“Nothing good dies until its allotted span is completed. Nothing evil dies until it is vanquished.”
-from The Teachings of S’s’os’ayn
On his ship, the Whitecap, Torroran pondered the absence of the Margate fleet. He had heard about a large food shipment coming from the easternmost towns of the Halflings, and had hoped that Hiegler would take his ships down the channel and through the passage under the mountains, rather than risk an encounter with the serpent that the fleet was busy with off the east coast. His hope was been rewarded when the lookout spotted the cruiser and its pathetically small compliment of escorts. Torroran ordered that the escorts be disabled, driven off, or destroyed, the crews killed, and the cruiser captured.
The Whitecap caught one of the escorts in a sneak attack as the fleet was passing by the city. It was on fire by the time the Whitecap came abreast of the cruiser and Torroran swung onto its foredeck. Torroran landed, rolled, and slashed the leg of a sailor who had tried to take advantage of Torroran’s momentary imbalance. On his feet, he brought his other sword around and separated the sailor’s head from its body. The air was alive with shouts, the clash of steel, and the boom of the ship guns. Hiegler came running up the ladder from the main deck to the foredeck, and stood facing Torroran.
Torroran stood tall and unarmored. His hair hidden under a tied rag, a scar beside his right eye, and a black goatee framing his smirk. His chest was a network of scars. His pants were light and baggy, tied at the ankles, and his webbed feet were bare.
Hiegler was a man in his prime, blond and muscular. He wore his armor with a casual ease and wielded his large broadsword with easy, powerful motions. He scowled. “Damn you, Torroran! Not this time. You don’t know why this shipment…” With a clash of steel, he brought his sword up to block Torroran’s blades, which were headed for his neck.
Two more sailors jumped at Torroran from behind, and were dispatched, a blade in each chest. Blood splashed in lines on the deck as Torroran swept the blades out of the torsos and spun them around to threaten Heigler again.
“Back!” shouted Hiegler, “This fight is mine.” Then to Torroran, “This shipment is different. Crops were burned in…” A quick twisting motion of the broadsword parried two attacks from different angles, one of which deflected into his chest plate, glancing off.
“If the crops were burned, that just means higher prices. You aren’t helping your case at all here, Hiegler.” Torroran feinted high, drew the broadsword up, and slipped the left blade under the chest plate. Hiegler grunted, and Torroran neatly sliced his head in half from ear to ear.
Torroran strode to the edge of the foredeck and shouted down at the fighters, “Your captain has been killed and your ship taken. You are between the sword and the sea, choose!” The bodies of the dead on deck were beginning to dissolve into a shimmering smoke. Blood and weapons likewise vanished from the deck. Some of the cruiser's crew dived over the main-deck railing and into the water. Others continued to fight, resigned expressions on their face notwithstanding.
The fight was over in a matter of minutes. Torroran was met by one of his own sailors. “Leave half the crew on the cruiser.” Torroran said, “The others will man the Whitecap and escort her through Mountain Pass and down to The Black Island.”
“And if word reaches Mountain Pass about this before we get there?”
“Sail fast.” Torroran replied, “I’ll stay in Margate. Don’t spend my cut of the profit on the way back.” Torroran ran to the edge of the ship, and jumped into the water in a long dive.
“Good luck back in town, sir!” the sailor shouted after him.
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