The Ambassador's Son RPG

[maikafanawen]

The officers were aboard (as Avershire liked to call them even though they weren't technically ranked) and Meri was working with them to figure their best plan of action.

"We'll speed alongside them and let go our starboard side catapults," Avershire was saying. "We'll get archers up here too to do more damage as far as the sails go. We want most of our catapult target to be her hull. We'll blow enough holes in the right places to scare her crew. Naturally we'll want the masts taken out, and make sure Marx takes his hand at it and disables the rudder."

"What about boarders?" Frenchy asked.

"You can't spare anyone for boarding when they start returning fire." The officers turned to see the dark Gondorian.

"So glad you could join us, Master Telson." Avershire said acerbically.

"We'll just have to cease fire and use most of the men for a boarding party, if it comes to that," the third mate, a balding man named Talon said determinedly.

"When it comes to that, sir," Telson corrected respectfully, "and without cover fire, if all us boarded the ship, our odds of taking her are still doubtful at best."

"Let's try and keep some optimism here," Meri interjected, staring pointedly at Telson. She made a mental note to remind him later who the captain was. On a ship, there is no king, there is no general, there isn't even much of a god. What the captain says, goes, and there are never and questions or contradictions, no 'What if's' or 'Buts'.

"Excellent idea," Avershire nodded. "Count off the men, Mr. Talon, two groups. All hands are to man the catapults. If I say, group one is to prepare to board the ship, with half of group two in reserve. Move to it. Packs, help him, I want Marx on the first boarding group to give the men some courage."

"Aye sir!"

"Avershire!" Telson called, running after the man who was now moving down the port side, staring at the other ship, which had not moved from its original position. "We don't have to worry about boarding."

Avershire stopped, soon to be annoyed with him. "Oh?" The captain said with a raised eyebrow. "How is that, my good landlubber?"

"Stow it swabby. And place fire among the salvos in the catapults. It's dry tonight." the Gondorian said with a sardonic smirk. Avershire frowned and gave him a stiff, "No" before turning away.

"Don't look so puzzled." Telson turned to see Meri staring at him, half in amusement, half in stern reproach. "It's part of the sailor's code. Fire means death. You don't use it. Not if you can help it."

Telson nodded, thoughtful. "Where I come from, fire means life." Meri thought about it for a moment, considering the irony before turning away to see that what needed to be done, was.

"Loliway!" a sailor called. She turned towards the voice and saw Rilgari and Borger struggling to loose the launch ties of a catapult. "Here!" Borger called, "She wont budge fer nothin'!" His voice held a strain of panic in it, the sort of panic that couples so easily with battle. Meri had no time for it!

"The latch is rusted!" the first mate admonished, leaning down beside them and unhooking the small axe from her belt. She shoved the two men out of the way, brought the tool up over her head and slammed it down on top of the nail so that it bent away and the twine became lifeless over the neck of the catapult spoon, ready to be wound around the screw and released when the time came in the impending minute. "Get to it!" Meri screamed at them. She slipped the axe back into her belt and ran down the rest of the line inspecting and yelling harshly to the men to prime and brace themselves. At the end of the line stood Avershire, a glass to his eye and a readiness in his handsome face; fire, there was, also, in his eyes.

"It's one of the Umbarian Lesser Ships," he told her. "100 ton, 60 foot, up to 85 men, no less'n 10 catapults. The most versatile of all ships." He lowered the scope and gaped. "We've got to be true on our first hit. Otherwise we've no chance!" Meri nodded firmly and shouted the warning to the crew. She made it clear that there was no second chance in this game and the loser lost all.

Movement from the Pora Diy rang out across the water. Shouts of warning, the rumbling of catapults across the deck and the commands of the officers contradicting each other to cause an extreme level of disorder and chaos about the corsair ship. The crew of the North Wind wound the necks of their catapults and the archers aimed their arrows for the black sails of the Pora Diy.

"Fire!" Avershire shouted. "Fire all!" Talon, and Frenchy repeated to their lines on the starboard side of the North Wind. The catapults zinged into the air in a fine arch, slamming into the opposing ship with such force to shake her timbers and some sliced right through the sails, bringing both topgallants crashing down to the deck. "Again!" Avershire shouted through the noise of reloading. In thirty seconds they were ready again. "Fire!" This time the rudder was out by Marx's hand and the main mast took a hit. The Pora Diy moaned and shuddered like an old bull before death.

By now the other ship was ready to counterattack and the catapults were loosed for the North Wind. The helmsman spun the wheel frantically and brought the bow to swing about and skim the water just in front of the Pora Diy avoiding some of the shots. Most of them landed however and the first of Sedal's patients were rushed below to the galley now surgery. Sand was dumped on the floor and Sedal's tools were spread on the table, newly sterilized as best as possible. Orda was looking quickly over the patients and deciding which ones would live long enough to benefit under Sedal's hands.

"Gary sir," the boy said and Luc placed the young quartermaster on the deck surgery table. "Shard in the shoulder blade, wedged here, between that and the collar bone. He says he can't feel his arm sir." Orda stepped back to stop the bleeding on another man and Sedal began on young Gary.

Back on board three men had been sent up the mast to secure the sails so Blake could work the ship easily and the dozen sweepers were sent out to move the ship when Blake needed it to be. Thankfully there was a system contrived by Pearlle so that only four men were needed to maintain the sweepers instead of the original twelve. In a great sense, this was Avershire's greatest asset in most of their battles as far as the scarcity of men was concerned.

The Pora Diy was orgainzing itself very fast and very nice. It was time for hand to hand combat. Anymore catapults from the corsair ship would terminate the North Wind.

"Meri!" Avershire called to his first mate who had just taken over an abandoned catapult. "Get 'em to the grapnels!"

"All hands to the grapnels!" Meri shouted, and Frenchy repeated the command. "Prepare to board!" The men pulled their hooks and unraveled their rope extension. Blake had heard the command to and steered the ship as close as possible to the Pora Diy.

"Now!" Avershire and Meri yelled in unison. Group one was soon followed by boarding group two and the combateers were shuffled as some of the Pora Diy's corsairs jumped over to the North Wind.



Devon, who had been helping Yulman with a catapult and had also been assigned to group one, swung aboard the corsair ship, a greedy, fire-hungry blood coursing through his body. There was not a trace of fear within him and when he drew his sword to meet the first onslaught of pirates. His years of practice, and cunning resourcefulness had him sweeping the deck with a sickening sort of ease. The sea farers were no match for such a smooth skill or seemed so at first.

Then the deadening boom of a snapped mast resounded and Devon dove out of the way as the main mast crashed down to the deck, snapping loose half the port-side catapults and sending them over the edge into the water. A pirate tossed a knife at Devon and caught him just above the left shoulder, pinning his shirt to the railing. He reached to pull it out and slipped, succeeding in a deeper gash. He clenched his teeth and ripped free of the blade, ducking just as the beefy man's cutlass came in a swipe at his head. Devon sent a hard punch into his stomach and hit the back of his head with the but of his sword before kicking him over the side. Blood was now pouring from his shoulder as he fought and after just a few minutes, the world began to spin and his side was soaked with his lifeblood...



Sedal wiped at his eyes beneath the lenses as Orda rolled the lifeless form of Mr. Saltz from the table and replaced it with a new patient. "Arrow shaft stuck in his left thigh," said Luc who had appointed himself as the official carrier of patients to the surgeon. "He fainted from the pain." Sedal removed the shaft and the head quickly. He packed the wound with herbs to stop infection and wrapped it securely. Then he slapped his face hard to wake him. The man shot up, and cringed, his hand moving to his thigh.

"Get back up on the deck and fight!" Sedal screamed at him. "You're bloody fine!" Terrified at the threat carried in the surgeon's tone, the man flung himself from the table and limped up the stairs, unsheathing his sword and yelling. Half a moment later he came tumbling down, an arrow sealed in his throat.

"Damn!" Sedal cried. Not so much for the man's life, but that he had just spent three valuable minutes curing him. Wiping again at his brown, he listened as Luc told him of his next patient's wound details. The surgeon shook his head. "No," he murmured. "He won't make it. Bring me the next man." Orda watched with admiration, tears held back in eyes, at Mr. Sedal. It was by far the hardest job of a ship to be the ship surgeon, to have to decide on the fate of those who were brought to you. Could you save them? If you risk saving them and they died, how many others will suffer from loss of attention? His thoughts were cut short as Mr. Sedal motioned for the man to be carried to a hammock; he would live.