Hai stared at his food bowl.
Gruel.
A lot of boiled water, not enough corn meal. Those two things together made gruel. The Sea Wolves could scarcely afford better... But the slop kept the Marines and sailors under his charge alive. Those freeloaders could spend their own coin if they wanted better food.
Sea god's shorts! Where in the hells was Tycon??
Bah! Whatever! Hai tossed the clay bowl aside, spilling the gruel.
AHHH!! Hai panicked. He just wasted food! He knelt down into the hard-packed sand and tried to recover any still-palatable gruel.
"Captain Lang..."
Hai placed a spoonful of sand and gruel into his mouth. Ugh. Salty and sandy. It was disgusting!
"...Lang Hai, are you crying?"
"NO!!!?" Hai turned his head up, "WHO'S ASKING??-- Oh, it's you."
The noble bastard, Tycon, was standing right in front of him. He had the worst timing... Lang Hai stood up and dusted his trousers off.
Oh, right.
Lang Hai spun around and wiped the tears from his face.
Hai turned back to the patiently waiting Tycon, "You're back."
Tycon stared blankly... "I am."
Hai nodded, "Well. Uh... Report!"
"First off, I managed to find a basement dungeon. I wasn't able to get close, but I estimate them to hold over a hundred slaves in captivity."
Hm. The number was smaller than Hai was hoping... but any number over 0 was worth fighting for.
Tycon continued, "The Saltspray Kings have hundreds of pirates-- I counted at least 200 but explored less than half of the keep. There only appears to be one entrance and it's lined with improvised traps, barricades, and defensive siege weapons. And their storeroom just exploded."
Hai nodded, walking away, "I see... traps, huh. We're going to lose a lot of--"
He stopped.
Lang Hai grabbed Tycon's by the collar of his dark hood and lifted him up, "What the hells do you mean the storeroom just exploded?!"
Tycon glared, "Captain..."
Lang Hai placed him back down, "Sorry. I uh... Please tell me about the storeroom."
ραпdα Йᴏνê|(сòm) The green-haired noble smoothed the creases on his cloak, "I had a small cache of explosives, courtesy of the Ivory Judge sect. With them, I destroyed several barrels worth of food and drinking water."
..."Got anything else?" Hai tried his best to smile innocently.
"Lang... Whatever type of face you're trying to make, please stop."
"Fine then! Nerd!" Hai crossed his arms, scowling, "Did you find anything good? I know you have a storage ring! I'm a Hidden Sect leader, you know! We know these things."
"I didn't exactly hide it," The noble waved his hand... a barrel and a few sacks appearing from his storage ring.
Hai knelt down, tears streaming down his face. He grabbed a sack. Wonderful, delicious rations.
Oh, wait, that was corn meal. Hai tossed it away.
He grabbed the second bag. Sweet, wonderful, delicious not-corn-meal rations.
Wheezing in excitement, Hai grabbed another bag. Salt! They had salt! Their meals could have a tiny, tiny bit of flavor! He held it close-- or he could sell it and buy... weapons so his men didn't have to use meat-hooks and butchers' knives.
"The salt will be used for food, Captain," Tycon chided.
Sea god's pants. Hai cursed inwardly. Was he really so transparent?
He grabbed a heavy jar and cradled it to his face, "Sweet tree sap... I've-- I've never been able to afford you, before."
"One of the sacks is full of copper forks and spoons, as well," Tycon offered.
"You have done... a great service for the Beaurte fleet," Hai said tearfully.
"...You're beginning to scare me, Lang Hai."
Hai embraced the single barrel Tycon had summoned, "Tell me what's in the barrel, great benevolent Baron."
Tycon grimaced, "The barrel is full of pickled cucumbers."
"SWEET! WONDROUS! BLESSINGS OF THE SEA GOD!! Hai screamed, his voice two octaves too high. "We have PICKLES!!"
Tycon was covering his ears, "Hai, really? The whole camp's probably heard you."
Hai wiped his tears, "Yeah, sorry. It's an old sailor's tale. So the Sea God turns himself into a pickle-- funniest shite I've ever heard. Blessed by the Sea God, pickled cucumbers stave off scurvy."
"Scurvy stems from a dietary deficiency. You could also dry and pulverize the peels of citrus fruits-- lemons, not limes."
"Yeah, whatever." Hai scowled, "They work, alright?"
Tycon stood patiently.
Hai crossed his arms, grinning, "So, what now?"
Tycon shook his head, "Why are you asking me? You're the High-Captain of the fleet, Lang."
...
Captain Miloslav of the Saltspray Kings had no clue how in the hells the Sea Wolves did it. Their storage room had literally exploded. The food they had accumulated to last them weeks had gone up in a puff of smoke. The job was done well-- enough explosives were used to level a fortified bank, much less a room where they kept food.
Did they have a Mage that could cast invisibility? No, they couldn't. If the Sea Wolves had a Silver-Rank Mage, they wouldn't have bothered with subterfuge. And there were so many pirates around, that it was impossible for an Iron-Rank Rogue to get in...
Did they really have a Gold-Rank stealth class?
Impossible.
Out of 100, maybe even 200 Iron-Ranks, there'd be a single Gold-Rank. In his life, Miloslav only met one, a Bone Knight from Rekkenmark back in his home, the Sleeping Country.
There was a traitor in the ranks of the Saltspray Kings. It was the only explanation Miloslav would accept.
Over the past 2 suns, he had hung 20 men from the top of the fort's walls... Pirates who he knew didn't like him... Men with shifty eyes. Men who wore glasses... He had to be sure. The other Kings-- his Lieutenants all agreed.
His stomach growled from the lack of food. He wanted to hold out just a single sun more-- more ships would come soon... ships that would be purchasing the slaves.
The Saltspray Kings could cut a deal. They never lost out when they cut deals.
A knock came on the door.
Miloslav threw one of dozens of empty grog bottles, shattering green glass all over the floor, "You!! F*ck off!!
A pirate with a well-kept silver beard opened the door, "Cap'n... They sent another Sea Wolf to negotiate."
Negotiate? Pah. Never. The Sea Wolves are rabid... hungry for blood. They wouldn't let them surrender. They were pirates. Surely, everyone knew that Marines never negotiated with pirates, especially Marines from the Sea Wolf fleet.
"F*ck off, Liber!!" Miloslav grabbed ahold of the table and tried to stand, "Show me the Sea Wolf. I'll cut his balls off and hang him-- *hic*.... Hang him..."
Liber had walked close, "Captain... You are drunk. Again."
Miloslav tried to focus his eyes, grabbing at the pirate's collar, "Liber, listen to me. We cannot... negotiate! We are.... The Saltspray KINGS!! We CAN NOT... negotiate."
Miloslav needed to convince him. He needed to convince everyone. They knew it in their hearts, but if their Captain didn't convince them, the fools would try to surrender-- try to take the easy way. It would lead to their doom.
The cool touch of a metal barrel touched the bottom of Miloslav's chin. The sound of a pistol safety clicked off.
Miloslav narrowed his eyes, again steadying himself on the table beside him, "Liber... What is the meaning of this?"
Liber shook his head, "It is not me, Captain. The crew has chosen to mutiny."
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