The sun rises just like any other Spring day along the Danube but this day finds the fleet of Sviatoslav the Knyaz of the Rus ready to head to the mouth of the river an into the Euxine Sea.

There looks to be about thirty ships in all, most of them are the same size as the Heart of Oak, a few larger, a few smaller. The larger ones seem to have quite a few more men on board. obviously these are meant to be troop transports since they are closer to the knarrs of the northmen.

The ships start to leave the large dock area with Sviatoslav's ship int he lead. The grand Prince of the Rus stands at the prow of his ship with his foot on the dragon head itself.

When it comes time, Miroslav gives the signal to Loukas to shove off. And motions to the others get to the oars until they are in such a place where they can sail.

There is a slight breeze but only slight so the chance of a rest from the oars anytime soon does not look good.

Radvila finds himself a place on a bench and goes about business of putting his back to the oar. Rope-like muscles stand out on his forearms as he works the oar. These muscles look like they are well acquainted with such work.

For the first time, you all notice that near Miroslav is a dark, tall gaunt looking man dressed in brown robes, a cleric or monk of some sort by appearance. He looks to be in his early to mid 40's. He carries in his hand a simple wooden staff.

Loosing the Heart of Oak from the dock, Loukas sits down next to Radvila and puts his wirey frame into oaring. It feels good to be setting out, "Hoy, Miroslav, give us a song to inaugurate the Heart of Oak's first venture with our new crew!"

Sweat pouring from every pore and his head still pounding from two days of excesses, A'kos growls, "No, don't, please.  I've enough ringing in my ears to do a Siren proud."

       The Stridesman lithely jumps over the ships gunwhale and onto the slick
deck with ease.  Gultunga proceeds to the last rowing bench at the ships stern
that lies opposite to the ships rudder.  He secures his bow, quivver and spear
nearby and then sits upon the bench with oar in hand.

       Dark shadows surround Gultungas icey blue bleary orbs, obviously he had
a long arduous eve without the benefit of rest.  He remains silent as he awaits
his orders.

Barmak will stow his belongings under a bench where he can keep an eye on them, and lash them down securely.

Then he will take up station by the Helmsman and watch the sails and the size of the ship's wake.

Jean settles the livestock (the task he has set for himself while on board) in the rough center of the vessel and then moves to stand in the bow. His eyes scan the horizon.

Climbing upward, Jaleh secures full sail, though little good it seemed to do in the calm.  Still, she was sailing again, and young, and she fit the role of sailor well.  Something about being seaborne took her away from what intrigues she had grown used to in Byzantium...and some small part of her was glad to know she was striking back at that city she had grown to hate...and love.

Ulfr settles his great bulk on a bench near the back when the orders to set sail are given. His technique is not great but he makes up for that with his shear strength.

Miroslav finishes talking with the tall dark man and looks as if he is about to begin singing but looks at A'kos and smiles and instead walks forward and takes the bench next to the Magyar and begins rowing along with the rest of the crew.

He shouts out to Oleg who is the acting helmsman..."Take over for me eh? I would sometimes rather feel the sun on my back and the oar in my hand than that damn rudder!"

He then turns to Gultunga and says..."Surely you know a good rowing song for us?"

Roderychus boards the ship and sets about to accommodate his warhorse and other belongings.

         Gultungas brightens his tired looing countenace as he listens to his
companion.  After a few brief moments he replies . . .

         "Miroslav your request would be much more the easier if our drummer
wouldst set the cadance for both our rowing and my singing . . . would you
not so agree."

         Upon hearing the orders to shove off, the Stridesmen grabs a nearby
pole and uses it to push the ship off from the dock, which in turn would
allow the rowers to bring their oars to bear without having the dock to
contend with . . .

         Once they are clear of the dock, he begins to row at the same
cadence as the other oarsmen.

Without waiting for Miroslav to respond to the stridesman, the dark tall man sits himself behind the drum and begins pounding out a strong and steady beat which should keep the heart of Oak in time with the ships surrounding her.

"Ah, hells...a drum," moans A'kos.  "Well, I should sweat a month's worth of ale out of my pores by midday!"

Balthazar memorizes spells he considers appropriate for the adventure.  Gosh I can't wait to get protection from normal missiles, it will be fantastic in this setting.

        Gultungas breaks out in song o'er the din of breaking waves, the
lyrics are well timed to the beat of the longships drum . . .

        "Hel demandingly screams
           more blood,
              more blood!

        Stridesman rally
           without hesitation to their mighty sea steed
              the Heart of Oak.

        The Heart of Oaks Godi bellows deeply
           --Norsemen to your oars sally forth
              and briskly push off.

        Stout Norseman oars heartily stroke
           with shoulders hard put to it
             and brawny backs rhythmically bent in enduring cadence.

        Stroking e'vr faster
           with each thump resounding of the drum,
             its vibrations the Heart of Oaks soul beats deeply.

        The Norsemens sleek crafts most sturdy prow
           courses through tumultuous cresting waves most high
              e'vr faster to the drums quickening beat.

        From our foes danegeld we forcefully seek,
           to refuse sheer folly,
               we go beserk.

        Demanding lifesblood as payment most fair,
           plunder, pillaging, rewards galore
               with bloodied swords raised on high o'er our fallen foes."



                           

             . . . so on and so forth . . .

OCC:  The crewmen won't recognize the rowing song beings that Gultunga just
created it . . . they would be able to chime in once he begins repeating the
verses.
This message was last edited by the player at 20:46, Fri 27 Nov 2009.

More than happy to be at sea once more, Conn inhales deeply of the salty air, then find himself a spot on one of the benches. Soon enough, he is putting his not-inconsiderable strength into his oar, the sinews on his forearms rippling with the effort. With a smile he follows Gultunga's lead, recognising what is basically a Norse sailing-song from his years with the Danes - though the lyrics are of course new - and singing at the top of his lungs second time around.
This message was last edited by the player at 20:32, Fri 27 Nov 2009.

The first day passes without much to note...Gultunga sings more songs, Oleg and Balthazar work with the curved sword a bit more. The horse seem unhappy but they are once again getting used to being on a ship.

The next day passes much like the first only now the ship is well into the expanse of the Euxine Sea. The winds have picked up and Zmija the dark man says that Stribog (Slavic God of the winds) has blessed this voyage. The Slavs on the ship seem to be fairly impressed by this.

Word passes from ship to ship that spirits are high and with such favorable winds the shore of the Crimean should be visible by the next morning.

I am all for going forward with the story but will leave this open for a while to see if any conversation/conflicts/whatever erupts.

Loukas is not unfriendly, but keeps to himself as they take advantage of Stribog's or Whomever's winds blow them along, and takes whatever tasks come up in hand with quiet efficiency.

Barmak will get pally with the helmsmen and with Miroslav's approval, try his hand at helming the vessel.

He is personally sceptical of how much a god can help with the wind, but up here he is far from the Straits of Hormuz and the strange rus and slav men are clearly dominant to who is to say their gods do not also dominate?  So he keeps quiet unless spoken to.

A'kos grins at the dark man's assertion.

"A fair wind or fell blow, in either case it pushes us toward destiny!"

Just as promised Khorsun is visible by morning. In just three hours the city itself can be seen. It has a large natural bay that looks to be closed off by a large chain roughly 50 yards long. The city is walled except for the docks around the bay area. There are large well fortified guard towers on each end of the chain.

Already there is clamor and signal fires from the city itself. Sviatoslav's fleet has been spotted.

As the fleet nears it's destination, Miroslav orders the oars up and the sails lowered. He is clearly waiting for some signal from the Knyaz.

It looks as if two of the ships have been ordered to launch an attack on the left guard tower near the chain. As the ships get closer it looks like something is happening atop the tower..a moment later a thick stream of liquid fires spouts from the top of the tower catching one of the ships square in the center. A second later the entire ship is in flames. Some of the men are able to dive into the ocean but well over half are killed by the deadly fire. The second ship retreats, picking up what survivors they can along the way.

Watching from their safe distance further back, Conn narrows his eyes, his expression dark.

"There is vile sorcery at work here."

Shaking his head, "Nah, it is not sorcery they are using, Conn, but Liquid Fire. It is alchemical... I am surprised you have not hear of it. We Byzantines have been using it for a long time. Hopefully they do not have much of it, because it is nasty stuff. I have seen it burn in water. My uncle told me that sand worked to douse Liquid Fire as water works on normal fire."

Barmak adds "I too, have heard of this roman fire - to us there has ever been an empire to the west, greek, roman, now greek again.  Surely, though, they must have a limited supply?"

"Whichever," shouts Jaleh, as she climbs the mast and settles among the rigging to find the best position to shoot her bow.  "Time to make ready to fight - Falcon, have your sword at ready, there's foemen to slay!"

        After having put his oar to rest as ordered, Gultunga grabs his weapons,
readies his bow, and notches an arrow.  The Stridesmans icey blue orbs scan the
vicinity for any possible adversaries that may prove themselves an obvious tar-
get.

Zmija watches the Greek fire with interest as it spreads across the affected ship and spills over into the water..."I feared they would have this. I warned the Knyaz about this so he knew it was a possibility." he mumbles as he continues to watch.

No flying arrows or further Greek fire belch from the towers a the Rus fleet. While soldiers and what looks to be local militia can clearly be seen on the docks, it does not look like the inhabitants of the city have any interest in sending the smaller fleet out to meet the Rus. They seem content to let the chain and Greek fire guard them for now on their open side and the mountains and high walls guard their backs.
This message was last edited by the GM at 17:47, Fri 04 Dec 2009.

And so goes the first day that the fleet is waiting outside of the bay of Khorsun. A few more times of belching Greek fire keeps the Rus at bay and for the most part, the Rus and Byzantines are in a stand off. They Byzantines know that launching their own smaller fleet would be a disaster and the Rus know that they cannot get into the open bay passed the two towers.

If the people of Khorsun have a limited supply of Greek fire, they are not showing it.

It looks like a waiting game but from all accounts Sviatoslav is not one for such games. On the second morning messages are sent by boat courier from Sviatoslav to several of the ships, including the Heart of Oak.

Tired of the waiting A'kos shouts, "What news!" as the message arrives.

Come the morning, Conn finds himself standing at the rail with A'kos as a message arrives from the Knyaz. He too, is impatient to know more.

Loukas listened with curiosity and a bit of dread to hear the message from the Knyaz.

As they await the message A'kos says, "Perhaps a stealthy night attack on the cliffs - any climbers aboard?  If so, we can string together a small raiding party and fire arrows from the heights down to where the fire belcher's are sitting."

OOC: Obviously A'kos sees what he sees - if my mind's eye is off, feel free to correct it, Nestor.  But Gultunga's plan is sound if there are heights to shoot down from.

       Gultunga gives a toothy grin to his companions as he realizes that his
idea may have some merit.  The Stridesman replies . . .

       "Climber I am not, yet Gultunga will go if there be a climbers kit
avaialble, along with rope and whatever else thats needed to climb; tis my
idea, and beings that other companions mayst go at risk of their own life
and limb, Gultunaga cannot remain behind.  However if we are not equipped
for such a task, it wouldst be foolish to embark upon such a challenge
. . . almost as foolish as Gultunga attempting to walk the gunwhale of
a vessel whilst drunk!"

       The Stridesman begins to look about to note if there is any climbing
gear available.

"Victory favors the bold, Northman!" grins A'kos, scanning the heights for a likely place to climb.  "And I've a spot of rope and a grapnel to donate to the cause...and an idea of sorts forming!  Let us see how much rope we can gather, and quick!"

       Gultunga shakes his head doubtfully as he continues . . .

       "Rope and grappling hook aren't enough.  What of pitons and
proper harness so that we can tie ourselves off, thus assuring that
we wont't fall to our death needlessly.  Tis far more worthy to die
in battle!"
This message was last edited by the player at 23:50, Sat 05 Dec 2009.

"Perhaps the others have these...py-tons...you speak of," shrugs A'kos.  "I do not.  But as I said, I have a plan forming which may work..."

Loukas listens to the conversation, "I need no rope to climb... What is your plan A'kos? Or perhaps we should wait to hear what the King is asking for from us. What does he say, Miroslav?"

"If you can shimmy the wall with enough rope, than that is perhaps better than my plan," says A'kos, looking at the young man thoughtfully.

When the message arrived, Miroslav to it and gave it to Zmija. Apparently, Miroslav cannot read. The two men have a brief conversation about what the message says.

Miroslav turns to the crew and says..."The Knyaz has a mission for us. He knows we have horsemen and horse so he asks us to send a party to scout around the walls of the city. We are to set sail to the northwest and I am to drop off a number of you, then I am to sail to the opposite side of the city and wait for you there. From there we will report back to the Knyaz.

I will request a few extra mounts for one of the Princes knarrs. Once we have enough mounts we will leave at once. Anyone who wishes to remain with me on the ship is welcome to. Zmija will be heading ashore with you as the representative of the Knyaz.

Zmija steps forward and says..."I know I am new to you but rest assured the Knyaz chose me to accompany you for a reason. I have certain abilities that should prove useful if we run into trouble."

He smiles and continues..."I have heard many of you speaking of climbing the walls or towers, by all means bring your climbing gear since we may find a spot of the north wall that is unguarded. We are to travel far enough to the north that it will take us at least a day, possibly to through the mountain trails to reach the north wall of the city. We are not out to take on the whole city but to find information but looking at the crew here, I have no doubt that if we encounter resistance that we will be able to handle it swiftly. Now as Miroslav requests, we need to decide on who is going and who is staying. i think asking for volunteers is the best way...and do not worry if you do not decide to go. Some of you will still be needed on the ship."

Ulfr shifts his great bulk uncomfortably on the bench and says "I will stay on the ship. i have no skill or place on the back of a horse, even provided you find one stout enough to carry me. I will be of more use manning an oar I think."
This message was last edited by the player at 19:44, Sun 06 Dec 2009.

Loukas nods in response to Miroslave and the priest, "I'll come along if you can get me a mount." He goes to his bench grabs his shield, and pulls out the chest from beneath it grabbing rope and grapple.

"I am with the big northman. I have no place on the back of a horse! Lead on Miroslav, I will follow whatever orders you give!"

A bit about Khorsun...it is a large city by the standards of the time, build largely on trade with the east. The walled area is roughly 4 square miles. Estimated population is 10,000. The wall around the city is 40' high and there are guard towers every 100 feet. The population is mostly of Greek descent but have been there for generations. There are also a good number of Turkish Pechenegs living in the city.

The Pechenegs are found in larger number throughout the entire Crimean peninsula. The vie with the Byzantines for control of the area. There is no active conflict at this time. The Pechenegs themselves are allied with some of the Orcish tribes to the east of the Azov sea.

Jean brightens noticeably at the idea of going ashore.

"I will join the mounted scouting party of course."

"I will go...and from the look on the Falcon's face it seems you have your answer there as well," says Jaleh, listening to the exchange.

"I will be part of the expedition as well." says the young byzantine knight.

"As will I," replies Conn, one hand resting comfortably on the hilt of his longsword.

"HA!" shouts A'kos.  "This should be fun!  Let us make ready, then!"

"Fun, he says," smiles Jaleh.  "We shall see...but it will be good to test our mettle as we approach the coming battle.  Come, Falcon, help me see to my horse."

         Upon having summarily dismissed his idea to climb the nearby
mountains, Gultunga no longer feels obligated to accompany the landbound
expedition.  Gultunga loudly announces his decision . . .

         "The only mount that Gultunga rides be a steed of the sea.  A
crew will be needed to man the oars, or our vessel will be dead in the
water.  Gultunga shall stay aboard to man the oars."

"That's too bad, I found your earlier song remarkably well lyricized.  I shall go with Sir Jean, Jaleh, Roderychus and the rest."

Edit: And I guess that means Michael comes with us, too.
This message was last edited by the player at 03:24, Tue 08 Dec 2009.

"Most excellent!" exclaims the squat Rus.

"A'kos, Balthazar, Michael, Conn, Jaleh, Loukas, Roderychus and Sir Jean will join Zmija on this expedition. I will send message for one of the Knarrs carrying the mounts to follow the Heart of Oak northwest. We will leave you in the hands of the Gods and meet you on the other side of the city in a day or two."

He looks to the rest of the crew and says..."The rest of us will have enough to do in the meantime."

The Heart of Oak moves under oar and sail to the Northwest for a few hours followed closely by one of the knarrs.

Once a suitable place to land is found both men and beast of let off for the expedition. A mount has been provided for those who do not have one. Strangely, Zmija does not accept a mount and claims that he will jog alongside those mounted.

The sun is now low in the sky and the terrain is mostly foothills with large hills then mountains looming to the South. These are not huge mountains though so travel while slow is not impossible.

Zmija seems to know his way around this area as well, perhaps he has scouted this region before?


For those on the expedition go to the thread titled expedition:) For those staying behind, well stay behind:)

"We will stay here until the party vanishes from our view, then it is back to join the main fleet."

Jean rides his horse into Zmija's path.

"Explain yourself. Why do you request a mounted patrol and then insist on slowing us with a man afoot?"

I moved this to the Expedition thread.
This message was last edited by the GM at 14:28, Tue 08 Dec 2009.

The scouting party is large enough and Barmak is worried how well it will be able to move undetected.

He stays aboard the ship and cajoles the men into preparing netting to repel boarders.

When Miroslav appears less busy, he asks him "Are the men of this region no friends to the city, then?  Will they not send warning of our scouts' coming to the defenders behind the walls?"

"Outside the city walls, there are but a hand full of dwellings. I would imagine all of their inhabitants are now within the safety of the city proper though. Around most cities this size it would be normal for there to be  large population but here, up until recently the raids by the Pechenegs and their inhuman allies have been so frequent that no one dares live outside the walls for long."

He then leans against the rail and says..."I have been meaning to ask you if you were of the Zoroastrian faith rather than Islam...I have not seen you pray to your god in Mecca yet. My short visit into Persia had me in the homes of a several Zoroastrian folk.""

        Gultungas icey blue orbs look closely upon their craft and  how well   its outfitted whilst their companions ride off.

As Miroslav waits for an answer from Barmak, he motions for Gultunga to come and work with Oleg in piloting the ship..."Oleg, let us get Gultunga here up to speed on how to pilot this particular ship...at least while the winds hold out and he can be spared from the oars."

The wind indeed is nice and strong and the Heart of Oak cuts through the waves speeding on it's way to rejoin the fleet.

Barmak thinks a moment before replying to Miroslav.

"I worship Allah - with the help of the Imams.  However in my city there are many followers of Zarathustra, as long as the laws are respected and the deals honoured, then each man is his own man.  We have too many other troubles these past years to worry overmuch about our neighbour's religion".

He turns to admire the wake of the ship as she cuts back towards the rest of the fleet.

         The Stridesman countenance brightens with a smile before he replies
 . . .
         "Aye, tis an honor for Gultunga to take the tiller!"

         Gultunga aptly listens to Olegs directions on how to pilot the craft
so that he may properly apply what he's just been taught.

Once the stridesman get a hold on the tiller and begins to follow Oleg's instructions the Rus says to him..."I suggested to Miroslav that we let you take a turn at piloting the ship. I have seen you, from back here, on your bench paying close attention to how we do this."

        Gultunga follows Olegs instructions to the letter and attempts to
keep the crafts sail full as he navigates it towards the fleet and hope-
fully a full crew compliment.  Whilst performing his duty, his icey blue
orbs constantly peruse his surroundings for any threats or possible sur-
vivors that may yet be in the water.

The man from the Baltic coast watches the Varangian and Norseman working at the tiller. He smiles and says with a laugh to Mirosalv..."Why is it you never trusted me enough to pilot the ship?"

He looks out over the waves as he waits for the sarcastic answer from the Rus.

"I have seen some of the women you have lain with while drunk and even while sober Radvila! There is no way I can bring myself to trust your judgment after that!"

As the sun goes down, the Heart of Oak rejoins the main fleet. Gultunga has piloted the ship all the way back and has done a fine job. Miroslav announces that the ship will head for the eastern shore with the rising of the sun.

        Once the Heart of the Oak has returned to the fleet Gultunga returns
the tiller into Olegs able hands, thus allowing him to eat and get some sleep
before having to sail to the eastern shore early in the morning.

Miroslav's question remained on Barmak's mind the remainder of the day.  Even as he busied himself about the Heart of Oak, giving advice to crew when warranted or tending the sails, he could not escape the looming shadow before them, represented by the Roman city the Rus ruler had willed to take.  The Persian had the salt water in his veins since the tender days of his youth, and had survived his share of boarding attempts by some of the most ruthless, bloodthirsty pirates the world could offer.  But this was war, and he had never been a warmaker.

As the ship rejoins the fleet and the sun sets beyond the rim of the world, Barmak finds a place out of the way of the others, faces the southern sky, and kneels to pray in Arabic, "Praise be to Allah, Lord of Creation, the compassionate, the merciful..."

As Barmak finishes his prayer a cry goes up from the back of the fleet and a horn is sounded. In the dark it is impossible to see what the situation is.

Miroslav stands with his hands on his hips looking over the rail to the south waiting for word. A crow flies from the south and lands upon the Slavs shoulder and seems to be speaking into his ear.
This message was last edited by the GM at 18:51, Tue 15 Dec 2009.

Once the crow leaves his shoulder, Miroslav turns and announces...A Byzantine fleet is arriving from the south. Nearly the size of ours and I daresay with the ships in the harbor, larger than ours! We must make ready"

       Gultunga ensures that his weapons are near at hand and grasps onto the
oar at the very same rowers bench that he had been sitting at earlier.

       "What tis Gultungas orders?

OCC:

        Did we get anyone from the fleet to fill out our skeleton crew?

Miroslav looks to Gultunga but seems to speak to all..."We row and we row hard to meet the oncoming fleet...look the others ships are beginning to head that way as well. We are in a natural bay here; if the Byzantine fleet can push us into the bay further then the Greek fire will rain down upon us all and we wills till have to fight the fleet from the city as well."

No one to fill the oars yet...the ship had only just arrived.
This message was last edited by the player at 23:20, Tue 15 Dec 2009.

Ulfr throws himself into his spot on the benches and begins to row with the strength of 10 men, well not really 10 but with at least the strength of one very large man.

        Gultunga looks to the number of benches that are filled, and
then looks to the ships sails in order to determine whether the wind
is with them or against them in sailing out towards the enemy fleet.

The Persian marvels at the bird that has brought the news to Miroslav, but his wonder is short-lived, quickly replaced by a quickening of the blood at the news of Byzantine reinforcement.

He nods curtly to Miroslav's order, seeking out an empty space on the benches and hoping that the others cannot sense his fear.  The odds seem overwhelming, but among this company of northmen, he cannot bear the thought of dishonoring himself or his people by showing weakness.  Instead he tries to take courage from their resolve, reminding himself that his fate is not of his choosing, only the way in which he lives his life until he meets with it.

He puts his back into the rowing, trying to channel his worry into something useful.

        Gultunga bellows . . .

        "Light the ships brasier so that we may inflame our arrows and burn the
sails of our enemies . . ."

Radvila gets up from his bench and stokes the coals of the brazier back to life. After a few minutes of nursing them there is a strong and steady flame among the coals.

He sits back down at his bench and continues his rowing duty.

The Heart of Oak rolls gracefully over the waves and despite being undermanned is making fairly good time and able to keep up with the more heavily loaded ships of the fleet.

Oleg is piloting the ship now and Miroslav stands at the helm waiting to see what is ahead in the dark of night.

From the ships traveling behind the Heart of Oak a strange chant seems to be sounding. Not just a few voices but dozens then after a moment perhaps one hundred voices.

Slava bogum! Slava Stribogu!" repeated over and over.

Miroslav turns to face the wind that is at their backs now and a smile spreads across his face. He also joins in on the chant...after less than a minute a mighty wind is at the back of the Rus fleet, propelling them headlong into the smaller Byzantine fleet.

Already in the distance you all can hear the crash and din of battle as the first of the Rus ships tangle with the Byzantines. It will be at least ten minutes before the Heart of Oak is close enough to join the battle with their bows but it does looks like with the wind at their backs that there will be no problem getting the arrows to cover the distance. No penalty for range...this battle is being helped along by some mighty magic.

Barmak, bewildered at first by the chanting - Some sort of pagan sorcery? - looks up with amazement when the winds pick up and begin to howl into their sail.  Hearing the sounds of blade against blade nearing, he lets go of the oar and leaps to his feet, bounding to the helm to face the oncoming ships.  Within moments he has strung his Persian shortbow, a crescent of lacquered birch bark with elaborate gold designs worked into its slender length.  He draws forth an arrow and pulls it back, taking aim at the nearest armed Byzantine marine.

"Be these winds a pagan marvel or Divine miracle," he says to Miroslav, "let us see how swiftly my birds may take wing upon them..."  With that, he looses his shaft to seek blood.  His hands are a blur as he nimbly draws again and fires a mate to follow after the first.

           Gultunga grabs his crossbow and bolts as he moves towards the
lit brasier.  He takes one of his prepared bolts in hand and wraps a piece
of oiled cloth about his arrows tip, and then lights it before he heads
to the ships bow.  Once there he readies his crossbow and lit arrow as he
looks to the dark waters ahead.

           With the illumination of both the moon and the stars upon the
dark sea ahead, Gultunga eyelids squint tightly in order to force his
icey blue orbs to see all the more clearly in order to attempt to discern
the location of their enemies flagship.

Like the Stridesman Radvila also picks up his crossbow and gets a flaming bolt ready to fire. Following Gultungas lead he also lets his arrow loose at the same flagship the other aimed for.

13:21, Today: Radvila rolled 14 using 1d20. Hit flagship with crossbow.

Ulfr stands once the winds pick up and he n longer needs to actively row. He stands close behind Miroslav and watches as the battle gets closer to the ship. He has no special talent for missile weapons so he leaves that to those more adept then he.

He does hold his large single bladed battle axe and will use it the first chance he gets.

Miroslav, Oleg and the rest of the crew who have bows or crossbows all join in on the firing of flaming missiles started by Gultunga. Soon the flag ship is ablaze and dead in the water as the crew is too busy dousing the flames to man the oars.

It looks as though other Rus ships will make it to the flagship before the Heart of Oak but as the other ships near,  he flames double, then triple onboard the flagship. Perhaps Greek fire onboard along with the high winds driving the Rus fleet. Whatever the reason, the flagship is no longer a threat.

In the next round the Heart of Oak will once again be able to engage another Byzantine ship that is crossing it's path. Miroslav calls for the crew to be prepared to ram and board. The Byzantine ship is a small dromon with one bank of oars called a monērēs. It looks to be manned by 40 or so men. With any luck the Heart of Oak will hit it broadside with it's ram.

       Satisfied at seeing the enemies flagship consumed by fire from stem
to stern, Gultunga turns his attention to the closest largest ship, prepares
another flaming quarrel, and fires it at its billowing sail; lastly the Strides-
man slings his crossbow across his shoulder in order to allow himself time to
ready himself for the ramming of the enemy ship that lies directly ahead.  The
Norseman grabs onto their ships mast and holds on with all his might . . . so
that he doesn't go flying off haphazardly towards their enemies craft after the
collision.

       Gultunga screams above the din as their craft rams into the enemy ships
broadside ~~with a thunderous splintering of wood . . .

       "Do ut pissit-myras!!!!"*

      Whilst rushing towards his ships bow in order to engage his foes,
Gultunga proceeds to draw his sword and dons his shield.  With each step
forward the Stridesmans bloodlust begins to embody his entire being . . .

    (*)"Die piss-ants!!!"
This message was last edited by the player at 18:05, Sat 19 Dec 2009.

The squat form of Radvila the Baltic warrior stands with one foot on the rail with his warhammer whirling over head. In his off hand he holds a grappling hook and rope. He is ready to board if there ever was anyone ready to board!

Gultunga catches the sails of another ship on fire and is followed by one last volley from the Heart of Oak before the ship rams the other midpoint with a horrifying crunch.

Those on the other ship were braced for the impact just as those on the Heart of Oak were but the other ship not only was jarred far worse it was heavily damaged and many of the crew were thrown to the ground...and a strange crew it was too upon seeing them up close. There looked to be many half orc among the crew and very few Byzantines.

Radvila and the others secure the ship with the grapples and the boarding is lead my Miroslav who is the first one across.

There seem to be about 40 combatants who are going to try and repel the lower numbers from the Heart of Oak. In particular there are about 10 half orc mercenary crewmen leading the defense.

Barmak feels his blood quicken as he recognizes the ugly features of half-orcs aboard the Byzantine monērēs.  These marines will fight with the brutal savagery of inhuman beasts, he has no doubt.  Once again he wills himself to be valorous as he watches them grow near, putting away his shortbow and drawing his scimitar.  The Persian grips the rigging with his free hand to keep himself from falling when the ships collide.  He is happy to allow the warriors to take to the forefront of the battle.

With the creaking of timbers as the Heart of Oak impacts the Byzantine hull, Barmak grits his teeth, anticipating the bloodshed about to begin.  He follows Miroslav's lead, in the rear rank of the boarding Rus.  He is more concerned about defending himself from attack or being knocked into the foamy waves until he can get enough room to swing his scimitar effectively.  As he joins the fray, he cries out, "Allahu akbar!"


This message was last edited by the player at 17:39, Sun 20 Dec 2009.

An odd sight, for any who glanced across the gap from the deck of the Heart of Oak, but a small child was there, sitting atop a barrel. He wore a Russ hat, with ear flaps, but the rest of his garb was colorful, including a cloak that seemed to shift colors.

Oddest of all, he was juggling.

The thundering explosion of tearing wood, and screaming soldiers filled the air knocking the child to his feet, but he manages, somehow to keep his rhythm and his calm demeanor.

Glancing across the wreckage, he catches the eye of a Norseman, and shares a smile and a wink...

***

Pyotr hadn't been happy when their ship had been conscripted into this fleet. He had hoped to head home after completing his studies in the libraries of the Great City, in peace; not in pieces.

Still, it did his heart good to see a Rus fleet, and he bent no effort to aid his own crew or captain, who had been down right unpleasant the entire trip. He rather hoped to witness the first mate, Lombar of Ephesus, (who appeared about a quarter Ogre) drown first hand. Cruelty aside, the crude man-beat had been pressing his sailing companion, a beautiful Greek woman named Dyanna, in quite an ungentlemanly way.

The young mage had done his best to aid her, without his assistance being noticed. The thug would no doubt kill him if he got the urge, and probably not even wash off the Pyotr-bits afterwards.

This detour had not been foreseen, but in its own way, it was not undesirable either.

***

Deciding the time for entertaining was over, the youth gives a cheeky bow to the Rus ship. Placing the four balls he had been juggling into his pouch, he glances about to make sure the way is safe, then heads below deck.

***

Moving towards the Greek female's cabin, he checked the door. If he finds it locked, he will not be conserned. With a smooth gesture of his hand, and a small incantation, he will cause the door to unlock. Cautiously he calls out, and peeks inside the cabin, suspecting she would be armed. If, that is, she is even here.

"I have a way for us to ride out this storm, if you wish, ma'am..." he offers with a boyish smile. "My brethren wish to destroy our mode of transport, and they can often be as uncouth as the crew itself."

If she is in, the young Lad with the rakish grin and slightly pointy ears quickly explains his plan...
This message was last edited by the player at 22:37, Sun 20 Dec 2009.

Dyana sat studying on the small cot that made up the entirety of her berthing, though the book before her sat closed as she ground her teeth.

This had been an altogether wretched voyage.  She had thought upon embarking that she would have a cabin, but this space was no larger than a privy, with but a chamberpot for when the urge arose.  There were no porters, thus unless she emptied the pot herself, the chamber would stink.

Of course, the mixed breeds offered their brand of comfort and their invitations were called down from above whenever she showed herself on deck.  Mongrels all, she had cut one with her dagger early on to keep them at bay, then grown used to wearing her studded leather to ward their advances.  If anything, the Captain's behavior had been even worse - but no butterfly was she, nor a slut, and the knee to the groin had kept him at arms length since that day.

Resting, she closed her eyes a moment against the dim glare of the lantern hanging above her.  By all her calculations they should be arriving in Khorsun today, or at worst tomorrow, and she and the other passenger, in their brief exchanges, had both agreed it couldn't come soon enough.

Pyotr, or Petr or some such, she thought to herself, though it hardly mattered.  Her only concern at this point was disembarking at the earliest opportunity.

Of sudden she heard voices drifting from atop, shouts really, and she wondered at the excitement.  She stood, retrieving her recurve and the quiver of arrows from where she had stowed them, then made to exit and head topside to see what she may.  Abruptly she found herself on her arse, with a loud crash and the cracking of timbers knocking her nearly senseless.  She lay there a moment regaining herself, then stood.

'This cannot be good," she thought angrily.  And stowing her book and the few other belongings not yet packed away she opened the door to her berthing and exited.

Half a foot of water was already in the passageway, and so was the diminutive Pyotr, looking up at her.  Listening to his offer, she nods, but says, "First, follow me, I wish to speak to the Captain!"

Her boots splashed heavily as she made her way to the ladder, Pyotr in tow.  With practiced ease, she halted and strung her bow, then, securing her pack on her back, she climbed the ladder to find...chaos.

Reaching topside, she looked for the Captain...that bastard would pay her back tenfold for the ignominy of this journey.  Not seeing him she chose instead one of the mongrels, currently in combat with some man of indeterminate origins.

Pulling back, she let fly two arrows, hoping her aim was true.

12:58, Today: Secret Roll: Dyanna. rolled 4 using 1d6+1.
12:58, Today: Secret Roll: Dyanna. rolled 6 using 1d6+1.
12:58, Today: Secret Roll: Dyanna. rolled 23 using 1d20+3. to hit arrow 2.
12:58, Today: Secret Roll: Dyanna. rolled 17 using 1d20+3. to hit arrow 1

Her arrows flown, she turns to Pyotr and says, "I'm all ears, Pyotr."

Stunned at her actions, though not unpleased with the results, the young lad turns and heads back down below deck.

"We need to be near the top of the water, so's we don't fall lady!"

With the bulk of the crew involved in the battle, Pytor feels tempted to rummage thru their stuff, but time is short.

"This looks like a good place," he urges, stopping short of walking down stairs into a slowly (or quickly) flooding deck. "Hope you got everything!"

(Not that there was any time to return for items, sentimental or otherwise.)

Tossing the edge of his rope up in the air, it seems to stick to the ceiling. Quickly scurrying up the rope, he seems about to bonk his head, when he vanished into thin air!

For just a moment, then his head, and one arm reappear, to offer assistance to his fellow passenger on this dying ship.

"Hurry up lady! Once we are inside this little room, we can pull up the rope, and leave this 'love boat from the river Styx' behind," he says with a twinkle in his eye, hopefully assuring her that he was sympathetic to her troubles aboard this hulk, whose physical form is now a fair representation of it's moral and ethical self. Damaged.

         The Stridesman slowly makes his way towards the bow of the Heart of Oak
as he slings his shield over his back.

Ulfr launches his great bulk across the void and brings his axe into play against one of the bestial crew.

07:50, Today: Ulfr rolled 11 using 1d8+3.   07:50, Today: Ulfr rolled 13 using 1d20+3.

The Balt charges across the gap right next to the huge Norseman Ulfr. He does his best not to get hit by the big mans axe as he attempts to bring his own weapon into play.

07:53, Today: Radvila rolled 9 using 1d8+2.   07:53, Today: Radvila rolled 9 using 1d20+2.

Dyanna looks up at Pyotr and smiles.

"Neat trick...perhaps I'll join you next time, but for now I've my own escape route planned."



Nestor - let me know when I can resume my barrage...

Pyotr shrugs, vanishing back into his hole. Slowly the rope is pulled up as well, then there is no sign it exists at all.

Even though he is not the first to cross, Barmak attacks first but his attack is parried by a short hafted battle axe wielded by one of the half orc crew of the other ship. But even as the brute parries the scimitars blade two arrows drive deep into his back fired by a women on his own ship...surely these were meant for Barmak?

The woman and a shorter man stand together on the other ship but both seem to vanish in mid air.

Ulfr crosses the gap with his axe swinging, it connects with the head of a half orc and splits it nearly in two, the body of the beast man falling into the foam between the ships.

Radvila has much less luck as he aims a very powerful blow at one of the half orcs but misses by a fraction of an inch.

Gultunga cannot seem to find the captain of the ship so has to settle for attacking on of the beastmen. His blade proves true and he gives his foe a deep wound on the right shoulder but this only seems to slow the beast down slightly.

Both Miroslav and Oleg kill a crewman outright with Oleg's attack being particularly brutal. Three others of the crew wound the opposing crew as well.

Another of the other crew, this time a human attacks Barmak but the Persian wards the blow so forcefully as to break the mans shortsword off at the hilt.

Two more of the humans fall on Ulfr and both hit doing a good amount of damage to the big man.

To add insult to injury, Radvila gets a cut across his face form the half orc he is engaged with, nothing serious but it will definitely leave another scar on him.

The half orc that is joined against Gultunga is joined by a human of the crew and they both fail to land any attacks on the stridesman.

         Iverson settles his shield firmly onto his left forearm as the battle ensues.

         The Stridesmans swings his mighty longsword at the already wounded
beast, yet his attack is thrown off due to having been distracted by second
human attacker.  Gultungas sprays spittle and foam upon his attackers as
he continues to scream . . .

         "Alas, heap more adversairies upon me . . . it means all the more
for me to kill"

         A loudly morbid laugh escapes the Norsemans lips as the melee contin-
ues.
This message was last edited by the player at 13:26, Wed 23 Dec 2009.

Barmak is surprised by the sight of a woman on the Byzantine ship, especially in the company of these brutish barbarians.  A sorceress of some kind, he thinks as he sees her vanish into thin air.  He considers himself fortunate that the woman must have been a worse shot than he has been today, but decides not to allow her another chance, and tries to fight his way to where she disappeared.

He laughs aloud - as much in surprise as in victory - as he sees how his blade has broken the sudden attacker's sword.  Barmak follows his feat with a whirling slash to dispatch the man.

Finding herself on the bow of the ship looking down to the next level, Dyanna searches angrily for the Captain of the doomed vessel.  Unconsciously she nocks an arrow as she searches.

Ulfr grunts when the two half orcs hit his with great force but is not discouraged. He whirls his axe over head and lashes out at the two who are engaged with him.

Unmodified
08:19, Today: Ulfr rolled 1 using 1d8.
08:19, Today: Ulfr rolled 8 using 1d8.
08:19, Today: Ulfr rolled 11 using 1d20.
08:19, Today: Ulfr rolled 13 using 1d20.

Radvila presses on with his attack.

08:58, Today: Radvila rolled 4 using 1d8+2.
08:58, Today: Radvila rolled 17 using 1d20+2.
08:58, Today: Radvila rolled 7 using 1d20+2. to hit.

Rd 2
Gultunga attacks twice against the beastman he wounded. His first attack is parried but his second strikes home leaving the half orc nearly in two pieces on the deck of the Byzantine ship. This gave the human he was fighting a god opening and the man cuts deep into the side of Gultunga even past his shield.

Barmak presses on against his opponent with the broken sword. Even though the foe is still unarmed he is nimble and Barmak only is able to land a minor slash with his curved blade; slashing the half orc across his thick cuirass of leather deep enough to draw a red stain. The Half orc produces a short blade from his belt and manages to score a thrust into the Persians thigh and the beastman dodges a cut.

The striking woman who Barmak spotted loosing arrows at her own crew has somehow managed to make her way onto the Heart of Oak and is seen by a few letting more arrows fly at her own ship. Her arrows seek a man, dressed in good leather armor, near the back of the ship but fail to find him.

Ulfr smashes another of the Half Orcs with his axe and wound yet another in his fury.

Radvila manages to land this round but it is not a telling blow and his adversary still stands before him.

Miroslav, Oleg and the three Greeks also manage to drop three of the crew of the Byzantine ship.

In retaliation to the attack the crew of the galley kill one of the Greek sailors of the Heart of Oak outright with an axe blow. Oleg also finds himself with a minor wound. Miroslav is wounded as well.

Radvila finds himself wounded again by the foe he is engaged with and poor Ulfr takes a very hard hit that nearly drives him to the deck of the enemy vessel.

Nearly 1/4 of the Byzantine crew have fallen in battle but only one of the Heart of Oak crewman has fallen, several are injured though. Some worse than others particularly Ulfr.

          The stridesman curses as he slips in his own blood; consequently his
sword stroke is thrown off, thus causing Gultungas attack to grossly miss his
intended target ~~the human adversary standing before him.

"Aargh!" Barmak cries out as his bestial opponent pierces his thigh with the dagger.  He tries to push away the shock and pain of his injury to keep his mind on the fight at hand, but knows that his fighting ability has been diminished.

He staggers back, his head hanging down, giving the half-Orc the impression that he has bested the Persian and that the creature's moment of triumph is at hand.

Then, with a fierce laugh, he attacks the beastman with renewed vigor, his scimitar whirling and slashing through the air.

11:05, Today: Dyanna. rolled 3 using 1d6+1.
11:05, Today: Dyanna. rolled 6 using 1d6+1.
11:05, Today: Dyanna. rolled 16 using 1d20+3. to hit 2.
11:04, Today: Dyanna. rolled 21 using 1d20+3. to hit 1.

Dyanna must have been thrown by the changing angle of her shot, because her next two arrows fly true toward the figure at the back of the enemy ship.

"Pig!" she exclaims in Greek, loud enough for those close enough to hear her.

Radvila still fights the foeman in front of him even if he is struggling to hit him.

00:32, Today: Radvila rolled 3 using 1d20+2.

The big Norseman feels his luck run out as he goes up against a nimble opponent and feels his axe cut the air around the man..."Odin take me!" He shouts in disgust at himself.

00:35, Today: Ulfr rolled 6 using 1d20+3.

Gultunga, Radvila and Ulfr all have bad luck this round and fail to land any successful attacks.

Barmak finally kills the last of the half orcs with a slash of the scimitar that nearly severs his foes neck.

Miroslav takes down a crewman with his axe and one of the Greek sailors manages to kill another of the foe.

The mysterious woman fires off two quick shots and the man in the good armor at the back of the enemy ship. This time just about everyone takes notice of her as she shouts above the din of battle. THe man drops to one knee then stands to look at the woman on the other ship who has attacked him.

Fortunately for the crew of the Heart of Oak only Radvila sustains any injuries this round and it is only a small flesh wound.

Pyotr takes a peek out the bottom of his hideaway, to see if the ship has vacated the area.

When Pyotr peers from inside his created space he sees the that ship has drifted forward some and right below him is the man with two of Dyanna's arrows sticking out of his body.

        The Norsemans severe wound continues to hamper him as he
continues to press his attack against his human adversary.

        Gultunga lunges forward, yet his swords swing proves to be
ineffective, as does his second attack.  The Stridesman backs up
several feet to better prepare himself for the next expected attack.

Ulfr continues his attacks against the Byzantine crewmen. Clearly his request to Odin was not heard this time.

09:44, Today: Ulfr rolled 10 using 1d8+3.   09:44, Today: Ulfr rolled 4 using 1d8+3.   09:43, Today: Ulfr rolled 18 using 1d20+3.   09:43, Today: Ulfr rolled 15 using 1d20+3.

12:27, Today: Dyanna. rolled 3 using 1d6+1. dmg.
12:27, Today: Dyanna. rolled 7 using 1d20+3. to hit.
12:27, Today: Dyanna. rolled 23 using 1d20+3. to hit.


Exultant, Dyanna fires two more arrows at the ship's Captain, the first taking him mid chest, a perfect shot (nat 20!).

The second flies past the man and splashes out in the water.  Dyanna stares at the man, hoping the ape goes down under her onslaught.

Downing the half-orc, Barmak allows himself the luxury of surveying the ship to see how his companions are faring.  He winces as he feels his own blood running in a hot rivulet down his thigh.  That's what I get for supposing myself a warrior, he thinks ruefully.

The Persian sailor sheathes his scimitar, drawing forth a curved dagger with a pommel shaped in the form of an eagles' talon gripped around a chrysoberyl cats-eye.  He maneuvers his way toward an enemy warrior currently attacking one of his embattled allies.   His hope is that he will be able to take his foe unawares by approaching from behind, and plunge his blade into the enemy's back.
This message was last edited by the player at 23:17, Sat 26 Dec 2009.

Radvila has some decent luck this time around. Clearly he has paid the price for his negativity and now the gods favor him in battle once again, at least in his mind.


16:01, Today: Radvila rolled 8 using 1d8+2.
16:01, Today: Radvila rolled 8 using 1d8+2.
16:00, Today: Radvila rolled 13 using 1d20+2.
16:00, Today: Radvila rolled 17 using 1d20+2.

Spotting that things have changed below him, Pyotr touches thumbs, and spreads his fingers wide. If any are looking, they might see two child sized hands appear for a moment, if any has hearing like a bat, he just might, over the din of battle, hear a high pitched voice muttering words of power. If no one else notices, certainly the Captain is aware of a sheet of flame coming down on him from above.

Radvila, Miroslav , Ulfr and one of the Greeks manage to kill one of the Byzantine crew each. Gultunga struggles with his wound and Barmak sneaks around to get to his opponents back.

As all this goes on Dyanna puts two more arrows in the captain of the Byzantine ship causing him to fall once again to his knees then out of no where a strange portal opens above the wounded man and small hand drops down and rains a spray of flame on him, charring the rest of his life away.

This is too much for the remaining crew members who have already been receiving heavy casualties. One by one they jump overboard hoping to swim to another ship in the fleet.

In no time at all all that remain on the ship are the boarders from the Heart of Oak.

A child's head pops out of the sky as well, a surprised look on his face.

"Did I do that? Not that he didn't deserve it, but still..."

He swallows his bile, and looks away. Spotting the boarders, he calls out in his native tongue, the tongue of the Kiev Rus.

"Any chance of a lift home?"

Miroslav looks up from where he stands just a few paces away and smiles at the disembodied head and says..."Whomever you are and wherever the rest of you is, you and the lady both helped us in this battle. That is good for passage in my opinion."

He then looks to the rest of the borders and yells..."Do a quick sweep of the vessel and take what is valuable. Look after the wounded and then get us cut away from this ship. It is going down slow but still I do not want to go down with it!"

He then takes a moment to look at the woman who used her bow to such great affect against the Byzantine captain and nods his head in respect to her.

Barmak, seeing that the enemy crew has been defeated, allows himself the luxury of tending to his wound.  Leaning down to cut strips from a fallen foe's shirt with his dagger, he ties the makeshift bandages around his thigh, hoping to staunch some of the blood flowing from his wound.  He knew he would not have long before they would have to rejoin the battle raging aboard the other ships of the fleet.

He looks up suddenly at the sound of a child's voice, a dissonant element in the din of maritime battle.  He saw the disembodied head floating in the empty air above the deck, and stared in astonishment for a moment.  Then he looked at his fellow crewmen, wanting to make certain they could see the same thing he had.

After hearing Miroslav's order, the Persian applied himself to the scouring of the ship, searching for riches.  He drew upon his knowledge of ships to try to locate the most likely places below-deck to hide any booty.
This message was last edited by the player at 05:59, Tue 29 Dec 2009.

        The Stridesman calms himself down whilst sheathing his sword and
slinging his shield onto his back.  Through the receding fog of blind
bloodlust Gultunga manages to clutch and apply pressure to his nasty wound
with his left hand as he begins to search the two halfs of his fallen ad-
versary for anything of value that can be appropriated as spoils of combat
. . .

Ulfr ignores his wounds and begins to search through the sinking ship. He starts with the bodies of the fallen humans. The half orcs repulse him somewhat so he will leave those for last. He will also go through any of the sea chests he finds.

Radvila also joins in the search for valuables among the dead, dying and ship. He has keen eye for precious metals; gold, silver or platinum rarely escape his gaze.

He is wounded but not enough to worry about just yet.

As the battle comes to a close, and the Captain falls dead, Dyanna unstrings her bow and stows it in the straps of her pack.  Nimbly she climbs down the rigging onto the other ship and makes her way to the fallen Captain.

With a brief nod toward Miroslav she bends quickly searches the dead man for items of value.

Pyotr shakes his head at all the naked greed. It wasn't the first time he had seen such behavior, but it was the first time he had seen the lust for gold is such close proximity to the lust for blood, and it unsettled him a little bit.

Doing his best to deal with the rush of adrenaline, and it's incumbent cry of fight or flight, when neither options really applied, he wiped at the unexpected tear in his eye, then pops back into his hidey hole.

After a few moments, a rope begins to descend from the sky, down which the lad scurries with practiced ease.  Once at the bottom, he tugs the rope free, and rolls it up.

"I am guessing that's your ship there..." he says quietly, while pointing towards the Heart of Oak. "...I think I'll move on ahead, and leave you grown ups to your grown up business. Is there a chance for some cabbage and radish soup? I am feeling a bit peckish, and a taste of home would go down very well right now."

A close eye might spot the hint of a pointed ear, or the subtle too-perfect shape of his face, that hints at an otherness not always welcome in the worlds of men. His hair is worn shaggy, his face dirty with soot, it would be too easy to assume him human, but those with a wider frame of reference would consider him to have some fey blood, perhaps an over-sized creature of the world of faerie, or perhaps one of the reclusive elves. Either way, he seems no threat, as long as you  stay out from under him, and don't wear anything too flammable.
This message was last edited by the player at 03:30, Wed 30 Dec 2009.

"Ah, Pyotr, there you are," smiles Dyanna, looking up from the dead Captain.  "I'm glad to see you've made it safely through our trials!  'Tis a fitting reward for the ship, Her Captain, and Her crew."

Miroslav replies to the small man..."Aye, tis our ship, "The Heart of Oak". You are most welcome aboard but I fear no warm soup will be found just dry provisions. Given any luck we will be drinking Roman wine and dining in a palace very soon though."

He then turns to look at Dyanna who is standing on his own ship and raises his hand saying..."Many thanks to you my lady! By your efforts and the efforts of this small man here, the crew was demoralized enough to jump ship."

Oleg, Radvila, Barmak, Ulfr and Gultunga scour the ship looking for booty. Unfortunately this was not a rich ship.



The only one who seems to have much luck in searching is Ulfr who carries a small chest onto the deck of the Heart of Oak that he found in the captains sea chest.

When all the others return to their own ship, the damaged Byzantine ship is cut loose and  begins to sink. The battle rages onward around them all but it is clear that the Byzantine fleet was no war fleet and that they are quickly being routed. Some sink, some flee but the Rus have won the day and Khorsun has had little in the way of luck in repelling the invading force.

Seeing that there is not nearby enemy Miroslav does not give the order to attack another vessel, instead he gives orders to return back to the the ships original position. Other ships int he Rus fleet are doing this as well.

Once the big man is finished rowing and is resting comfortably on his bench he pulls out the small chest from where he had stowed it under his bench. He sets it on his lap and looks for the opening mechanism, once found he will open the chest and look inside.

        The Stridesman rises from the remains that he's been searching
and wearily returns to the 'Heart of Oak' . . .  Gultunga makes his way to
his oar bench at the ships stern.  His hand continues to apply pressure to
his bloody wound as he forces a pained smile at the shipmates whom are
closest to him.

        After a few moments pass the Norsman loudly declares, "Didst ye all see
Gultungas mighty stroke O' me fine steel ~~ wot split me vile orc adversary
n'to two parts?"
This message was last edited by the player at 16:42, Sat 02 Jan 2010.

Ulfr easily finds how to pen the small chest and twists the lock free. He quickly jerks his hand back and the chest falls on the deck spilling it's contents, some gems and bagged coins along with a smaller chest-like container.

The big man looks down at his hand and sees a small trickle of blood from his palm. His heart races and he begins to sweat...all before him begins to blur.

        The Stridesman stands as he points the forefinger of his free hand
towards an object moving upon the water thats heading towards the shore about
a hundred yards out.
 
        "There she blows pon the water about one hundred yards out!  A lass
tryin to escape r'e notice.  Quickly steersman bring the Heart O' the Oak about
n' order to take her aboard.  It looks as though shes tryin to make off with a
large chest o' some type . . . and mores the likely booty wot belongs to us by
rights O' battle.  Quickly steersman let her not escape our grasp!  If we r'e
quick about it we may hath more booty to split, and mores the reason to
celebrate r'e good fortune."

        Being that time was of the essance in order to keep the lass from
drowning as well as to take her and the chest aboard as quickly as possible,
the Norseman goes to the tiller without hesitation to assist the pilot in
changing the ships direction.

        Gultunga screams above the crashing waves . . .

       "Captain your permission to come about and take the flotsam aboard . . .
Someone ready a grapplin hook to bring the booty aboard;  someone else get ready
yourselves to grab the lass . . . and be careful;  mayhaps she's an adversary,
considerin that she's makin way to the shore n' not r'e fleet~!"
This message was last edited by the player at 18:11, Sat 02 Jan 2010.

If the craftsman who had built the chest would be able to hear her, he would blush and cringe under the curses that left Alyna's lips. She had been promised that water would not be able to penetrate the chest! Getting desperate, she looked around to see if one of the roman ships was near so that she could get picked up. But they were running. Instead, she saw a Rus' ship gaining on her.

Damnation! Bloody Rus pirates!

She looked from the shore to the ship and back to the shore. It was clear that she would not make it before the ship has reached her. With a sigh she stopped paddling, waiting for the ship of the barbarians to reach her. At least she would not drown...

After bandaging his leg wound more carefully, Barmak tends to the rigging and the sails, trying to catch the wind and speed their progress back to the rest of the fleet.  He feels an exultation at being alive, at the sensation of the wind whipping through his hair and the rocking of the ship on the waters as the Heart of Oak cuts through them.  The battle now behind him and victory seemingly in the hands of the Rus, he feels a thrill at even the merest sensations and drudgeries of ship duties.

When he hears Gultunga's cry, Barmak peers out over the waters, trying to spot the woman the Stridesman sees amid the flotsam.  Lowering himself to the deck, he makes his way between the rowers to the prow of the ship.

"I shall go," he shouts to Gultunga.  "I am well-used to swimming, and I am not weighted down with mail."  As he relates this, he strips off his scimitar, his boots, and anything else that might slow him in the water, keeping only his curved dagger in his belt.  He prepares to dive into the waters as soon as he judges them close enough to the woman.

Miroslav is caught between Gultunga's alert that there is someone adrift and with the situation regarding Ulfr. He nods to both Oleg at the tiller and Gultunga nearby..."Yes, pick her up."

Turning his attention fully to Ulfr he sees that it is too late and that the big man has passed, hopefully to Valhalla. He quickly makes sure that everyone stays away from the chest..."It looks like there was a poinson trap protecting that chest...Ulfr is gone so it may not be active but I would rather not trigger it again. Who here knows traps?"

Just when I thought everything was calming down!

Having lived in an area with venomous snakes for part of his young life, Pytor had witnessed men who were bitten, and the treatment that worked most often. He wondered if it would do so here.

"Let me by, please..." he wiggles his way through whatever by-standers by might have clustered around the fallen man.

He glances at Ulfr's hands, quickly spotting the puncture wound. Pulling his dagger, he cuts an X around it, and begins to suck out the blood, spitting whatever fluids he find out onto the deck.

"Yucky... ptui... ptui..."
This message was last edited by the player at 23:52, Sat 02 Jan 2010.

Ulfr groans softly when Pyotr cuts the x in his hand. The small man sucks the poison out and spits it on the deck. Miroslav stands over watching this as if he is seeing a miracle. Once Pyotr is finished the big Rus hands the the makeshift doctor a small skin of green wine.

A full swig of wine is followed by a soggy spray of purple rain.

"Wow, is that wine??? My mentors never let me drink any spirits."

He shares a conspiratorial grin and takes another sip. Then another with an appreciative moan. Wiping his mouth on his sleeve he giggles then hooks the wineskin onto his belt.

"His heart is still strong. I think I stopped the poison from killing him, I hope."

He holds out both hands, fingers crossed.

"now what about the swimmin' lady?"

He runs to the ships railing, rising on his tippy toes to get a better look.

If/when the ship pulls up within 15 feet of her pyotr will gesture while speaking words that resonate thru the ears of any within hearing leaving their ears with a slight metallic taste.

Shimmering in the air, a round metallic disc slowly forms in the air then lowers to the water.

"Put your stuff in there and we will bring you both up!"
This message was last edited by the player at 06:11, Sun 03 Jan 2010.

Alyna was sitting on her sinking chest, her arms folded around her, looking on with resignation as the Rus' ship came alongside. When the boy spoke and the magical disk descended, she raised an eyebrow in surprise.

The barbarians use boys as magicians? What is this world coming to?

Apart from the raised eyebrow her surprise was not visible. She stared at the disk for a moment, then down at the chest she was sitting on. It was getting heavier by the minute, water seeping in. In perfect Rus she yelled back: "Impossible! The chest is far too heavy, and I am not leaving it!" She paused a beat and seemed to remember something. She then added: "Who is the captain of this ship? I would like his word that I won't be harmed if i come on board."

        Gultunga begins to laugh deeply as he points a bloody finger at the
waterlogged nymph upon the floating chest.  The Stridesman finally regains
his composure, coughs a few times and manages to loudly reply . . .

        "The flotsam it speaks and has the gall to make demands!  Ye r'e booty!
Tis obvious that ye are with the enemy by the simple act of trying to make it
to our adversaries shore and directly away from the succor of our fleet.

        The choice tis not yours to make but that of our Captain.  To continue
to speak in such an unseemly manner tis unwise as a captive as it could result
in the drawing of blood by the flogging of the lash.  Tis best that ye keep a
still and civil tongue about ye for now!  Speak only when spoken to and ye shalt
do fine."
This message was last edited by the player at 13:10, Sun 03 Jan 2010.

Miroslav watches the small man in amazement as he works his magic then turns and smiles at Gultunga...he then leans over the rail and calls out to the woman..."I am Miroslav, the captain of this ship. You have my word that if you behave yourself and offer no threat to my crew or ship that you will be treated as a guest and given passage to the city when we take it. If you would prefer to drown or wait for another offer then you may do so."

He then looks to Barmak and nods his head saying..."Since you seem ready to go, get down there and help her load her chest onto the magic disc."

Radvila looks after the big Norseman Ulfr while all this is going on He has no skill at healing but he gets the big man onto a bench and does his best to make him comfortable. He asks Miroslav "Can we get a healer from Sviatoslav to look after this man?"

Alyna pouts when the big northman calls her booty. But his threats do not impress her much. It is highly unlikely that she would be treated that way, even by barbarians. When the captain speaks, it sounds much better. Even though the barbarians of the steppe do not honor guests the same was as her people do, she still feels much safer when he calls her a guest on board his ship. So she answers the captain: "Thank you kindly, Sir. I am sure I cannot be a threat to any of your crew, and I surely will not try to harm anyone. I most definitely would prefer not to drown."

She pauses a moment, but then she directly adresses the northman: "I apologize if me trying to reach the shore offended you. The natural instinct was to reach the land. I was not aware of a formal declaration of war between you and my people, and therefore not aware that we should be enemies."

Dyanna makes her way to the rail next to Pyotr and looks down at the drowned slip of a girl.


To the others she says, "Likely not my place to say, but perhaps this ship's company's booty nearly escaped in the clutches of our...guest?"

Striving to use his disc to best advantage, the young mage places it near the female, and beckons her to hop on.

"These guys will bring your chest aboard, with or without you. You, however, do not seem too heavy for me to lift, and the water looks awfully chilly. You will have to climb on though, if I let it get below the water, it will be too hard to bring back up."


He glances nervously at the Big Norsemen, whose language was fluffy enough to be one their fabled bards, but the content was chillingly and manifestly brutal and bloodthirsty; traits most children felt as strongly as a backhand across the mouth.

Mind you, Norsemen were not as well known as the Greek for mis-using little boys, but still....
This message was last edited by the player at 04:27, Mon 04 Jan 2010.

Alyna stays in the water until she is sure that her chest is secure. Once ropes are attached to it, she quickly makes her way onto the flying disk that the strange boy seemed to have conjured out of thin air. She sits down on the disk, her wet blue dress clinging to her quite uncomfortably. In turn it allowed the men on deck a good look at her forms. Alyna was not concerned about it having a bad effect, after all, the captain had assured her safety with his word.

When the disk rises upwards, Alyna looks at the ship and its crew. There were some brutes, but others seem more sophisticated. She also notices that there seem to be wounded on board, so they really are with the attacking pirates. She'd surely like to know how they managed to defeat the greek fire, but for now she keeps her mouth shut, sitting on the disk as gracefull and regal as if she was the empress herself.

        The Stridesman appears green about the gills as he slowly makes his
way aft in order to get a better glimpse of the water nymph, and to speak to
her more directly.  An obvious trail of blood is left in Gultungas wake.
The Northmans left hand continues to apply pressure to his wound as he uses
his right to keep his keel even by using whatever is available to give him
support as he moves forward.  When he finally has direct eye contact with
the flotsam he replies . . .

        "We shalt know more of your intent wonce we hath a look see into
your chest.  If it contains treasure, we shalt know the why wheretofores of
your intent of paddling towards shore and not to our fleet.  If this is the
case, then its mores the likely forfeit."

        Gultunga having lost track of the days wonders whether its Saturday
or not . . .  Hath I made an error and not bathed or brushed my hair as my
people are expected to do on such a day.  Out of the blue the Northman
screams . . .
        "Doth any the one hath a brush that I couldst borrow for a few
moments?"
        The Stridesman patiently attempts to wait for the Nymph to board
their vessel.
This message was last edited by the player at 01:40, Mon 04 Jan 2010.

"One man's trash is another man's treasure.", Alyna replies, while she moves herself over to the ship. As she does so, her wet dress reveals two long and slender legs before it manages to fall down again. For a moment she looks down to her skirt as if she was criticizing it's performance. She looks up to the big norseman, then she sais: "You are wounded. You should be resting. Do not consider yourself with me, I am not another enemy for you to slay."

Turning to the captain, she continues: "Thank you again for saving me from drowning." She smiles for the first time. "I do trust that you do not let your crew rob your guests." With that her eyes seem to sparkle as if she is enjoying a private joke.

Alyna's hair is still wet and she brushes it out of her face. Her pointed ears become visible. She then turns to the boy, smiling warmly at him, saying: "Thank you, too, for conjuring that magical disk. You surely are a very special young man."

       The Norseman closes the distance betwixt himself and the nymph until he's
close enough to look directly into her eyes as he continues to address her

 . . . Its easy to see that Gultunga is likewise pleasing to look upon, though
he currently appears to be the worse for wear at this time.

       "To rest would be foolish till its been discerned whether ye r'e truely
a friend or foe.  The songs of the past tell us that wot looks to be innocent
is oft the most deadly.  A 'Trojan Horse' can take on many forms.

       Ones man trash tis anothers treasure ye say.  If wots within the trunk
tis but trash to us, then ye should hath no objection nor worry if it tis opened
and searched."

       A few moments pass before Gultunga continues to speak . . .

      "Captain would thee grant your crew permission to search the nymphs trunk
just to be on the safe side?"

       The Stridesman forces a pained smile as he begins to sweat profusely . . .
The contents that was once in his stomach spews forth from his lips showering
himself and those about him with what was his previous meal of salted fish, eel,
stale bread and watered wine.  The Norseman falls back onto the deck with a
rather loud thud to take a brief nap.
This message was last edited by the player at 03:37, Mon 04 Jan 2010.

Barmak climbs out of the water after Alyna, shaking the seawater from his hair as Gultunga plies her with words...and then with vomit.  He stares at the fallen Norseman in stunned silence for a moment, and then looks at Alyna apologetically.  He shrugs out of his sopping wet shirt and offers it to her to clean herself with.

"I feel I should apologize for Gultunga's..."  He searches for the right word, speaking in accented Russian.  "...For Gultunga."

"I, too, must admit to some curiosity regarding the chest's contents," he says to her, "but I think I am safe in saying we are all here for higher purposes than looting defenseless women."

He glances at Miroslav and the boy.  "Ulfr - how does he fare?  I have some experience with locks, if you would have me inspect the chest that poisoned him."  He glances at Ulfr and adds quietly, "If Allah is willing to grant me better fortune with it."

The young elf blushes at the compliment from the old lady Elf.

Criminey, she might be almost as old as mommy!

His pleasure returns to concern at the words of the Norseman. He was torn, his loyalties being to the Russ, but also to his Elven Kinsmen. (Or kinswomen, as the case may be.)
Despite his fear at the larger, and quite unsettling man, Pyotr rushes between the two of them, makes to move the Stridesmen by pushing on his stomach, decides pushing on the man's seeping wound would be unwise, and instead settles for pushing on the man's stout, muscular thigh.

"You leave her alone, you big, bad, smelly man!"

He ponders wielding eldrich forces to make his point, but still being a newcomer on the ship, decides to wait and see if things escalate.
This message was last edited by the player at 04:36, Mon 04 Jan 2010.

"You are not my enemy even if you think of me as an enemy.", Alyna starts to explain when suddenly the norseman spews his stomach content all over her. The elf is stunned for a moment - luckily her mouth was closed when it happened. The vomit is all over her and the boy who was putting up a heroic effort in defending her. Now it looks as if he did push the big man over, because he fell just as the boy was pushing the man's thigh.

What a greeting. Barbarians.

Alyna pulls a rather big chunk of vomit out of her hair, looking quite disgusted. She takes the wet shirt offered by the Arab, saying to him in Arab: "Thank you kindly." She starts to whipe the vomit from her face and cleavage, stops, shudders and pulls another big chunk out of her cleavage. Continuing in Rus, she sais: "Maybe someone should take care of this fallen tree? I don't know, but his injuries seem rather serious."

Turning back to the arabian man, she sais: "Please, be my guest. Look through my chest. All i ask is that you clean your hands before you do that. No need to get my dresses more ruined than they already are. And you say you have someone who got poisoned? I might be able to help there, if you let me."

After Alyna has cleaned herself as good as it was possible under the circumstances, she crouches down and starts to help clean the boy.

OOC: Alyna has Charisma 18, just in case anyone was wondering.

Dyanna approaches the chest, allowing those gathered to clean themselves of the Rus' stomach contents.  Happily she had remained at the rail looking on when the man had retched.  Amused, she grins at Pyotr's antics and then studies the apparently young woman.

"A child of the longed-lived," she said at last with a careful nod.

The fey were an obscure lot, their motives often hidden within twisting plots, and a natural distrust formed in the pit of her gut.  Having received some small succor from her childlike kinsman, however, she strove to offer the benefit of the doubt.

"Your kinsman was most kind on our journey, prior to the attack.  Well met indeed if you offer similar kindnesses," she continued.  "I do not recall seeing you aboard the doomed ship...pray tell, where exactly were you berthed?"
This message was last edited by the player at 22:54, Mon 04 Jan 2010.

Alyna had seen an Arab, Rus, a Norseman (too much of him) and now a Greek woman. This vessel truely had a strange crew. When the woman mentioned a kinsman, Alyna was confused for a second, before she realized that the woman meant the boy. Truely a strange crew.

"I apologize. I should have introduced myself much earlier. I am Alyna of Aleppo, first dancer of the blue circus faction. I know I do not look the role currently, in this rather ruined dress, but that i am. I was on board of the big trireme that went down over there", she pointed at the spot where still bubbles came through the water's surface, not the ship that this ship attacked though, "on my way to Cheresone."

      Gultunga succumbs to the raven hued darkness shrouding his conscious-
ness.  The Stridesman squints his eyes in pain, yet finds himself relieved
when he fails to hear or see the heralds approach of those worthy warriors
that die in battle ~~ the Valkaries.

      The hard wooden deck beneath his prone form lends him no comfort.  All
that remains now is the foul taste of the burning bile within his mouth, and
the throbbing pain of his wound.

      The briney smell of the sea washes the way the smell of vomit, and after
a few moments Gultungas eyes flutter open to the sight of the full sails of the
Oaken Heart and the ether above.  The Northman sits up slowly to keep the pain
from knocking him back down to the deck.

      In a clear deep voice the Stridesman speaks . . .

      "Gultunga thinks there be too much chatter and not enough action!  Be
there any the one whom possesses bandages to bind my wounds, or a Priest that
can provide healing draughts, stones, or poultices to ease my pain and cleanse
my wounds?"
This message was last edited by the player at 00:41, Tue 05 Jan 2010.

The sight, smell and feel of Norse vomit unsettles the youths stomach, and he barely makes it to the railing before his body divests itself of his breakfast.

Despite having lived among the Greco-Romans in their glorious city, the vomitorium had been a custom he could never (pun intended) stomach.

"Oh, god, I've been assaulted my the infamous Norse breath-weapon. Gah..."

After a few dry heaves, he turns to face the others, a slight tremble visible in his limbs.

It was clearly his nap time.

Why is she naked? he wonders.


With the focus of much of the crew on the naked female, it seems likely Gultunga's call for help will go unheeded. With a deep sigh, he steps forward, offers the fallen Stridesmen the wine, and rolls up a small strip of cloth.

If he does, Pyotr continues...

"Lay back, and bite down on this. It might hurt, but it's the best I can do."

Pulling out his dagger, he cuts the clothing away from the wound, retrieves his wine, and pours some if it into the wound.

"Wow, now that's an owie. We should burn the wound, to seal the bleeding. Is there any chance we gould get a fire, and heat up this dagger until it's red hot?"

He looks to the Captain and others, to see if they can help.

Barmak smiles and nods to Alyna, then as Dyanna addresses her, he leaves the women to their introductions.  He leans over the side of the ship to cleanse his hands in the sea, then wipes his hands dry on his breeches.  Once they have traded words, he says in Greek, "Miroslav has said that we shall treat you as a guest, and so it shall be.  There shall be no searches of what is private to you, unless he orders otherwise."  Though he speaks to Alyna, his last glance at Dyanna indicates he may be addressing her original suggestion as well.

Turning to Miroslav, he asks in Russian, "Mayhap we might afford the women what little privacy we may, that they might see to their needs?"  He grins and adds, "And, thus, we, undistracted, to our needs?"

At the sound of Pyotr's plea, Barmak points to the burning brazier the crew used in their attack to ignite their arrows.  "I think that should suffice for your physicking, Boy," he says, still speaking in the tongue of the Rus.  "I do not know if any among us possess knowledge of the healing arts, but for what you suggest it sounds as though you shall require only men strong enough to hold Gultunga still while you apply the brand.  Of that we should have great supply."  He glances at Radvila meaningfully.
This message was last edited by the player at 06:54, Tue 05 Jan 2010.

Pyotr nods gratefully to the olive skinned man with the sword of the Easterners, and the gentle manner.

"I will heat up my blade.."

He scampers over the brazier, and begins to blow on the coals. Once they are nice and hot, he heats up his blade, attempting to get it to a good seering temperature.

"Hold him down, I don't need another broken rib!"

So much has happened inn such a short time that Miroslav not know where to begin, new people on his ship, damsels rescued from the sea, poison and the aftermath of the battle. Like Sviatoslav, he is but a simple soldier thrown into a situation that is more complex but unlike Sviatoslav he does not have the greatness to rise to the occasion.

He tells two of the Greek sailors..."String up a piece of sailcloth in the aft for the women."

He looks around lost for a moment then turns to Oleg and says..."Take over the ship for me, there is too much for me to do now with the wounded."

Looking at the woman Alyna he says..."Your belongings are safe and so are you. If our plan this night was to kill women we found at sea, we would have already done that. Now you spoke of a way to help the poisoned man?"

To Barmak..."Yes Barmak, I need you to look at the chest for me, and by all means take care."

He leans low where Pyotr is dealing with Gultunga and sits on the wounded mans legs, all the while trying to keep an eye on everything going on.

Alyna stares in amazement as the boy starts to heat up the blade.

Is he really going through with this? He must be joking?

Once it is clear he is not joking at all, Alyna speaks up: "Hold it! You might very well kill him with that hot blade! At the very least you will injure him further, and there will be a big scar! He probably won't mind the scar, but he'd surely mind dying!"

Barbarians! They can destroy, but they cannot mend.

"You!", she sais, pointing at the Arab, "What is your name?" Without waiting for an answer she continues: "Get some clean cloth and apply pressure to the wound. The Norseman can wait a while. And you", she points at the boy, "Drop that blade and show me what poisoned the other man. We might not have much time."

To noone in particular she adds: "Anyone feel free to go through my stuff, if you must. But please make sure your hands are clean." She stops a beat and adds: "But hands off regarding my underwear."

Deciding to throw her lot in with the other woman while also a newcomer aboard the ship, Dyanna says, "None shall paw through your belongings."

Crossing her arms she stands beside the elfin's chest.

He considers the woman's demand for a moment.  Miroslav has given him an order to examine the lock on the chest that poisoned Ulfr.  Yet the woman requires assistance with the Stridesman's wound.  The chest will not go anywhere, he decides.  The same cannot be said of Gultunga.

He undoes his belt and unwraps the sash beneath, still dribbling with seawater, then tears off a long strip of the fabric.  "It is not silk or linen from a sultan's bed," he says as he wrings it out, "but it is as clean as any cloth to be found aboard this ship."  He kneels down next to Gultunga and presses it upon his wound with a firm hand, as Alyna directs.

"And I am Barmak," he adds with a nod.  "Barmak Mahvand."

Pyotr goggles at the Greek female, and her fear of the heated blades.

Barbarian Greeks, with their foolish superstitions, and delusions of culture. The man's wound does not need it's own toga, it needs searing, and sealing. But he didn't know (or like) the man well enough to fight about it.

He turns to the poor befuddled Captain.

"It's your ship Captain so it's your decision; cauterizing a wound is a time tested battle-cure for bleeding wounds. I'm not one to play dress-up with a man's innards, but if you want to try the Greek womans cure, I will cool my blade, and head below. It's been a long day."

Alyna sends a thankful look to the Greek woman, before she turns and looks at the man who introduced himself as Barnak Mahvand. She then takes a quick step towards him and grabs his arm before he can use his sash on the fallen norseman. "If possible, please use something that is not drenched in salt-water.", she sais, "There is no need to cause additional pain."

She then turns to the young man, who seems to be disgruntled for some reason. "Wait! Who is going to show me the thing that poisoned your crewmate?"

Miroslav nods in Barmak's direction letting him know he understands his situation. The chest can wait a few minutes.

He then turns to Pyotr and says..."I am interested in what she is doing here, I say let her do her work and we can judge it's effectiveness after...besides that. I am not all that fond of Gultunga!" He smiles at his own jest at the end.

He then says to Dyanna and the small man..."Since you are now seemingly part of our crew, why not tel us something about yourselves? I mean, you have joined us in battle and made some powerful enemies should we not succeed here."

Barmak halts as the woman stays his hand.  He listens and nods with a shrug, stuffing the strip from his sash back into his belt.  "As you wish," he says, "though I doubt we shall hear him complain of a little stinging."  He rises to his feet and glances about the ship.  "I shall see what I may find that will suffice.  I should hate to think we may have to sacrifice any of your clothing for Gultunga's wound."  He grins and adds with a meaningful glance over her thinly-clad body, "Since you have very little to spare."

Then he turns and sets about searching the Heart of Oak for any dry, clean cloth that could serve as a bandage.

Alyna is used to such looks, the lack of them would possibly make her doubt herself. Once Barmak turned around though, she rolled her eyes, thinking to herself: "My dress is also drenched in salt-water, dummy." Then she looks for someone to finally take her to the poison and the poisoned man.

Miroslav goes to his sea chest and pulls out a linen shirt and hands it to Barmak..."This should work. I am sure I will be able to replace it when we get in the city."

He then turns to Alyna and points at the small chest lying on the deck amidst the coins and gems and a smaller chest and says..."Something in the lock stuck him when he opened it." He then points to the big Norseman on the bench..."Pyotr was able to extract some of the poison from the puncture and he is still alive but I am not sure for how long."

Alyna nods towards the captain and crouches down over the scene. She does not touch anything, instead she just observes, concentrating on it. She makes out a few tiny specs of blood quickly, and there is another liquid there. Taking one of the coins, she carefully dips it into the alien liquid and then she holds it up in front of her lips, tasting the liquid with the tip of her tongue. Her face turns sour and she spits out a few times, then she gets back up, proclaiming: "It's Sharduvaak!"

She rushes to her chest, opens it and does something at the cover. She then withdraws her hand, holding a small flask. Again she rushes over the deck, this time to the norseman on the bench, yelling back to the captain: "Who's Pyotr?"

Reaching the norseman, she stops. Another Norseman. She then opens the small flask, takes a sip herself and drips some of the flask's liquid out of her mouth onto the wound. Then she opens the mouth of the Norseman and instills some of the liquid into him. Coming back to the Captain, she sais: "Your crewman should awake in some minutes. Now, please make sure this big spewer of vomit is held down securely."

Again she moves to her chest, doing something, and instead of the flask she now has a small package in her hands. She kneels down beside the fallen Norseman, opens up his shirt to reveal the wound and produces a curved needle and some thread from the package. She then starts stitching the wound together.

Dyanna watches the immortal go about her business and murmurs, "Handy, this one."

To the others she says, "I'm a traveler and a student, if you will...though a master of no particular subject.  I have learned to take care of myself, and find that first impressions are most often the least important, as the former Captain of our enemy found to his chagrin.  I have no particular loyalties, unless it is to the folk of the Evratos Valley, in the region where Sparta once stood.  There are few there now, and the once proud city has faded into dust over time..."

She looks around as Pyotr declares his weariness.

"Like our diminutive companion, I find myself weary as well.  Is there a place to rest awhile, perhaps privately?"

Barmak gives a nod of gratitude toward the captain, returning to Gultunga's side with the dry linen shirt.  He rips the shirt into shreds, making bandages enough to tend to the wound in the Stridesman's side with more besides.  He applies pressure to the wound as per Alyna's direction, and then remains by her side as she goes about her work.  He places his hands down on Gultunga's shoulder, intending to hold the larger man down, though he has little doubt the Norseman could fling him off like a bug were he at full strength.

As he crouches there, he listens to Dyanna's introduction.  He nods toward the aft of the ship, where the Greek sailors string up sailcloth as a crude curtain.  "Privacy is a hard-found thing on a ship," he says.

        Gultunga remains still as the stranger begins to see to his wounds
. . .

        "By the balls of Thor!  Your treatment of Gultungas wound tis much the more preferrable than that of the young lads red hot searing blade.  I must ask
forgiveness as the battlelust still boils within my very blood, and my wounds
doth not allow me to see as clearly as I should.  I shalt lay my suspicions
aside, and will do as thee bid me to do in order to get well."     

"Well, you certainly have some vomit to apologize for.", Alyna mutters under her breath, only Barmak might hear it. She sends her big patient a smile, saying: "You should be careful with movement in the next days, or the stitches might open up again. Also pray to your gods that your wound does not get infected."

Alyna then gently washes the blood away and applies bandages, hiding the sewn up wound. Turning to Barmak she sais: "I think Gultunga should rest now. Could you see to it that he gets into his bed or hammock well?" With a look down her dress that still clings tightly to her form she adds: "You do not happen to have a clean and dry dress in my size on board per chance, do you?"

Glad that he poured cleansing wine into the wound before the bossy old lady showed up, Pyotr wondered if the big man would fare better or worse for the absence of infection purging fire in his belly. It would be interesting to watch and see.

He turns to Dyanna, and listens to her tale. She gave the impression of being someone who had led a hard life, but buried her bitterness under a layer of humor.

When she finishes, he offers his own story...

"I am a child of the courts of the Kiev Rus, though I was born of forbidden lusts, or so my nurses always told me. Though I was raised in the moors of the motherland, I have been told I do not fit in there. Funny, being as small as I am, you would think I could fit in a cupboard, or under the bed, but it is not so."

Sadness fills his face, for he is, in truth, a lonely child.

"My mommy sent me to live with the Romans; she thinks a war is coming, and her father always taught her that it was wise to know your enemies ways. I am supposed to stay there but I missed my mommy, so I took my savings and I am heading back to visit her, for as long as she will have me."

He glances out to sea, where his previous transport had vanished beneath the waves.

"I guess she will have to hire a new tutor though..."

Dyanna laugh, a gentle sound, and she smiles at the boyish figure.

"Your humor is dry, Pyotr, and hides mas much as perhaps my own does," she says, pushing away from the ships railing and making her way to the sailcloth.

To the newcomer she says, "If you find some garb, I shall stand watch as you change."

With that, she slips around the sailcloth and out of plain view.

Barmak notices Alyna's downward glance and smiles at her question.  "Would that we had reason to have such a thing," he says, chuckling.  "I do not think our Jaleh has much of a wardrobe, even if she is near your size.  And if she did...well, I should prefer not to answer to her as the man who lent out her clothing!"

He offers Gultunga his hand, preparing to aid the man in standing and readying himself to support his weight with an arm around his back.  "Come, my friend," he says, "let us trouble this lady no further."

        Gultunga rises to his feet with Barmacks help and mumbles,
"My thanks Nymph . . . Barmack."

        The Stridesman searches out a place aboard the ship that is
out of the crews way and won't be jostled much.

        The Northman speaks aloud . . .

"Gultunga feels like clothing, stitches and all!  I could use
some strong spirits to raise that of my own."
This message was last edited by the player at 18:40, Fri 08 Jan 2010.

Miroslav goes back to his sea chest and produces another long linen shirt and offers it to Alyna..."I am afraid this is the best we have to offer."

He then goes and stands at the rail looking out over the waves. The Rus fleet is almost all back, the Byzantine makeshift fleet is in ruins or fled and the ships of the city still remain safe in the harbor.

He then turns and speaks to the entire crew in a loud voice..."It looks as though our work tonight is over and the Zorya (Goddess of the day star in Slavic myth) will make her appearance in a few short hours. I suggest we turn in for the night and keep our regularly scheduled watch and see what the morning brings."

Just a note to the new comers...this is naught but a dragon ship, no going below, no cabins, now beds:) Just benches and oars for the most part. Luxury is not an option nor is comfort.

       Gultunga goes back to his rowing bench and lays down upon it to sleep.
The Stridesman dreams of past battles and romantic conquests.  Think-
ing to himself, hopefully I'll feel much better with the rising sun.


  How do you work healing from rest?

Reaching into his diminutive pack, Pyotr pulls out a small bedroll, and curls up against a railing near the back of the ship. He pulls out a small pouch, and nibbles on some dried meat and fruit, then falls asleep, quite concerned that when the morning comes he will have to drop his drawers and hike his white little butt over the railing to divest himself of tonights meal, with everyone watching.

Not much he can do about it now though...

Alyna accepts the shirt and thanks the captain with a smile that usually turns hearts into liquid and legs into jelly. She walks behind the sailcloth and climbs out ot her dress with some difficulty, as it is wet and she does not want to damage it. Wearing just her briefs, she then throws the shirt over her body. It only reaches down to about the middle of her thighs, but it is dry and it will have to do. Her kind does not feel the cold as humans do anyways.

Laying her dress and her shoes out to dry, she then walks back out from behind the sailcloth, moving over the benches with natural grace. She stops where the poisoned norseman is resting and checks on him. His breathing is regular and his heart beats strong. Satisfied she stands a while, letting the wind blow through her hair. It has been quite a day. One more thing to do.

She walks over to the place where the boy has curled up in his bedroll, strokes gently across his hair and carefully pulls up the covering, so that he will be warm. Then she goes back over the benches, her bare feet not making much of a sound, and disappears again behind the sailcloth. There she asks the Greek woman: "Would you mind sharing your space with me? We can keep each other warm."

"Aye, Ageless one," smiles Dyanna, her book away and her eyelids half closed.  "I am weary - 'tis been a long day."

Deep asleep, Pyotr smiles at the caress, and snuggles deeper into his covers.

His dreams are oddly pleasant, considering the days activities, but few others would be comfortable in a world made up of textured fields of power, merging, melding and dividing sentient numbers, and the occasional charges of multi-hued chess pieces riding to and fro.

It all turns to a cooler shade at Alyna's intrusive gentleness, and in his mind it is his mother who is stroking his hair. Slowly even his dream fades to shades of gray and green, and he sleeps peacefully, until awakened..

With the dawn comes healers from Sviatoslav's retinue on a small ship. Soon all who were injured the night before feel much better, perhaps not fully up to strength but close. Even Ulfr is up and moving about but slowly and he is still green around the gills.

Once the healers are done Miroslav asks Oleg to start heading to the other side of the city to meet the expedition and then tells Barmak to take a look at the chest so the contents can be determined.

A still and favorable wind catches te sail and Oleg has no problem piloting the ship as the Greek sailors throw together a makeshift feast for their new passengers...bread, cheese, dry sausages and green wine are layed out in one of the rowing benches near the front.

The big Norseman makes it to his feet but still feels a bit shaky. He manages to wolf down a bit of the food laid out on the bench before finding the small man and Elven woman.

"I thank you both for your assistance last night. I was a fool opening a chest I did not have the knowledge to open. Thanks to the both of you I am still alive." After speaking he finds himself a spot on one of the benches to lay down again.

Barmak feels a sense of relief when the healers arrive; while he felt somewhat confident in the bandaging of his wound, he much preferred the attention of someone who had studied such things.  Even if they were superstitious barbarian wise-men instead of educated physicians.

His thigh wound properly attended to, Barmak turned his full attention to the chest whose lock had somehow poisoned Ulfr.  He gingerly examined it, using the tip of his dagger to probe it, trying to figure out its workings in order to disable any traps and unlock the chest.


15:19, Today: Barmak Mahvand rolled 19 using 1d100. Locate/Remove Trap (35%).
15:19, Today: Barmak Mahvand rolled 6 using 1d100. Open Locks (48%).  Sweet!

Dyanna is up now, having awakened with the dawn.

"Clear skies - sailor's delight," she mutters the old adage to herself.

She makes busy behind the curtain, careful not to disturb Pyotr if she can help it - Alyna she knows hears her, and is awake despite her quiescent attitude.  Gathering her belongings, she dons her cloak and makes her way forward to watch as the healers ply their skills...the wounded attend happily, each looking better with the ministrations than before.

Passing forward down the center aisle between benches full of men, she makes her way to the bow.  Once there she watches as the ship navigates toward their destination.

"I'll be happy to see dry land once again, though there is peace this morn for a change."

Her words are murmured absently to herself.
This message was last edited by the player at 01:18, Tue 12 Jan 2010.

Barmak has no trouble with the chests that poisoned Ulfr...a simple trap but deadly.

Miroslav stands at the Persians shoulder and the man empties the contents out onto a cloth spread on a bench...the captains treasure! The big Rus immediately goes about sorting the loot into piles with the aid of Barmak.

1000 Gold pieces
1 gold ring inscribed with a flame
1 fine dagger
1 ruby with  a sigil incised
In the smaller inner chest a small faceted cube of greyish metal

         The Stridesman sits upon his bench, smiles at his companions, and
then takes a deep breath.  Almost healthy and hale once again, Gultungas
voice bursts forth to be heard by one and all . . .


            The seas tis the Norsemans unforgiving mistress.
            Its mercurial waters whether raging or calm,
            Our mighty resinous steed doth lithely and enduringly tread.

            To the beat of the drum doth our oars stroke e'vr forward.
            With great hope we look to the horizon for the sails of our foes.
            May we wonce again test our valor against their iron most deadly.

            To be found worthy is our utmost desire.
            Looking always forward to the greatest of rewards,
            To one day celebrate within Valhallas most hallowed Halls.

            . . . . etc., etc, etc. . . .

Dyanna's brief tranquility is disturbed by the uproar of the northman's singing.

"Better he'd remained unconscious," she muttered, with a glare over her shoulder.  Seeing the glint of gold from the overturned chest sparks her interest, however, and she makes her way aft toward the discovery.

"What have we here, gentlemen," she asks softly, her eyes alight with delight (nice!) at the stash...

Awakening a yawn, the young mage sits on his bedroll, his tousled hair in his eyes, and begins his morning studies. Several oddly large tomes, and even an ancient clay tablet, kept carefully wrapped in Egyptian cotton. While he studies, he nibbles on some dried fruit, and sneaks a sip of the wine that had been given to him the night before.

At the sound of the opening chest, he slips on his pants, puts away his books, and pads over to the others in socks, one big toe poking out.

Nibbling on a slice of dried apple, his eyes sparkle, though not at the coins.

"If you will give me a moment, I would like to examine the  additional items."

If there is no protest, he will pull out a handkerchief and lay the gold ring, the fine dagger, the sigil-marked ruby, and most carefully, the small greyish cube.

Once they are displayed to his satisfaction, he will begin to chant, and gesture over them, watching them closely, in an effort to learn even a little of their secrets...

Miroslav nods at Pyotr and helps him gather up the four items.

Pytor works his magic over the items and the following happens...

The ring begins to glow warmly with a faint light.
The dagger seems to do nothing.
The gem glows slightly but there is no other outward sign.
Finally the metal cube glows and begins to hum. This lasts only for about ten seconds. It glows brighter than any of the other items.

Pyotr glances at each of the items, studying them carefully.

"This Ring is designed to keep the wearer warm. Maybe for our lady swimmer?"

He smirks, then glances at the next item, the dagger.

"A minor enchantment, but it will enhance the combat prowess of it's wielder, just a little bit. Nice etching on the handle, I suspect it was crafted among the distant Angles, or their native kin. Far from home..."

He picks up the gem, almost reverently, his eyes open wide to the radiance he alone can see.

"The Gods of the Rus have seen this ship, and it's crew with open eyes. This will aid in closing open wounds, a mishap I suspect your crew finds a way cross paths with on a regular basis, captain. A few of your men might wish to share this, for the next few days. It also helps in speeding up the healing if everyday bumps and bruises."

He makes a clear effort not to glance at the Stridesman.

"And finally... oh my. Not to be touched, please, this will require careful study."

He grabs the four ends of the cloth, and slowly raises it to his eye level.

"This little cube of grey metal is an item spoken of in legend, and dangerous to those uncertain of it's use. It is, in essence, a knot in the sail-cloth of life, and with it, passage can be gained into other... other places, let us say. Very, other. It ties six of these places together, but care must be taken, a person could be sucked thru, and end up in a world made of fire, or even worse, it could open and a fearsome creature might come into our world to wreck havoc. More then one dark race was said to have entered our world thru one of these. I fear I should keep this safe, and study it further."

He doesn't seem to even consider that there will be a debate, as he folds the cube up in the cloth, and tucks it away in the fold of his clothing.

With a boyish grin, he offers the other three items up for discussion and division, padding away to slip on his shoes, and go in search of breakfast.

"Do I smell bacon?"

Barmak considers the youth's words with awe.  He looks forward to learning the ways in which Miroslav will divide these rare and wonderful spoils.  The last description, however, causes him considerable anxiety.

"Wait, wait, boy!  You say that this small trinket has within it the power to open the very gates of Hell?"  He rears back from the cube, glaring at it as though shayātīn of Jahannam might spring forth from it in a puff of brimstone at any moment.

"What manner of deviltry was this captain plotting, to have such a terrible device within his possession?  For that matter, by what damnéd means did he obtain such a thing?"

"You may hold the trinket, Pyotr," says Dyanna, watching the diminutive one scamper away.  "But I would study it's affects as well."

Better to say something now than let the little man set precedent, else he'd gobble up every trinket worth playing with as they continued forward.

The youth pauses and shrugs. "Gates of hell, perhaps, I have yet to determine where they come out. There are more places amongst the multi-verse then are dreamt of in your philosophy, but you are right to be afraid, if it were to fall in the wrong hands..."

Pyotr strives not to look in Dyanna's direction while saying this, but fails.

<i>Like I would let a girl play around with such a thing. I would toss it over board, before I let her cooties on it!</i>

Quickly catching himself, he changes his demeanor, and bows in her direction.

"okeedokey, but maybe later..."

Sniffing the air, he returns to his hunt for fried pork products.
This message was last edited by the player at 06:25, Fri 15 Jan 2010.

      After having listened to the current conversation for a while, Gultunga
gives his opinion without hesitation . . .

      "Gultunaga thinks that the lad himself hath presented the dangers that lie
within this vile cube very well.  Tis his very own words that lend to the argue-
ment that the cube should be locked away from casual handling or studies frought
by curiosity, especially so for fear that a gorgon or worse shalt be unleashed.
Fate should not be tempted. Captain lock the horrid thing away, lest we anger the very gods themselves by touching that which the hands of man shouldn't."

Miroslav listens to Gultunga's advice and rubs his chin through his beard..."Aye, this device sound very dangerous but I am not sure it will be any safer in my hands than in someones who has some understanding of the object."

He grabs the small chest that originally held the object and hands it over to Pyotr..."I would leave you in charge of this item since you have some idea what it is. But for my peace of mind, keep in in this chest and stay near me."

Dyanna draws close to Miroslav and leans forward as if imparting a soft whisper to the Captain.

The big Rus sighs when he hears what the woman has to say and once again holds out the small chest to Pyotr..."Please I insist...I have no desire to have us all at risk by this artifact being handled improperly."

He then turns to Oleg..."Keep on course, we should meet with the others before nightfall."

Radvila watches the situation with the small man and the strange cube tensely. He doe snot understand what is int he box but has know Miroslav long enough to realize that if it was cause for the Rus to worry then it was cause for him to be worried as well.

       Having taken his chosen bench at the oars, Gultunga readies himself
for the task of rowing.  Upon hearing Miroslave, the Stridesman nods in
agreement as he loudly replies so that all can hear . . .

       "Miroslavs words ring true.  For safety sake, the cube should not
be touched or manipulated at all."

Barmak would prefer that the thing be thrown into the sea, but he decides the matter is best left to the Captain and those wizards who seem to know what do with the things.  We are all in the hands of Fate, after all, he thinks.  May Allah be merciful to us.

The Persian feeds himself quickly, then sets to the work of aiding the sailors in seeing them swiftly to their rendezvous.

Pyotr sighs deeply at the mistake the others are making, but he reaches into his pocket, pulling out his handkerchief, lowering it gently into the chest.

"Can I eat now?"

      Gultunga begins to row steadily with the beat of the drum . . .

Miroslav nods his head at Pyotr and says..."Of course!"

        The Stridesman rise from his oar for a few moments to get a drink of
fresh water and a portion of dried fish.  Whilst eating his small repast,
Gultunga makes his way over to Barmak.
This message was last edited by the player at 15:12, Wed 20 Jan 2010.

Content witht he fact that whatever the object is has been turned over to Miroslav, Radvila joins the others in grabbing a quick bite to eat. He grabs a trencher of bread and puts some food on it for Ulfr and takes it to him. "Eat, it will make you feel better."

Ulfr grudgingly accepts the trencher of food from Radvila. He nods his head in thanks as he begins to dig in with a gusto not fitting a man who just seconds ago looked like the idea of  eating some was the worse possible scenario for him to be in right now.

Dyanna offers a secret smile to the ship's captain then follows closely behind Pyotr.


She too grabs a plate full of food.

Alyna awakes late that morning. She must have been more exhausted than she thought. She yawns and stretches herself, looking around, remembering what happened last night. She is alone behind the sailcloth. Slightly disgusted she looks at the shirt she has slept in. Not quite the silk she was used to. After a quick look around she pulls it over her head. Wearing just her briefs she stretches again. Anyone watching would be reminded of a cat.

Taking her time she slips into her now dried dress. Only when she finished dressing up she realizes that the morning sun is behind her and has thrown her shadow onto the sailcloth. Blushing, she follishly ducks down, not that it matters much now. After a moment of composing herself she stands up again, brushes her skirt with her hands and walks out from behind the sailcloth. Her cheeks still quite red, she stands there feeling helpless, looking at the faces staring at her.

Great. I am among barbarians and pirates, and I have nothing better to do than to give them a free show.

Alyna clears her throat and looks for the two men she helped during the night.

Clearly miffed, Pyotr grabs his plate, then heads back to study his books while munching on the simple, but nutritious fare.

A few of the crew sneak a peek at the silhouette on the sail clothe but all the men stay well behaved, they have not been at sea very long.

Miroslav looks content and he walks about with the small chest before placing it in his sea chest and locking it safely away from eager hands.

As he does this a small quick ship skirts up next to the Heart of Oak and a toed scroll is thrown to the captain..."For Zmija from the Knyaz." shouts the courier as the vessel departs.

Oleg pilots the ship as well if not better than Miroslav and before long the Rus fleet is far on the western horizon as the edge of the city is near to the east.

Before nightfall the meeting placed is reached and the ship is anchored off shore a few hundred feet.

Barmak eats with Gultunga as they quietly share words.


At the sound of one sailor's sniggering, he turns to look and sees the alluring silhouette against the sailcloth.  He smiles, enjoying the sight, but dutifully turns his head away and feigns ignorance before the woman emerges from behind it.

He takes his place among the others as they sail toward their meeting.

       Gultunga eats with Barmak as they quietly converse with one another.
The Stridesmans attention is somewhat transfixed upon the alluring movements
of the silhouette agaist the sailcloth thats currently spread across the
ships bow.

Pyotr watches the craning necks of the sailors, and chuckle, shaking his head at the odd things grown-ups do that seem more childish then the games urchins play in the street.

It's a topsy turvy world indeed.

Miroslav stays near the beach side rail and watches the shore...after just a few minutes there looks to be some motion there, then a glowing orb rises and falls near the beach. This is obviously the signal Miroslav was waiting for. He orders the rowers the man the oars and tells Oleg to beach the ship.

Of course beaching a ship sounds pretty nasty but these are dragon ships, that is how they are docked for the most part, they are both shallow and light.

Everyone now go to the thread titled "reunion". Xp will be dished out shortly.