Perhaps the gods really did exist, and perhaps they really had cursed this place. It was the only explanation that Miru, Captain of the pirate ship Severance (formerly Tiger's Claw), could come up with for the slaughter that he and his cutthroat crew were now a part of - as its victims. Miru could hear the screams of his men on the shore, where they were being cut down like fronds of kelp by - all j'taten things - a korb. The cowards among those left on his ship had jumped overboard after a hole had been somehow made in his deck. The pirate captain took some grim pleasure in the fact that their fear had not saved them. A pair of lizardmen prowled the waters and slew all those who sought to swim to safety. "To the Abyss with them," he thought. "I will take down their captain before I am slain."

With a harsh warcry, Miru threw himself at his lone attacker. The pirate swung his heavy cutlass in vicious blow after blow against the enemy captain. Head, arm, groin; in all cases, the other man simply danced aside and deflected Miru's cutlass with his rapier or main gauche. The man simply would not stand still! Yet, oddly enough, he did not attack either. He simply stood there as if Miru were no threat at all. Tiring from his futile onslaught, the pirate captain jumped back and away from the masked captain. "Who are you?" he hissed through rotted teeth.

"I -" said the masked captain, "- am zee Scarleet Masque. You have made zee unfortoonate er-roar of trying to pirate a pirate. If you would care to surrender to one who is obviously your superior...?" And the man dropped his weapons to sketch a deep bow in Miru's direction.

Enraged by the other pirate's cavelier manners and superior attitude, Miru raised his cutlass high and started forward, intending to sever the man's pompous head from his arrogant body. Captain Miru never considered the fact that this might be exactly what the other captain wanted. The sudden impact of an arrow in his right shoulder enlightened him to this fact as it drove him back against the ship's railing. The one called the Scarlet Mask simply stood up and gestured as if to say: "You see?"

Kalaban sensed the other man start his attack, and prepared to bring his weapons up to block the incoming strike. However, his intention (and flashy move) was spoiled by the unsettling hum of an arrow passing directly over his left shoulder to sink deeply into the flesh of his foe's shoulder. The swashbuckler managed to swallow his surprise and shock and simply stood up and offered again to accept the pirate's surrender. "Always act like you meant do that," Kalaban thinks to himself. "That's one of my mottos." His silent offer is punctuated by another arrow impaling the pirate's other shoulder. "I am glad that Jeannie is a mistress of the bow, but I must remember to ask her to tell me when she is going to be artistic when I am standing between her and the target."

The other man is either strong, foolhardy, or just plain smull-brained. He hefts his weapon and spits on the deck at Kalaban's feet. "By the Blazes of Bogwash I do not surrender! Your soul will keep mine company in the Abyss!" With another gutteral cry, the pirate leaps again at the self-styled King of Thieves. The thief's weapons quickly come up and easily parry the blow in a beautiful and perfectly timed X of steel. However, Kalaban's intention of delivering another inspiring offer to surrender is cut short by another humming arrow. This one passes directly over both of the combatant's heads - removing Kalaban's hat in the process. In spite of himself, the swashbuckler yelps in fear and drops out of the dramatic hold, rolling far to one side of the aft deck before springing up into another defensive stance. Unfortunately, his audience is no longer in any condition to appreciate Kalaban's skill. The pirate captain has fallen back against the starboard rail with several more arrows sprouting from his chest.

Captain Miru finally knows that he is slain. His cutlass clatters to the deck from nerveless fingers. He can feel each of the arrowheads inside his body - one them is slowly cutting his heart open as it feebly beats. The blood flows freely from each puncture wound, and the darkness is creeping into his vision. Gasping for air, the defeated pirate can see the triumphant captain walk towards him to gloat over his corpse. "Let him gloat," Miru thinks to himself. "I have strength enough for one last blow." When the one called the Scarlet Mask is within range, Miru uses the last of his strength to stand and lunge forward, forcing his hands to grab the other man's shirt front. Even though he succeeds, his legs fail and the pair of them tumble backward against the railing and start to go over, towards the waiting waters. Miru does not care, but the Mask manages to stop the fall and holds them teetering on the edge of the deck.

Ignoring the arrowheads, Miru fills his lungs with air. With what is certainly his last breaths, he speaks. "I curse you, Scarlet Mask. May you never know rest and be hunted across the twenty seas." He then lets one hand fall to his chest, to touch what remains hidden under his shirt - his means of revenge. The pirate captain then speaks the words which will bring rest to his ghost. As he does so, the Mask's shirt rips and Miru plunges from the deck. "Avenge me, my brother! All are slain. It was the Reef Runner which did the deed. Severence is taking on water at the Sea Anvil-" With a large splash, the body of Captain Miru of the Fleet of Is'haaq falls beneath the waves and is gone.

He had been enjoying the pleasures of a woman when the message came. From his place on the bed he sat bolt upright, cocking his ear to one side. The wench who had been servicing him, a professional unwilling (or perhaps merely afraid) to leave the job unfinished, attempted to continue her ministrations. He nearly stabbed her with the sharpened spike on his wrist as he shoved her aside. "Leave me be, woman," he snarled. The girl let out a yelp and fell backwards into the crack between the four-poster bed and the wall. He didn't notice, staring out the open windows at a spot somewhere beyond the horizon.

The girl, apparently forgotten, had been prepared to wait for her charge to come to himself again. "Admiral?" she asked softly. As she rose to her feet, she noticed his darkening expression and reconsidered approaching him again. She quickly gathered her scattered garments and left, leaving the door open and her fee behind. Better to lose the money, she thought, and keep her head where it was.

The Admiral listened intently to the magic-borne message. The sender, a Captain in his fleet currently on maneuvers, sounded desperate and panicked. He gave the name of an island for his location, which the Admiral made a note of, glancing at a map of the Isles of Mer. It was a remote area, not usually traversed. The Captain had also named a vessel that they were engaged with, that had hopelessly outmatched them. His craft was sinking fast and his crew was being slaughtered. The Captain entreated the Admiral to avenge him and the lives of his crew. When the limit of the spell had been reached, it was the Admiral's turn to respond.

"Miru, you smull-brain," he growled. "Cost me that ship, and I'll kill you myself. Disengage. Surrender. We will find -" The tingling of the magic abruptly cut short, before the message could be finished. The Admiral was puzzled for a moment, then concluded that Captain Miru must have met his end before the spell could be completed. That would be just like him, to not call out about sharks in the water until he felt their teeth on him. Muttering under his breath, the Admiral pulled on a vest and breeches and stormed out of the bedroom down the hall, his bare feet slapping against the fine marbled tile. Those servants who saw him scurried quickly out of his way; one who did not scurry fast enough got a cuffing for his reward.

The Admiral reached the open air of the mansion's terrace, squinted his yellow eyes against the afternoon sun, and grasped the medallion about his neck with his good hand to activate another enspelled missive. He would summon the witch, and see if his theory was true. "Denira!" he barked. "Come to the terrace. Now. And bring your scrying bowl." He scowled, looking out over the view of the town - his town - and the ships that rode at anchor in the harbor beyond. To be honest, he was more upset about the lost ship. "My j'taten brother may have gotten himself killed. Bring Captain Ushkaf with you, too."

"I hear and obey, Admiral Kriton," came the response. Denira's voice was always far too smooth for his liking. There was no fear of him in it, and that somehow set his teeth to grinding whenever he spoke to her. "I will collect the Captain and be over directly, with my tools. Message finished. Hmm hmm hmm, hmm hmm…"

Kriton grimaced. That tuneless humming of hers, though an effective way to kill the remaining words of the spell, always gave him the impression that she did not take him seriously, though he knew that not to be the case. He could kill the witch and feed her carcass to the leviathan any time it pleased him and they both knew that. Her talents had proven very useful to him as he built up his power; still, he longed for the day when the sorceress would outlive that usefulness. Leaning on the railing to gaze out over the harbor, he glanced down at his false hand and forearm, carved to resemble the one he had lost, and noticed a spatter of blood on the yellowed whalebone. A few drops also glistened on the spike that protruded there, and he gazed at it for a moment before he decided that it must be from the servant he'd struck. He absently licked the blood off the spike as he stared out over the rooftops at his fleet, brooding.

A dimensional gateway soon appeared in the center of the terrace, and through it stepped Denira in a rustle of red silk, with a large clamshell bowl tucked under one arm. One of her hands held a ewer of water; the other held a Gnome in tow by one of his oversized ears. The Gnome was flailing with one arm and clattering a small metal tripod behind him. "You summoned me, Admiral?"

"Yes," he said sourly. "Show me my brother's ship." Wordlessly, she released her hold on her companion's ear and took the tripod from him, setting the bowl upon it. The breeze coming off the ocean rippled the silks she wore, revealing flashes of her chocolate skin as she moved. Though her dark brown eyes were downcast, her movements spoke of a confidence that made Kriton wary of her. She poured the water into the bowl, and as she softly chanted the casting of her spell, Kriton turned his attention to the Gnome, who was massaging his ear with a hurt expression. "Ushkaf. Is your outfitting complete?"

"Aye, sir, it is," replied the Gnome in a gravelly voice. "Her hull is smooth, her stores are heavy and her hold is empty. Why? Do you have something planned?"

"There," intoned the sorceress. All three peered into the bowl, where a bleary, rippling image slowly came into view. Kriton was just about to ask why the scrying was not clearer, when a sand shark suddenly glided through their field of vision. The ship lay on its keel, tilted slightly to starboard along the ocean floor in a cloud of silt, sporting a massive hole in the center of its main deck and the mast cleanly severed. Bubbles still rose in trails from the watertight cabin doors. The only movements on her decks now were the sharks, in a blood-crazed frenzy over the bodies adrift in the water. Grotto crabs, also scenting the blood, were beginning to cluster in spots on the rail and on the ocean floor nearby, picking with tireless enthusiasm at the gobbets of flesh they liked to eat.

"Ay Culda," muttered the Gnome. "What in the blazes happened to them? Looks like a shipwreck."

"It isn't," fumed the Admiral. "They were attacked. A single ship did this to them, if my krell-eating brother is to be believed. Apparently without their being able to fire a shot. Find him, witch." Denira began gesturing over the bowl.

"That's not possible," Ushkaf argued. "Her hull was reinforced. Only a heavy mandrogel could do that much damage; and those can only be found in a city... or on the Maelstrom. Surely you don't think that -"

"He is there, Admiral," said Denira, repressing a shudder. The image resolved into a close picture of Captain Miru, his dark hair swirling around his head and his eyes open in the glassy stare of death. Clouds of blood in the water occasionally obscured him from view. The ornate necklace that the scryer had focused on in order to find him was still around his neck, but very little below the shoulder remained of him. As they watched, the nose of a shark appeared, obscuring the picture, and then there was nothing to the image but the pulse of gills and the hint of a dorsal fin. The sorceress made a soft gagging noise, and the image faded to reveal the bottom of the scalloped basin.

Kriton stepped away from the bowl in revulsion and pointed at the Gnome, who was absently fingering the chain on his own necklace, a twin to the one they had seen in the scrying pool. Kriton's medallion also had a similar stone. "Captain Ushkaf, take your ship there with all possible speed. Kill your windraiser if you have to. I will give you coordinates. Speed is of the essence."

The Gnomish captain nodded solemnly then grinned, showing a mouthful of broken, brown teeth. "Aye. There's nothing faster on the Twenty Seas than my Cheetah under a full sail, and twist my soul if it isn't."

"Take the salvage crew with you, and strip her of everything you can — watertight stores, navigational equipment, anything you can manage — especially the shearing stars and other weapons. Search for any survivors on the nearby islands, that we might learn more of the ship that did this. Send back a full report, then rendezvous with me."

Ushkaf's jaw went slack. "Noy j'tat! You're coming back out? After all the time you spent securing and fortifying this-"

Kriton's hand lashed out faster than a constrictus tentacle and hoisted the Gnome's stocky frame a few inches into the air by his ear. "Don't ever question me, Ushkaf, or by Davron's beard, I'll pierce these wind-catchers of yours in the middle so the breeze can blow through." He gave the ear a punctuating twist and let him go. Ushkaf dropped to the ground, snarling with pain and covering his ears. The Admiral leveled his gaze at Denira, whose eyes had caught a glint of hope in them. "And don't even dream of escape, witch. You'll be coming with me."

"I would never dream of it," she replied evenly. "You have too firm a grip on me." Her gaze betrayed the lie for what it was, but at the moment, it didn't matter.

Kriton turned his back on both of them and gazed out over the town again at the ships. The grandest of the craft there rode at anchor in the center of them. "This town was ours the day we sailed in and fired it to rubble. We have rebuilt it, and those who survived the conquest were broken and reformed as well. They know and depend on us now. And I miss the rolling decks under me." He paused, looking back at the Gnome. "Soon, we will be ready to make our move. In the meanwhile, though, we must find this vessel that can sink a warship, take it, and add it to the fleet." The Admiral's mouth turned up at one corner in a crafty smile. "In doing so, I will avenge myself and my family on my brother's killer."

"And how will you begin this vendetta, Admiral?" asked Denira skeptically. "By the Shadow Moon, you don't even know what to look for, or where. You don't have anywhere to start."

"That's where you're wrong," he grinned evilly. "The one thing my chum-headed brother did right before he died was name his killers." The Sorceress winced at the reference, but Kriton either didn't notice or didn't care. "And before the next tide is out, every ship in our far-flung armada will be looking for them." Kriton flexed the muscles in his arm, and the spike on his wrist sprang out another ten inches or so, locking into place with a click. "Go, Ushkaf. You have your orders. Denira, summon the other Captains here. We're going to hunt the Twenty Seas for a craft called the Reef Runner."