Open Chronicles Fire In the Cove

[Naghi]

Bayou Garramarisma - Thule Port

Kellen stood at the prow of the small ship as it crept through the swampy waters and towards the port of Thule.

The small town lay ahead of him, covered in vines and mangrove trees. Lights danced throughout the entire village, and he could hear the raucous singing from where he was. Dozens of ships lay moored within the bay, most of them with limp flags hanging upon their mast.

He glanced between them, identifying half a dozen pirates, a few smugglers, and interestingly enough an Anirian Navy Vessel.

Kellen couldn't help but feel a spike of curiosity, though he quickly realized that he likely wanted nothing to do with an Anirian Vessel moored in a smugglers bay. His head shook slightly, and he glanced back towards his helmsmen. The man was an expert, having visited Thule Port more times than he could count.

The place was a smugglers cove, a favorite of any and every criminal that had business in Alliria but was too hesitant to stay there outright.

No real law existed in Thule, though there was a Crime Lord by the name of Basher that supposedly 'ran' the place. That was who Kellen was here to see, and hopefully make a deal with. As his ship pulled closer though he felt something was...off.

The raucous singing had turned to distant screams, the dancing lights had turned into the sickly scent of fire, and panic had set into the streets.

"Get us moored!" He called out, grabbing his dagger and jumping off the ship and onto the dock.

Kellen was no hero, far from it, but if there was a situation...maybe he could take advantage.

 

[Gal]

“Slaves from Vel Anir and coin from Allir,
She’s got all them treasures under her skirts!”

“Aye, how she do!”

Despite the countless tankards already littering their table, her crew didn’t miss a beat. Flat tones and pipe-hoarse voices aside, their timing was perfect.

Gal rolled her eyes and sank further into the shadows of a nearby mangrove. Pipe smoke curled around her like a particularly ambitious spiderweb.

“But come winter’s ending we hafta leave ‘er,
None of us settle, ‘cause we’re all flirts!”

Then again, knowing the local spiders…

“Aye, how we are!”

She winced as Short Berto yelled right into her ear. Earned him a quick shove that sent him sprawling under the table. Tall Berto yanked him back to his feet with enough force to dislocate the shoulder of a man.

Short Berto, luckily, was an orc.

“To Cerak in spring our off’rings we bring,
Race past the Spear to see who’ll be king!”

Now there was a line that had all the captains in the watering hole thumping their chests – and breasts. Gal would’ve flipped them off, but that would’ve required sitting up, which wasn’t part of her plans for the evening.

“Aye, how we do!”

“A pirate’s a fool if he don’t turn south when the summer grows cool,
But a pirate’s a tool…”

“Aye, he’s a tool!”

“If he don’t spend his winter in Thule!”

Her plans had, until that instant, entailed getting stoned out of her mind. And then possibly visiting one those lovely brothels portside.

Emphasis on had.

Because the spirits just loved to shit on her plans. A week ago it had been a squall that had thrown them days off-course.

Today it was a firebreather from Amol-Kalit downing one too many shots of grog.

Figures.

 

[Naghi]

The fires seemed to have caught on more than one building now, a raging torrent of flame that quickly leaped from building to building.

It figured that a place like Thule would be rather...flammable. Most everything here was built out of complete and total ramshackle. There was no such thing as building codes, structure planning, or any of the nonsense that would be found in the more civilized parts of the world.

No, Thule was lawless.

Still, the people seemed to be fighting the fire fairly effectively. Some men grabbed buckets, some women attempted the same. It was an effort that brought the community together.

Of course it would be helped if the man who started the fires wasn't still starting more.

"YOU CAN'T STOP ME! THIS PLACE BELONGS TO MEEEEEEE-hiccup-EEEEEEEE!"​

Kellen caught sight of him as he turned the corner, his mouth open and a flame slowly drawn from his throat. A ball of fire bounced in his palm, and then he threw it towards a nearby ship.

 

[Maz the Shadow]

Shadows always tended to come together wherever the light was weakest, and the light rarely ever came to Thule.

Maz rolled over, knocking a bottle over and setting it rolling towards the edge of the crow's nest. His hand snaked out of its own accord before it could traverse the long fall down to the deck and waste the delicious liquor. He completed the roll and sat up. His other hand went to the cork in the bottle, almost automatically uncorking it for a drink when his eyes opened on the scene of flames licking up buildings in the mangroves across the water from where the ship he was on was moored.

He slid to the edge of the crow's nest, one leg on either side of one of the uprights holding up the banister that surrounded it. His bare chest leaned into the upright, one hand holding the liquor bottle loosely as his eyes looked for what was happening. The cork came free easily, and the bottle met his lips as a ball of flame leapt from some random man yelling on what passed for a dock and alighted in the rigging of a ship nestled against that dock.

"Ahhh, that's no good..." he muttered beneath his breath. The cork found the bottle again as Maz waited a moment for his brain to clear some more. His eyes slid down to the deck of his own ship, people sleeping here and there, including the deck watch. Pirates sometimes tried for discipline, but it was always lax, especially when they were in what passed for safe haven. "..eyes up chum, we've gotta bright guy on the dock tryin to livin' up the place!"

His hand found a spare belaying pin and sent it spinning to the deck next to the watch's head. It hit within inches, the loud bang waking the man up suddenly. Maz could see as the mans eyes widened at the sight of a nearby ship going up in flames. From the crow's nest, he could hear the shouts start as the man cajoled the sleeping crew to get buckets of water up in case the fire spread to their ship.

Maz nodded and stood, looking back to the dock to see what was happening and consider his own next actions.

 

[Thrukk Guldarp]

"Whaur dae ye hink ye daft fanny?" boomed a voice. "Ye fill th' buckit frae th' brine."

Two sailors emerged from a side street carrying buckets. One of them was stumbling on account of the half-ogre sized boot that had just been applied to his arse. They were followed by a familiar sight. Thrukk Guldarp was one of Basher's chief enforcers. When Basher wanted someone bashed or their arms ripped out of their sockets to make a point, then Thrukk was called upon. He was well known for stopping bar-fights if they got out of hand. Or for picking fights with an entire bar if he was in the mood.

He rushed towards the water with the two men. One of those men had apparently been two drunk to even remember where to go to find water to fill the bucket that had been thrust into his hands. That one nursed his sore backside as he rushed to the water front. The wooden dock creaked under Thrukk's weight, but this was downed out by what sounded like a small waterfall. The half-ogre dropped a strained pole holding six buckets into the ocean and yanked them all back out to carry them across his shoulders.

"Come 'en, afair th' whole damned place goes up!" he boomed. He turned just as a ball of flame hissed over his head to land on the deck of the ship behind him.

 

[Gal]

Gal was gonna murder the fucker who’d dragged his Anirian prize into Thule.

Into Thule, of all places. Like there weren’t a thousand treacherous brackish pockets scattered through Garramarisma where you could stash a stolen navy vessel until hell blew over.

Didn’t they know the navy of Vel-fucking-Anir always, always carried at least one mage on board?

“Knobslobber,” she hissed, flattened against the back of an upturned boat on the overgrown shore. The wood was so rotten and wet it wouldn’t catch any flame, magic or not. After a few minutes of listening to the panicked screams and the sloshing of water, the Nazrani chanced a glance over the barnacled keel. Half of the port was on fire by now, its orange tongues hissing blue with each keg of rum they burned through.

Men and property were fine, but grog? That’s where Gal drew the line.

It was just as well that she sprang into the fray to cut the firebreather down when she did – because in that moment, the Anirian prize spilled forth its bounty of captured sailors and soldiers, their cheers loud enough to be heard even over the noise of shacks succumbing under their own charred weight.

Well, nothing quite like navy blood to douse the flames with.

 

[Naghi]

This was nothing less than utter Chaos. Kellen wasn't quit sure what was going on or why. The fire mage seemed to be throwing blasts of flame as willfully as could be.

Houses had already caught, ships were next.

They seemed to tumble into one another, the madness growing. Then suddenly a cheer went up from one of the ships. Dozens of Anirian Soldiers and Sailors burst from a cargo hold, their fate as future slaves suddenly thrown into question.

"Shit." Kellen swore as he saw the men rush their captors.

He didn't know the circumstances of course, the reason, but someone had brought a capture Anirian ship into the Bay, now...now it seemed like they were breaking free.

"KILL THEM!" Kellen shouted. "BEFORE THEY CAN GET A FOOTHOLD!"

There was no doubt in his mind the Anirians were capable. Given the right opportunity those bastards could fell Alliria.

 

[Thrukk Guldarp]

"Och it's tae be a barnie is it!?" Thrukk bellowed. Despite the flames licking at one of his favourite bars and the horde of desperate sailors from Vel Anir the ogre managed to keep any disappointment from his voice. From the smile on his face it was hard to tell if there actually was any.

"Keep filling buckets," he growled at the two sailors behind him. A contingent of freed anirians charged down the promenade in his direction. With a grunt he hoisted his pole of buckets - likely more than the weight of a fully grown man - clean over his head.

"Hauld these fur me!" he shouted at the escapees. He took a few running steps and threw the pole. It slammed into the two front runners, pinning them to the wooden planks. Some of the sailors had realised at this point that finding weapons before tackling the ogre would be a good idea. The slow ones kept on coming to Thrukk's gravelly chuckles.