The Eye of the Sea

[Blue_Wyrm]

A strong breeze was blowing on the Brynnlaw docks, as the sunset lit the off-shore secluded island with soft orange hues. The place was a secret shared only inside a certain social circle of sailors, namely those who cared more about the profit and less about where it came from. Located out there in the Sea of Swords, directly east of Athkatla, it also housed the magical prison used by the famous Cowled Wizards of Amn to detain foreign magic users. A pact of mutual assistance existed between the two stipulating that while the pirates ensured that no vessel not of their own made it to Brynnlaw, the wizards would close their eyes on anything happening outside the doors of their "Spell Hold". This effectively made the place a den of sea outlaws, where garrotting and poisoning were frequently used to take control over the many illegal activities not limited to drugs and slave trading.

For someone like Roger, this harbour was an orchard where opportunities had to be grabbed like ripe apples in autumn. The cunning sailor was about to enter his thirties but had been both a witness and participant to a lifetime's worth of glorious sea battles and pillaging of small coastal villages. Life taught him to use his wits to take as much as he could for himself, and his shrewd sense of business could only lead him to where he was now, the first mate of one of the most successful pirate ships out there, the Dancing Damsel, a rather small vessel named after its high manoeuvrability. The success of the Damsel had much to do with the captain Leaf Yellowbeard's gutsy aggressive manoeuvres and Roger's shrewd understanding of the tactical side of naval battles, and so the vessel's crew sent many better-armed ships to the bottom while making it out with piles of riches and a few slaves with those who surrendered (the captain viewed all-out murder as a waste of profit).

Focusing on the moment, Roger, being hidden behind a pile of crates for almost an hour now, finally saw the man he had been waiting for. Murray "Crack-thumbs", called such for the arthritis which made him grunt when wielding his rapier, walked down the docks under a long leather cloak complete with a hood. The younger Roger knew who this man had just met with, and what he must have been entrusted with by that important person, and today's fish was far bigger than any other he trailed before. He would have –never- dared making a move against one of the lieutenants of the current pirate boss of Brynnlaw if he didn't know his information to be 100% accurate. The time for staying hidden in shadows was over; a bright future was walking up the docks under a brown cloak, for those who would claim it. Roger put his hands in a cone and mimicked the cry of a seagull, sending the signal to Samir, a fellow pirate of the Dancing Damsel, which rushed from behind a warehouse corner to swing a gigantic falchion at Murray who was quite oblivious to the presence of both. The cloaked man owed his life to his lightning reflexes, parrying the blow but grunting in pain from the sudden effort in his old wrist bone. Roger, who knew he couldn't let him escape, quietly snuck from behind and pierced the lieutenant's chest with his own blade, the muscular henchman ending the job from the front.

Nervous, the blonde-bearded pirate nodded at Samir, quickly searching through Murray's belongings, when he found the small scroll case he was looking for in a leather bag. Making sure this was the right map, Roger then rolled the parchment back inside its container and waved at Samir, who quickly tossed the body in the sea while still nobody seemed to be around to be alerted of anything. "Up ta' now everythin's accordin' ta' plan", thought Roger, as he took a fast pace towards the Dancing Damsel anchored further on the end of the docks…

[Blue_Wyrm]

The captain's cabin was a small, damp room whose walls were decorated with Yellowbeard's personal tastes, mostly consisting of spirits bottles piled on shelves and, hung on the walls, functional weapons alongside portraits of nude women. A crossbow in hand, Leaf was aiming at Roger's chest, despite the fact that his first mate announced himself prior to entering. Roger nodded; there was no one that followed him, no one that he led to the captain's place. He understood that in these times of uncertainty, one could never be prudent enough.

"It's been a clean job, cap'n. Not a soul but Sam an' I's aware yet, 'till Kravitz sees his lef' hand's been cut clean." finished Roger, grinning with his assortment of yellow teeth. The captain extended a hand, palm upwards, to which the younger sailor entrusted the precious cloth chart he took so many risks to obtain, knowing much more mayhem would ensue because it had switched hands so abruptly.

Unrolling the map upon the table, the captain set down his rum bottle on one side and the oil lamp on the other to keep it flat while he examined it. The ancient document has undoubtedly been conserved by magic somehow, as an elaborate handwriting drew the letters "E.B. - Year of the Killing Wave". While he never got a thorough education and did not know exactly where that year was on the dalereckoning calendar, Roger was quite certain that he was born after this chart and its maker. Barely holding jubilations within himself, he looked up at his captain who too was barely restraining himself. "Son, this be the chance of a lifetime!! It's up there, in the Sea of Swords, in the North! Come on, tell everyone we're pulling anchor!". Roger, anticipating the order, was already on the bridge, yelling at his fellow mariners to shake it.

There was very few preparations before the departure, as the captain had prepared the theft of the map several days in advance, never mentioning his sources of information, but letting Roger on a very few crispy details. What they were after was no less than a one-of-a-kind spherical jewel, an enormous, smooth and faceless sapphire that went by the name of The Eye of the Sea, said in myths to be infused with the power of the Queen of the Depths Herself, supposedly allowing his possessor to control the tides, the winds and the waves to his leisure. Who could stop a vessel that could topple ships without even getting near, who could order the spirits of the sea to fetch the sunken treasures beneath the sea? The crew of the Dancing Damsel had taken incredible risks under Yellowbeard's leadership to even reach this point, and from now on they would be marked for death not only by the inhabitants of the mainland, but also by every last one of Kravitz collaborators, which were not limited to pirate warships and a large flock of bounty hunters and assassins.

As Roger contemplated the rising moon reflecting upon the Sea of Swords, he had shivers, but they weren't out of fear of death, or the unknown. He grew in the mindset that any day he could be his last, that nothing was worth clinging unto except his own freedom, which could only be found out there, in the vast nothingness of the sea. The thrill of the pillage, the sound and scent of lantanese canon powder exploding, the bloody carnage between his men and those who stood in their way, this was life. Sailing away from Brynnlaw, Roger did not look behind, for they would soon score something so huge that the protection of an entire pirate organisation could be discarded like an old handkerchief. His loyalty was to the Dancing Damsel and its crew, and the rest of the world could rot for all he cared; the Eye would soon be theirs to command, and they would be the masters of Umberlee's domain.

Perhaps She … had thought differently?

[Blue_Wyrm]

The vessel was sailing at top speed, enjoying the favour of the winds that pushed it north as fast as it could handle. The crew was moody as their captain put heavy restrictions on the food and rum they were allowed to consume per day; they would not wet the anchor in any harbour as news of their treason must have spread widely throughout the outlaws already and docking in any city even for a day was a very risky enterprise. On the fourth day however, problems still arose on the horizon:

"'DA RED TURTLE'S SAILIN' 'DIS WAY FROM WEST!" yelled the mate on the crow nest. A moment later, he continued "AN' HELLS IT'S GAININ' ON US!"

The captain cursed with a surprised grunt, then erupted: "All hands hoay!! I wunt ma Damsel t'be flyin' outta here on tha double, dogs!"

And so the deck was covered in men running around to fulfill various tasks as frantically as they could to maximise the escape speed of the ship. Everyone on board knew what it meant if the Red Turtle caught up with them; the Damsel was no warship and stood little chance against a keel twice as high and thick containing numerous ballistas. Roger too cursed in his beard; how could they have been caught so fast?! He thought for a moment that they were not too far from the shores of Luskan now, and someone could have tried to send a message warning of their passage not too far from the coast. Mutiny wasn't a comfortable conclusion, but the only realistic one. Roger had trust in all of his men, whom he had been sailing and pillaging with for years, but all it took was a single mate that had his loyalty lie somewhere else than in his captain (one of the very few things that Roger considered like a despicable sin).

Now who could've sent a message? None of his mates had the slightest amount of brains needed for magical ability, as far as he knew, but Roger then thought about wings… A grim look on his face, he walked down the deck to stand straight in front of an old mariner and stared at him straight in the eyes. Geeves, who befriended seagulls as a hobby, felt his face flush of all color, then quickly reached in desperation for his knife, knowing that his own nervous reaction betrayed himself. As his grip tightened around the hilt of the blade, a long, intimidating hook-shaped blade flew upwards and sunk it's vicious curved tip under Geeves' chin, making him taste literally the cost of his mutiny. Roger then spit a healthy chunk of tobacco in the old mate's face as he was having his last agonizing moment, then removed his hook from the traitor's skull and kicked him overboard for good measure.

This changed everything. If someone else than the captain and he was aware of what they were after or simply had been on Kravitz' side all long, they could easily attempt to murder them and steal the map in their sleep, or simply sabotage the ship so that reinforcements could come. After a grim nod to his captain, Roger went to help the other mates in throwing the less useful cargo overboard, finding a bit of solace in the fact that at least they were now one piece of trash lighter.