[Event] The Raid of Tor'Sjorvath

[yandeer 731]

 

THE RAID OF TOR'SJORVATH

 

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Fog and cloud cover had long rolled over the embankment of the dwarvish port, blotting out the sky and what might have been an oppressive midday sun. For the Adherents of Dawn used to life on a mountainside, it might have been nothing more than a rainy morning with dewy haze obscuring sightlines. For the Druids of the Father Circle, used to balmy beaches and sunlit groves, it might have been a personal form of hell. Or perhaps it was the other way around- the Paladins disparaging the absence of their beloved light, and the Druids content with the clouds that heralded that lifegiver: rain.

 

Regardless of how the seaside defenders felt about the weather, it would be swiftly undercut by a burst of light on the horizon out upon the foggy water- which would be followed soon by an echoing boom that only intensified as a cannonball hurtled through the mist towards the accumulated Descendants upon the port, sending brick, stone, and miscellaneous supplies flying in a cloud of dust. And that was only the first shot- five more deafening screams from the ship sending the heads and rib cages of the defenders rattling. Shrieks of both fear and pain lit up around the gathered, and medics swiftly moved to regroup and assess the rapidly developing situation. 

 

---

 

If Cazida Bluebrewer prided herself on anything, it was her commitment to seeing a job done- and a job done well at that. Her father had told her that fishing was a miserable business, that she’d find no profit and she’d be crawling back to his house in the mountain within the year begging for a position in that twice-damned mead business that she loathed from a place in the very depths of her heart. She had started out with nothing but a single net and a small rowboat, going out to sea with only her oars come noon, and hawking her wares at the port come the next morning- and over forty years she had built up her business to where she was now the captain of a fine vessel, with ten honest and hard-working fishermen working under her. 

 

She hadn’t gotten to that position by slacking off, or taking sick days, or growing lazy and complacent. She had become a captain and cornered the fishmonger’s market by sheer strength of will and commitment alone. 

 

So when Cazida Bluebrewer was met with a bevy of what appeared to be six pirate ships opening fire upon the main port of the city, and what appeared to be various groups of screaming and fighting elves on both the docks and foreign looking boats, her first thought was not to turn around, but intense irritation at the fact that they were disturbing her lucky fishing spot. There was coordination among the fleet of six, to be sure, but it seemed like one was in the process of breaking away from the others- and even from where Cazida stood she could hear the animated arguing of someone on board screaming at someone on the next boat aside. There was another moment of silence, before that boat, guns and all took off into the fog and left. ‘Strange’, thought Cazida to herself, before she was interrupted.

 

“Uh, capt’n?” Cazida looked down at the mention of her title, to see the newest recruit to her entrepreneurial adventure- a woefully overweight Forest Dwarf lad who was still green around the gills at sea- staring up at her with what was clearly anxiety in his eyes. “Should we turn back to yer port?” 

 

Cazida gave a ‘harumph’ in response. “Nae, nae we shall fackin’ not. Keldem!” She called out to the second-in-command, positioned on the other side of the ship’s deck. “Send’a damned bird to the damned city. We’re waitin’ here for these fools t’sink.”

 

---

 

Nemoril was having what most medics would consider to be ‘a rough day’. He had never been one for sailing, and now on the deck of the violently rocking Queen Dawn’s Revenge it seemed he would soon be sick. He, along with another attending physician, had been bundled aboard the ship as a precautionary measure. The ship was leaving the besieged port to back up the dwarven fleet- which had arrived in style, the elf would admit begrudgingly. In his long years, the sight of The Dwedsmark ramming straight into the side of the ship seemed more like something out of a novel than reality, but these were the times that he found himself living in. 

 

The fact that the Queen Dawn, as some of the people onboard seemed to be semi-affectionately calling it, was heading straight towards the pirate fleet didn’t do much to help his nerves either- in fact to the contrary it quite upset them- and therefore Nemoril lost his meager breakfast on the deck. In a single bittersweet moment, a wave washed over the deck from the choppy ocean, washing away his mess but also leaving him soaked to the bone like a twice-drowned rat. He attempted to stagger to his feet, only to get pushed back to his knees by a Paladin moving swiftly to the higher deck, who at the very least shouted an apology over the creaking of the old boat.

 

The medic swore sharply under his breath, scrambling to his feet and finding success this time, looking out onto the pirate fleet in the waters- port or starboard he wasn’t sure, he had never bothered learning these things- only to see the bright flash of a cannon firing and the deafening thunderclap of impact with the ship. The Queen Dawn rocked under his feet, and he just barely managed to grab ahold of a railing- listening for the telltale cries of agony or distress, only to hear a very low and disconcerting creaking.

 

Nemoril glanced to where sailors and various defenders were now rushing to see that the ship had taken heavy damage, that it seemed as though anymore might mean the ship would be taking on too much water- and he only had a second to consider the fact that he might not survive if the ship sank before someone in the gathered crowd yelled at the top of their lungs.

 

“Cut down the mast! Use it to board these bastards, it’s our only chance!”

 

Nemoril paused. 

 

Nemoril blinked. 

 

Nemoril thought to himself, ‘surely they aren’t going to actually-’

 

Nemoril watched in horror as the group aboard the ship began to take sword, axe, and every other piece of weaponry they could to the main mast, the wood creaking and aching under the strain until it looked more like a half-felled pine than any proper piece of a ship. He was no expert on sailing, but a mast seemed like a crucial part of any such boat, and getting rid of it likewise seemed foolish, but- it was falling now, the horrific noise of snapping and breaking wood echoing in the air as it was felled to provide an impromptu boarding plank. 

 

There was a general cheer on the Queen Dawn, before the fair majority of the defenders sallied forth and over the precarious walkway to board and take the enemy ship. “They’re all mad,” Nemoril whispered out loud to himself, before another achy groan from the ship that seemed to threaten capsizing sent him scurrying after to assist in the boarding.

 

---

 

It was a pyrrhic victory, in the end. The arrival of the dwarven fleet likely changed the tide- but it also meant that their entire naval forces besides the Queen Dawn’s Revenge and a singular small fishing vessel sunk to the Almarisian seabed. The pirates had managed to slink away into the cloudbank they had come from- though not without losing the majority of their invading force. Through the process of mending the wounded and repairing what little they could of the ruined docks, one thing seemed clear: the invaders had come for a purpose, and though they had ostensibly won the battle, this war was far from over.

 

 

[WestCarolina 1778]

A Caerme'onn gathers around her kin and informs them of all she could. What had happened to their home brought a rebirth, and signified the beginning of a war. "It's quiet now, but the quiet and rain is what started all of this," She warns. 

[Valannor 6349]

A Leal Wyrmstalker rests upon the shore, frowning as she observed the burning hulk through her spyglass - but as the memory of what it had endured rushed back to her, a smile crossed her face.

 

Spoiler

 

[Bhased 3588]

Tilruir'tir of Joma, Captain of the Queen's Dawn Revenge, and caretaker of the derelict Paladin Sage, Crumena of Kamees assessed his ship as it made it's narrow escape from a one-way trip to the ocean floor. He rubbed at a dent in his platemail, irate. "I suppose, Crumena. That you may no longer hang yourself from the middle mast. A shame." He uttered in gallows humour, kicking a wayward plank from his path.

Edited March 7, 2022 by Bhased

[ThumperJack 923]

A Norväyni mal stood vigil over his kin as they rested from the sea-side battle, his armor blasted with soot from cannonfire and dented from debris. His head lowered as a soft sigh was released, "Solace for some, at last.".

[Royal Peasant 445]

Ser Roylan Grant 'Bismuth' Sirame rested after the battle. The ash that had clogged the air and clung upon his body having been washed off and his armour cleaned from the blackened marks that covered them. The smoke that had choked his lungs, and the rubble that had fallen upon his body had bruised, battered, and blackened his flesh as he looked over his form. A hiss leaves his lips as he cleans himself up as he considers the battle. "That....was interesting. Manning Ballistics. Cannons...and then manning row boats. Glad we all managed to out alive." 

[The Harbinger 336]

"T'ey ganna regret t'is" Glod mutters, surveying the entry and exit point of the pirates, "I'll 'ave t'er fuckin' leadahs 'ead" he muses as he finds a lead to where they could of gone