Upright: Control, will power, victory, assertion, determination;
Reversed: Lack of control and direction, aggression.
The Arishok, doing battle with Isabela's ship, before the storm that shipwrecked them both.
'Vinek kathas! Fire!'
Forty cannons unloaded at once into the pirate ship dancing tantalisingly on the waves before them. Around a third of the shots scored a direct hit, and the Arishok nodded his approval. Parts of the enemy vessel splintered and broke off, but the ship sailed doggedly on.
'Katara, bas,' spat the Arishok. 'Nehraa Koslun.'
The Qunari dreadnought, riding into battle like a chariot of the ocean, would be victorious today; the Arishok was determined of that. Time to show these basra what happened to those who insulted the Qun in this way.
From around him, the Arishok could hear the rest of his fleet following his lead and firing on the ship ahead, which zigzagged nimbly through the hail of cannonballs raining on it, taking minimal damage from the onslaught.
The ship was faster, smaller, and more intent in eluding than attacking the Qunari. A few shots had initially been fired in retaliation when the Arishok's dreadnought had first engaged them, but now the smaller ship seemed more concerned with simply getting away from the fleet.
Cowards. The Qunari would show them. The Arishok would assert his dominance and control over these vashedan thieves, just as the Qun demanded of him and the five hundred men under his command.
'Faster,' the Arishok urged the captain at the helm. 'They cannot be allowed to escape with the Tome.'
The captain nodded, and the dreadnought lurched forward with a burst of speed. They were closing in, the Arishok noted with grim satisfaction.
There was no doubt the pirate ship's captain was a skilled one, but the will of the Qunari would not be defeated so easily. The Arishok had never lost a battle before; this, of course, was why he was the Arishok.
The Qunari beneath him on the deck had reloaded their cannons; it was time to strike again and board.
Just one more attack, and it would be all over for their enemy.
'Teth a!' the Arishok bellowed. 'Nehraa Koslun! Ataash Qunari! We shall be victorious today!'
He surveyed the grey, red-blood-streaked bodies of the fierce, horned fighters who roared their obedience back at him; the thrill of the chase and his command of the battle spurred on their enthusiasm, and the Arishok felt confident that they could not lose, even with the dark clouds descending upon them, obscuring their vision of the shore.
'Vinek kathas! Fire!'
Every cannon on the battleship fired with a deafening series of booms; the fleet followed suit. The Arishok readied his weapons, preparing to board, preparing to fight.
'Anaam esaam Qun!'
But before he could make the leap to board, the ship careened sharply away; its hull smoking, battered but not broken, as if propelled by a spirited will to survive that the Arishok had not counted on. With one huge heave forward on the choppy waves, the ship reared forward, putting on a burst of speed that clearly confused every Qunari on board. A din of disappointment and rage rose from the soldiers on the ship; they had been relishing the battle as much as the Arishok had, and now victory had slipped away from them at the last, like a lover in the middle of the night.
The pirate ship ploughed through the increasingly rough waves, the dreadnought in hot pursuit, until the Arishok realised it was heading into a storm.
'Foolish,' the captain observed. 'They will be shipwrecked for sure.'
'And yet we cannot let them get away without the Tome,' mused the Arishok.
'If we follow, we put our own fleet in grave danger,' the captain observed.
'Either their captain is a very foolish one, or a recklessly brave one,' the Arishok agreed. 'But the Qun demands that I recover the Tome of Koslun.'
The captain paused, awaiting his command. Out of the corner of his eye, the Arishok could see hundreds of grey-and-red bodies, quietly waiting to see what the Arishok would say next.
Following the basra ship into the storm – and a violent storm at that, judging by how the winds and lightning were buffeting the ship sailing away in front of them – would potentially wipe out most, if not all, of the Qunari fleet, not to mention the Arishok himself.
But not fulfilling a demand of the Qun was simply not done. He would not be worthy to be Arishok otherwise, and retreating now would condemn him and five hundred soldiers – good, obedient, Qunari soldiers – to their deaths, if they dared return to Par Vollen without the stolen Tome.
They had no choice.
'Meravas,' he said to his captain, his voice calm, certain, determined. 'So shall it be.'
He raised his axe in the air, trying to rouse the spirits of his antaam once more. 'Nehraa kadan!' he roared. 'Ataash varin kata! Forward into the storm!'