Markus.

"No." said the Captain, nearly tripping up Emmaline's supposed grace. As she caught herself, he continued. "I never said you could have a manservant, and we don't have room or the provisions for another crewmember."

Emmaline opened her mouth, then closed it, then opened it again. Huffing, she whispered. "I bought this man with my own counterfeit money and promised him passage on our ship. I am a woman of my word!" He waited, letting her realize the cognitive dissonance of that statement. He watched her face contort through the five stages of grief before she clutched his jacket, fluttering her lashes. "Please? Please, please please?"

He looked away, sighing. She begged further and he raised his hands. "Ok, ok! Blessed Gods of the Old World save me, yes ok he can come with us. But he's your baggage until he proves he's of worth. And you-" Markus stopped, having noticed a strange, alien stillness in the air. He looked around and saw half of the people who had congregated in the marketsquare had fled, the rest now quiet and stepping back. At first he thought it was because he and Emmaline had made a scene, but when his dark eyes looked passed her golden hair, he saw six men standing in a line, straddling one of the lanes that connected to the square. At their head was who he could only guess was Von Roberts, watching both he and Emmaline like a wolf on the prowl.

"Let go of me and find cover." He told her, his eyes not leaving the men.

[Penny]

"Flintbrook is it," the man whom Markus had correctly identified as Von Roberts sneered from the alleyway. He was wearing a vest that seemed festooned with pistols, each one thrust through a leather loop. Each hand held a gun as well and there was a sword buckled at his hip. Most of his crew were armed less extravagantly, though along the same lines.

"I didn't think you would be fool enough to leave your ship with only a whore and a dwarf for company," Von Roberts' sneered.

"Depends on the dwarf I s'pose," Sketti rumbled in what Emmaline had come to interpret as laughter. The slayer had unslung his axe and was making experimental cuts at the air, his grotesquely huge muscles bunching.

"I think I can see you off, whore or no whore," Markus called back sneeringly.

"Well just in case, I brought some friends, amazing what a few coins will buy you in this town," Von Roberts yelled back. He had a slight lisp Emmaline didn't remember, until she remembered she had clouted him in the face with her pistol the night before. As he spoke Emmaline saw a dozen more thugs materialize in the other alleys leading to the square.

"As it happens, I'm not a whore!" Emmaline shouted, stepping forward and at an angle that brought her closer to a large dirt filled crate which housed a lemon tree.

"Well... not only," she corrected before drawing herself up, "I'm also a powerful sorceress!" The boast drew laughs and snickers from the crowd.

"Mahila..." Rajad said in a warning tone, his eyes seeming to dart in all directions.

"Behold!" she said and then snapped her fingers. Von Roberts vanished in a roar and a gout of powder smoke. Emmaline threw herself side ways behind the planter a moment before several pistols cracked in her direction, one passing through the tree and sending down a flutter of leaves. Von Roberts stumbled back, slapping at his garments. He was alive but everyone of his pistols had misfired at the the same moment, or been encouraged to misfire when Emmaline had used her own pistol spring to use a spell to cut those of Von Roberts. The pirate looked shocked and outraged.

"Kill them!" he snarled, pulling his sword from his belt and waving his men forward. A score of pirates howled their battle cries and charged across the square, pistols cracking and cutlasses brandished.

[POOHEAD189]

Fool enough? Markus thought sardonically, glaring daggers at Von Roberts. The man had the audacity to presume to dictate his whereabouts and with whom he pleased? The thought passed his mind far less eloquently and far more quickly, producing a scowl even before the pistols on his adversary's baldric went off. He didn't even deign to look at Emmaline as she made her 'debut' as a sartosan sorceress, which he was going to wallop her for since he had told her not to out herself as one just last night. As it stood...

The guns misfired and Von Roberts roared for his men to attack. There was a brief moment of hesitation from his men before they started to move. One who watched Markus would doubtless see the man's cunning gaze. A look a hunting cat would be jealous of. Smoothly and without hurry, he unholstered his flintlock pistol and aimed past the score of men making their way around a fruit cart to kill him and his two companions. His weapon discharged with a crack! No man fell, but a wooden stand collapsed under its own weight. Nineteen hundred pounds of wine barrels rumbled out of a weird contraption on the second floor of a surrounding structure, doubtless used as a clever way to make a tap for party goers at such celebrations such as last night. Markus had seen many things in his relatively young life, but the way four of them men had their bodies bent and twisted under the weight of a barrel falling from ten feet up was an odd sight. Three other men were tripped up from the rolling and the bodies.

Another pistol went off aimed in his direction. A member of the slow moving crowd behind Markus fell with a cry, blood pouring out of his chest. It caused the rest of the crowd to disperse rather quickly. Another three shots went off, Emmaline ducking behind spice barrels while Sketti open fired himself, breaking the legs of a man that wandered too close with his stump arm. Like as not he would have done it to even an innocent man that wandered too close, but thankfully it was an attacker that had his eyes fixed on Markus rather than the Dwarf.

It was then the men reached him, and Markus unsheathed his dark elven sword for the first time in mortal combat. He could feel the blade's thirst emanate off the weapon as he drew it, the blade even blacker under the sun than it would be in shadow, as if to spite the very light of day. Black save the red runes like veins that spread across it like roots. As he pulled it out, the movement alone sent it slicing across to take the arm off the screaming, leading man, Markus stepping past him to hack at a blade flying at his head from the next assailant. The two swords met, grey iron and black steel clanging. The pirate hadn't anticipated Markus still holding his discharged pistol within his off hand, following the slash of his sword with the pistol butt. It cracked into the head of the man, sending him to the floor.

He spun quickly with the movement, tossing his pistol to hit the third man in the chest, staggering him for a second so Markus could duel the next pirate, a surly man with one eye now milky white. He narrowly blocked a chop to the head with his hilt, taking the one eyed man's best surprise attack away from him. He pulled his blade down in a draw cut across the scalp of his opponent, inadvertently bloodying his other eye and sending him screaming back. As the wave of men crashed against him, he cut and thrust furiously, working on pure muscle memory and instinct to stay alive in the maelstrom of fists and blades.

[Penny]

"Can you not summon up magics to destroy them?" Rajad asked, his voice surprisingly calm as two more pistol shots thunked into the lemon tree above them. Emmaline couldn't think of any spell that would help, right now there was so much metal whirring around that it was difficult to focus on any one piece of it.

"A magician never reveals her tricks," Emmaline said defensively earning a snort from Rajad. A pirate leaped over the pot intending to outflank Markus. Rajad caught him by the ankle and jerked hard turning a controlled leap into a face plant hard enough to knock the pirate senseless. Emmaline snatched a pistol from his belt and pointed it into the ruck around Markus. The trigger snapped forward and the weapon squibbed with a hiss.

"Oh for Sigmar's sake!" she yelled and hurled the weapon into the mass of pirates, braining one with a crack. Rajad pulled a wicked looking scimitar up off the ground and skewered another pirate that tried to round the planter. The square was a chaos of yells and curses. Von Roberts 'kill him, kill him' echoed off the pavers. Emmaline squirmed around the planter, snatching a lemon of the tree which she hurled at Von Roberts, catching him in the chest. He turned to glare daggers at her.

"I'm going to kill you..."

"Captain Van Roberts is trying to steal the slaves!" Emmaline screamed at the top of her lungs. Across the plaza the half dozen pirates guarding the slave market goggled at her as she run towards them waving her arms. One of them leveled his coach gun. Emmaline dropped to the ground and snapped her fingers. The gun went off with a boom, non lethal at the range but pummeling several of Von Roberts' thugs. The guard stared at his weapon in shock but a pair of pirates turned and fired at him with pistols. Other coach guns began to go off as the pirates who had been focused on Markus began to rush towards the guards.

"Von Roberts is trying to steal the slaves!" she yelled again and started to half crawl half scramble out of the street. Rajad leaped across the square, siezed her by neck and belt and hurled her out of the line of fire. She crashed into a rickety cart, toppling it over as she rolled to her hands and knees.

"You are a very stupid woman," Rajad observed as he reached her side, scimitar smeared with blood. Emmaline saw Von Roberts give Markus one more hate filled glare and then turn to rush down the street.

"Well no arguments here," Emmaline panted. Markus continued to carve a swath through the attackers, who with the lessening of the pressure were clearly thinking hard about the cold embrace of Morr.

[POOHEAD189]

Markus discharged his next firearm through an opponent's stomach, the gun in question stolen from the belt of a deadman during the melee. The exit wound was as large as a kumquat, the bullet and fleshy shrapnel bursting out of the man's lower back. He gasped and sagged, Markus merely sidestepping coldly so the man's last moments of life were filled with the taste of dirt and blood in his opened mouth.

"Demon! He's a demon!" A few of the fleeing men cried, and though the remaining thugs that weren't busy with the slave guards clearly didn't have that opinion of Captain Flintbrook, they had lost their morale and paymaster and withdrew steadily. Markus picked up another pistol and aimed at a fleeing man, only for it 'click' audibly and fire not at all. He holstered it and bent down to wipe his sword, only to notice his blade was as clean as if it had been scrubbed down and dried thoroughly.

It was only then when he noticed some blood, but it was dripping down his brow from a cut he had received. Wincing, he felt something moving in his side, and gingerly he reached down to feel what it could be. His fingers touched a small bullet wound, wet, warm blood kissing his fingers. But a moment later, the pistol ball that he was sure would have been lodged at least a few inches into his body popped out and fell into his waiting hand, still slick with crimson lifeblood.

Grunting, he squared his shoulders, the cuts and bludgeoning he had received seemed to be on a quick mend, though somehow he knew they wouldn't disappear. It was the sword's blood magic. It simply had to be, and he would find out why and how later. As of now, he wouldn't question his good fortune, lest he be in the same position he had been before Emmaline had 'healed' him a week ago. Sheathing it, he turned and spotted the man Emmaline called Rajad with a bloodied sword standing beside the blonde who tried to scramble to her feet.

Despite the healing, Markus still looked a bit rough and battle-worn, though his body was hale and his eyes weren't dimmed of their cunning, dangerous light in the slightest. A quick check and he still had the coins he had been given in the selling of the dark elf arms and armor.

"Back to the ship, we'll sail as soon as we're able. We can buy provisions in the next town. We have enough for a few more weeks." He told them, stalking over the dead bodies and helping Emmaline to her feet.

[Penny]

They raced through the streets of Sartossa as fast as their legs could carry them, which in Markus and Rajad's case was pretty fast but in Emmaline's was somewhat less so.

"You were the one that insisted I wear a dress!" Emmaline protested as Markus all but pulled her along by the wrist. Fortunately there were no ambushes waiting for them. Hired killers tended to grow somewhat squeamish when a dozen of them were cut down in the attempt, and those Von Roberts had hired decided that the fifty percent upfront was probably all they were going to get at good value. The danger now was that the port would be closed because of the incident. Von Roberts as an established pirate would have the advantage if it ended up before the council.

Markus all but hurled Emmaline up the gang plank and onto the hammer, ignoring her squawk of protest as he started bellowing orders to cast of lines. Morgan who had been in the middle of loading stores of dried fish, didn't hesitate, shouting orders through cupped hands and yelling for pirates to roust their mates from whatever bars or brothels they had vanished into. Within ten minutes all but two of the crew, too drunk or perhaps dead to be roused were aboard. Unfortunately the winds and tides did not favor leaving port, infact the making tide was nearly the worst possible time and the sea breeze only confounded matters.

"Boats?" Morgan asked skeptically. Towing the ship out by way of its boats might be the only way to get the Hammer out of harbor before the ebbing tide, but towing a ship against a flow of water was a back breaking exercise.

"We never make it," Markus replied bluntly.

"I have an idea," Emmaline interjected. Morgan glanced sideways at her but continuted talking as though she hadn't spoken.

"We could take our way out, be almost slower than boats the reaches wed have to make, and i'd not bet we dont end up aground if we miss our stays."

"I have an idea!" Emmaline repeated more emphatically.

"Have you become a master sailor witch?" he asked wearily as Markus quirked an eyebrow.

"And get all salty and avast thar ma harties? Perish the thought, but I think I can get the ship out of harbor..."

Emmaline rode the bower anchor down onto one of the ships both in which six sailors stood agog. They all stared in horror as it settled onto the timbers. The boat creaked slightly as they guided it down on the timbers. Emmaline kept her hand on the anchor as she stepped onto the planking, whispering a chant in a low voice.

"Row!" Markus shouted from the prow and the sailors, scrambled to their oars trying not to look at the golden haired woman. They took up the stroke and the boat moved out over the water, pulling the anchor cable behind them. What disturbed them was how easy it was, because they knew that rowing an anchor that weighed upwards of a thousand pounds of bronze and steel should have been a task. Instead the boat rode as lightly as if it were not there at all. They covered the hundred yards of the cables length towards the mouth of the harbor till the rope grew taut.

"Ok put it over the side," Emmaline ordered. The sailors would have been less disturbed to touch a corpse, but the six of them gingerly lifted the anchor, ignoring the fact it weighted no more than a woman and dropped it over the side. The second the anchor left Emmaline's grasp it plunged like the massive weight it was, launching a shower of spray as it sped to the bottom.

"Haul!" the coxain shouted through cupped hands and on the deck of the Hammer, sailors threw their weight against the capstain bars, hauling the ship out into the harbor towards the anchor by main strength. Within ten minutes the Hammer was atop her anchor, the making tide running against her cutwater.

"What do we do now?" one of the sailors asked. Emmaline gave him a sour look and then looked down at her ruined silk dress.

"Yeah well dont say I never did anything for you," she grumbled and then leaped into the water, pulling herself down the cable hand over hand. There was a splash from the Hammer as the second bow anchor was dropped and then she began to rotate slowly around the cable.

"Haul you dogs!" Morgan roared at the boat crew, who obediently began hauling the first anchor up. Once again it weighed almost nothing and a minute later they pulled a spluttering sea weed caked Emmaline and her strangely light anchor up onto the boat. It took two repititions of the process until they were far enough out into the channel that the sails would fill and the Hammer began to move out of the passage at the speed of a walking man. An exhausted looking Emmaline and the full thousand pounds of anchor were hauled back up onto the deck, the sorceress having no strength left to work the spell.

"At least," she gasped, "I out ran my counterfeit money spell."

[POOHEAD189]

The woman tumbled bodily off of the anchor as it was hauled on board, though Markus caught her before she slammed onto the wooden deck. The captain shook his head, wiping her face with a cloth and picking the seaweed out of her hair as he muttered something she couldn't quite catch with her waterlogged ears. He hadn't the time to carry her to his cabin and leave his men, so after a moment of her regaining her strength, he asked her, "Can you stand?"

"Yes," She said.

"You're sure?"

"Yep!"

He set her on her feet and let her go. Her body swayed and her head seemed to weigh as much as the anchor before it whipped down toward the deck. Markus caught her again with a groan of effort, still injured from the previous fight. "Okay girly, let's take you over here." He told her, setting her rump-first against the deck railing of the ship so she could sit and gather her strength. She wasn't the only one loopy, and she would recover within a minute when others in the crew wouldn't. Half of them were three sheets to the wind, so all they need focus on now was making it to open ocean.

"The lot of them have been crackin' jenny's tea cup, eh?" Morgan said, the men behind him fumbling for the oars to keep rowing until they could come about and fix the sails with the wind.

"Sink me, they have." The Captain sighed, running a hand through his mane of hair. It shined even darker in the sunlight, much like his newly acquired accursed sword. He watched the sailors for a moment, but found a smile when Emmaline got to her feet and brushed her hair a bit, now a bit less disoriented from the magic and the sea.

"Where we going now, lad?" Morgan inquired, thinking two steps ahead as a good quartermaster should. "The men'll need supplies in a fortnight, so we'll need to make all speed. I suggest Araby, considering the course you plan for us."

Markus shook his head, one hand resting on the hilt of his sword as if eager to use it again. Not on Morgan, but anyone that dare approach he and his crew. "No, old friend. We're going to Tobaro, the City of Fools. Even Von Roberts and Jaego Roth wouldn't go there with those dangerous rocks. But we will."

[Penny]

“Tobaro,” Morgan grunted looking resigned but not disagreeing.

“Aye, they won’t look for us there, though vittles and supplies will be hellish expensive, given its a desolate hole in the ground.” Morgan was perhaps shading the truth here, spars and rigging and other supplies were plentiful and probably cheap in Tobaro, on account that so many ships wrecked there and were salvaged. Half of those wrecks were said to be the works of the locals of course which didn’t make anyone feel any better about the prospect.

Emmaline cast a look back at the harbor mouth of Sartossa but no ships had made the exit since the Hammer’s unconventional departure. It would be sun down by the time the winds and tides shifted to allow a ship the size of the Sea Drake to put to sea. Of course that gave Von Roberts all the time he needed to gather supplies and recruit his crew.

“He will probably waste his time looking in to the Arabyian harbors,” Markus mused, proving Emmaline wasn’t the only one thinking about pursuit. It made a certain amount of sense, the Sea Drake was half again the size of the Hammer and out gunned her two to one. Von Roberts would be much better served sinking them and then taking on the quest unopposed.

“Sou-souwest till we are out of sight of the peaks, then shape course nor-norwest for Tobara,” Markus ordered. Morgan nodded and looked up at the flapping pennon. Even to Emmaline’s luberly eye she could see that the breeze was freshening. The Hammer was picking up speed as the helm swung onto the more westerly tack, tugging out the sails in a series of deafening cracks which settled into the steady creaking of timbers as the deck began to slant to the wind.

“Well I’m for a bath,” Emmaline remarked, although she was almost dry from her immersions, a rime of salt was forming and making the silk dress rub.

“We don’t have water for…” Morgan began before falling silent as Emmaline shot him a poisonous glare. She lifted her fingers and wiggled them.

“Ill handle my own water, you don’t see me telling you how to sheet a jib or whatever,” she called over her shoulder as she headed for the cabin

[POOHEAD189]

"Sheet a jib" Markus echoed aloud, though whether he was amused or impressed at the lack of understanding, it was hard to tell. He and Morgan stood there, Markus with crossed arms as the men behind him scrambled and slipped over one another at their duties.

"I'll ask you this one last time, lad. You sure about this lass?" He asked, eyeing Markus like he had an enchantment spell cast on him by the woman. "A woman, a sorcerous one at that...bad luck."

"She's useful in unexpected ways." The captain explained, turning to his friend. When he saw Morgan's knowing look, Markus glared at him. "To the crew, not to me...Stop looking at me like that. Move, old man. These lads can't handle the boat so we'll need to till they get their wits about them."

Markus and Morgan, along with what crew were coherent sailed the rest of the day. The Captain showed he had lost none of his potency at sailing, nor had the old sea dog of a quartermaster. It was as the sun set that they turned northwest, and though they saw no pursuit, the setting sun at their fronts would blind anyone looking in their direction. Once night had engulfed the world, Mannslieb and Morrsleib were high in the sky, casting a gale of light upon the sloshing seas. Markus spent much of the night sitting in the messhall with Morgan and Sketti as the other men slept off their hangovers.

The next day, Markus awoke to find he had fallen asleep in the messhall. Not one to fret, he hopped to and whipped the lads to work without mercy. The sun, once it rose, was bright and relentless, yet the sea gave cool wind that blew strongly from the east. Markus could only hope that favored them more than any pursuit, which so far had yet to be seen. They likely weren't to see any, at least on this voyage. No one would suspect them to travel through the Fools Rocks. Once the sun was but two hours from midday, and with the wind with them, Markus began a small exercise he hadn't tried since he had begun sailing.

He took empty bottles of rum they no longer needed (and a full one for himself), and he would grab them by the neck and throw them overboard, shooting them with his pistol and shattering them to a thousand pieces before they hit the water. The men weren't startled after the first, but anyone unused to it and near would hear successive shots and the breaking of glass. It was a credit to his skills, hitting eight out of ten on his first go round, draining the last of the rum he had brought and tossing it next. He hefted his pistol and aimed as it careened toward the sea. Almost too late, he fired. The bottle broke and fell into the waves like shrapnel.

[Penny]

“Veshya Kay Santaan,” Emmaline said carefully annonciating each syllable. Rajad clucked irritably.

“Kee, like a key for a lock,” the former slave responded.

“My gods, you sound like a drunken monkey,” Rajad scolded her sourly. Emmaline rolled her eyes.

“Well your Reikspiell is awful too,” she replied in an insulting imitation of Rajads accent.

“I do not sound like that,” Rajad scowled.

“You sound like a Veshya Kee Santaan,” Emmaline rejoined. Rajad’s eyes rose to the heavens in a prayer of deliverance.

“That was better,” he admitted grudgingly. The pair of them were sitting on the shaded folksail deck in the cross legged pose Rajad had insisted upon. It turned out that Rajad had some experience with ships, though smaller ones than the Hammer and with something called a lateen rig. His basic competence and willingness to help had stood him in good stead with the crew who were suspicious both of his exotic looks and anything to do with Emmaline. While she was happy enough for him to help with pulling on ropes and other nautical nonsense however, Emmaline had bought Rajad with a specific purpose in mind. This was her second lesson in Indi, the language spoken in distant Ind and she felt she was doing fairly well, despite Rajads various colorful metaphors. The strange stretches he insisted on performing, something he called ‘yoga’ were less to her taste but she humored him as part of the teaching process. It would take months to reach Ind, perhaps as many as six depending on the winds, and Emmaline intended to be able to speak the language fluently by the time she arrived. Fortunately she had already learned to speak Brettonian, badly and Tilean, better. She could even get by in Arabyian though she didn’t get much chance to practice. A wide variety of tongues was an asset when it came to learning a new one.
Emmaline like Rajad, he was an interesting man, though he said little enough, it was clear that whatever story had bought him to the Sartosa slave pens was a great one, just as it was clear he had been no mere sailor before his capture. Though he was unceasingly insulting he was also pleased to share his knowledge with her, seeming to view it as a genuine pleasure.

“What is he doing?” Rajad asked, looking forward to the quarterdeck. Emmaline cast an eye down towards the quarterdeck.

“Practising I assume,” Emmaline replied, resting her arms in the position she had seen Rajad use. He clucked and reached out and adjusted her hands.

“Idiot girl,” he muttered. Emmaline extended her middle finger, spoiling the pose for a moment.

“It is wise to practice,” he said neutrally, so neutrally in fact that the rebuke was clear to her.

“I practice,” Emmaline replied defensively. Rajad gave her a hard look.

“You are lazy and self indulgent, you only practise that which interests you,” he scolded her. Emmaline snickered.

“What is the point of gold if not to indulge yourself?” Emmaline asked. Unfortunately any response was cut off by a bellow from above.

“Breakers! Breakers ahead!” They had reached the Fool Rocks.

[POOHEAD189]

"Lower the mainsail!" Markus called to the deck, which Morgan promptly repeated in the crew's ears. It was good fortune they had made good time, lest they might have hit the rocks in the dead of night without any warning. Brod and Holdman rushed to do the captain's bidding as Sketti walked up the stairs that led to the aft castle, his mohawk cresting the rise first. Strangely, the Dwarf's stump hand was now fixed with a hammer. He should have known the eccentric Slayer could make modifications accordingly. Behind him, Klaus the scholar, who had surprisingly decided to remain with the crew, followed in his wake with a book clutched in his manicured fingers. Markus was a bit busy at the moment, placing his hands over the rail and calling to Eckard, who had taken out the lead line and dropped it into the water below. "How deep are we!?"

"Fifteen fathoms, captain!" He called up. In contrasting fashion, the lookout's voice rose to his ears from above. "A mile from the opening, captain!"

"Ye ever been here, lad?" Sketti asked, smoking he pipe he had no doubt nicked from Sartosa. The wind drove the smoke into Klaus' face, the fellow sputtering and moving to the other side of the squat engineer.

"No, have you?" Markus asked as Klaus raised his hand to speak.

"Heard the stories. Them rocks are perilous in more ways than their jagged edges." He rumbled. Markus walked past him, Klaus yet again raising his hand to no avail. "If you'll excuse me gentlemen, I need to take the helm." Klaus followed him as he turned the wheel of the ship, making for the spot he had aimed them for. A jagged, maw-like opening that could fit two ships the size of The Hammer abreast, if they were careful.

"Twelve fathoms!"

"S-sir." Klaus pipped up beside Markus. "Captain Flintbrooks, there could be pirates here."

Markus turned his head to look at him.

"Point taken, but there's further dangers. I've read extensively on the coastline of Tilea during my time employed by the Duke Estaban, of which I and your blonde bint had been previously associated with. There could be monstrous creatures in there. Merwyrms comes to mind, though during my ecological studies I did discover that such beasts frequented the Sea of Claws in greater numbers, but there's something else you should take note of..."

The ship entered the crack in the rock slowly, quietly. Only Eckard's call of "Ten fathoms!" rose, and yet even that call seemed to choke in the heavy silence. Markus gazed around, hawkeyed. He expected brigands to be nestle among the rocks, or vast tentacles to snake out of the crevasses or waterways at any moment. The men huddled close together on deck, though Halfdan and Eckard kept close to the sides to keep watch.

Klaus cleared his throat before continuing. "Sir, there's also mermaids."

The intimidating silence and the perilous rocks that he had to weave through made the scholar's comment so outlandish, Markus snorted and then laughed. "Mermaids? The beautiful sea women?" He asked incredulously. "If we find a few we'll divvy them up among the lads."

"Yes, but! But, they are cruel and revel in the death of men. I've found they are spirits of drowned, scorned women." He looked around warily, doubtless afraid of any of the three monstrous options of foes, though Markus could not for the life of him understand why he mentioned the third. It was at that moment that a keen voice rose over the fog that seemed to creep into their line of sight. A beautiful, ethereal sound that serenaded the heart and beckoned the senses. It encompassed and bounced off the walls of rocks around them, increasing in volume. Markus had never heard something that touched him so since last he was in love. The captain turned to Sketti and the scholar, Klaus looking pale with fear whilst Sketti plucked his pinky into his ear, more annoyed than anything. The Dwarf seemed not effected at all, but Markus didn't care. Markus wanted to find the source of the voice. He needed to feel the soft fingers of the sirens on his neck, their lips on his.

His system jumpstarted, and he realized his mind and heart was racing. He stammered toward the railing, holding his head to try and keep his mind from being led into the song, but he knew he couldn't fight it forever. Below him, Morgan yelled up at him, something stuffed into his ears. But Markus couldn't hear him over the singing. All other men save Morgan seemed even more enchanted than Markus. Emmaline looked curious but unaffected, and that was the last thought that passed through his mind before the elation gripped him again.

[Penny]

Emmaline lifted her head at the sound of the strange time. To her ear it sounded something like the operetos which had been all the rage before she left Altdorf for Tilea. At the time her task had been to get her various 'dates' drunk enough that they would invest in one of Albrect The Magnificent's various cons, something about reworking old mines for silver with arcane techniques. The associaion wasn't a particularly warm one though it had been the handsy merchants and nobles rather than the music that she found objectionable.

"Who is singing?" she demanded, turning her eyes to find Rajad staring out to sea. His body was so tense that the veins in his neck stood out like cords, pulsing and throbbing visibly as she watched. She glanced up to see the sailors making a general rush for the port railing, all except Morgan who looked down right panicked. Ranald's balls even Markus appeared to be staring out over the side like Shyalla was baring her tits!

"Stay," Emmanline commanded and jumped up, leaping down from the forecastle and running along the empty starboard companionway. The hammer was beginning to yaw alarmingly because he quatermaster had apparently abandoned his post. Morgan was making his way to the wheel, alternating between shouting profanity at various sailors and scrambling up the stairs to the quaterdeck. As she went aft Emmaline looked out over the side to try and get a look at whatever was so enrapturing the crew. Fortunately the ship was heeled over to port so she could see over the heads of the crew on that side. Jagged looking rocks eruppted from the ocean in a series of small islands. Well not really islands, they were simply rocks with barnacles coating the lower edges, but on top of the rocks. The sierens were not as beautiful as the ledgends made them out to be, or perhaps they were not to Emmaline's eyes. Sailors gasped love struck and reached out their arms, though the 'women' were still a short cannon shot away. To Emmaline they appeared more like the elves she had seen in Altdorf then women, though their features had a shaper crueler visage than the elder race had worn. Even the crutley of the Dark Elves seemed somewhat tempered. Their necks were puffy, with sacks not unlike those of a bullfrog though less pronounced, and their smiles were filled with wicked teeth.

"Do something!" Morgan shouted as he saw her climb to the quaterdeck obviously still in command of her wits. Emmaline folded her arms.

"Oh sure now you need my help?" she griped. Morgan cocked his head and held a hand to an ear that appeared to be plugged with candle wax.

"What?" he demanded. Emmaline moved her lips but without actually making any sound.

"Speak up damn your eyes!" Morgan bellowed. His eyes flicked nervously from the wheel, to the sailors, to the prow of the ship, trying to steer from memory around the rocks he had seen. There was a sudden splash as one of the sailors, a good looking young man from Marienburg leaped into the water. Emmaline didn't think he could swim, but it turned out to be a moot point as one of the sirens emerged from the water and threw her arms around him before dragging him down beneath the waves. Clearly they were moments away from the whole crew leaping to their deaths in an effort to reach the sirens.

"Got a plan do you blondie?" Sketti asked sourly as he stumped his way up onto the quaterdeck. Evidently the charms of human women or simulated ones held little appeal to the slayer.

"Ummm," Emmaline temporized.

"Inspiring words lass," the Slayer griped. Emmaline put her hand on her hips.

"You know I'm not the only one who can come up with a plan," she complained. Morgan goggled at them.

"Stop talking and DO something!" he roared. Emmaline wished she had something to plug her ears.

"And besides aren't you supposed to want to die?" Emmaline demanded, making a guesture to the singing sirens on the rock.

"Go forth and die bravely or whatever," she instructed. Sketti colored in what Emmaline first thought of as rage, but then to her surprise, realised was embarassment.

"Oh Shyalla's tits you cant swim?" she demanded.

"Never seemed like it was worth the effort," Sketti admitted. The conversation paused at the sound of another sailor leaping to his watery death. Emmaline threw up her hands.

"Fine, Sketti, run and get a barrel of gunpowder and a charge of grapeshot," she ordered. The dwarf, cheered by the mention of explosives, leaped into action, thumping down the deck like an angry elephant.

"You," she yelled at Morgan, "steer for the shore."

"What!?" he yelled unable to hear her, or just horrified by the suggestion.

"Steer. For. The. Shore," Emmaline yelled as though addressing a particularly stupid child. Morgan looked horrified, but turned the wheel over. THere was a thump as the latest mermaid and her lover were hit by thousands of pounds of timber. Well, Emmaline supposed it was better than being eaten.

"They will all jump when we get close!" Morgan protested. Emmaline ignored him and began chanting a spell. She snapped her fingers and a two of the cable ties holding the main course yard in place exploded in a shower of rusted iron. The rigging screamed as the heavy timber came half free, the remaining pair of ties taking up the weight. Ropes parted with twangs as it drew ruin through the rigging, then one of the remaining cable ties fail. The yard came down like a scythe, dragging a wall of canvas behind it that hit the sailors on the port side like a three hundred pound feather mattress. It pitched them inboard and pinned them under the fabric as the final tie gave way. The yard crashed most of the way to the deck, before the dozens of lines tangled around it finally halted its plummet a few feet above the struggling sailors.

"I need that to sail you crazy..." Whatever Morgan had been going to say it was drowned out by Emmaline who had picked up one of the heavy iron tiped rods used to shift the cannons, and begun hammering on the ships bell for all she was worth. The big brass bell boomed deafeningly and constantly as she bashed against it.

[POOHEAD189]

The sailors were pinned like a rat under a boot, but Markus was under no such bondage. A faint cry in the back of his mind kept him from racing off and swan diving into the water, but he couldn't keep himself from approaching, walking down the stairs. Klaus however, was less strong willed. He tried to rush past Markus toward the deck, but the Captain shoved him out of his way and caused him to trip, sending the fool tumbling to hit the deck, knocking him out cold. Markus really didn't care. Instead he headed over to the railing and stuck his head out, clear interest in his eyes as he watched the slim, strange creatures sitting upon the rocks. They beckoned him to join them, and below he saw a dark haired beauty with slender shoulders pop out of the water, smiling with a sly look and showing sharpened teeth.

He had never seen anything so sexy, and for a moment he lifted his leg to vault over the railing, only for the mermaid's head to explode in bone and blood below him. Markus snapped his head around, murder replacing desire to see who dared harm such a creature. Morgan stood beside him with a smoking pistol, and the elder pirate smacked Markus across the face. He was staggered but not taken down. On instinct, he unsheathed his black sword and was about to cut the old codger in two until a loud, obnoxious ringing erupted around him.

"Sigmar's balls!" Markus cried, pressing his hands to his ears and closing his eyes. He opened them to see the equally obnoxious woman behind him looking directly at him and ringing the bell. Slowly, it dawned on him that he was himself again. The noise had been somewhat drowned out. He might still feel a bit of the subtle pull, but it was nothing he couldn't handle. He rose back up and blinked, his murderous anger now directed at the sirens that dared compromise him with their foul witchery!

Within the span of a minute, Markus and Sketti had retrieved one of their barrels of gunpowder and placed it on deck, tying a few of the sail lines around it and running off to prepare a risky maneuver that required cutting the right ropes at the exact time required. Meanwhile, Emmaline strode among the half aroused, half dazed men and rung the bell, cotton stuffed in her ears to keep her own hearing from getting damaged. Markus and Sketti hurried for all their worth, and it was only when Markus gave the signal that Morgan reared back his cutlass to hack the towing line.

With an audible twang, one of the smaller sails swooned and the barrel was suddenly launched starboard like it was shot from a mangonel. The mermaids tossed rocks at the ship, knowing they had no power over a few of the more troublesome sailors. Unfortunately for them, they didn't realize their fate until the barrel was launched. Markus took one of the longrifles, having already shouldered it before the barrel took flight, and he followed the sailing projectile with his sights.

The siren's song was halted by screams, before they were cut into silence when Markus shot the barrel merely two strides over the rocks.

[Penny]

The keg burst in a blast of sooty black smoke shot through with a spurt of flame. At Emmaline's suggestion Sketti had packed a charge of grape shot, essentially bagged musketballs and scrap iron, into the top. One moment the sirens were there and the next they were replaced with shredded piles of flesh. The surface of the ocean hissed like millpond in spring rain for a moment and then returned to is normal gentle swell. One of the pirates, aroused but now lacking any sirens to attract his attention, grabbed Emmaline by the tunic. She hit him in the head with the bell she had been ringing, dropping him to the deck with an unmusical thonk. Having ceased her bell ringing, she plucked one of the pieces of cotton from her ears. The song was gone, replaced only by the caw of sea gulls attracted by the carnage the bursting powder charge had inflicted. Emmaline didn't doubt that there were more, possibly many more of the Siren's beneath the waves, but hopefully the blood smeared rock would serve as a sufficient deterrent against any future attacks on the Hammer.

"Well don't just stand there!" Morgan bellowed at the crew, apparently having removed the wool from his own ears as well.

"Get to work clearing up this mess!" he shouted, waving a hand to indicate the wreckage Emmaline's impromptu wet blanket had made. The sailors peered around for a moment as though puzzled at how such a thing had come to pass before shouted orders and the occasional blow from the bosun got them moving.

"And get to work re-hanging the mainsail yard, Mannan save us we will be lucky if we dont run aground for want of a main course," he barked shooting an irritated look at Emmaline. She offered an extravagant bow in return before moving over to stand beside Markus who was reloading the rifle he had just fired.

"You are welcome," she said smuggly in Morgan's direction.

[POOHEAD189]

"He's just mad that I was right about you." Markus said, smirking as he pulled the ramrod out of the barrel and back in its holder, going through the practice motions of reloading that had been drilled in him since adolescence. He could multitask whilst reloading as easily as one could both breathe and walk.

"About me?" Emmaline asked curiously, turning her golden head to face him.

"Aye," he remarked nonchalantly. "I told Morgan you were valuable to the crew."

"You did?" She asked with a big smile, clearly pleased and placing a hand on his arm.

Markus laughed. "Don't let it go to your head. It might be near empty but that doesn't mean there's a lot of room." Thick skulls and all that, he thought to himself, letting her make the logical conclusion. She caught on quick and gave a huff, raising her hand to smack him across the face. The swordsman caught the arm before it could touch him, snickering. "You can smack me later, but not in front of the men."

"Oh, so you can insult me but I can't slap you?" Emmaline asked, withdrawing her hand like a whip and placing her hands on her hips. She did a middling job at trying to appear as an imperious sorceress when she asked "How is that fair?"

"It's not fair. I'm the captain." He assured her. Their faces were just inches apart now, an almost palpable tension between them. The men on the deck had gathered what minds they still had, feeling a second hangover that was nearly as bad as the one they had gained from Sartosa. Considering Tobaro's reputation, a third one was coming soon.

Before the captain and his woman could begin an argument in earnest, Klaus stirred just a few strides from them. The scholar seemed disoriented, but unharmed saved a nasty bump on his head. Markus and Emmaline blinked and turned to regard the shaken fellow. "Herr Klaus, you were correct." Markus commended him, lowering himself to pick the man up, holding Klaus steady and keeping him from falling back onto the deck. "You'll get a share and a half once we make it to Tobaro."

"Let's just get going, yeah?" Klaus replied weakly.

The rocks of Fool's Rock were still an ever present danger, reaching out with a near perceptible need to scratch the ship. The following day, they were grounded twice, and Markus reorganized the crew into three teams. One on the boat, one to help move it, and another to shoot at anything that moved in the water. Thankfully, by the beginning of the third day, they managed to break through the rockline and find three miles of clear, open water to Tobaro. The only physical threat after the mermaids and the rocks was a stray wyvern attack that ripped open Brod's arm, but nothing that couldn't be healed. The beast had been shot at until it fled, wounded and screeching across the rocks before it disappeared. Now, after making good time and with no possible pursuers, they could relax for a few days at the extravagant City of Fools.

[Penny]

For as much as the passage in was treacherous, the harbor of Tobaro was excellent. The water ran deep right to the quays and only the very largest of ships, ships which would have had difficulty making the passage through the rocks in the first place, needed to anchor rather than simply tie off to a dock. To Emmaline's suprise there were a considerable number of ships in the harbor, mostly from Tilea but with a spattering of other vessels including a sleek Araybian Galleon and one of the narrow high built teak vessels which were reputed to come from the Southlands. There was even an elven vessel, of bright white timber and large triangular sails that road close to the water and looked more like a creature of the sea than something built by mortal hands.

As the Hammer approached a gaggle of small boats began to converge on it. They were too small to threaten the ship, hardly more than row boats with sails and occasionally catamarans in the elven fashion. Men dressed in extravagant finery stood in the bows. Their clothing was of fine quality but in many cases old, and invariably festoned with rolled up scrolls of yellow parchment, as well as a bewildering array of brass instruments which Emmaline could only assume were largely ceremonial. One man, in the nearest boat, raised a brass speaking trumpet to his lips.

"You cannot enter the harbor without engaging a pilot, heave too at once!" the man yelled. Before anyone aboard the Hammer could respond a second boatman shouted through cupped hands.

"Do not do business with that swine, the Aritino family are the best pilots with the best prices!" A score of other boatmen began calling similar things, offering their services to guide the ship. Markus seemed content to ignore the barkers and so Emmaline figured she would as well. She was looking forward to getting ashore, having been more or less on the outs with the captain since their argument following her efforts to save the ship. Far from earning her the crews respect, their seemed to be a universal irritation at her that she had broken the main yard, something which had taken hours of back breaking labor to repair. Emmaline reminded herself to let them drown if a similar situation should once again arise.

"We are already in the harbor," Emmaline mused, "why would we need a pilot?" The question wasn't really directed at anyone but Klaus who was on deck and staring longingly at the approaching land, answered anyway.

"The Navigator families make their living offering passage through the rocks," he explained.

"Well that would have been a huge help on the other side of the rocks," Emmaline replied acidly. Klaus bobbed his head, clearly eager to be able to lecture somebody.

"Its the Siren's feeding season you see, that is why there were not pilots, they normally tether to the outlying rocks and guide ships in, but not during mating season because...well..." he stammered.

"Because they would all get eaten," Emmaline concluded. Klaus nodded, clearly unhappy thinking about the prospect.

"It is also why their are so many ships in harbor, they dont want to ship out before the next full moon," he explained.