Númenórean Blood Runs Black RPG

[Firefoot]

As the Gondorian soldiers leapt aboard the Corsair ship, Menelcar had little doubt that this individual battle was all but won. Certainly, the Corsairs were excellent fighters, but what they really excelled at was ship-to-ship, and now that they had boarded, the battle would be fought on a more man-to-man level. What was more, they seemed to have more soldiers than the Corsairs. But that did not mean that they could slack off.

He plunged into the battle at the king’s side at the head of the soldiers. Having served in the army when he was younger, Menelcar was no foreigner to battles and began to fight his way towards the entrance to the lower decks. Slowly he and the men with him pushed through the fray, Corsairs falling before them. The rocking deck became slippery with blood. With a last sweep of his sword, all opposition guarding the lower decks was removed and he with about ten men at his back descended into the ship.

Unsurprisingly, they met very few soldiers; most men were up top fighting. They found their way down to the slave deck, where the first really prepared armed strength was waiting since they had left the upper deck. These men had clearly been charged with the guarding of the slaves. They were fierce fighters, and more than half of Menelcar’s men were slain before the three guards fell dead. The keys to the slaves’ chains were taken from them, and Menelcar left orders with one of the soldiers for freeing them and bringing them up to the main deck when it seemed most of the fighting was finished and they were ready to return to the Cuivië.

With that, he returned alone to the middle deck, searching for the Captain’s room that would contain the ship’s log and other documents that might be useful. He knew that it could not be terribly long before the horn call was sounded for the return to their own ship, so he had to work quickly. It took too long for him to find the right cabin, much too long. Once inside, he began to riffle through the books and papers on top, most interested in finding the ship’s log but also keeping an eye out for anything else that looked important. The log, fortunately, was where it should be and Menelcar found it quickly. He grabbed at a few other papers that may or may not have been important and tucked them between the cover and first page of the log.

Suddenly he heard a sound behind him, and only quick reflexes saved him from the near silent soldier that had appeared at his back. He turned and ducked, bringing up his sword just in time to save his life, but not well enough to avoid the deep gash scored in his left shoulder. Had it not been for that, the battle would have been relatively easy for Menelcar, but now the score was much evened. His two-handed sword became difficult to wield, especially in the tight quarters. Eventually, it was not his own weapon that saved him at all but a short knife laying in the cabin intended for the sharpening of a pen. In a swift moment when he pressed a slight advantage, he plunged the sharp blade into the man’s throat. Only then did Menelcar realize how light-headed he felt, how much blood he had probably lost from the deep and painful wound. Menelcar tore a long strip from the dead man’s clothing (even this small action seemed to take monumental effort), and bound it tightly around his barely useful arm. He picked up the ship’s log which he had dropped and tucked it into a pocket. He took his sword in his right hand, although he doubted he would be able to use it to any effect, and rose to his feet. It took several moments for him to steady himself before he hurried as quickly as he could to find out what was happening with the battle. But he took the stairs too fast, and with a distinct feeling of vertigo as he came to the top deck, Menelcar fainted.

[Alcarillo]

The Ráca and the Fame and Fortune wheeled towards each other, cutting crescent wakes in the river as the other ships were already clashing in battle. Captain Vórimandur stood at the starboard rail, leaning over the water and brandishing Sercendil. He glanced behind him, where the Cuivie had boarded another corsair ship, and was pleased to see that the Ráca was alone with her prey. His heart leapt with excitement as the ships neared each other within range of arrows.

"Quickly! A shield!" he shouted into the crowd of soldiers on deck. A shield was tossed to him just in time. A group of archers aboard the xebec were fitting arrows to their strings. They fired, and to Captain Vórimandur's horror, a few were aflame. He shouted a curse he normally wouldn't have said in polite company and lifted his shield along with the soldiers. The arrows mostly struck the side of the Ráca, and a few bounced across the deck. A hapless sailor was struck in the thigh and slid to his knees, and another was hit in the stomach. A couple of arrows thudded into the soldiers' shields, including a flaming arrow, which had to be drenched in water. Sailors rushed forward to the rail to douse the flames that had sprouted along the ship's starboard side. They threw bucketfuls of water over the rail, then hurried back to the larboard side of the ship to avoid the next volley.

In the intermission, Vórimandur rushed to the base of the mainmast, and called to Sergeant Angaden, "Fire at will! Kill their archers!" And as he hurried back alongside the soldiers, the archers fired a salvo of flashing arrows at the Fame and Fortune. Vórimandur cheered when he saw one of the corsair archers fall to his death over the side of the ship, and a few slump upon the railing. Foolish corsairs, lining up their bowmen in a neat little row on deck for our arrows, he thought. But the corsairs were firing another volley, completely of flames. Every soldier ducked behind his shield and every sailor hit the deck. The arrows whizzed past Vórimandur, missing him, but two soldiers weren't so lucky, and once the fire was put out they were taken below decks to have their wounds tended to. Arrows were now flying from ship to ship. The mizzen staysail had caught aflame, and the sailors were having a difficult time throwing water up onto the fire. Sailors were continuously rushing to the rail to drench the flames on the ship's side, risking the arrows of the corsairs. Sailors filled buckets as quickly as they could from the pump and handed the buckets to their shipmates. Men emptied buckets on each other, too, to keep the flames off. One sailor, hit in the leg by a flaming arrow, leapt over the side of the ship and into the river. Two more were hit and were drenched by their crewmates. Sergeant Nillendion ran through his soldiers to reach the captain.

"Sir, my soldiers can't just hide behind their shields. We need a battle! Let us board their ship and fight them hand to hand!"

"I agree! As soon as the ships come close enough, take some soldiers to the corsairs. But for now, we'll have to weather their arrows for a bit."

The two ships drifted closer together. The mizzen staysail fire had been put out, but now the corsair archers had better aim. Two more sailors were hit by arrows, one of them in the throat and bleeding profusely. The flaming arrows thwacked the soldiers' shields, and sailors from behind threw water upon the shields to keep the flames down. The two ships were even closer now. Sailors gathered on deck with cutlasses and knives. The corsairs were firing pointblank, and the Gondorian archers had a perfect view of the corsairs from their high perches. The ships were separated by a few feet of river. Sergeant Nillendion stood up, and called to his soldiers, "Now! Over to the corsairs!" And he and most of his soldiers and some armed sailors rushed to the rail, and with one great bound, leapt from the Ráca to the Fame and Fortune with a great war cry resounding from their throats.

"For Gondor and the King!"

Captain Vórimandur lived for moments like these. He was swept up by the battle, and ran to the rail, put one foot atop it, and with one great bound, leapt onto the deck of an enemy vessel alongside his fellow seamen.