The Saga of Captain Wereshark Vol. 7

The Pyandonea Expedition, Continued

The sudden charge of a tribe of blood-crazed Nord axe swingers and a horde of trident-swinging lizard bulls must have rattled the Sea Elf captain, for he shouted a panicked cry to his bowmen. They foolishly turned their arrows on the enraged beasts. The futile attacks only enraged the lizard bulls all the more, and in the commotion, the Wereshark shouted “Stendarr’s Blood!” As one, we charged into battle.

The enraged lizard bulls fell upon the frightened Sea Elves, ripping them apart or tossing them into the trees. By the time the Sea Elves rallied, forming a phalanx of shields and casting lightning and storms, Mighty Flicka and the rest were past them, meeting us at the shore. The Wereshark had reclaimed his weapons by then, and those Sea Elves too slow to flee fell as we freed our compatriots from bondage.

Caught between a crowd of the most ruthless buccaneers to ever raise a sail and a herd of enraged lizard bulls, even the cluster of Sea Elves wilted like a moon blossom in Sentinel’s heat. Eventually, the surviving Maormer scattered and fled into the woods, chased by most of the lizard bulls. With Neramo and Vimy to show the others how it was done, we took down what few lizard bulls challenged us.

After quickly looting every valuable we could from the Elf corpses, we survivors rushed into our boats and pushed out onto open sea. All of us kept wary eyes on the anchored Sea Elf galleon floating beyond the Pale Spirit. New fog rolled in behind us, and I’ll never forget the tortured cries of those Sea Elves as the lizard bulls chased them down and gored them. Despite their barbarous ways, I almost pitied the poor bastards as the island’s terrifying inhabitants slaughtered them to the last.

Captain Wereshark now wore the golden-armored leader’s helmet on his own head, though that was more of a mocking joke than a permanent adjustment. As if the Wereshark would ever truly doff his ever-changing tangle of marvelous colored feathers! How then would people recognize him?

As we rowed, and Sea Elves screamed, we waited for lightning, or storms, or another sea serpent attack, but we reached the Pale Spirit and clambered aboard as the surviving crew of the Silver Arrow did the same. We set sail, but the Sea Elf warship stayed where it was anchored. I knew then that fool of a Sea Elf captain had not left enough sailors on board to sail his warship home. On another day we might have seized her, but we had neither the necessary crew to sail her nor a benefactor who would buy her.

I watched the fog swallow that Sea Elf warship and the island of enraged lizard bulls. The screams persisted long after both had vanished from view, but soon there was no sound but the gentle lapping of the sea and the flapping of the Pale Spirit’s mighty sails. We sailed with the Silver Arrow all through the night, in case there were more Sea Elf warships in search of the first, but no others challenged us. The fog burned off with the new day to reveal another island, far more promising than the last.

As we slid silently forward and sailors readied weapons, we could see the glistening spires of Sea Elf architecture and, more importantly, no visible Sea Elf soldiers guarding her shores. This was likely another fishing village, so remote none expected attack. Our haul from this raid would be massive.

With a twinkle in his eye and his feathers flapping in the wind, Captain Wereshark ordered the attack.

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