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Logs

Action at Sea!

Tags: Chebba,  Conalmir,  Galadhechil,  Elusul,  Lominzil,  Pharazil

Short Summary: A ship of Gondor meets a Corsair-ship of Umbar; a duel ensues.
Date (real-life): 2011-07-20
Scene Location: Bay of Umbar, West
Date (in-game): June 3053
Time of Day: Morning
Weather: Sunny

 

Bay of Umbar, West
         The sheltered waters of the Bay of Umbar shine brightly under the southern Sun. The cool waters of the open sea mix nervously with the warmer of the bay. Several miles across and many more deep, small fishing villages line the coast and inhabit many of the various sized islands that lay across the bay.
         The mouth of the bay curves in and becomes noticebly narrower. At the very tip of either side of the bay's mouth lay two fortresses, each surrounded by a small village and many rows of crops cooking under the sun. To the east the bay becomes much wider, a large city is easily seen off in the distance as are many larger islands inbetween.
Contents:
Gaergwing(#25110VXaeM)
Obvious exits:
 North leads to The Cove <North of the Feifdoms>.
 SouthWest leads to Open Sea.
 West leads to Bay of Belfalas.
 Caldur Docks leads to Caldur's Docks.
 East leads to Bay of Umbar, Central.

==============================
Gaergwing(#25110VXaeM)

The ships of Gondor are legends in their own right. Though long ago were the Ship-Kings of old, the skill and magesty of their vision is still fully realized in this vessel. Each rope is tied down and in it's place -- ne'er a loose strand lay anywhere ondeck. The wood and plankings are hued a ruddy brown, and brass cappings shine bright, set over the exposed ends of beams. From stem to stern, she is clean and masterfully wrought. From the polished hull, rows of long-handled oars protrude. Their blades slice neatly at the water.

High above, strung on the mighty masts, are the brilliant white sails of the ship. The wind gently buffets them, and the canvas snaps and ripples -- as if anxious to take full-on the winds, and set out to break the cresting waves. High atop the mast flutters the red banner of war.

<CREW MEMBERS> Type: +SHIPHELP for commands and helpfiles.

On Board:
Conalmir
Lominzil
Obvious Exits:
 Out <O> leads to Bay of Umbar, West
 Below Deck <BD> leads to Gaergwing: Below Deck
==============================
 
The Prince's Ship Gaergwing cruises along in a southeasterly direction this fine sunny morning. With the wind coming in off the wide ocean from the west, the sails are trimmed and the ship is making excellent time. The lookouts have a clear view in all directions; they watch in particular the east where a dark line at the very edge of the horizon indicates the coast is near.

 
"Smoke ho, Captain!" comes the cry from the Gaergwing's high nest; the sailor atop it lowers his telescope and points west, to where a thin line of smoke rises high into the morning sky.


Conalmir goes about his duties, glancing up now and then himself towards the coast - then stopping and wheeling around to stare westward.

 
Lominzil comes on the deck of the Gaergwing, an armful of maps pinned beneath his elbow.

 
Elusul is standing close by the wheel with the quartermaster when the call comes down from above that smoke has been sighted. The captain swings around, a telescope already in hand, and he takes a look. Words are spoken to the quartermaster and petty officers and the men are quick to prepare to come around to beat into the wind. The captain looks to Conalmir and then the newly arrived Lominzil. "Smoke out at sea. Maybe someone's burning one of our merchantmen. Let's go see what it is all about."


Conal's hand drops to touch his sword. "Aye, Captain," he answers, bracing as the ship heels over.

 
"I did not know our merchants traded near this island, sir," Lominzil says, referencing one of the maps.

 
The plume of smoke grows taller and wider as the Gaergwing slices through the waves, drawing nearer to its source. Beyond, the outermost of those numberless ocean-hugging islands infested with the Southrons can be seen, but much nearer, the source of the smoke comes into view.

Tis a trader, indeed, but not one from Pelargir, or Dol Amroth, or any other Gondorian port. It is a trading vessel of Umbarean design, and its black sails fly the sigil of the Harbour Tower.

And why does it burn? Because a second ship assails it, a sleek raider that shares its prey's black sails but nothing else... not marking upon sail-cloth, nor name upon prow, nor any other identifying feature. A distant horn can be heard; the raider has caught sight of the Gondorian vessel drawing ever near, and distant black figures are seen to scurry back and forth, some manning battle stations while others seize the last of their prey's loot.


The elder squire has moved to the railing, gripping it with both hands and squinting into the west. "Sir," he says abruptly. "Both ships have black sails - they fight amongst themselves. We should leave them to it; perhaps they will slaughter each other and save us the trouble."
 

Galadhechil has been up top, tieing down his grandmother's last hankerchief to catch as much as possible. With the ease, the old sailor slips to the deck to report in.

Laughing he says, "no honor among thieves, is there?"

 
Lominzil's question is left unanswered by Elusul as the captain watches in silence through his telescope the smoke grow and grow as Gaergwing tacks first one way and then the other as it beats west.

Soon it is clear the merchantman is not one of theirs and even more clear that the predator has seen them and is stirring.

Elusul nods at the elder squire. "Perhaps, but it seems they've spotted us. If we run, they have the wind behind them and I don't like the odds of a chase. Clear for action!"

 
Lominzil hands the maps off and hurries off along the deck, standing by one of the ballistae.


Conalmir nods as seamen spring to obey the captain's order.

 
Galadhechil's knoted cord finds the rear of a sailor not moving fast enough for the master's liking!

 
The raider slowly begins to pull away from the trader, which is beginning to list. Fire has fully consumed its aft, and on its decks is a scene of slaughter: dozens of sailors and a handful of Corsairs dead upon each other's blades. The raider's position gives the Gaergwing the advantage though, as the process of cutting itself loose from the sinking trader has slowed its otherwise fleet profile.

There is a whoosh as a flight of arrows are suddenly unleashed, arching high into the sky and then falling short of the approaching Gondorian the vessel. A warning? Or simple enthusiasm?

 
Gaergwing takes advantage as it closes swiftly. Ballistas are fired and archers line up to send over a volley of arrows. At the current range, it is hit and miss, but both ships are closing quickly and in only moments, it looks like there will be fighting on the decks!

Elusul turns to find Lominzil and calls out over the din, "Master-at-arms, time to prove your own master's words! Prepare to repel boarders!"

 
Galadhechil draws his own weapon immediately. Though his face is stern and his expression grim, the gleam of his sunken eyes betray a hint of bloodlust.

"Remember lads, keep the important lookin' ones alive so our captain can question them. But the rest: show them no mercy."

 
"Yes, sir!" Lominzil shouts, firing off a final round of ballistae and then pulling his longsword one-handed from its sheath.


As they near, Conalmir sets his hand to his sword. A little closer, and he draws it. A glance at those around him, and then his focus is on the nearing raider. If he is nervous in this, his first battle at sea as a squire in his prince's colors, he doesn't show it, save that perhaps his lips are thin and white from being pressed together. But there is a fierce light in his eyes - though not the bloodlust Galadhechil betrays.

 
The raider's archers and ballistae answer fire, but they are forced to discard their bows as soon as they have done so, for the Gaergwing is upon them. A line of warriors is drawn up to face the Gondorians bearing down on them; a motley group of misfit Corsairs, to be sure, though the eyes of some burn with a fanatical fire, and others have drawn Eyes upon their brows and chests with the blood of their recent victims. Vulgar howls and curses are thrown out, and some are on the verge of breaking their battle order, though discipline is maintained by the whip of a grim First Mate who evidently inspires more fear in them than their foes.

And the Captain? He can be seen behind, a tall and cat-like figure in black and red who scowls at his enemies.

 
The two ships are going to sideswipe each other! They are that close. Ballistas aboard the Gondorian ship are fired at point blank range as grappling hooks are thrown out to catch the ship with no name and pull it in. Men line the rails and get ready to leap across the chasm. First among them is the captain Elusul who pulls out his longsword and jumps as soon as he can! "AMROTH! AMROTH AND GONDOR!"


From the deck of the Gaergwing,  
Galadhechil glances over his shoulder to make sure the crew is following. But he's not let any shirkers keep blood from his sword! The master is right behind Elusul, climbing up onto a rail and then leaping across space to the enemy ship!


From the deck of the Gaergwing,  
"Who ordered death?" Lominzil asks doucely, kicking back a few hooks that have bit into the railing of the Gaergwing, lashing out at those who climb over.


From the deck of the Gaergwing, Conalmir is climbing to the railing himself, preparing to leap after his captain. He glances back at Lominzil's comment, and jerks his head towards the raiders. "That one," he says grimly. "The Eye..."

==============================
The Ship with no Name

An Umbarean raider of sleek design and unassuming outfit. Black sails bear neither sigil nor emblem, a sharp prow is writ with no name, and no flag flies from its stern.

On board:
Galadhechil
Conalmir
Chebba
Pharazil
==============================

They are an odd group of Corsairs, those that face the men of Dol Amroth; quite unlike the disciplined reavers that serve the Tower Lords, or even the motley raiders that serve no one save themselves and the Laws of Umbar. Some are as skilled and fearsome as the elites of Seaward and Farside, while others are little more than thugs-at-sea, having neither discipline nor training. And there are those that seemed gripped by the darkest and most terrible of zeals, calling out the Dark Lord as they hew at their enemies.

So it is that while those Gondorians who board nearest to the bow of the raider find themselves sorely assailed, Elusul and those who follow find their opponents melting away before them, slain by longsword or otherwise disappearing into the screaming, bloody melee.

But what of their Captain, the man in black-and-red? Strangely, he lingers away from the battle upon the stairs to the forecastle, watching the battle with... apprehension?

 
Elusul's sword flashes this way and that, the captain hewing a path forward. A young seaman beside him comes into a bit of trouble and Elusul turns quickly to flank the corsair and send him to his death. The seaman grins and salutes his captain before turning to meet another opponent. As the tide goes by all around him, the sea-knight has a moment to stop and look around. Quickly he spots Pharazil, a man looking all to conspicuous. The knight starts in that direction.


Conalmir is separated from his captain by a few men, but he is having no trouble - as of yet. One man stares at him, then turns and openly flees. Conal stares after him, then shakes his head. This moment of astonished inattention is almost his downfall, for he barely gets his sword up in time to meet a flashing downstroke from another, not-so-cowardly, raider.

 
Lominzil balances on the outstretched boarding pikes -- they are so thick, now, as to form a plank-like bridge -- and springs onto the unnamed ship's deck, lunging into the thick of the fray.

 
Immediately after reaching the enemy deck, Galadhechil is wounded as a Corsair slashes at an unprotected arm. With a houl of pain and rage, the master falls upon the man with a fury. After a short and vicious duel, Galad traps the other man's sword against the deck and punches him squarely in the nose!


The Corsair's Captain continues his idle observation of the battle, not moving from the steps, though he pulls a displeased face when a Gondorian seaman falls to the deck within a few feet of him, and he waves away the Corsair responsible. "Chebba? Chebba!" he cries irritably, looking around for the one whose name he calls, and it is doing so that he catches the eye of the Gondorian Captain now turned towards him. He frowns back, as if that might dissuade the man, but when Elusul begins in his direction, the Southron's eyes shoot up and he begins to retreat up the stairs. "CHEBBA?!"


Elsewhere, the battle rages on. The Corsair thus punched in the nose by Galadhechil falls back, but he is replaced by two more; a small snarling man of darkest skin, and a willowy woman of seemingly refined Umbarean birth. Two Eye-fanatics charge at Conalmir and Lominzil, penning them into the thick of the fray.


Elusul is near enough to hear this calling out. "<Haradaic> Is that your bodyguard? Too cowardly to fight, cur!" He pushes aside a raider who gets in his way and then dodges a blow and kicks a man in the groin to gain the bottom of the steps to the forecastle.


Disengaging, thrusting, parrying, Conalmir manages to hold his own - though his opponent is more skilled than he. The deck heaves, and the squire is forced back, until the foot of the man before him slides on a puddle of blood. The small loss of balance is enough for Conal to make it past the raider's guard - the man falls gurgling to the deck.
 

The cloth sling that holds Lominzil's arm to his chest is replaced by a sleeve of leather. He suffers a few good prods that push him backwards, but sidesteps the next attack and brings his sword neatly across.

 
Galadhechil screams as his prey falls away, denying him his hard earned kill. The master trades sword strokes with the dark man and the woman, being forced to give way to avoid their dastardly two-pronged attack!


The Corsair Captain pauses, and then suddenly draws himself up proudly. In accented but perfect Westron, he answers: "You dare call me cur, Northman? I am Pharazil the Red Bastard, terror of the seas!" Then, in the moment that Elusul spends kicking his next foe in the groin, he turns and jumps from the stairs, attempting to flee across the deck. Unfortunately, he finds his way blocked by Conalmir, whose foe is crawling back into the shadows, still clutching his wound and gurgling out all manner of gross profanities.

"Aie!" the Captain lets out a shriek at the unexpected sight of the Squire, lifting his shield and glancing back towards Elusul.


Lominzil's foe catches the blade on his bracer, though it bites deep enough to draw blood, and a cry of pain.

And Galadechil's twain? They seek to drive him back to the Gaergwing, though the dark-skinned man slips on the blood coating the deck and is forced to try and scramble away as quickly as he can.

 
Elusul turns back and calls out in the Common Speech, "Take him alive!" He rushes after Pharazil, kicking and pushing all who try to stop him or get in his way.


Pharazil snarls, but he finds himself cornered, trapped between the rushing Swan-knight, the Tarikhori Squire, and the bloody melee. He draws up his shield, eyes darting forth between his two immediate foes, waiting for them to attack.

 
"Ah, thats more like it!" The dark man's misforture is the woman's misfortune as well. Galadhechil goes on the attack, using brute force to overpower his foe's skill with her sword.

"Woman, give and I'll give you a clean death!"

 
"Trap him, Conal!" Lominzil calls over the chaos, dealing his foe another series of attacks.


Conalmir is panting, a streak of blood adorning his face and drying on his tunic. He doesn't attack straight away, but holds his sword up, ready, slightly crouched and waiting - ready to move to block any attempt at escape. A long shallow cut along one arm burns, but doesn't incapacitate.


"I'm sure that's more than what you give to the little wenches you have to pay to get into bed!" cackles the woman back at Galadechil, who upon closer inspection can be seen to have only one ear.

"Gimme a kiss, pale one," she says says in her husky Umbarean accent, confidence unflagging even as she is driven back across the deck. "Then let me cut the liver from you. It'll be the finest night o' your life."


"If you are the terror of the seas," the squire says drily to the enemy, "Why do you seek to flee? Can't fight your own battles?"
 

Elusul attacks Pharazil, his bloody sword slicing at the captain's midsection. "Die like a cur," he calls in Westron.

You blindly attack Pharazil with your Longsword...
Pharazil dodges your attack.


"You know nothing, Gondorian," Pharazil spits at Conalmir, who upon closer inspection can be seen to have the haughty features and terrible nobility of the Black Numenoreans wit true, though hardened here by a life at sea and marred by the coarseness of his manner. "Terror is a power best exercised ca--"

His words are cut off as Elusul swings, to which the so-named Red Bastard answers with a girlish yelp. He falls back against the high forecastle, scimitar before him.

ARB: Pharazil has "passed" on his turn to attack.

 
Elusul grunts as Pharazil falls back. "Come with us or die here?" He pauses. "You're trapped, you have no other choice."

You forego your chance to attack.


Conalmir's eyebrows raise. "Best exercised by cowardice?" he asks, pressing forward, sword lifted. He pauses his swing though as his Captain speaks, waiting for Pharazil's reply.


"I can stand here all day," notes Pharazil, gesturing to the still-raging battle.

 
Galadhechil grins ear to ear as he presses his attack. "I'll stick you with my sword before I stick you with anything of mine! Safer, indeed, but only just."

And then the flow of battle interrupts the duel as Galad is pushed away by a pair of rogues trying to make an escape.

 
Elusul looks at the raging battle and then Conalmir before turning back to Pharazil. "You're a rogue who attacks your own kind. A pirate. I have no true need to take you alive. You have decided you wish to die!"

Elusul lifts again his longsword to renew the attack.
You blindly attack Pharazil with your Longsword...
Your attack against Pharazil lightly wounds him!


Pharazil opens his mouth again to answer, but this time he is cut short ere he even speaks. Elusul's blow strikes true, and blood is drawn; a deep gash upon his arm. The Corsair's eyes fall, incredulous, to his own blood, and then a change comes over him; the 'prudence' that seems to characterize his moves is instead replaced by something darker, perhaps terrible in its portent. Murder is in his eyes, but there are no more words in his mouth.

Lifting his shield, the Red Bastard attacks, his scimitar coming down towards Elusul's left shoulder in a heavy attack.

Pharazil attacks you with his Scimitar!...
Pharazil attacks Elusul with his Scimitar, but he misses by a mile.
...and he misses!


Conalmir nods slightly at Elusul's words, and darts in with his own sword also, swinging towards Pharazil's legs.

Conalmir attacks Pharazil with his Longsword, but he misses by an arm's length.

 
Elusul is missed by the scimitar and he quickly counters with a thrust meant to bypass the shield and stab at Pharazil's middle.

You attack Pharazil with your Longsword...
Pharazil dodges your attack.


Pharazil is swift upon his feet, and a master swordsman; though his art is not that of the longsword, but the heavy and brutal scimitar. Seeming not even to notice the Squire yet, whose blow falls wide, as does Elusul's second, he hurls himself upon the Swan-knight again, bringing his blade up above his head and then down heavily towards his chest.


Pharazil attacks you with his Scimitar!...
...and he hits! Ouch!


The rest of the battle recedes into a blur of noise. Conalmir's first swing missing entirely, the squire pulls back a second, then attacks again while Pharazil is focused on the captain.

Conalmir attacks Pharazil with his Longsword, but he misses by a long shot.

 
The studded leather does its job, but still, Pharazil's blade cuts deep and blood issues forth as Elusul staggers back, face contorting in pain. Knowing he is outmatched, he calls to Conalmir: "Leave him be, fall back!"

You forego your chance to attack.


A cruel smile crosses the Red Bastard's face as Elusul falls back and cries out. "Outmatched?" he asks, ducking Conalmir's swing and turning towards him.

"Perish!" he commands of the Squire, bringing his scimitar in a wide arch towards Conalmir's side. "Perish for the Great Lord!"

Pharazil attacks Conalmir with his Scimitar and severely wounds him!

 
A corsair slips off Lomin's blade, the Eye on his chest pierced. Grimly, the Blue Squire stalks forward, towards the enemy captain and his own.


Arm upraised to strike again, Conalmir stops himself at Elusul's order. Too late - a terrible blow strikes his side, ribs breaking under the impact. He staggers back, with a cry of agony, blood streaming down his side, and falls.

 
At the captain's earlier cry, a mob of Gondorian seaman head towards him and Conalmir. They arrive as one to push back Pharazil and give Elusul a moment to sheath his blade and take up Conalmir on his shoulder. Crying out, "Fall back to the ship, he heads for the rail across the slippery deck.


Like a river undamned, Pharazil now rages, setting about any unfortunate foes who near him with a terrible slaughter; perhaps even a member of his own crew who follows his previous eamples of cowardice. Between the Gondorian captain's orders and the Southron captain's bloodletting, the tide is swiftly turned.

 
Sheathing longsword for pike, Lominzil covers the retreat, swinging out with wider range at any who might approach.

 
Elusul hands off Conalmir to those left aboard Gaergwing and then he turns back to organize the rearguard. "Cut away all the lines, get us loose!" The sea-knights of Amroth and the common sailors begin hacking at ropes with longswords, cutlasses and axes as the captain and his men hold off the counterattack. It is a desperate race to see if they will make it clear.

 
Chebba comes bounding up from the cabin!

If you call it bounding, that is. Her every step tests the endurance of the hull. The ship creaks and groans and groans and creaks until at last her weight settles fully upon the deck. In her hand is not a blade, but a torn wing of a chicken. Her face, fat and ugly, is a mess of dripping grease and bits of food. Yett not only is her face fat and ugly! So too are her arms, her legs and her bloated stomach. She wears rags and a scimitar at her waist.

Watching the Gondorians retreat, she continues to eat.

"Cheb," Chebba mutters between bites.

 
Despite the furry of battle, one of the Gondorian seamen stops what he's doing and turns to gape. "What the hell is /that/?"


The discipline of Dol Amroth and skill of Elusul's command ensures that it is a retreat, not a rout, but what price was exacted by the Gondorian attack has perhaps now been repaid, at least in part. The Red Bastard is at the fore of the Southrons, and his rage seems to infect many of them, stirring them to a dreadful zeal that many lacked before.

But something distracts Pharazil, and thus buys the Gondorians the time they need. An unfortunate seaman from the Gaergwing, cut off from his comrades and left half-dead upon the deck. The Red Bastard pauses, and then smiles cruelly. "We've a new figurehead," he says, and those Corsairs nearest to him and otherwise ungripped by bloodlust pause, and then exchange evil glances. The unfortunate, half-conscious man is taken up, and within moments he is being affixed to the prow: a living, moaning figurehead in place of that which is not there.

And so it is being done as Chebba bounds across the deck, and at the sight of his ghastly Quartermaster, something seems to drain from Pharazil's mien. "Chebba," he states dourly, lifting his injured arm. "I have blood on me," he adds with a hint of tremoring disgust.

 
Perhaps Chebba understands Pharazil's words. It is unclear.

She offers him the half-eaten chicken and says, "Chebba."

 
Lominzil shoots a glare at the gaping man, boots him expertly across to the Gaergwing with a shove of his spear, and then runs toward the rail himself, attempting to vault over the side.

 
The last lines are parted and the two vessels begin to drift apart. The last few seamen leap across the growing space to their own ship. Last is Elusul who frowns in frustration at the torture of the men he must leave behind mixed with disgust at the freak show he witnesses in the form of Chebba and her interactions with the Red Bastard. He turns and makes the leap, catching the rail only barely and needing to be hauled in by waiting men.

========================================
TO: (Gnews)
SUBJECT: OFF HARAD: A Bloody Day at Sea
MESSAGE:
         Rumors swirl as seamen share information upon returning home...
         While the Prince's Ship Gaergwing was sailing off the coast of Harad, she spotted smoke on the horizon to the west. Turning to investigate, she came upon a pirate ship attacking a Southron merchantman.
         The pirate ship soon came their way and the Men of Gondor chose to fight rather than turn and run. The ship they faced was a ship with no name, no flags, nothing to identify her except for the rogues aboard her, a captain wearing red and black, a crew including both cowards and Eye-fanatics, and the freak-woman whose weight caused the deck to groan.
         ELUSUL, GALADHECHIL, CONALMIR, and LOMINZIL boarded the pirate vessel and seemed to have the advantage, but as soon as PHARAZIL the captain turned to fight, Elusul and Conalmir were forced to turn and retreat. On the captain came and the Gondorians were hard pressed to get away. Luckily, CHEBBA the freek-woman appeared and distracted Pharazil long enough for the two ships to part.
========================================


Date added: 2011-07-21 10:01:30    Hits: 94
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