Chapter 7: The Vile Fins

The alarm bell sounded like a thousand churchbells colliding inches from Arrien's ears. She let out a soft whimper as she stirred from her cot, starting to open her eyes, but quickly realizing that the room was far too bright for her to see well. Of course, what she didn't realize was that "far too bright" was simply lit by a candle.

"What time is it," she groaned, the apparent volume of her own voice causing her to wince slightly.

"Quarter past four in the morning," Giles hissed, grabbing his spell components, "apparently, we've been boarded..." Arrien struggled to her feet, grabbing her component pouch and the warblade she'd been given and headed out onto the deck. In front of her she saw about a half dozen creatures, dark purple in color, coming to about her mid-torso. They had slimy scales covering their entire bodies, bulbous eyes the same colour as the rest of their bodies, and stubby hands and legs. They looked like fish that had learned to walk upright.

"Murlocs!" One of the crewmen cried, cut short by one of the fishmen jabbing him in the stomach with a crude spear. Arrien rushed outside, blocking a spear with her warblade and thrusting at what she supposed could be considered the creatures throat. It made a horrid gurgling sound, its light green blood spilling onto the deck. The clash of weapons was too much on Arrien's poor, hungover ears, but it was either overcome that pain or encounter a whole different kind at the weapons of the Murlocs. Strange creatures, Arrien thought to herself, careful to whisper in her mind to prevent her brain from exploding. Behind her, Giles made a sweeping gesture and three of the Murlocs were frozen in place by their ankles, making them easy targets for the seamen as the fishmen struggled to move. The deck was covered in even more green bodily fluids. Arrien lunged at one Murloc who was making its way over the side of the deck before she realized that three more were following right behind him. She glanced behind her for back-up, and noted that everyone else was quite occupied with their own enemies.

"Rawrgrlrgrlgrl!" One of her opponents cried, brandishing its rough hewn sword at her. The others began closing in on her. She took a swipe at one with her warblade, but it easily deflected the strike, the metallic clank ringing harshly in Arrien's ears. Another strike, another parry.

"Oh, to the Nether with this," the young mage snarled, throwing her weapon to the deck and taking a deep breath, putting her arms out to either side and uttering a few quick words of power, bringing them together quickly, a veritable storm of fire flew from her hands, turning the murlocs before her into not much more than a few mean scraps of burnt flesh and bone. She grumbled, feeling a bit weakened, but refused to be deterred, she shook her head a bit, trying to recover from her hangover and leapt up the stairs towards the poop deck, perching herself on the railing and conjuring up three balls of fire, which hovered in a juggling pattern over her hand. The first thing she saw was Giles, cornered by one of the fishmen, and this was where the first fireball found its target, jetting forth and sizzling through the flesh of the murloc, a mighty roar issuing forth from its throat before it slumped to the deck.

She turned around, seeing Duke Falrevere engaged in combat with several of them and let loose the other two fireballs, quickly decreasing Falrevere's opponents from five to three. The others were distracted by this sudden turn of the tide, and the Duke made quick work of the rest. Arrien hopped off the railing, grinning and gave a quick bow to her leader, turning quickly, ready to summon more fire when she realized that the murlocs had already been taken care of. She grimaced, disappointed that the fight was already over. By her quick tally, the accuracy of which was probably quite heavily affected by her throbbing headache, there appeared to be two dozen murlocs lying dead on the ship, and two or three of her crewmates dead, at least a half dozen others injured.

"Good work there, mage," Falrevere said, clapping her on the back, "any indication of where they came from?" He called up to the crow's nest.

"East of here," was the reply from up above, "from what I can see looks like there's a little group of crude huts... most of the populace was probably involved in this little ill-conceived raid."

"Take us in," Falrevere said, "who knows what they might have managed to nab from other ships that we might find... useful."

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The landing party killed off the last few remaining murlocs in the village with very little effort. What Arrien found a bit odd was that there didn't seem to be any young among this tribe, of course, this could just be a small hunting village and their young and sickly could live elsewhere. She realized, quickly enough, that this hardly mattered any which way, and continued poking around in the camp, finding what appeared to be where the cook had set up his shop, with a small pit for a fire and a number of decent-sized fish, still quite fresh, hanging up. There were a variety of herbs lined up on a table nearby, and the remnants of an animal Arrien couldn't identify, though these looked quite rancid and had a small colony of flies buzzing around it. As she browsed the various herbs, trying to remember what she'd learned of her potionmaking from Selessa, she heard a soft mewling noise come from under the table. She bent down and saw a small, tan cat with black ears peering back at her, its blue eyes shining in the just-risen sun.

"C'mere, kitty," she said softly, "what's your name?" She smiled, clicking her tongue lightly, then remembering the strange language of the murlocs, decided to try mimicking their calls, "Murgle?" She said, and the cat quirked its head to the side, slowly pawing its way out, nuzzling its head against Arrien's hand. She picked up the small purring form and smiled, "You're a sweet little boy," she said, rubbing her freckled nose against the cat's muzzle, "is Murgle your name, sweetie? Well... if it wasn't it is now. The question is, were you meant as a pet, or were you an ingredient?" She giggled softly, although she found the thought a bit grim. Murgle climbed his way up and settled comfortably around Arrien's neck as she finished gathering up what was usable from the kitchen. She met once again with the scavanging group, who reported only having found a few shiny baubles, but nothing of any great consequence. The Duke smirked at Arrien when she came back aboard with her newfound friend.

"Well, looks like you're a popular one there, lass," he chuckled, "just keep him out of the way of the cannon fire once we start the real raids." He took his large hat off and scratched at his head, "I'm certain we'll start finding some prey around here soon enough."

"Pirates in these waters, sir?"

"Well, we're here, aren't we?" He chuckled, "and with this fleet, as small as it may be behind us, no goblin cruiser is going to stand a chance," a dark light came up in the Duke's eyes that made Arrien rather uncomfortable, "and certainly there'll be a civilian transport that might have someone important enough to have some gold... maybe the family of a regional lord or somesuch on a pleasure cruise. You never know what sorts of treasure they might have, even the young ones."

Arrien smiled emptily, nodding and politely excusing herself to her chambers, lightly scratching under Murgle's chin, her headache starting to come back. Sure, robbing the rich and undeserving made sense to her... it even seemed a bit fun and daring. But the Duke was talking about robbing civilians and their families, even children weren't off limits. She sighed, looking in the mirror. What had she gotten herself into... and more importantly, how could she get out?