Smoke billowed up into the sky to be lost in the black of night as the fire consumed the city of Wavemeat below. All along the shoreline huts, warehouses, and jetties burned, the flames reflected in the water that surrounded them. The crackling of burning wood was sporadically interrupted by the booming of cannon fire and the splintering of planks. People could be seen along the docks, little more than shadows before the flame. Some hurried to bring water to bear on their burning homes, others clashed with one another, darkness and distance rendering defender and attacker all but indistinguishable.
Surrounding the port like circling sharks, a score of baroquely crafted, crimson sailed ships cut through the waves. The fleet of Lord Haddrik Carminnio, resplendent in all its dark glory. Cannon fire continued to bark from their hulls as small boats departed from the larger vessels, ferrying warriors to the shore. No other ship was visible upon the waves, those that had dared tried to break the blockade, little more than driftwood floating along the tide.
Perched upon a small rocky outcropping in the bay, Lady Maemori kicked her legs idly above the waves that broke beneath her. Hanging loosely from her fingers, a copper lantern burnt, the wisps of smoke it emitted travelled against the wind, as if seeking something in the night.
“What a waste of time,” said Lord Dariun indignantly.
He stood a short way below her, standing just above the peak of the crashing water, his arms crossed. Like all the Sunken Order, he wore the knight regalia of old Tira Gnok, the once pristine white stained by the seeping water. Behind him, a group of Sunken Knights and a pack of baying dire hounds represented the rest of Tira Gnoks forces in the area, well, most of them at least.
“Ha, you knights, always so impatient,” laughed Maemori, swinging the lantern lightly in her cupped fingers.
“It is not the glacial pace of your supposed magics that perturbs me,” Dariun replied with disdain, earning a venomous glare from Maemori. “We should not be here in the first place. So many of my knights, and for what? The expedition came to this barbaric land for a reason, how does our effort here further that?”
“Ah, you know our little Elanor and her obsessions. She’s a stubborn thing when she wants to be and this lot of vampires have her particularly riled up. Best just go along with it for now,” Maemori replied almost absent-mindedly, admiring the shine on her armoured boots as they caught in the lantern light.
“Hatred of her own kind is not a healthy obsession to have.”
“Relax Dariun, she still likes us,” Maemori paused and turned back to her companion, a smirk on her lips. “Well, me at least.”
“She rules Tira Gnok now, she cannot afford to let childish sentiment and petty vendettas rule her,” grumbled Dariun, looking away from Maemori and out to the burning city. His face was concealed beneath his lion-crested helm but Maemori knew he looked with longing, hungering to be amidst the blood and fire.
“Lighten up, we’ll still have our fun here,” she laughed.
It was not long before the lantern brought truth to her words. She felt a tug in her hands and the intensity of the smoke billowing out increased, like a fisherman renewing his effort at the tug of a catch.
“Ready yourselves, prey this way comes,” she said, flexing her own necromantic powers in preparation.
“About time,” huffed Dariun, though he made no move to ready himself.
Approaching them from across the water, having broken away from its position in the fleet, came a small corvette bearing the dread flag of the vampiric Lord Haddrik. Witch fire burnt in braziers upon its deck, picking out the pale-skinned thralls and undead that crewed the vessel. As they drew closer, Maemori stood up, her long skirt billowing out behind her.
The ship had almost drawn level with the outcropping when a vampire burst out from below decks. Tall and with slick backed hair, he wore a long silver embroidered crimson coat, his demeanour as much as his regalia, marking him out as the captain.
“Helmsman, what is the meaning of this, why have we changed course,” he barked, looking up to the raised rear of the vessel.
The helmsman, a living mortal, did not answer. Like many of the crew, his gaze was vacant, staring emptily at the space around Maemori. For those who looked closely. wisps of smoke swirled about him and those similarly afflicted.
“Oh thank Shyish,” Maemori exclaimed in her most elegant voice. “Our ship was sunk by those disgusting fat fly men and we got stranded on this little rock. We’re so lucky you came along. Where are you headed? I’m sure we can help.”
The vampire eyed her suspiciously. “You bear the curse, but I do not recognise you, or your colours. Identify yourselves!”
“I am Lady Maemori of Tira Gnok and this is my humble squire Dariun,” Maemori said, with a broad smile. “We are allies of the illustrious House Vermillo, surely you have heard of us? No matter, I will forget your impoliteness if you keep this embarrassing situation between us.”
“I am Captain Okavirn Carminnio, nephew of the admiral and I have heard nothing of Tira Gnok,” the vampire captain replied coldly.
Suddenly, with a supernatural speed only his kind could muster, Okavirn leapt from the deck of the ship, sword drawn, and brought it sweeping down towards Maemori’s neck.
Before the blow could land it found another blade blocking its path. Now standing beside Maemori, Lord Dariun held his rusted broadsword steady at the edge of Okavirn’s cutlass.
“Too much Maemori, always too much,” he sighed with frustration.
“Maybe,” she shrugged, “No matter, the ship is already ours.”
No sooner had she spoken than the cries of alarm and clashing of blades began to resound from within the ship.
As soon as it had come close she had ordered the rest of Tira Gnok’s forces to advance. Geists and skeletons, hidden beneath the waters, that had begun to clamber into the hull of the unsuspecting vessel. On cue, the sunken knights pushed forward, jumping aboard and laying into the panicked crew even as they struggled to respond to the first attack.
“Cowards and knaves, unworthy of our gift,” spat Okavirn, still locking blades with Dariun. “I shall show you the might of a true soulblight.”
The captain disengaged only to strike forward again, this time his attention fully focused on Dariun. Maemori settled back down on her rock, legs crossed, as she watched the two clash across the small outcropping. Okavirn bore the fury of the Vrykros and laid into the undead knight with a savage rain of blows that constantly forced him back. Despite the captain’s fury though, his attacks could not find purchase, those that managed to land, blunted by mail and steel plate.
Okavirn’s impotence only served to further enrage him. His blows became wilder, leaving him increasingly vulnerable until, inevitably, Dariun found his opening. Stepping past Okavirn’s guard, Dariun slammed his hilt into the captain’s back, sending him sprawling to the floor. Before Okavirn could rise Dariun’s blade fell,
As Dariun raised his visor to feed, Maemori looked away, her interest lost. Her gaze went over the bay to where the blockade still sailed, continuing their relentless bombardment.
“Make them bleed, but do not provoke them, not yet,” Elanor had told her.
The loss of a ship was definitely a stinging cut, but Maemori wondered if there was more blood she could yet draw from the admiral.
The cries of battle drew her back to the present. A tenacious few of the crew yet survived. With a fanged smile, she drew her blade. It seemed there was yet time for her to have her fill.
