The Hunting Maiden rode atop the Sunset Sea with a summer gale at her back, her canvases stretched to their limit, and cyan sea hissing along her sharply angled hull. Her Drukerian crew knew their trade well, gliding across the pitching deck like hungry shades at the barking orders of their captain. They wore light ivory robes of cloth and thin blue leather hauberks to keep out the punishing sun, and their dark eyes glittered like onyx between the folds of white woolen scarves. They were racing against the storm with a whole load of cargo chained below, the craggy southern coastline and the mouth of the river leading to Vor Surya laying only a few miles off the bow. The wind howled hungrily in the scarlet rigging, singing an eerie counterpoint to the muffled scrapes and cries rising from the hold; the sailors laughed in quiet, sepulchral tones, thinking back to the revels of the night before.

Darius Nightblade stood at the reaver's prow, one gloved hand resting on the ship's rail as he watched the blunt towers of the sea chain rise before him. A heavy cloak of raptor hide hung from his broad shoulders, and strands of black hair spilled out from a voluminous hood to flitter and dance amidst the wind. The sun clawed at his face, and he furrowed his brow at its touch. The highborn Drukerian pulled a carefully folded silver token from his pocket and held it against his lips, breathing in its intoxicating perfume. It smelled of honey and fresh blood, the fragrance setting his senses on edge.

This is the smell of success, he thought, his cracked lips twisting into a cruel smile. The raiding party had been a gamble from the outset, and he'd pushed his luck every step of the way. With only one small cruiser, an equally minuscule crew, and a sluggish start hindering his efforts, nothing short of a rousing triumph would impress his allies back at Nul Archid. So they had lingered along Assanian's western coast weeks after their peers had set course for home. The former captain had complained bitterly about the turning weather and the damnable Atrean Sea Guard until Darius had put a blade through his stomach and threatened to take command of the Hunting Maiden himself.

When a gust of wind blew up in the dead of night off the shores of Darkholme, all had seemed lost, and seven sailors had vanished into the black waves while fighting to keep the ocean and drafts from dashing their vessel against the cliffs. But by morning, their luck had turned along with the gale; The Assanian coastal patrols had fared far worse than they, having been smashed against the stone or blown down the long inlet towards the pirate city of Devil's Bay. In swift succession, the raiders hit four villages along the coast and sacked the beaten fort at Monte-Carlo in four days of plunder and slaughter before escaping out to sea with a hold packed of slaves and three chests brimming with gold and silver.

He would see to it that his supporters were well paid for their investments; to risk the wrath of his family by borrowing the funds he needed for his voyage from other sources had been a risky strategy. But after being deadlocked for so long, it was a tempting idea to let the money flow through his hands like spilled wine, hiring assassins, tormentors, and retainers to revenge himself on his sisters and brothers. A chunk of him lusted for revenge, for violence, for murder and torments that lingered beyond physical suffering. The desire was sharp, like steel on the skin, and sent a shiver of anticipation along his spine.

I hope you're ready to see me now, beloved siblings, he thought, his eyes alight with malice. You'll pay for what you did to me. The water-stained deck squeaked slightly and heeled to starboard as the ship settled onto a course for the thin mouth of the river that led to the city of merchants. Closer now, Darius could make out the tall, blocky towers of the sea gate rising on both edges of the lean approach; a heavy steel chain stretched between them, hiding underneath the surface of the quickly-running water. Orange-hued sun clung to the rocky shore and the flanks of the tower in a warm embrace. From high in the ship's rigging, a sailor blew a hunting horn, its long, ghostly wail echoing across the surface of the water. There came no reply, but Darius's skin prickled as he peered at the thin murder holes of the two bastions, knowing that wolfish eyes were staring at him in turn.

The noble's ears caught a subtle change in the sound of the ship's hissing wake, as a faint hum like a chorus of grieving ghosts rose from the water near the hull. He gazed over the rail, and his keen eyes caught sleek, colorful shapes darting quickly just below the surface of the water. The figures passed in and out of view, vanishing into the warm depths as noiselessly as phantoms, only to suddenly reappear. As he watched, one of the beasts rolled onto its back and regarded him with squinted, fox-like eyes. Darius caught a glimpse of pale, ivory-like skin, a smooth belly, and small, round breasts. An eerily human-like face broke the surface of the water with barely a ripple, moisture gleaming on high cheekbones and black-tinged lips. Aaaaah, it seemed to sigh, a thin, dying sound, then back it returned to the depths, its lithe body encompassed by twisted strands of jet black hair.

"Want me to catch a fish for you, brother?" The noble turned to see four brightly garbed figures standing just beyond sword reach. The dual hilts of highborn steel rode high on their hips, and intricate undercoats of silver mail glinted in the high midday sun over white and blue leather chest pieces. All of the men had their cloth hoods up against the punishing, Southern sun, save one. He was almost as tall as Darius, his wavy, black hair sitting atop his skull like a perching bird. In comparison to the sides of his scalp that he had shaved away into a fade. Fine, white scars crisscrossed his oval face, from his low cheekbones to his squared chin, and the tip of his right ear bore two golden earrings. A single cut, fresh from the recent raids, ran across the bridge of his flat nose. The red of his dried blood contrasting, to the steel chain that hung around his pale neck, the necklace ending in a gleaming sigil of a snarling raptor, the icon of Darius's house. As ever, there was a shimmer of teasing in Sugimoto Waterunner's mischievous stare.

"Would you have her for your bed, rack, or plate?" He asked. "Must I choose?" Darius responded jokingly; his four companions laughed, a sound like bones rattling against a cage. One of his retainers, a rice-skinned man with round features and a matted head of black hair, arched a thin eyebrow. "Do your tastes run to beasts, now?" he hissed, drawing more frigid chuckles from his companions. Sugimoto shot his companion a sarcastic look. "Listen to Jotaro. He sounds jealous. Or hopeful.' Jotaro snarled and lashed out at him with the back of a mailed gauntlet, a blow that the taller raider batted aside easily with a swipe of his hand. Darius laughed mirthlessly at the banter. The months of inaction and lack of coin had tightened the spirits of his small Warband to the point where Darius wondered which one of them would try to assassinate him first. A season of warring and plunder had changed all that, sating their appetites for a time and offering the chance for more. "Atticus, how fares our cargo?" he asked.

"Well enough," spoke the third retainer, his hushed whisper barely audible above the crying wind. The Drukerians head was covered in a short coat of black hair; his face and neck were cadaver-thin like a man whittled down to tightened muscle and bone by a merciless fever. His eyes were a pale amber, like those of a wolf. "We had a meager amount of spoilage on the return, but nothing more than expected. Enough to keep the Scaled One's busy and fill the mere witches cauldrons, for a time at least." The fourth retainer pulled his hood back and spat a thin stream of white saliva over the rail. He was the very image of Archidian noble, with fine-boned features, a head full of golden hair, and a caramel visage that looked merciless even in repose. Like Darius, he wore a cape made of raptor hide, and his hauberk was made of expensive tiger skin, tough but supple. The steel necklace that hung around his brown neck looked dull and tawdry compared to the fine craftsmanship of his attire. "Regardless, however, it's still good coin lost needlessly," Venir said, his layered and melodious voice standing at odds with his stern demeanor.

"If we'd made port at Perth Amboy, our backers would already have their investments repaid, and us besides," he said, the tiny emerald jewels embedded into the sides of his olive cheeks glinting as he spoke. "The slave lords will not be pleased with this break in custom." Venir spat.  "The ceremony of tribute is two days from now; I have no time to waste haggling with traders and flattering the whip masters of the golden tower," Darius growled. "I need to stand in the court of iron at Nul Archid and present the archon with worthy tribute.' And show the court that I am a power to be reckoned with, after all, he thought. "We march for Nul Archid as soon as the cargo is ready to travel." Jotaro frowned. "But what of the heat? it will be a hard march to Archid in the teeth of windstorms-" "We'll march through the jungle, sand, and the Outer Darkness if we must!" Darius snapped. "I will stand in the city of spears in two days' time, or every one of you will answer for it.' The retainers growled in acknowledgment. Venir studied Darius with squinted eyes. " "And, after you've made your grand entrance and showered the archon with gifts? Back to the blade pits and pleasure dens?"  Jotaro grinned like a wolf. "After five months at sea, I've got a thirst or two I wouldn't mind quenching," he said boyishly, "I shall indulge myself for a time," Darius stated carefully. "I have a reputation to maintain after all. Then I shall begin to put my coin to good use; there's much to be done."

They were close enough to hear the booming of the waves against the rocky cliffs and the heavy groaning of metal. A rattling, crackling sound filled the air ahead - the bastions were lowering the great chain barring entrance to the river. Tendrils of white mist, drawn by the Hunting Maidens passing, rolled in on either side of the mouth of the current, whirling and tangling in the ship's wake. High atop the tower to the left, Darius could see lithe figures in white robes and billowing scarves appearing at a small cupola to watch the ships passing. He could also make out the rotting bodies of thieves, vagabonds, and outlaws, their broken necks attached to ropes as they hung underneath the iron plateau. Their withered faces and slack jaws peering back at Darius in empty, pain-filled grimaces.

His reverie was cut short by the howling gale that carried the sounds of a struggle aft. Darius looked back and saw three Drukerian Warriors grappling with a shackled slave. As he watched, the slave smashed her forehead into the face of one of her captors. There was a crunch of bone as blood spattered from the soldier's nose. The man staggered a half-step back with a bubbling snarl and pulled out a short-handled dagger. "No!" Darius yelled, his commanding voice carrying easily over the wind. The Drukerian warrior, blood pouring down his face and staining his bared teeth, caught the noble's eye and lowered his weapon. Darius beckoned to the struggling guards with a wave of his hand, "Bring her here.' The slave twisted her body furiously, trying to break free of her captor's grasp. The dagger-wielding Drukerian gave her a shove, and his two comrades lunged forward, dragging the woman across the deck. Malus's four retainers slid aside to let them pass, eyeing the slave with cold predatory interest. The attending fighters forced the slave onto her knees with a *thud*, her eyes resting at Darius's waist as he stood before her.

She was petitely built, with lean shoulders and lithe, toned arms hidden beneath a torn, stained gambeson. She wore woolen breeches and leather boots that were dampened by constant abuse from the waves. While also boasting a head of jet black hair that stuck to her wet scalp like seaweed. The woman was young, possibly a squire or mercenary with faint battle scars dancing across her caramel-toned arms and shoulders. She fixed Darius with a hateful glare and began spitting something in her native tongue. The highborn returned her curses with a blank stare and then nodded to the two warriors. "Remove her chains," he told them, then turned to Atticus. "Stand her up.' The retainer glided across the deck, swift as an adder, and pinched the slave with a claw-like grip at the point where her neck met her right shoulder. A steel-clad thumb dug into the nerve juncture there, and the slave's heated words died in a pained hiss, her whole body going taut at the pressure. There was a gentle rattle of metal, and the two Drukerian warriors who had handled her, retreated, now grasping a set of manacles between them.

With a groan, Atticus Waspbite changed his grip on the woman. Seizing her by the neck and the belt of her breeches, and with surprising strength, the lithe Drukerian picked her up off the deck and walked her towards the railing beside Darius. "Good. Now tell her what I have to say.' Darius leaned close to the slave, resting his arm on her left shoulder as he began to speak. "You're the one the slaves call Lizareth, correct?" Atticus translated, whispering the heavily accented Assanian into the woman's ears. Grunting in pain, the slave nodded. "Good. I hope you forgive my bluntness; But I feel that due to your persistence in attempting to escape, you deserve some form of reward. Would you like that?.' Her almond-shaped pupils stared at Darius, a tumult of emotions playing on her face for half a moment before Again, she nodded. "Wonderful! Well, the only appropriate compensation that I can imagine for such an effort, is the thing that you were chasing. Freedom! So starting now, you have my word as noble of Archid that you'll never see the shores of Imani." Darius paused for a moment as Atticus struggled for the correct translation, though by this point, the slave's eyes had glazed over in a coating of joy as she stared at him. Darius patted her shoulder with the palm of his gloved hand. "Well then, enjoy your freedom!" he said, twisting his head to the retainer and nodding his approval. All at once Atticus lifted the slave by the scruff of her neck in a dramatic display of strength and tossed her over the side of the railing with a groan.