Seagulls wheeled over the harbor in Dunholm, screaming in the early morning light. Young boys and girls stood by the drying racks where the fishermen’s catch hung, swatting at the birds whenever they swooped low to peck at the fish. Aelle smiled and watched them a moment, remembering when he was young and scared them himself, waiting for his father to return with the day’s catch. His father had been a man of the sea and passed the love of the water on to his son. And today, Aelle’s love of the sea would be complete, as his ship was about to be launched. He had spent every last copper he could spare and hired the best builders in the North and after a year of waiting, he had received news that the ballast had been set and it was ready to take to sea. Saria was with him, dressed in her fine green dress and the delicate silver necklace he had given her when she arrived in Dunholm, and looked like a queen. Aelle enjoyed having her with him, a beautiful ornament that complemented his status, a status that would be cemented as a sea lord when his ship was in the water. He was beyond thrilled and as he walked down to the last quay on the river side of the port, nearly vibrating in his own skin with excitement as he smelled the tar and hemp of the caulking simmering over a fire on the shingle where his ship waited on log rollers.

“Look at her,” he said, pointing at the ship, long and low with high, curling prows. “She’s a beauty.” The ship’s master builder, a lanky Northman from a village to the east of Dunholm. He had built the thane’s own vessel, a beautiful ship that rode easily over the waves, and the builder assured him that the one that he built for Aelle was even better. She was made of tight grained oak, cut in the hills beyond the port and dragged back on carts to the water’s edge. “Thirty oars a side, but she can go up a bloody creek with a draft like that. She is a bloody masterpiece,” he said, his excitement causing him to stumble over his words like a child. “Come, come aboard and see her!” He nearly dragged Saria along, though this time when he helped her aboard a ship, he steadied her climb rather than throwing her over the side like a sack of grain. He ran his hand over the finished beams of the prow with a snarling dragon carved in the oak, admiring the craftsmanship. “Thirty oars” he continued, “and she cuts through the water like a bloody knife. Most ships, see, they butt against a wave but this beauty, she rides over them. And with a full crew, I am a lord in my own right.” He leapt up onto the prow, leaning out over the bank of the river and laughing like a child. “Now, let’s take this beauty to the main port and get her loaded,” he called to the master builder. With a heave, the slaves on the shingle heaved on their levers and the ship glided out into the river. Aelle took the steering oar, letting the current take him the mile or so back to the main part of the port. The ship shivered as he pulled on the oar, swinging the bow easily toward the banks where Aethelstan had begun to gather supplies.

The keel scraped against the soft sand and slowly stopped and Aelle grinned infectiously at Saria. “We will need to name her, of course, before she goes to sea, but right now…” He trailed off and hugged Saria, spinning her around in his arms. “Now, let’s see what we will call her while we get these supplies aboard and recruit some buggers for the crew. Come down with me to the taverns for a few moments, get some attention, and we’ll have her crewed before the ebb tide.” He helped her down from the bow into the sand, nodding for Aethelstan to get the barrels of ale, dried meats, and bread aboard. “We will be back in an hour or less, Aethelstan. Do whatever you need to get her loaded.” Aelle jogged up the beach to the stone pier, turning around to admire his ship again. “Maker’s Fury,” he muttered to himself, trying to think of a good name, “Sea Wolf, Wave Tamer…” He kept tossing around names as Saria joined him and he directed them to one of the taverns that lined the docks. Wherever there were sailors with coin, there were always ale houses and whorehouses to help part the sailor from the coin, and Aelle picked the most reputable of them, the Bush Inn. As he stepped into the tavern, holding Saria about the waist, he strode to the bar and dropped a heavy sack of silver on the roughhewn pine boards. “For those that do not know me, I am Aelle, master of a new ship in the thane’s fleet. I need a crew for her and I need men who know how to row and how to fight. And,” he said, patting the sack, “I will pay.” He looked out over the men gathered there, drinking from their horns, and watched as their attention was slowly drawn to him. “Come to me here, tell me of your exploits, and my mage here will judge the truth of your words. Do not lie or she will know. Waste my time and risk her anger. Now,” he raised a flagon the barman had left for him, “to one last raid before the winter’s cold!”

It hadn’t taken long for the new raid to be put together after Saria had shown the Northmen the way to the next village. Aelle had even had his own ship built, to be a part of the thane’s fleet, though he would continuously rave about how his vessel was supposedly of higher quality construction. She didn’t know enough about ships to have any idea of that sort of thing, so she would simply agree and restate something he had already said in a way that made it seem like she was complimenting him. In reality, she had no idea what she was talking about when it came to the boat. She saw a boat, next to more boats, things floating in the water that hauled things around like gigantic bloated horses with large cavernous stomachs where their riders would stay.

While she had eventually fixed her original dress, she had tucked it away somewhere. Perhaps she would wear it on the day she found true freedom. The thought still echoed through her mind occasionally, though she had grown almost content with what she had going on in her life now. It would be nice, she thought, to have her own bed though. Aelle could be a bit grabby after enough drink, and it was often hard to fight off his advances without stepping out of line. She had come up with a few tricks, found a few hiding spots, but for the most part it was harmless as he’d end up falling into a drunken slumber before ever getting to her. That was sheer luck, she knew, and she’d prepared herself for the day that there was no escape. It was only a matter of time. While he had grown on her, especially in these past few days with the construction of the vessel nearing completing and his mood being entirely wonderful because of it, she was still resentful deep down. She still had a bit of her that would not forgive what had been done to her home, but she would hold onto that hatred as long as necessary until she were safe to do something about it. For now, Saria simply pushed it to the back of her mind whenever it surfaced.

Aelle was leading her around to board the new vessel, raving about something boat related that she still did not care about. The sooner she was off the boat and onto solid ground again, the better. The sea was not predictable, and she didn’t trust it one bit. She spied the front of the boat, a beautiful intricate dragon carved upon it as if to greet any opposition with the idea that the vessel housed the ferocity of such a beast. Saria smiled to herself, for she had a secret about such things that she would not divulge. While there was no true dragon aboard the vessel, there was her book and that was close enough, now that she was aboard and being dragged about by Aelle. He went off to do more exclaiming and continue his excitement, and she sat nearby as the boat heaved off toward the port. Standing was not her favorite activity during the time the ship was in motion. She was not built to be at sea, she was built to be a librarian or something similar that stayed inside and never went out to sea. Ever.

As the boat found the port sand, Aelle was going on about naming the boat and worked himself up again, catching Saria in a spiraling hug that nearly suffocated her. Sometimes, she thought as she regained her breath, he really did not remember he was as strong as he was. Her ribs expanded back into their appropriate positions after a few exasperated breaths, though she had half expected them to at least be cracked. Aelle was faster than her in general, and given that his current mood rivaled the energy of an excited child, she had given up on trying to run after him, simply taking her time and continuing properly and ladylike. He wasn’t exactly going to leave her behind, after all, she was ‘the mage’ behind the whole operation. She wasn’t terribly thrilled with that idea, either, though she was still grateful to not be a hand in the fields. Sometimes she fretted over how involved with this raid she would have to be, would she have to kill anyone? She knew she could not ever take someone’s life, not unless they had severely harmed her or someone she… Saria stopped herself and moved to a new topic of thought. The new topic she found was how frustrating it was that whenever Aelle was dragging her off somewhere, he was quite literally dragging her off somewhere, quite often grabbing her about the waist and carting her off. As was the case at this moment, as he opened the door to this new tavern where he was expecting to find recruits for the ship and raid. He set both her and his coin down and gathered the attention of the tavern, though she disliked his addition at the end about her.

The mage is judging their words, oh of course, because I am a truth-seer? Aelle, you overstep my abilities and it is not entirely believable. But sobeit, if I am judging these men based on their words I suppose I will have to pay attention now. For dramatic effect, Saria rested her head on her hand and looked bored, delicately blowing a small cloud of flames from between her pursed lips, and gazing almost menacingly at the men of the tavern as smoke trailed from her smirking mouth as she bit her lip playfully. It was not a wild bit of flame, it disappeared once she closed her mouth, but it served her purpose, causing some of the men to think twice about coming near her. No, there is no dragon aboard the ship, but then again… There’s me.

During the preparations for the raid, Saria had spent any time she could working at the book. The page she’d opened her first day in the hall, she could read it now. She could read nearly half of the pages. She knew almost how the book worked, and knew enough to how it wanted her to read it. That was the secret, about the dragons and all. Her book was of the dragons, she was sure. It was their magic held in its pages, and it would only reveal its secret language and powers to whomsoever it deemed worthy of it. So it was not fire she breathed, it was dragon’s fire. But how she had learned that, she would not tell anyone, nor would she tell anyone she was playing with a much more deadly kind of fire. It had affected her mind, slightly. It made her almost cruel, though she was still the compassionate Saria she always was, but it had made her more reserved and much more appreciative of any solitude that she could find, but she assumed that as dragons were rumored to be of such a manner it must be a side effect of having access to their kind of magic. But those were her secrets, things she kept locked inside, that she would not ever let out.

Finding Dun Caric had been a bust. The fort had never been built, Lajaka saw. The terrain was different there, too, but of course only Galin had been deluded enough to build on a barren land and somehow get shit to grow there. She didn't know how he'd managed to pull the latter feat off.

The Highlanders here were a divided people, loyal to their own villages but not much beyond that, unless threatened by an outsider. While Lajaka sounded like one of the North, her accent was a bit off, as was her look. Her mother was from the south, and that's where they'd lived for the first few years of her life. Her father was an arse she'd never met, and if there was any good in the world, she never would. What Lajaka did have going for her was her knowledge of the geography, and she'd been able to guess where people might have settled, even if she didn't know the name of the village; good ground was still good ground. More importantly, she could fight with the best of them, and that would be her way in.

Finding Dunholm had been something of an accident. Lajaka had wanted to go south, hoping that she might find her ma there. That meant going east, and getting on board a ship. How, she wasn't sure; most of her coin had been spent getting armour, a shield, and a long knife. Her preference was for heavier armour and a two-handed weapon, but she couldn't afford either. Gear acquired, Lajaka went to a tavern for a pint.

Though it was early, the place was filling up. Sailors by the look of them, which suited her just fine, since she was looking to get on a boat. Lajaka was approaching the bar she she felt someone's hand on the curve of her ass. She might have shrugged it off, but then he grabbed her hips and pulled her into his lap. The man was older than she was, with half a nose, and a patchy beard that did little to hide his scars.

"Aren't you a fierce-looking lass," he said.

"Aren't you an ugly son-of-a-bitch," Lajaka retorted, trying to stand back up.

He held her firm. "Been a long time since I've had someone pretty like you. I got a place nearby, come back with me."

She considered it for half a heartbeat, then shook her head. "I think your cock is doin' the lookin' instead of your eyes." Again, she tried to get up, and again again, he held on.

"I wasn't asking," he said, and buried his face in her breasts. In response, Lajaka elbowed him in the ribs. When he lifted his head in surprise, she added an uppercut, and pulled free. She went to the bar, and fortunately, he didn't try to follow, his attention now turned to the door, as a man walked in, holding a pretty young woman in a green dress about the waist.

The man walked to the bar and dropped a sack of silver on the boards. He introduced himself as Aelle, and said he was the master of a ship. Lajaka's ears perked when he mentioned that he was looking for a crew, and he was planning to pay. She didn't know where they were going, but a ship and the promise of pay was far better than anything else she had. What was interesting was his comment about a mage who would be able to tell whether or not a person was lying, indicating the woman with him. That especially caught Lajaka's interest.

Men lined up to join Aelle's crew, telling of their exploits. The man who had groped Lajaka was there, and she fell in behind him. A bruise was forming on his jaw, visible though the patches of his beard. When it came her turn, she pointed at him and said, "I'm called Lajaka, and I gave him the bruise he's wearin'." She leaned in closer to Aelle to prevent the men from hearing her next words. "Can that witch really tell you if a man's lyin'? I ain't sure that she can… but I can."

Leofric looked up from his mead and sighed. Another drunk was groping another woman and the world, it seemed, continued to turn. He scratched his beard and shook his head as he watched the woman try and disengage from the drunk's attentions and begun to chuckle. If he judged the wild looking woman right, which he thought he had, there was going to be a very sorry man and a very angry woman in a matter of seconds. When the drunk pressed his head into her chest, Leofric smirked as the woman handled him neatly, leaving the ugly man bruised and his pride shaken. Leofric raised his horn in a silent toast to the fiery woman and then returned to his solitary drink. As a native of the port city, Leofric knew that she was a newcomer and was half tempted to make her acquaintance but he decided against it for the moment as Aelle made his entrance.

Unlike the woman, Leofric knew Aelle from the thane’s hall. The blustering, good natured warrior was often a guest there and Leofric, with his father a member of the thane’s household guard, had come to know Aelle well, as well as his woman. It seemed that the raiding of the last year had been good to the tall fighter, as he now was the captain of his own ship. Leofric sipped his mead, considering that change of fortune. Aelle was a man on the rise and if he played his hand right, Leofric thought, Aelle could elevate his status as well. After the War, Leofric was a well established man, owning his own mail, sword, and mount. During the fighting, he had taken a lord of Adeluna captive and ransomed him back to his family for the weight of his sword and shield in silver. The wealth was enough to elevate him but after the war, his rise was not as meteoritic and it began to wear on him. He hoped to be a lord, not in the manner of Aelle with his ship, but like the Lords of the south, controlling a vast tract of land as his own domain, without worry for the complaints of lesser men. Aelle, if his raid brought wealth, could elevate Leofric again, and the man drank down his mead as he relished the thought.

He joined the queue forming by Aelle and, when he caught his drinking companion's eye, nodded gravely. The ship's master returned the nod with a knowing wink and Leofric knew his position with Aelle was secure. Less so, though, was the feisty redhead's place and he watched with interest as the woman explained her qualifications with the marks on her erstwhile suitor's face. Aelle seemed amused and welcomed her to the crew. Taking his opportunity, Leofric stalked over to her. A woman with her sort of mettle could be a valuable ally and he wanted to ensure that his would be her first friendship among her new crew.

"Fine work back there," he said as he approached her with an easy smile. "Not that I can fault the ugly bastard for his taste, of course," he continued, chuckling as he passed her an ale from a cluster of full tankards at the end of the bar. "Though I do wonder if you can properly best a man that hasn't lost half his wits and a his nose. Perhaps a wager. A silver crescent…" He pulled one out of his pouch and slammed it onto the low table next to them, and took a seat across from her. "That crescent says I will finish my pint and pin your arm to that table without breaking a sweat. And, before you get bested, you should know your vanquisher's name. Leofric of Dunholm, and it will be a pleasure to destroy you." So, mug in his left hand and his right arm propped on the tabletop, he waited to see if the woman had the stones to accept his wager.

Aelle nodded as the men processed toward him, listening as each gave their tale, explaining why they were warriors of renown enough to join his crew on the raid south.  Some of them he knew from the town, fishermen's sons who wanted to earn their first silver with a blade rather than a net, petty criminals who preferred a chance to change their fortune in war rather than face a hangman's noose if the thane was so inclined, and some, like his occasional companion Leofric, were bored fighters looking to grow their reputation through deeds of valor and great plunder.  It was not the best crew that a man could hope for, like the well trained, disciplined men who had stood in a shield wall together and lived to tell the tale in Cwynr’s crew.  But it was a start, Aelle told himself and he watched the men staring at Saria with fear as they told their tales.  Her fire trick had done its work and the men believed in her power.

He remembered the first day she had deciphered the book and learned to breathe fire. Saria had come running into the hall, smoke billowing from her mouth and nose. Aelle had been practicing with his axe in the clearing behind his hall when he heard her excited shouts and rushed to investigate. By the time he entered the hall, she was shooting flames from her mouth into the hearth and Cadarn was growling from the furthest corner of the hall. He was impressed but he reminded her that her magic had to be kept well hidden until the proper time, but it was not enough to dampen her enthusiasm for the mysterious book of spells. Rather, it only seemed to deepen it and she learned more and more as she studied whenever her mimimal duties around the household allowed.

He rejected some of the men outright, with their clipped ears and noses that showed them to be thieves and oath breakers. He needed men that knew how to kill but men that he could trust to have his back in a fight. A man who could not be trusted not to steal from his neighbors was not one that Aelle would trust in his crew without a good reason. The man ahead of Lajaka was just such a man, a man whose sentence was carried on his face and the ship master barely listened to his stories before waving him away. The woman after him made Aelle chuckle. "Audacious. I see he had it coming? And not just for being an ugly bastard, I hope." Her comment about being able to showcase the power that he had attributed to Saria made him stiffen a fraction, then incline his head toward the green-clad mage. "So, what do you think of this one, Saria? She looks to know her business but a woman on a ship can bring terribly bad luck…"

"Even an ugly son-of-a-bitch needs a fuck every now and then," Lajaka replied, grinning at Aelle. "But he didn't seem inclined to let me have a drink first, and I'd hit any man who got between me and the bar." That wasn't the whole of it, of course. Mostly, she'd hit him because he wanted to have her, and might have forced her had she not hit him. But that was likely obvious to anyone watching, and a jest was more like to win her friends.

Aelle's next words were to the young woman beside him, and Lajaka wonder if she'd made a mistake in telling him she knew when a man was lying. The witch could spit fire, but knowing she could a lie made him stiff? Wasn't even magic, not really. His comment to the mage about women on a ship made her think he was hesitating, however. "That's superstitious bullshit and you know it. Besides, unlike some of these boys, I've been in a fight before, I've been bloodied, and more importantly, I've bloodied other men. You want me in this fight."

Once her place on the crew was assured, Lajaka went to the end of the bar where tankards were being set out. Again, a man got between her and a drink, but when he smiled, she recognized him as the man who had toasted her after she'd hit her half-nosed assailant. He handed her a drink and complimented her work. She smiled back, but wondered if he had an agenda of some kind. Then came the challenge, and her smile turned to a smirk

"Well, Leofric of Dunholm," she began, taking the seat across from him, "I am Lajaka of no place in particular, and I'll take your wager. In fact," she added, pulling out a coin of her own, "This crescent says you won't finish that pint. And the pleasure's all mine." Kicking off her boots and rolling up her sleeves, Lajaka extended her own right arm to Leofric. She was vaguely aware that people were watching, but her eyes were locked on the man across from her, trying to get the measure of him.

Leofric was a large man, and Lajaka's hand seemed small when locked with his. He was strong, too, judging by the size of his arm. Lajaka was deceptively strong herself, but she rarely won contests like this on physical prowess alone.

"On three," she said. "One. Two. Three." As they began, Lajaka reached out with her foot until she touched Leofric's leg. She was barely able to hold off defeat as she inched her way up his calf, then regained ground as she moved along his thigh. All the while, she kept her gaze locked on his face, watching his expression, and acting accordingly. Finally, her foot found the prize, and Lajaka used his momentary surprise to pin his hand to the table. Without letting go, she whooped, then grabbed her tankard with her left hand and gulped it down.

"Another!" Lajaka called. "For both of us!" Leaning forward, she spoke in a quieter tone so only Leofric could hear, "Perhaps the pleasure wasn't all mine," and she winked.

"So what do you think of the crew," Aelle asked as he leaned closer to Saria.  "I know they don't seem like much but some have been in a proper fight before and that's something I'll need.  The villages will be a bit wary after what we've been doing up and down the coast, so we may be in for more of a fight when the time comes to it."  Aelle sounded like he was trying to convince himself as much as anyone else, and he sank into a seat alongside the young mage.  It was an exhausting thing, talking to all those people, trying to discern which he could trust and which were simply looking to take his silver and leave him.  Cwynr's men were all seasoned warriors, men who trusted each other as brothers and could be trusted by their leader in turn.  Such sorts of men were hard to come by and Aelle hoped that some of the men he had recruited that day would be men that he would keep after the voyage and turn them into the core of his own permanent crew.

"It is a bit of a worry that I've just taken whatever scraps were left in a Dunholm tavern and turned them into my crew, but there is nothing else I can really do," he said, half to Saria and half just to himself.  "It's the raid that worries me," he continued.  "After the ruckus we caused in the south already, the folks that are left will be on alert, so it won't be as easy, you know?  And these are the men I have to use in a shield wall, and if the fighting's a proper one, I am not sure all of them will be the sort to stand their ground."  He took a long drink, silently considering the men.  Some looked the part and many were able to talk the part, but it would not matter if they could not stand when shield met shield and the ground was trampled with boots and wet with blood.  It was a risk, but it was one Aelle knew he had to take.  He would never gain renown if he served another all his life so he would have to make the best of the crew he had.  "It's just strange," he muttered, this time to himself alone.

Shaking off the worry for a moment, he turned back to Saria.  "I know you hate ships but I will need you by me through this.  Even if you are not part of the fight, your presence will put fear into the village and the crew, keep one terrified and the other in line.  I can't trust all of them, but the fear of being burned to a cinder will do nicely.  Now, while they drink with my silver, we will check on the ship.  Aethelstan should have most of it provisioned by now, but I need to make sure that bastard knows I am in a hurry.  Come with me," he said as he pushed himself out of his chair and headed to the door.

"When you bastards finish your pints, come down to the quay and ask for me.  Aelle, and the ship is Maker's Fury.  If you are late, I will sail without you then kick your sorry arse when I come back for drinking my ale and deserting me.  Now, enjoy!"  With that, he strode out of the tavern, Saria at his side, and went to the docks, to his ship.  It was, he hoped, the beginning of an exciting story, one that would be sung by bards for generations. 

The group Aelle had assembled was something that amounted to a ragtag team of lowlives, but Saria didn’t know any better. There was one that was even a woman, which completely threw her off, as she had thought Aelle might immediately dismiss her due to her sex. But, not against Saria’s wishes but against her assumption, even she was accepted. There was one person whose acceptance irked Saria, someone who had not even waited in line, he had simply gestured back and forth with Aelle and assumed a position based off of that. She was curious and suspicious of this man, for she had not had a chance to really look upon him and judge what kind of scourge or scum of the world he might be. 

When Aelle began talking to himself, Saria would only nod. Was he trying to convince himself that this group of people was really as honorable and tough as Cwynr’s crew might be?  Her own worry about that issue shifted its grounding as he again reminded her that she was going to be going through this. Her stomach was already leaping about inside her simply at the thought. If only she could figure out a magical cure for seasickness, she would have no problem with this. Hesitantly, she rose and followed Aelle out of the building, down through the streets toward the ship. Once the two came upon the ship, Saria had a question burning in her mind that she needed to ask.

 “Lord Aelle, am I going to be expected to do any sort of fighting in this battle? I know I am slightly learned in this magic but I am not sure I am of the caliber, physically or spiritually, that I might take the life of another… I will not refuse to aid you but I must know if you will want me to be… a real player in this. I have never been in a real battle before, the only exposure I have to fighting was the time when your people raided my village…” Saria was not only curious about this, but actually quite worried as well. She would not be comfortable fighting others. She would not feel right taking a life. She would help, maybe set a fire or two to send people running, but she would not be able to kill, that was certain. There was another thought, lodged deep within the back of her mind, that needed to know information about this particular instance. If the men were to all surge forward, leaving Saria behind in the dust and out of sight, it might provide her with enough time to attempt her escape. Only if the trees were close enough to provide cover, but if they were… It was something she was seriously considering. Aelle would be occupied, she would have moments of freedom away from his lands and control, and she might finally be able to make a break for freedom. Aelle was not so cruel a master as she had originally feared, but she still loathed being a thrall to anyone and craved her freedom. Could she get to any of the nearby villages she would no doubt be able to find refuge and safety with those people. It was only a maybe sort-of plan. but it still crossed her mind enough to make it worth remembering. 

Some men feared the sea. It was unpredictable, dangerous, and vast and for most men, that spelled disaster. As the canvas sail stretched in a brisk southerly wind, Aelle thought that he would never understand that sort of man. The sea was freedom and power to carve his own destiny from the lands of Revaliir. It was dangerous but there was no reward without danger. He leaned against the steering oar, forcing the bow of the ship to the east, toward the lee shore. The wind from the seaward side was starting to pick up as the cold winds off the northern mountains and as the chill met the warm winds from the rainforest, squalls began to form, waves breaking white in the wind. Aelle, having grown up on the ocean, knew those sorts of squalls could destroy a ship, even one as well built as Maker’s Fury. “Row! Row hard!” The men at the oars heaved the ash poles forward their blades cut through the water, trying to speed the ship toward a sheltered cove.

Drowning, the old fishermen said, was not a pleasant way to die and Aelle did not want to test that judgment. He leaned hard against the steering oar, feeling the oak vibrating against his arms and side, as though the ship were fighting against his instructions. The keel of the longship bit deep into a wave and the pull of the oars sent her careening over the top, landing in the lull between waves with a wet smack. “Saria, bail. Down in the hold with the ballast, get every bucket you can out of there. We cannot afford a single extra drop. Go!” Pushing the mage toward the hold, he pressed on the steering oar with his full weight, the oak blade biting against the current as the ship limped toward the cove. “Anyone who isn’t pulling an oar, get your arses down to the ballast and help Saria. Now! Move or we’re all buggered!” As a few men scrambled below the rowers’ benches, Aelle head an ominous creaking and looked up at the single mast of the ship. With the change in the wind’s direction, the strain on the sail and rigging was threatening to crack the solid oak mast and founder the ship.

Snarling with effort, Aelle took a length of hemp rope and tied it around the tiller, leaving the course plotted toward the calmer inlet with its high cliffs that would protect the ship from the ravages of the sea. With the course set, Aelle reached under the steering bench and dragged out his war axe. The Northman was usually able to walk easily with the ship’s rolling but the squalls had come up too fast, rocking the ship back and forth as it struggled toward the shore, so he staggered between the benches until he made it to the mast. Steadying himself a moment, he swung the heavy axe at the taunt rigging, splitting the hemp rope in a single stroke. The loose end whipped around and nearly knocked Aelle off his feet but he grabbed the gunwale just in time to avoid plunging headlong into the churning sea. Swaying again, he crossed the belly of the ship and slashed the opposite rigging rope, letting the sail flap free. Now it was the oars against the current and Aelle hoped that the rowers were equal to the task.

With the danger of the sail and mast splitting averted, Aelle took his place against the steering oar and unlooped the rope to take control of the oar again himself. The cove was close at hand but the shore was littered with rocks and the squalls would turn what usually were peaceful channels into dangerous shallows to stave in the boards of his hull. Praying to the Maker and the spirits of the sea, Aelle adjusted the course to avoid a dangerous rock that peeked from the surf ahead. “Pull, you bastards. Pull! We’re nearly there!” Each stroke of the oars brought them closer to safety but with the squalls picking up and the wind howling over the sea, every second they were out of the cove could spell disaster. Aelle just prayed his luck would hold and the sea would not take him just yet.

I hate boats I hate the ocean I hate this more than anything and I want to die now was repeating over and over in Saria’s mind as the boat tossed about in the midst of the stormy sea. Her stomach was not happy, and she was finding it hard to think about anything aside from not throwing up with each churning wave that rocked the boat and seemed to be trying to force her to vomit with just the force of the waves. When the boat smacked down over the largest rift of the tide and Aelle pushed Saria to go start pulling the excess water out of the boat and throw it back into the ocean… or whatever she was supposed to do. Her mind was too caught up in her seasickness, especially during this storm, to really think of it, as she climbed her way to the hold. It was not terribly filled yet, but it could be soon if the waves and tide continued to throw about the vessel. After a few buckets heaved out, Saria was quite exhausted and even more nauseous, and started to crumple down into a ball of nausea. She was panicking inside, she didn’t want to risk Aelle catching her slacking off in a time of need, but she needed to sit down or else she was going to end up vomiting all over everyone. But the water was still there, and she wished it could just disappear into thin air… 

That’s when she had an idea. Moving quickly, Saria ducked under the floor beneath the rowers, climbing under the beams and trying to make her way to the front where the most water seemed to be. She didn’t want anyone to see what she was going to do. Once she found the front of the ship, holding on the wall of the ship she took in a deep breath and ducked under water, then faced the back of the ship and exhaled, blowing fire through the water. About a third of the water was instantly evaporated, and steam billowed up and out of the space. What was left sloshed back together, creating a lesser flood in the boat, one that was much more manageable.

Saria grinned, forgetting her nausea momentarily as she was so pleased with herself. This would be easier than she thought, she could simply boil the water away! With a small fireball dwelling around her hand, Saria immersed it within the remaining floodwater and watched as it all bubbled and steamed with a look of satisfaction. After a minute or so it had completely evaporated, leaving just a trace of salt lining the wood now. Saria was excited and proud of herself, and realized she was also now incredibly tired. As she went to stand, her stomach reacted. Her eyes bulged, and she leapt for the bucket she had been using to bail, retching everything in her stomach into it. She thought she might be okay now, for a moment, until the feeling returned and she heaved again. As she pulled her face from the bucket and wiped her mouth, she was overcome with the fatigue brought on by how much magic she had just used. Instantly, her vision went dark and she fell unconscious.