[QUEST] Legends of Freeport ~

[Crimson]

This Quest is Now Closed to new PCs.
Remember: there are TWO other plots ready for your adventuring needs!

Timestamp: On the Morning of the 24th Brightening of Cryxatum
The Season is Spring of Era XV Post Fractum
In the Reign of His Royal Highness Milo L'Evienne

Despite the official end of winter, whitecaps still lingered on the frosty coast of Jaedaxia’s northern tip which made for hazardous journeys regardless of early spring. And while rainfall was traded for snowfall, most of the locals still kept to the high fashion of the ever winter: knee high boots, fur lined hooded coats, scarves, and tailored wool sweaters. Merchants, sailors, and other sea-going folk preferred the rugged, weatherproof look. This was done by layering soft leathers atop their warming garments. More times than not, it kept the cold and dampness out. And while large passenger vessels typically had a warm sector deep in its hull complete with stationed servants to wait on her guests, the Scepter Mer was a working ship. Her crew was afforded no luxury deck but rather room enough to lay down their mats to sleep after each shift. It was the life of a sailor, and it was a rough one at that.

After more than ten brightenings of traveling, of which three of those he spent vomiting, Edburk Hullmaster and his companion, a cethar by the name of Quinn Treves, eagerly sought the comforts of Jaedaxia’s cheapest inns. Edburk was a man of reasonable size and frequently boast some giant blood along his family tree. The truth was the gods just made him too big for everything. His boots were custom made (giant sized, no less) and the massive great sword he hooked low on his heavy left thigh resembled a short sword in comparison to his sheer size. He was simply dressed for a traveler. A huge long sleeved tunic made from animal skin, cloth, and soft leathers were draped over his enormous shoulders. And instead of paying handsomely for some poor tailor to spend a fortnight trying to weave together a cloak to fit his magnitude, Edburk instead wrapped the rest of his girth with a single sheet of mixed wool and furs. It was a gift from a band of orcs he bested in a competition of strength. The loser that brightening also happened to be the only one not alive at the moment.

He shivered and muttered something mutinous and to the ring of wanting some Medonian Red when they landed.

“Don’t count yer wyverns before they hatch” Quinn muttered back as he, too, shivered despite his cocoon of cloaks, coats, vests, and blankets which he suspiciously ‘won’ from the other passengers and crewmen of the Scepter Mer. The cethar was no taller than four feet but was rumored to be a former assassin. How those rumors got out was lost to the half-giant. But it did make for a queer tale whenever the cethar became unwittingly drunk one way or another. His straight almond colored hair was usually tied in a ponytail behind his head. For now, only his green eyes poked out of his makeshift shelter from the horrid weather. “What?” he demanded when Edburk eyed his increasing possessions with a cocked eyebrow.

Edburk yawned, his square jaw making odd creaking sounds as he did so. And with another heave, he exhaled and then shrugged. The two friends swayed to and fro, side to side, pelted by the extremes in weather until the thin fog parted to reveal the lights of the Jaedaxian harbor. “Thank the gods and whoever else we mortals are supposed to worship” Quinn breathed “she looks just like I remember her.” The cethar managed a smile despite the curious burning and itching sensation he started to notice after ‘winning’ a leather jerkin from a fellow who had a horrible rash along his left arm.

The giant beside him stood and towered over his counterpart as he stretched his gloriously scarred and tattooed arms toward the patched sails of the work ship. Edburk yawned again, but this time the fatigue seemed to melt as Jaedaxia continued to increase in size and scope. “Can you imagine how long we’ve been gone?” he asked no one in particular. But Quinn, being the helpful cethar that he was, gladly offered his answer.

“Eight eras?”

“I thought ten”, the giant laughed, “time seems longer when you’re stuck in a hopeless rock, eh?”

“So what do you fancy your first job’s gonna be after Freeport?” asked the cethar as he slowly unraveled the complex combination of warming items he had cocooned into. He was just about to compromise with a fairly damp fur lined cloak when another figure joined them at the bridge.

“We dock in half a candlemark” a bearded man said. He had a dark blue long coat, stained and weather-worn from his travels and adventuring. The captain of the Scepter Mer used to be a handsome man with blue eyes, perfect teeth, and platinum hair until a half-nymph sea demon supposedly cursed him. Now, he had a rather nasty twitch along the left side of his face and his right eye never seemed to agree with his other one. Despite that, the sea dog was a legendary swordsman by his own right. His own blade, which he named the Harbinger, was a wicked looking weapon with a curved blade and a serrated edge. It was rumored to cause such a deadly bite that those unlucky enough to survive die from infections and other ghastly things. “Here are your visas.”

“Thanks Cap” Edburk nodded and collected the two official looking documents. They looked legit. Now, if only they got in without hassle. He was too tired to manufacture lies let alone put up a decent fight. He handed the extra fake to Quinn who nodded in turn. “What do we owe you?” the giant asked the captain after a moment’s pause.

“Just stick to your end of the deal” Captain Ithon grumbled “and don’t bother writing me any letters.”

The giant laughed and gave the flimsy man a playful clap on the shoulder which almost sent him overboard. “Don’t get any funny ideas” he warned despite a jovial grin “We don’t want you seeing the underside of your own boat, now eh?”

Quinn shook his head at the two men. “Play nice gentlemen” he said then pointed toward the harbor. Despite the early brightening fog, cook fires in the dozens had already sprung up along the docks. Even sailors had to eat and those who couldn’t afford inns and taverns usually camped near their vessels to stand guard for a little extra pay. A pair of men dressed in gold and blue waved the Scepter Mer with a flag, then one of the youthful Protectorates motioned toward the vessel’s crew to move starboard side. Evidently, there was an empty space that way. The crewmen and the pilot signaled back with a series of whistles and howls.

The Scepter Mer had arrived.

And it would only be candlemarks later when word would spread of a massacre aboard a ship from Freeport, the infamous prison island home to pirates and marauders. The entire crew, including its captain, local dockworkers, sailors, and two Protectorat du Paix members were slaughtered, beheaded. The ship, named the Scepter Mer, was then set ablaze. No survivors. Nothing was left when officials and the harbor master arrived on the scene aside from the flaming wreck and headless bodies scattered throughout East Harbor.

The legend of Hullmaster and Treves had only begun.

[Marcelline Saint]

Marcelline had heard the stories of Freeport, of course--who hadn't? They called it the City of Adventure, a town plagued by pirates and lawless debauchery, a place far from the ever watchful eye of Aelyrian order. And so, when a ship supposedly from that very same infamous isle came crashing into Jaedaxia one morning, the news spread through the city like wildfire. Every account of the incident was different, naturally, as was the nature of rumors. Some said that pirates had attacked the port city and were slaughtered by Imperials; others had heard that a single man--stranded at sea for several eras--had gone mad upon docking and attacked the dockworkers certain that they were all a mirage, while others claimed still that a merchant ship carrying too much gunpowder had exploded and killed everyone within range. All these tales, no matter how the facts were spun, ended the same: there was a ship from Freeport, whispered to be called the Scepter Mer, ablaze in the East Harbour, people were dead, and nobody seemed to truly know why.

Naturally, such a catastrophic and bizarre event was bound to attract a certain amount of attention. City officials and the harbour master were not the only Jaedaxians to show up at the docks to investigate the matter--certainly not! Nearly half the city had gathered to see the wreckage and murmur amongst themselves their utter shock and horror. As with most disasters, they still could not avert their eyes from the tragedy before them. Marcelline was one such gawking individual at the peer that day. Incredulous eyes wide with alarm staid upon the graphic scene as the girl asked of the closest onlooker in a hushed tone, "...ce qui s'est passé?" She seemed quite unable to articulate any thought beyond basic human curiousity with such an image before her.

[ShadowBane]

Jules Redmont had never been a fan of ships and boats. In fact, it made him seasick even when he thought of the sea. But he had no choice, his parents forced him to take boating lessons. He even had a kayaking license. Now he knew that the lessons weren't a waste.

Why? Scepter Mer was in town.

It had always been a famous battleship back in the days of frequent war. Now it was docked in the port of Jaedaxia. The huge ship was already flooded with lively movement. If he sailed aboard the Scepter Mer, it would be the first ship he sailed in Jaedaxia, and it would be his first quest here. A few other travellers were also looking around the ship.

Maybe this woudn't be so bad after all.

[Darkthael Morgreed]

Mass murder, a fire, beheadings, mysterious deaths of honest officials of law. It was a most gruesome event, a terrible occurrence to even imagine. It was the kind of thing any respectable person would decry as too upsetting to talk about and too horrible to view. It was therefore utterly unsurprising that half the gentlemen and ladies of the city were right at the docks the very next brightening. None trying to offer any help with the starting investigations, but all eager to get the chance to look at the disaster.

The beast inside the medonian elf was of the same idea. Pushed by cautious curiosity and inquisitive greed, the inner-dracon had decided to visit the docks that day. Rare events like this were opportunities as well as they were risks, or at least, so thought Darkthael. In any case, it deserved a look.

Daelen S' Aldran, elven disguise of the dracon, arrived early that day at the docks, guaranteeing a vantage observation point for himself and his internal master. He adopted the shocked and indignant look he saw in Jaedaxians sharing his pretended social class. But unlike most of them, he was looking quite carefully at the scene, observing it not just for the morbid entertainment, but genuinely attempting to understand the situation. If there were any remains of the burned ship, floating on water or taken to earth, he would examine with as much care as possible from the distance. If softskin bodies still lingered at the location, or parts of them, or blood, he would also notice them and try to identify the type of people they pertained to, and any other useful information he could find available. Darkthael was unimpressed by other's death, and couldn't be moved to sadness by the sight. The beast within the elf believed, instead, that any event bizarre enough or important enough to require attention, also benefited from some analysis.

"...ce qui s'est passé?"

Such was the first sound that interrupted the elven seeming from deep into his study of the place. Daelen didn't need to know the language to understand the girl's question. The human looked small and weak, and genuinely shocked by the view in front of her. Regardless of whether he had any new ideas about the subject or not, Daelen's answer would restrict to common knowledge only. - "A burned ship, from Freeport. Quite obviously not an accident. All crew death, and members from the Protectorat du Paix involved too, if rumor is to be believed."

Noticing the cold tone he had used due to distraction, he quickly added - "A most terrible thing to happen to this city. Wouldn't you agree? I feel for the lawman and perhaps some of the sailors. Though one can't never assume innocence in those that come from Freeport, or so have I been told-" - The concern still sounded fake, of course. However, this time it was carefully engineered to imitate the fake concern of an hypocritical softskin. The words of pity of one of many rich or noblemen who thought themselves above both the sailors and the constables of law, yet wanted to appear pious and compassionate.

[Faust D'Rinishad]

The silver key, a badge of the New Order, sat in the dark elf’s ardentium-bedecked hand. Its weight was insignificant, but its symbolism was heavier than anything the Prince of Har’oloth carried. He stared at the key, a token of his previous heroics, for a long time before readjusting his gaze to the cloud-speckled horizon. The key, although a device for some unknown contraption, represented the dark elf’s devotion to Jaedaxia. By accepting the silver key, he had tacitly vowed to return whenever the realm was in need of heroes. That time was now. That was the reason he was here.

With news of the Scepter Mer’s alarming fate, the Prince of Har’oloth had immediately ventured back to the Gift of the Empire. Via magical means, the journey had not been long; however, the anxiety born of the city’s dreadful circumstances had sobered his trip. He feared for the innocent populace, a body of citizens that he had vowed to protect. Jaedaxia was not his home; it never would be, but his heart was for its people. How many would die if those responsible for the Scepter Mer’s tragic fate were not apprehended? Even more importantly, though, how many could be saved?

Alighting onto the wooden planks that comprised the remaining harbor, the dark elf ignored the ocean spray that splattered his face. The waves, albeit ordinarily sublime to behold, were not the Vysstichi’s concern. His keen orbs surveyed the wreckage that continued to litter the endless sea, and he wondered how much blood had been shed in the recent brightening. Rumor had it that two pirates, one a colossus of a man and the other a dwarfish cether, had orchestrated the disaster.

The dark elf’s eyes glimmered dangerously.

Advancing along the harbor with overt purpose, the Vysstichi Lord sought the accoutrements that would respectively denote law enforcement, New Order, or authoritative personnel. He restrung the silver key around his neck via a chain –an indicator of who he was and what he had to offer. Soulseeker, his adamantite long sword, bounced rhythmically against his right leg with every step, but even the deadly sword paled in comparison to the hidden equipment distributed about the dark elf’s ebon-clad physique.

He was here to fulfill an obligation to Jaedaxia; he was here to return justice to its shores.

[Crimson]

Arriving at the docks, The Famous "Hair" ~ Jules Redmont was greeting with the weary gazes of dockhands and the hustle and bustle of the Jaedaxian ports. Despite the recent tragedy, the port had to continue commerce as usual. The locals had netted and fished out bodies and heads for long candlemarks by then ... and the Protectorat were not keen on keeping the city's prime source of income from experiencing setback. That would hurt the deep pockets all around.

The Saint of Jaedaxia ~ was along the other side of the docks, gathered among the countless others who decided to take a look for themselves. "...ce qui s'est passé?" The timid voice ripped through the crowds of Jaedaxians. "Je ne se pas" one particularly large woman replied to no one in particular. It was the same question on everyone's lips. What in the name of the gods happened here that brightening?

Fortunately, The Hidden Dracon responded to the female's query. In his elven form, he appeared more as a gentleman than any of the hard-necks at the docks. Only paupers and commoners could afford the luxury of wading through the wet, smelly docks after all. The ladies and gentlemen of the upper class would have never ventured anywhere that entailed stench and dead things. That would have been quite damaging to their talc-powder and wigs.

In the middle of his speech of fake concern, however, an armored figure donning shadow-colored garb arrived at the port. Several gasps silenced the crowd at once. Was it he? Could it really be? A child broke the silence: "Mama! It iz ze vampire 'unter!" A moment of light laughter and then it became quiet again. Finally, the Harbor Master himself descended on the scene. He went straight toward The Shadow of Light, Fuast D'Rinishad and extended his calloused hand in greeting.

"Bonjour monsieur" he began in low tones "may I speak with ... you, privately?" He eyed the mumblling crowd. There appeared to be two questions in everyone's minds now: what did the Harbor Master want with the legendary dark elf, a champion of Jaedaxia?

And when did the Harbor Master learn to speak Common?

[Faust D'Rinishad]

Although acclimated to the wide array of reactions that his presence generally elicited, the dark elf was, admittedly, surprised by the positive attention he was receiving. For the most part, his ebon skin and silver hair were objects of analysis solely because a Vysstichi on the surface was rarer than an oasis in a desert. Subsequently, the dark elf’s amusement was stimulated to a small extent. He was unaccustomed to being an icon of veneration, but it was inarguably far more preferable than being a target of scorn.

Sparing a short glance to the boy after his loud proclamation, the dark elf gifted him with a lighthearted wink. In truth, Faust was uncertain how news of his previous antics had circulated throughout the city so quickly, but he supposed that his swelling reputation would only help him on his current endeavor. Not to mention, it was nice to be admired for once in his life.

A shift in the crowd riveted the dark elf’s attention, and he turned accordingly to face the designated harbor master. “Serale…” He responded in charismean. For a moment he considered replying with the typical Jaedaxian greeting, but there was no doubt on the dark elf’s mind that he would have butchered the pronunciation completely. Luckily for Faust, though, the harbor master was self-evidently fluent in common.

Clasping the man’s proffered hand and shaking it firmly, the dark elf imparted a faint nod to the man. “Yes, of course. Shall we do it off to the side here or relocate elsewhere?” He casually asked. Glancing to the mumbling crowd, Faust supposed that the latter option would be the most appropriate. The bystanders were likely as flustered by the recent events as he, and thus it was probably best if he and the harbor master spoke in private –especially if the man’s news was grave. And considering the allegations that surrounded the Scepter Mer, Faust suspected that the harbor master’s information, if he had any at all, would be grave indeed.

[Marcelline Saint]

oocooh, "the saint of Jaedaxia".. I like that. :D

An Elven man was one of the first to reply to the girl's question. "Quite obviously not an accident.." he mused, at length, of the tragedy. His mock concern drew Marcelline away from her shock and awe to redirect her attention towards the man who spoke. She disliked him immediately. He was some sort of gentleman, it could be assumed, by his tone and condescension that failed to hide his obvious lack of compassion for these commoners and their suffering. What was he doing here anyway? Those of the genteel sort usually avoided these docks--the stench had a way of ruining their powdered wigs and elevating their pretensions so that their noses were so high above the crowds that the could not see where they were going. His solitary presence amongst these plebeians was, if nothing more, very odd. "Zis city could use a few less lawmen.." the girl muttered in response before her attention was again distracted by a most unusual man.

The crowd seemed awed by the arrival of Faust D'Rinishad, as a child amongst the crowd called, "ze vampire 'unter!" Truthfully, however, beyond the color of his skin, Marcelline knew nothing of this man. A dark elf was a most bizarre sight, indeed.. she had only seen one or perhaps two of their kind in her entire life and they had certianly never been regarded with such veneration as this. She wondered how many vampires one must kill before they become the vampire hunter.. and, more importantly, how many more vampires there were that he hadn't killed. Were vampires blowing up ships now? They did not seem the sort to leave a mess of bodies in the harbour. Marcelline certainly appeared to be out of the loop this brightening and it was all rather frustrating. Turning to that particularly large woman nearby, rather than Darkthael, she asked another question. "Who iz ze vampire 'unter?"

[Sam Blackwater]

It was another typical morning for Sam. He was at a tavern the other darkening getting drunk and either got into a fight or met a maiden, or both, but he always managed to pass out at the tavern and leave the next morning. Long and behold the giant came marching through the crowd with a lit pipe and large bags under his eyes. The smoldering ship inevitably caught his eye and made him chuckle to himself, but loud enough for others to hear. He also noticed his drinking buddy standing in the midst of the crowd chatting with some strangers. He walked in her direction.

"That is why ya don't let a lass sail! Heh heh! Ya missed a good fight last darkenin', lass! Our dorin friend came back fer round two... er, thirty, I can't remember. He sure likes them tables, though! Har har har! Sam wasn't the most tactful guy around, but he figured Marcelline would appreciate his humor... or not. Everyone seemed to be engulfed in the spectical that was taking place on the docks and among the chatter the name Scepter Mer came up a few times. It was a familiar name in the smuggling and pirate community.

Sam's tone quickly changed to a matter-of-fact. "Aye, Freeporters. No tellin' what they got themselves into. Ya piss someone off from that rock of an island an' they'll find ya no matter where ya be hidin'." The embers in his pipe were glowing red as he inhaleda deep draw of his tobacco.

[Crimson]

"Ze vampire 'unter?" the rather large woman beamed at Marcelline "il est le legendaire, Faust D'Rinishad, bien sûr. Je l'adorer!" She giggled for a moment, whether or not Marcelline or Darktheal liked it or not. Her chins bounced and hopped while her bountiful body wiggled and churned beneath her cheap clothes.

"That is why ya don't let a lass sail! Heh heh! Ya missed a good fight last darkenin', lass! Our dorin friend came back fer round two... er, thirty, I can't remember. He sure likes them tables, though! Har har har! Sam wasn't the most tactful guy around, but he figured Marcelline would appreciate his humor... or not. Everyone seemed to be engulfed in the spectical that was taking place on the docks and among the chatter the name Scepter Mer came up a few times. It was a familiar name in the smuggling and pirate community.

Sam's tone quickly changed to a matter-of-fact. "Aye, Freeporters. No tellin' what they got themselves into. Ya piss someone off from that rock of an island an' they'll find ya no matter where ya be hidin'." The embers in his pipe were glowing red as he inhaleda deep draw of his tobacco.

Blackwater the Giant arrived as if on cue, his pip clouding up his surroundings like a chimney. Some onlookers gasped and cursed in Jaedaxienne while other, less dignified dockworkers merely threw him a nod in greeting. A trickle of laughter even came from the surrounding crowd as Sam thoughtfully puffed the right end of his tobacco.

Meanwhile, Jaedaxia's Vampire Hunter, the legendary Faust D'Rinishad himself, was being led by the harbor master into his shack of an office. It smelled faintly of smoke and sea weed, but the dark elf managed to ignore that part. He took to an uncomfortble looking stool when the Harbor Master took his seat behind a desk awash by paperwork and empty bottles of ice wine. "Je suis désolé" he apologized quickly "but zer is a matter of ... importance now." The Harbor Master was not a handsome man, but he was supposedly a tireless sailor in his day. He sailed almost all of telath's oceans before a nasty accident put him to work at the docks, never to return to his beloved seas again.

Now, more then thirty eras later, he managed to climb the dock ladders and become head of the harbor. Master, even. But he'd never admit to hating his work. He envied every sea scum and dock rat that came through his ports. He'd give up his rather large salary for a pouch of dried meat and rum any brightening ... and now, he had this. The news of this pirate duo and their rather public display of utter arrogance boiled him to the bone. But how to tell this to the dark elf without speaking completely in Jaedaxienne? Damn, he thought, I should have paid more attention in schola ...

He took a deep breath and smiled uncomfortably at Faust. "Je suis ... I means" he began "zey ... uhm, ze two pirates ... are ... zey are ... found in ze nearby ... pub." He nodded, his greasey face shaking as he did. "But ze Protectorat cannot ... erm, cannot defeat ze two pirates." He paused. "Zey say for me ... to ask you, monsieur D'Rinishad. Oui? Ou non?"

And then, an explosion rocked the docks and all the ships around it.

[Faust D'Rinishad]

Ensconcing onto the proffered stool, the dark elf concealed his distaste of the foul-smelling room. The stench tickled his nostrils, a nuisance that the Vysstichi counteracted by holding his breath. Unfortunately, though, as his lungs were not comparable to a Thelyri’s, Faust did not last for very long. He finally submitted to the room’s imperious odor and turned his attention to the more pressing matters at hand: the two pirates.

Although he did not express his gratitude, the dark elf was alleviated by the harbor master’s broken Charismean, a language that, albeit noticeably inflected by Jaedaxian, was nevertheless comprehensible. And thus he paid strict attention to the man’s enunciation, candidly trying to discern the human’s pronouns and articles for what they were.

“At a pub? Why didn’t you say so earlier?” the dark elf lightheartedly asked. A thin smile blossomed across his lips. “Of course I’ll help. That’s why I’m here.” He added reassuringly. Of course the pirates were not the only reason that he’d come to Jaedaxia, but so long as there was a terror running amuck in the city that he could help to suppress, he was more than willing to do it.

Jaedaxia had been good to him.

It did alarm him, however, that the Protectorate had been unable to squash the two pirates. They were only two men, after all, thus affording them a level of credibility that Faust had not originally awarded them. The Protectorate was not composed of the most finely trained soldiers, but they were trained nonetheless.

Perhaps these pirates were stronger than he’d previously believed.

And then he felt it.

Thrown from his stool as an explosion rattled the docks, Faust instinctively dropped to a low crouch to regain his balance. His eyes widened in alarm, and his gaze immediately steered towards the ramshackle’s window –if there was one. “What’s going on…?” He asked, more so to himself than the human. “Come on! Something has happened!” Unless the harbor master required assistance, in which case the dark elf would be at his side in an instant, Faust bade him towards the doorway and outside.

Something was terribly wrong.

[Sam Blackwater]

The rabble of the people never came with a pause or lightened in volume, if anything more and more chatter built up and quickly irritated the giant. Thick white smoke burst out of his nostrils and dissipated into the crisp spring air. "Bah, ya'd swear these people 'ave never seen what happens ta those who don't pay their dues."

Not a moment to soon did those words leave the smugglers mouth when an ear shattering explosion erupted like a volcano from the docks! Water, black smoke and fiery splinters of ships took to the skies but just as quickly descended onto the crowd. Without even thinking, Sam through himself in between the debris and Marcelline. This was not something "Smilin'" Sam would normally do... He was rude and crude and that's how he liked it... Chivalry was best left to those who loved themselves too much to admit it... this was a special situation, though.

[Crimson]

The Explosion rattled, blasted, and sent shockwaves throughout the eastern harbor. Nearby vessels rocked against the waves and were scorched, their hulls blacked and sails turned crimson by flames; civillians and dockworkers alike were send flying off their feet. The only exception was Sam Blackwater who withstood the initial blast like a titan of steel. He even managed to save a damsel, the Saint of Jaedaxia, who flinched and ducked as his massive bulk provided the shelter she required -- and everyone else behind her.

But those unfortunate enough to be close to the source of the explosion paid for their visit to the docks with their skin and blood. Some lay unconscious, their skin blackened from burns, their hair singed; a middle aged man, a shoe smith, lay among the dead or dying. The Hero, Faust was the first to witness this horrific scene after he emerged from the Harbor Master's dingy little shack. The explosion came from a merchant ship not a hundred paces from his position ... but the flames that resulted caught the other ships like wildfire.

The Harbor Master hissed something vicious in Jaedaxienne, and Faust didn't need a translator to understand the man's fury. Suddenly, all eyes turned toward a source of a high-pitched laugh. It echoed against the dry crackling of flames licking the hulls and sails and bodies that littered along the harbor. A second, broader voice echoed along, this one booming like the rumble of thunder.

And two figures emerged from the fiery scene. One was gigantic, the other barely the height of a man's waist. But they stood tall, proud, arrogant. Wicked smiles were painted on their dark faces, a shadow of evil lingering on them like a cloud. "HARBOR MASTER!" the giant growled triumphantly "THIS IS THE PRICE OF YOUR BETRAYAL! HAH!"

"Where aaaarrreeee you ...?" the cethar taunted, kicking up each fresh corpse and moaning victim to see if the Harbor Master had indeed perished during the explosion.