A tower, dark and foreboding appeared on the horizon, the rising sun as its backdrop. The ill fated spire inspired fear and held many names across Khorvaire; the cage, the pit, hell, but few captured its terrible magnificence as its true name, the Dreadfort. The crashing waves of Clearwater bay buffeted the dwarven prison ship as it sailed ever closer to its destination, the white capped swells driving the ship slightly off course with each hammer blow to the prow of the ship. Theren d’Lyrandar smiled, despite the heavy iron shackles that weighed down his arms, and the surely dwarven guard that stood watch over him. A storm was brewing out at sea, he could feel it in the way the ship rocked. In the taste of salt on his lips as gales of wind whipped at the artless square rigging of dwarven sails. His dragon mark, the magical seal of House Lyrandar, located on the back of his left hand began to rhythmically pulse, its timing synchronized with the crashing waves.
The morning sun soon disappeared as the storm rolled in overhead. What began as a light shower gave way to a violent deluge following a distant and sudden thunderclap, a deafening noise that seemed to shake the ship to its very core. Despite the unseasonable chill of the rain and the sharp bite of the wind Theren stood ever tall, for Lyrandar was the House of Storms and the wind and rain were as comforting to him as a warm hearth and a pint of ale were to his dwarven jailers.
“What are you smiling about, half-elf?” the dwarf finally said, shoving Theren with the end of the heavy axe he carried. “Your doom grows nearer with each passing moment, pirate. Enjoy this sunrise, gloomy as it may be, for it will be the last your wretched eyes will ever see.”
“Ha, you think so, dwarf? I’ll wager you one thousand gold coins that I’ll be alive to see the sun climb above that very same horizon tomorrow. Though I can’t say the same will hold true for you, my short friend.”
The dwarf let lose a cruel laugh, his braided beard and plate armor shaking as if Theren had said some great jest.
“Ho, Lad. I’ve not laughed like that in a while. Cherish your humors while you can for they’ll not last long in the Pit.” The Dwarf continued to chuckle. “Joy is the first to leave you, so they say, followed by hope. For once you’ve passed the ebony gates of The Dreadfort, there is no return. You’ll not escape her clutches. Better sneak-thieves than you have proven that folly.”
“So, no one has ever escaped? Truly?”
“You dare doubt Kellark, a true son of clan Droranath!?” Offended, as if even the suggestion of an escape was an insult to his honour, the dwarf launched into a lengthy diatribe, “For generations my kin have stood sentinel over the cursed souls that work the mines beneath her. No man, nor elf, nor any other race on the face of Eberron could escape its hold, why I remember tales from my grand-sire who oversaw the south cells back when...”
The dwarf, as dwarfs are want to do, ambled on with the story of his grandfather’s tenure at the dreadfort oblivious to Theren’s lack of interest. As time and the dwarf’s tale crawled ever forward the fog bank grew denser and denser until it seemed that the whole of the world had been obscured by its mists. Even with the exceptional eyesight of his elven heritage Theren could not see past the prow of the prison ship.
“Well then, I suppose I’ll just have to make my great escape before I pass through those accursed gates,” Theren commented in an off-hand manner.
“...and his uncle wa...What’d you say half-elf?”
“I said, I must make my GREAT escape sooner rather than later.”
The dwarf’s whole body rippled with laughter. “And how exactly do you plan that d’Lyrandar? Huh? Are you just going to break the out of those dwarf forged chains, subdue twenty of the finest warriors this side of Mror Holds, and then what? Swim to safety? These waters are infested with all manner of beast more than happy to have a late breakfast of elf meat!”
The dwarf continued to laugh.
Until the bells started ringing of course.
Atop the crow's nest another dwarf, this one little more than child if length of beard meant anything, began to ring the ship’s bell as fast as possible.
“Ship! In the fog! Ship!”
A dozen pairs of short legs ran to the edges of the ship. Each searching the impenetrable mists for the other vessel. Many long moments passed before one of the more keen eyed dwarves raised his hand, pointing out a rapidly approaching silhouette in the fog.
“There, there! I see it!”
With a cocksure grin Theren looked as his captor and said only two words before suddenly dropping to the ground.
“That’s how.”
Perplexed the dwarf looked down at his charge, realization of what was about to happen only coming when the youth in the crow's nest screamed.
“Brace for impact!”
The battle was over before it even began. The impact of the two ships colliding caught several of the dwarves unaware and a handful were cast overboard as they lost their footing. Clad as they all were in heavy plate the dwarves disappeared into the depths of the bay, dragged to a watery grave by the weight of their armor. Several more were felled as they tried to gather their wits by daggers that sailed out of the mist and buried themselves with deadly precision into any vulnerable gaps in the dwarven armor before another great shock sent many of the dwarves crashing once more onto the rolling deck of the ship.
Screams of panic and urgency enveloped the ship as the dwarves began to realize that their attackers had drawn aside them and was boarding their languishing ship. With blood curling screams, dozens of cutthroat warriors leapt in unison onto the prison ship, shouting violent promises of murder and grim deeds to come backed by glints of steel as they strode forward. At the head of the scoundrels, a monstrous barbarian with jet black skin lead the advance. Two of the dwarven jailors, summoning the courage for which dwarves are famed, had charged the beast only to be easily battered aside by the thick hammer blows from the mighty whalebone club the creature wielded its powerful hands and as the dwarves flew through the air the beast let loose a shrill war cry, like that of a hunting orca.
All the while the battle raged around him, Theren bided his time, resting against the deck, until he knew it was safe to move. When the moment was right, he rose quickly to his feet and rushed to take shelter behind the menacing warrior that had cut a path of blood and broken dwarves in his wake. Kneeling he felt the weight of the iron shackles disappear as they crashed behind him, nothing more than kindling in the hands of the Darfellan.
“You good, Lath?” a Halfling said as he seemingly stepped out of the mist, using his people’s tribal word for captain or chieftain, a sign of respect not easily given by the proud little folk.
Theren grinned, rolling his shoulders backwards gingerly, before addressing the shorter man,“Oh yes, I’m doing well, how’s my ship?”
All around the ship the dwarves were being forced back as their depleted number tried, and failed, to stand before the wrath of the raging barbarian.
“She’s still floating--” The Halflings began in jest before his sentence was cut short as the leader of the dwarven guards, the previously loquacious Kellark, was dealt a massive blow to his stomach and collapsed to the deck rasping for breath. Only a quick command from Theren saved his life, the ivory club of the Barbarian halting a mere inches before it crushed the windpipe of the dwarf.
“Damn you Theren d’Lyrandar! You and your band of pirate scum!” Kellark roared, trying but failing to rise to his feet.
“We prefer the term Scoundrels,” the deadly Halfling said, making sure to keep Theren and the band of pirates between himself and the subdued dwarves.
Slowly, calmly, Theren made his way to where the Darfellan stood over the defeated dwarf. He rested a hand gently on the shoulder of the giant warrior, careful not to make a sudden movement lest the last spark of rage remaining from the battle trigger yet another deadly response from his monstrous companion.
“Well done, Mako, well done indeed,” Theren offered as his eyes scanned the deck and took in the carnage Mako had left behind him. His path across the deck of the dwarven ship was marked by half dozen dwarfs lay dead on the deck, their blood slowly pooling in puddles. For his part Mako only grunted, his breathing heavy as his wits began to return to him and the berserker rage slowly left his body.
Theren crouched above the wounded Kellark, tilting his head as if inspecting the wounded dwarf for some flaw. Finally he reached out with his left hand and grabbed hold of the money purse tied to the dwarven warrior’s waist, removing it with a quick tug before rising to his full height again.
“A thousand gold. Do you remember, do you remember our wager, dwarf? A thousand gold I’d see another sunrise on the morrow….but I wasn’t sure if you would. Remember that Kellark Droranath! Remember the events of this day as you watch every sunrise for the rest of your pitiful excuse for existence, remember that it was I, Theren d’Lyrandar, that saved your life when I ordered my man to stay his hand.” With a cruel smirk on his face, Theren weighed the bag of coin before tossing it to the Halfling that now stood to his left.
“A little light for a thousand coin, Lath,” the Halflings said as he deftly caught the flying parcel.
“It’ll have to do,” Theren said as he turned his back on the defeated dwarves and made his way to his waiting ship, with a mocking wave of a hand. A heartbeat later the Halfling and Darfellan followed each wary of any sudden move against their captain, while the rest of the pirate crew stood silently at attention eyes unmoving from the dwarves that still drew breath.
Only when the trio had made their way off the prison barge did Kellark of Clan Droranath begin to suspect that something was amiss...he realized that one of the pirates was somehow standing inside of another...and that all dozen of them looked remarkably identical...and that they were beginning to seem oddly transparent.
“D’LYRANDAR!” The dwarf screamed, stumbling to his feet, and waving madly at his crew as the illusionary pirates began to fade away, each visage slowly turning into nothing more than puffs of mist.
There was not a dwarven vessel in existence that could match the speed of the Swift Sorceress with the wind in her sails and Theren couldn’t help but laugh as he watched as the prison vessel disappeared over the horizon. He’d never had to escape a prison ship before and his pride swelled at the thought of what the events of the day would do for his reputation.
“Lath.”
The voice pulled him back to reality and he turned to find his halfling rescuer standing behind him, a bottle of Aundairian wine in his hands.
“Thought you could use a drink.”
Taking the bottle from the halfling, Theren took a heavy swig, savoring the familiar flavor of the wine, vintage, taken from an Aundarian merchantman some months before.“Much appreciated Andwies, those ingrates saw fit to only to provide me with water, and not much at that.”
The halfling seemed to shudder at the sound of his given name, finally muttering, “Andy, captain, it’s Andy.”
“Of course, Andy, of course,” Theren agreed slapping the halflings shoulder, before sauntering off across the deck. “I’m sure you’ll permit this one jest given my recent return.”
Theren enjoyed another pull off the cloyingly sweet wine as he cast a loving gaze over his ship. The Swift Sorceress was his pride and joy, among the finest ships that House Lyrandar had ever comissioned, and its crew, likewise, was second to none. The greatest, most daring, and loyal group of sea dogs he had found, bought, or bribed away from rival pirates and sea barrons. Only, as his eyes darted from face to face did he realize that his crew did not accurately reflect that which existed in his memories.
“Andy….where in the Dragon Below is my crew!?”
“Er, well. Uh…”
“They left,” a voice like waves crashing against a cliff answered as Mako made his way over to his captain.
“Left? Left? My crew left? In my hour of need?” Theren was caught somewhere between rage and shock. He had spent years, not to mention thousands of gold coins to acquire the greatest band of sailors, fighters, thieves, and cutthroats that a proper corsair could ever have hoped for. He’d shared both drink and song with all twenty of his sailors. He’d sworn blood oaths with half again as many and for them to simply leave...it was unfathomable.
“Ah, well. Lath. Right after we learned those two Half-Orc bounty hunters had...errr, absconded with you.” Andy was loath to claim anyone had ‘captured’ the legendary Theren d’Lyrandar, “A, uh, significant portion of the gang came to us and said ‘We’ll take our share, now. If you please.’ and well, it's never best to argue with a mob...sooo.”
“Andy. Did you, give away, my fortune.”
“Well, no. Not exactly. They were most reasonable for a mob, Lath. Most reasonable. They only took their fair share. Minus that necromancer we took on at Stormreach, she took three full shares, and I’m to tell you ‘That’s not something you ask a lady to do.’
“Andy,” Theren began, an edge of barely perceptible anger taking hold of his voice.
“Don’t worry Lath. I didn’t ask. What a man and a lady do in the captain's quarters is none of my--
“Andy, damn that temptress and those traitors, how much is left?”
“Oh, well. Uh. Half. Abouts. Me, Mako, and Siannodel didn’t take our shares. Neither did ol’Bert.”
“Half,” Theren said, sighing loudly. “I can live with half...”
“Well, about that.”
Theren only glared, his hand drifting to the hilt of his rapier.
“Now, Lath. We had to stage a rescue, we couldn’t let our Captain get sent to the Dreadfort, but four people can’t sail the Swift so we had to hire a new crew and, I...I can’t stress this enough, it was very short notice so we--
“How much?”
“Oh, right. Uh. Half of the half,” Andy said, clearly realizing that he might have over explained their financial situation.
“A quarter, are you telling me that all that remains of a decade’s worth of piracy is a quarter of our treasure!?”
“Yes, Lath. Well, maybe a little less than a quarter, but not much less. Real close, Theren. Real close to a quarter.”
Theren pinched the bridge of his nose, willing the world to somehow realign itself so that when he opened his eyes his treasure would be restored. After a moment had passed and seeing that no mountain of gold had appeared on the deck, Theren sighed loudly, nodded to himself as he yielded to the cruel machinations of fate,” Alright then, first things first, we need to find ourselves new crew.”
