The Astapori Treasure Fleet

[Dirty Chai]

Two years, they said.

Sign on, the smiling recruiter promised, and be guaranteed a fortune with two years.
Reaving the Disputed Lands really is so easy, he claimed.

Eddison, young and restless as he was at the time, bought into it, and, before his father could restrain him, he was on the deck of a longboat sailing away from his home island, Old Wyk.

They sailed around Westeros, carefully avoiding the watchful eyes of the Arbormen and the anchorages of Dorne, and into the Stepstones, laying anchor in a cove-town named "Parrow."
There were no 'riches' to be found; no treasure, no instant wealth.
Seven years Eddison spent aboard the decks of lying captains.. longships, galleys, and cogs; Seven years Eddison spent plunging deep into aimless debauchery in Parrow, forgetting his dreams of wealth.

Ed stirred from the shadows of the cell, and reached for the bars of a small window on the side of the hull, looking out into the grey and foamy chaos.
Every rock of the galley dashed a bit of the ocean into the lower deck through these these holes, and thunder was striking in the distance.

Ed gritted his teeth, and turned, glancing at the rusted bars along the door and on the other cells as well.
He then banged on the cage bars between him and the neighboring cell;
"These Astapori have sailed too far south," the Ironborn man hissed, "A storm is coming."
The swarthy Summer Islander was in the darkness there somewhere, he knew.

Ed's dirt-gold hair was long and ragged now, and a budding beard of thicketed gold was hanging from his jaw;
He stood quite thin now, but there was clear muscle tone from all his years of sailing.

[Ganbarenippon]

Quarro stirred fitfully, his dreams of the Festival of Joy fading as he became aware of the insistent tapping on his cell.

It was the Iron Man again.

Cracking his thick, bull's neck Quarro stretched; feeling his body as he did every time he woke. Toes, feet, trunk-like legs, arms as think as any normal man's legs and massive, scarred hands. Satisfied that everything was in working order he moved over to the bars separating his cell from the Iron Man's. "They are too far out, you are correct Man of Iron. But must we talk of escape again? I thought we had decided that now is not the time for escapings?" He said, his exasperation made evident even through the musical tones of his homeland.

Quarro had been a slave for fifteen years. He had always been the biggest man in the crew, both this crew and the one on the Bird of Paradise the ship where he had served as a mate for a decade before they had abandoned him in port one day. Quarro was an intelligent, earnest man. Even tempered a good worker, a fine sailor, good with a bow better with his fists. He had also been an inveterate drinker and was near uncontrollable when the rage was upon him. Xhosa Mo, his old captain had finally tired of paying for the damage Quarro did to various taverns around the Narrow Sea and had simply abandoned him after one particularly bad night.

The slavers had taken him when he lay in a drunken stupor on the floor of the tavern he had nearly destroyed in his anger at being abandoned. After he had awoken, and nearly destroyed the wagon bed he had been chained to he had eventually resigned himself to his fate feeling he likely deserved it anyway. That had all changed when the Man of Iron had come aboard.

He and Quarro had known each other for years now, though had never given their names, that was the one possession you had left to you. Besides, Quarro was not interested in names, here they were all slaves and that was all that really mattered. It would be a stretch to say they were friends, you didn't have friends as a slave, but he did respect the Ironborn. Right from the first day he was different from the others. He had never once given up on his dream of escape as so many others did and, unlike so many others the Man of Iron had managed to keep his sense of self intact through all the long years of captivity. He was fierce, and fearless not afraid of a beating but could work like a demon too. And, like Quarro, he had been a sailor once.

Not one of those wretched souls like their fellow slaves who were chained to an oar and left there. No the Ironborn had sailed the open oceans as a free man, just as Quarro had. It was talk of the stars and their uses for navigation, talk started by the Ironborn that began to stir to life the long-since buried sense of self in Quarro's gut. As the months passed the men talked of more and broader things, and eventually the Iron Man had let Quarro in on his secret: he was going to escape. Normally Quarro would have laughed at such a suggestion, but coming from this man he believed it. And what's more he found himself being drawn into the plan, and to begin to nurture hope once again.

"How?" He asked the other man.

[jacb547]

OOC: This reminds me so much of Assassin's Creed 4.

[Dirty Chai]

[That's because it is based on that mission in AC4; Consider it a tribute]

"The fools have locked the fleet together, and their sails are still unleashed," he explained, pointing upwards.
The sailors and guards had no inhibition about talking around the human 'treasure.'
"The flagship though, I saw her when we were first taken aboard;" Ed then gestured at the rusted bars,
"Myrish make.. We can take her, and with the others, we can row her to safety.."

Ed paused for a moment, and then his head nodded at the drunken guards on a far table on the other side of the lower deck.
"Just like what we talked about, mate.."

[Ganbarenippon]

Quarro nodded as he listened. They had been working the details of their plan for a while now. The Ironborn doing most of the work, Quarro putting a few things in here and there. "I will wake them up then." The big man moved to the cell on the other side and woke up its inhabitant. "Silently now." He warned them. Taking this ship would be easy enough if they could maintain surprise. Or so the Ironborn assured him. But of they were to have any chance of escaping the fleet they would have to do it in silence, or as close as they could manage. In the darkness, Quarro could sense the movement of the other slaves as they woke. Most of them had no idea what was going on, or about to happen, they just knew that silence was the order of the day. Quarro had told them so and it would be done. Size was good for something after all. "Ready?" He asked the Ironborn in a low voice.

[Dirty Chai]

Quarro was answered by a repeated metallic clashing, the sound of the Ironborn man slamming the broad parts of his shackles against a rusted lock, sparks flying at sudden and precise friction.

Ed's plan assumed the swarthy Summer Islander could break free from his cell by brute force alone, and those who could not break free would be given their freedom after they took out the guards.

The Ghiscari slavers at the table stirred with blurry and slow movements, and a handful of shackled slaves were already moving up to them, quietly and quickly;
Ed finally broke the lock on his cage as they died with muffled screams, and ran over to the entry to storage in the back.

He scanned the small room, and then turned back and proclaimed to all the others, who were perhaps some thirty in number:
"Arm yourselves and get to the flagship. If we are to drown, it won't be here today."

The Ironborn man then turned back into the storage, picked up a cutlass, and then started up a ladder quietly.

The hatch-door opened easily, and Ed clambered up on to the slippery deck to find no immediate enemy, but rather ...

The galley in front of them was burning, touched by lightning as Ed reached the deck, an explosion of wood, sound, and blinding light;
The Ironborn man was laughing, and a wild grin gripped his face as he rushed at a Ghiscari sailor, cutlass slipping into his surprised neck.

[Ganbarenippon]

Quarro braced his hands on two of the bars in the corner of his cell. Taking a deep breath he pulled. The two bars held up for a moment before finally bowing under the huge force. After a few minutes he had squeezed himself out of the cell whilst the two guards were dealt with. Leaving weapons for the others, Quarro only needed his fists, he made for the ladder. He turned to the slaves, desperate hope and fear on their faces. "You heard the Iron Man, quietly. Anybody makes any noise, you answer to me." He waited for the nods of acknowledgement from the assembled men, then scrambled up the ladder and onto the next deck.

[Dirty Chai]

Ed turned around after tossing the body overboard, and pointed with shackled hand and sword towards a ship in the distance, two galleys down.
The entire fleet was locked together, with interconnecting planks... at least, it was; there were two galleys sinking on the left and right, not including the one had just been hit by lightning.

The Ironborn man whistled and then darted across the rest of the deck, dispatching another sailor before clambering awkwardly yet quickly up the frontal beam(?) of the ship, and used it to reach the galley in front of them, continuing his dash across its burning deck.

Droves of the Ghiscari didn't seem to notice him, too busy with the rigging, the oars, and the sails to notice a man slipping by;
Ed rather expected those who followed to dispatch any who got in their way.

Leaving the burning galley, he reached the next one, and immediately slipped over to the hatch-door, and looked down into the darkness, looking for more cages.

[Ganbarenippon]

Chaos.

The deck was awash with fire, and blood large parts of the rigging had fallen. The screams of the Ghiscari carried over the sound of the storm as they battled furiously to keep their ships afloat. The men of Slavers Bay were not natural sailors and this storm was beyond their ability to manage. Already other ships in the fleet were beginning to founder. Quarro whipped his head around looking for the Ironborn, and saw him vaulting onto the ship immediately next to them. It would seem the Ghiscari were too distracted. 'So much for silence.' "After him, to the other ship." Quarro called to the slaves behind him.

He began to sprint forward himself, and now the Ghiscari realised the slaves were free, shouts of anger and command rang out across the deck. "Ignore them! To the other ship" Quarro boomed over the howling wind. A large overseer stepped into Quarro's way as he bulled across the deck. He raised his whip arm to strike...

Without breaking stride Quarro's massive arm snapped out, quick as an eel, and clamped around the other man's throat with all the finality of an iron collar. Still running, he made a dash for the edge, the burly overseer almost being dragged backward in an attempt to keep his balance. As lightening lit the sky, Quarro shoved the man over the railing, where he feel screaming between two ships just as they crashed against one another. He did not look back, but simply jumped onto the next ship following the Ironborn.

[Dirty Chai]

The Ironborn bastard looked back to see if the Summer Islander was still following him, and then jumped down the hatch, kicking over a table of guards and then dispatching a few himself.
There were more prisoners down here, and the 'plan' required they release enough slaves to man the flagship galley.

As his cutlass was buried successively into three different men's necks, Ed wondered what the Ghiscari thought of this storm;
The Storm God was speaking, that was sure to him, but these slavers likely thought the Harpy was displeased with them, nagging them with handfuls of wrath.

He kicked the last guard, knocking him out.
The Ironborn's eyes then scanned the lower deck, into the darkness of the brig.
Lots of eyes looked back at him, through cage bars and beyond chains.

"There is a catch to this favor;" Ed said in their midst, holding the guard-keys in his free hand, "Make for the war galley, the one with the red-and-sea sails."

[Ganbarenippon]

Quarro made to follow the Ironborn but, as he moved toward the hatch, he saw a quick movement form the corner of his eye. Next came a flash of pain around his left shoulder, he turned quickly, before the Ghiscari could fully pull his knife free knocking the other man off balance before grabbing him behind his neck and ramming his forehead into the other man's nose. Once...bone broke. Twice...the nose burst like an overripe pomegranate. Thrice...the eye socket of the other man shattered.

Quarro let the slaver man fall to the floor, boneless, before reaching over and testing his wound. The knife had been turned oh his shoulder blade and it looked as though he would be fine. Still, it couldn't hurt to have a weapon...He cast about the deck, now awash in blood as the slaves poured over from the first ship and boiled over from below, and saw it. Near the bow there was a six foot length of massive anchor chain that had been ripped from the capstan by the fury of the waves. Striding across the deck he picked up the enormous piece of metal and looked around for a way to the flagship.

"With me!" He bellowed over the din and sprinted for the gunwale, vaulting onto the next ship along and laying about himself with the anchor chain, a storm of fists and metal, and rage in the greater storm whirling about him.

[Dirty Chai]

Ed emerged a long few moments later from the hatch, a new swarm of slaves following suit onto the deck;
He found the hatch being surrounded by armed Ghiscari, and so ran to the gunwale on the side of the galley, and dove into the ocean, yelling "Breakthrough!" as he did so.

The Sea.
Numbingly cold it was, sending jolts of paralyzing pain up a man's limbs and into the spine.

Ed swam fast though, his arms carrying him the short ways to a small cog nearby, and he quickly made his way up the tail of the ship and onto the bridge;
He roared as his ran the first-mate through, and kicked the captain over board, taking them all by surprise, and then dashed from the railing of the bridge to the deck and across the ship to the front..

Another flash; this time right in the middle of the ship, breaking the cog into two halves.
Shattered wood flew about, impaling sailors like shrapnel.

Ed had been knocked over the frontal gunwale, and simply watched with stupor at the destruction once he started climbing up the side of the next vessel..

I hear you, Storm God.

Ed listened, as if realizing something, simply hanging on the side of a ship, his hands like fishhooks attached to the ridges of the hull;
He froze for a long time, like prey trying to fool a predator, and tried to sift through the cacaphony of destruction and chaos..

And there it was, as he suspected.. a low groaning noise, bubbling..
He looked down and around, looking for any large swarms of foam and puddles in one area..

He leaped back into the sea, and swam frantically towards the flagship, a warship close now, with red-and-sea sails as Ed described to the others.
His eyes caught hold of a swarthy figure darting aboard the deck of another vessel, a chain swirling around him, and tried to yell, but couldn't stop to make his voice heard over the storm and waves, and simply kept swimming towards the galley..

Muscles slowing, pain growing, numbness spreading..

He felt his head ram into the hull, and weakly reached up for a handhold, one-by-one removing his frozen body from the Drowned God's clutches.
Nearly reaching the railing of the bridge, readying to climb aboard, he turned his head to find the Summer Islander again, hoping the fellow was right there behind him somewhere.

[Ganbarenippon]

The deck around his feet was a writhing mass of screaming flesh. The Astapori who has blundered into Quarro's reach were invariably scythed down by the weight of metal he wielded and the freakish strength with which he spun it around. Soon the screams stopped and the chain dropped from his fingers, too full of viscera and slippery with blood to be of much more use. Frantically he cast about for the Ironborn, they had gotten separated in the heat of the escape and the battle, but the odds were turning now. With every vessel came more freed slaves and with that the tide invariably turned against the slavers.

"Fire!" He heard the dreaded shout and turned to see the quarterdeck of the vessel they were on sprout orange and red wings, like some monstrous bird from his home islands. Quarro whipped his head about "Ignore it. Get to the flagship! The flagship!" He boomed out gesturing toward the lead vessel. The light from the flames illuminated the sides of the main ship and there he saw it...a shivering figure clinging grimly to the sides of the ship.

'Still alive then!' Quarro thought as he felt himself smile. The grin fell from his face as he saw the shape begin to pull away. "They're cutting her loose! Hurry!" And he followed his own words flinging himself over the railing and toward the other ship.

He reached out...falling....falling...and his fingers brushed the rough wood of the railing. Clamping his grip on the post he reached down with his left hand.
"Ironborn!" He shouted over the roar of the sea. "Ironborn!" He fastened his grip onto the Iron Man's forearm and began to lift.

[Dirty Chai]

"We must row! Get the ship out of here!" he answered quite frantically, freeing one hand to gesture to get to the helm.
The Ironborn man was pulling himself up, even if slowly and weakly.
"Leave those behind who have not reached the oars!"

They couldn't afford to stay a moment longer if his observations of the storm were correct..

[Ganbarenippon]

"Aye!" Quarro replied. "To oars!" He bellowed over the chaos of the storm. "To oars you miserable bastards! If you value freedom you'll row as you never have before!" He smiled widely, more than a little manically as the former slaves scampered to obey. "Ironborn, you beat the tempo, your strength is not enough for the helm in these seas, especially not now, you look exhausted." He clapped the other man on the shoulder. "You have done it Ironborn. We are free now! Rest now, I will guide us through this." He strode over to the helm, kicking the limp corpse straddled over it overboard. Seizing the length of wood with every bit of his strength he began to sing.

It was an old sailing song from the islands. As old as the blood of Summer itself. When his people had first taken to the waves this was the type of song they had used for rhythm as they worked together as a crew. Over the years it had grown into something approaching a prayer for the Summer Islanders. This particular song was for safety in a storm, it's rhythms steady and calming. A crew was at danger if they panicked in a storm. Only calmness and surety would get them through safely. That was not why Quarro sang however. He sang for himself, for all he had lost and for the fact that now, even if it were only for a brief moment he was free.

The smile on his face was genuine, even as he began to feel the swell and power of the sea through the wood of the helm.

[Dirty Chai]

Ed boasted a proud but forced grin as the Summer Islander praised him, but then turned and nearly fell while leaning against the slippery rear-gunwale, watching behind them.

His dog eyes darted about while he breathed heavily, searching among the darkness of the storm, half of the fleet now silhouetted..
A lightning flash revealed it to him on the far horizon behind, enveloping a ship in its maw, silent in the storm, like an assassin in the dark;
A thousand limbs like vines, emerging from the sea...

Ed grinned madly, and, leaving this knowledge to himself, made his way over to lean against the railing by the helm.
"Count yourselves lucky lads," he declared to the entire galley, "You have survived a battle between gods."
He turned his head to the Summer Islander.
"What do they call you?"

It was difficult to see much, the heavens simply drowning them in rain on cloud-covered night, yet, to these slaves, it was as good as a sunlit day in midsummer.
They were marked men, for slaves were tattooed with discerning symbols from the moment they are imprisoned;
The Ironborn man himself was marked with intertwining chains on his left arm ending in two maws, like a double-headed beast.
He later learned this spoke of his stock as a man of the Iron Islands and of the danger in buying him, a stubborn, insubordinate, and insolent thrall.
They would never find rest on this side of the Narrow Sea.

[Ganbarenippon]

Quarro felt a rush of power play along the length of the helm as he wrestled the ship around and away from the burning, drowning fleet behind them. He looked at the Iron Man for a few moments before really comprehending what he was being asked. He hadn't had a name for fifteen years. But he was free now. He stopped his song and looked at the Ironborn, beaming as he did.

"Quarro." He shouted out at the storm, the sea, the slaves and the other man. He locked eyes with the Westerosi and held out his hand. "My name...is Quarro."

[Dirty Chai]

Ed smiled slowly, shaking Quarro's hand.
"And mine is Ed.. Eddison to me mum."

He looked out over the galley's deck.
"Where shall we sail to?"
His eyes then darted upwards, to the constellations, which were nowhere to be seen in this storm.

[Ganbarenippon]

"Let's ride out this storm first. Then perhaps we can see what damage had been done to this ship, and how our supplies look. That would be my suggestion....Captain." Quarro says with a grin at the end. "SHIP OARS BOYS!" He bellows. "AND REEF THOSE SAILS!" He shouts out, as several of the former slaves scramble to obey. "It's a wonder we haven't lost them yet." He says shaking his head. "Maybe this Drowned God of yours is watching over us after all Ed."

****

For two days the ships did nothing but cling grimly to the face of one wave and skitter up to the next. The storm was as fierce as the hyenas of his homeland, and through it Quarro clung grimly to the helm, his face gradually showing more and more lines of exhaustion. It was midway through the second day when Ed relieved him on the helm, told him to get some rest. He stumbled, blind with fatigue, toward the forecastle where the crew had set up makeshift sleeping quarters. They hadn't had time to make a more formal arrangement on Captains and Mates and such, or even what they would do, focused as they were on the immediate business of surviving this storm.

As Quarro settled down he heard something. It was a faint sound, a whisper of leather on wood, but it didn't belong. He had spent most of his life on ships and knew how they moved, every sound they made. Besides, who would wear shoes in storm? No, somebody was attempting to sneak up on him, or past him. Lying perfectly still he waited, regulating his breathing to sound as though he were asleep. Then, quick as a snake his enormous arm shot out into the darkness in the corner of the bulkhead and clamped, vicelike, around an ankle. He pulled and felt a tumbling before he rolled over and pinioned the stranger's waist with his other arm. His tired eyes widened in surprise as he look at what he had caught. A woman...

"What are you doing here?" He asked dumbly, tiredness slowing his mind. He just then noticed the tattoo. 'A slave then?' He released her and stood up offering his hand. "It's ok, we've taken the ship. You're free now."

[Xion]

She had hid for two days in a easily overlooked position behind a box on a lower deck, with the dagger stolen from one of the Astapori during the chaos, before stabbing him repeatedly in the neck with it. The other three, she quietly approached and then attacked, one by one. Hearing sounds of the storm and chaos of whatever was going on above her, she hid. Probably would have remained hidden if the desire to eat didn't overpower her, and therefore she left her hiding spot..

"Almost there.." she whispered to herself, before an arm grabbed her ankle, pulling her towards whomever had grabbed her. In panic, she dropped the knife as well. Attempting to resist the Islander's movement, but it turned out to be for naught, and when he released her, she slowly began to scurry away before puasing to think about what he had said. "They're all dead? This isn't just a cruel trick?" he can notice a Lyseni accent in her speech.