Whims of Nature

Standing with wreckless grace within the cramped confine of the crow's nest a wild haired youth whose tanned copper skin told of his length on board shouted to the ship's first mate, "Sail ahead sir! Square cut!" Then with a final below, "Only a quarter unfurled!"

Hearing the crewman's words made the mate spin about. The damned little fool had said that his golden toy would be ahead and there it was. The Desedra, out from Oakheart six days past. Without bothering to ask his smallish captain for orders, it had become abunduntly clear over the past five months that the captain never wanted to be bothered with actual nautical details. Within moments the Ambercrest, the pirate ship's name this week, was cutting through the Solnor Ocean with a grace and speed only a sailor could truly admire.

The ships were closing fast, boarding parties were being called out, hooks and ropes set into place. Archers and slingers began to take their place at deck, rail, and rigging. The pirates were poised for success. Less than five hundred feet remained between the charging warship and its prey when a quiet voice, spoken with such tone as to give it a singularly unnatural and unpleasant voice, "Turn about full sail, drop anchor to bring us about with all haste." Turning towards the ships headsman, "Take your axe to the line cut free the anchor when the job is done." The crew stared on in shock.

"But sir-"

"No backtalk ye scurvy dawg. DO IT NOW!" Then regaining his diminuitive composure, "They lost the toy I wanted."

With a wave of his hand to the crew the mate gave a resigned call, "You heard the captain boys. Swing us hard about!" The twin half-ogres on crew threw out the anchor as the words left the mate's mouth.

When the great iron weight bit home in the seabed the crew was not fully ready. If not for the scrambling of a few quick fellows, three archers would have been lost to the blue water beneath. Wood groaned under the stress of the harsh maneuver, but with less than eighty feet between them the Ambercrest had shift a full ninety degrees and with the fall of a headsman's axe began to sail under full sheets heading away from the rich prize.

As the two ships seperated the crew of brigands watched the merchantman fade into the background, they all shared the same thought. This wasn't going to last much longer. Things were going to change soon. They could feel it in their bones.

Peering out the the small porthole the glazed eyes of the Desedra's rotting captain watched his prize sail off, a cold fury was burning in his belly. The crew would be hungry another day.