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Curamir had leapt aboard the Corsair ship with the others full equally of anticipation and trepidation. This was to be his first real clash with an enemy and while he was not looking forward to the possibility of death, the chance to prove his abilities was very tempting. Leaping over a body already on the floor he charged forward sword raised, hoping the arrows flying over his head from his own ship would miss him. They were hitting people just ahead of him, and he feared less for his own life as he saw the near perfect marksmanship being demonstrated.
Following the pack of soldiers through the ship Curamir found opponents on every side. Swords, daggers and even a few handheld arrows were thrust at him, and at times it was all he could do to block them, never mind deliver a blow himself. He realised then how inexperienced he was, as he could see those veterans ahead of him cutting a path through the enemy fighters with more skill than he could ever dream of having. Thankful to be with them and not against them he brought his attention back to those attacking him.
As he did so a sword came slicing through the air toward him. He caught it on his own and pushed against the latest foe. The other soldier fell back into a wall. At least he had thought it was a wall, but as the mans weight hit it part of it opened, and Curamir realised that it was a door. On second glance it wasn't well hidden, but he had been so concerned with staying alive that his eyes had just swung straight past it.
His opponent had just headed through this door and Curamir followed, worried that there were more soldiers on the way. He knew he wouldn't be able to stop a whole group of them, but he could at least stall them. As he ran through he found himself on a flight of stairs going down. Slowing down he moved cautiously, quietly, hoping this would allow his to catch his enemy by surprise. Rounding a corner he caught a glint of metal behind him out of the corner of his eye and turned swiftly, bringing his sword up and down with him. He heard it strike metal, but it certainly didn't feel like the clash of sword upon sword, and the following yell didn't sound like that of a man wounded.
"Freed! Sir you have my thanks."
The language was not coarse as Curamir would have expected of a Corsair, but refined and polite, if mysteriously exuberant. Reaching out he grabbed what felt like a ragged shirt and pulled the stranger into the light reaching down from the stairwell. The sight that met his eyes shocked him so that he was bereft of words for a moment. The man before him was certainly Gondorian, but filthy, dressed in rags and covered in what looked like marks from both whip, fist and boot. He stood simply staring for a few moments, before a crash from above caught his attention and he snapped back to reality.
Hissing to the newly freed slave to follow him Curamir raced back up the stairs and found the door fortunately still open. Running through it he moved back in the direction of the Ráca, ignoring shouts that he was going the wrong way. Reaching the line where Gondorain and Corsair fighters had clashed at the small gap between the ships Curamir cut his way through from behind, surprising both sides alike. Pushing the slave across onto the Ráca he yelled to the soldiers on board to keep him safe, and fought his way back through the crowd to continue the battle.
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