The Council of Iron & Blood: CHAPTER ONE

The Captain, The Slave, & The Sea

The sun burned hot on the golden shores of the Southlands of Idas. Iron shackles burned against Vanareth's wrists. It reminded him of when the slave master pulled an iron from the fire and pressed it hard against Vanareth's cheek, branding him. Vanareth would often swear that he could still hear the sizzling flesh and smell the cooking muscle. The chains holding Vanareth pulled tight, and he walked to the small platform erected in the sand.

"Lot number four hundred and thirty-seven," said the auctioneer. "The slave known as Vanareth."

The crowd murmured at Vanareth's name. One onlooker mocked, "Vanareth, the gods' accursed son!"

"Quiet down," the auctioneer insisted, "the bidding will start at ten gold shillings! Do I hear ten gold shillings?"

"Ten?" laughed one trader, "That welp ain't worth two!"

The crowd shouted in agreement.

"We should hang 'im! I'd pay ten shillings to see that!" another added.

From the back, a man's deep voice boomed over the crowd, "I'll pay six shillings for the wretched beast, and not a mite more."

The auctioneer shot a glance over to the slave's owner. The owner nodded in agreement.

"Sold!" shouted the auctioneer, "To the esteemed Captain Jolagh At'Uul! If you would be so kind as to make your way over to our accountant by the pier, he will take care of your payment."

At'Uul reached into his coin purse and fished out six small gold coins, each impressed with the visage of the god Ashh. He walked to the pier and found a man sitting at a small table counting piles of various coins.

"Lot number?" asked the accountant without looking up.

"Four hundred and thirty-seven," the captain replied.

The man at the table shuffled a few papers, "Ah, yes, the slave Vanareth." He pulled a quill from its inkwell and signed the paper before him. Next, he handed the quill to At'Uul and pointed at the parchment, "Sign here, please."

The captain did as he was instructed.

"Sold to one Captain Jolagh At'Uul for the price of six gold shillings. Do you have the coin, or will this be on credit?"

The captain placed the six shillings on the table, "Paid in full."

"Congratulations, Captain," the accountant said, pulling the coins across the table. "Your transaction is complete. We will ensure that we bring the slave to your ship with the others."

The captain nodded and left the accountant to his coin. At'Uul returned to his ship and waited for someone to deliver the spoils of his journey.

The captain's ship, The Resilience, had been under his command for twenty years. It seemed a lifetime ago that At'Uul was a soldier in Her Majesty's royal guard. As a half-orc, the captain had to work hard to earn his place in the high-society capital city of Sistol. Yet, despite his mixed blood, he had proven to be a capable warrior and skilled tactician. At'Uul's brutality propelled him upward at an incredible pace through the ranks.

It was during this time, that the slave rebellion of the Northlands broke out. Slaves, traders, and owners were all at each other's throats. Villages crumbled, crops burned, and many died during the conflict. At first, the rebellion did not reach the city. But after two years, the violence erupted over the walls of Sistol.

At'Uul and his company had the task of quelling the rebellion within the city. He clashed with a fierceness against the enslaved masses and by the end, he had slain nearly two hundred men.

After extinguishing the flames in Sistol, At'Uul returned home to discover the heavy wooden door splintered. He hurried inside to find the home had been turned upside down. Valuables were missing, furniture was upturned, and blood stained the walls. At'Uul found his wife lying lifeless on the floor. Someone had left her naked, beaten, and slit her throat. At'Uul fell to his knees and tore his clothes. He wept by his wife's side for three days, and three nights. On the fourth day, he collapsed from exhaustion.

When the captain awoke, he took his wife's remains into a field and burnt them to dust. The ashes served as an offering to Skell, the god of fire and destruction. It was then, while staring into the unforgiving flames that the captain made a vow against the slaves of all lands. He vowed to cause pain to slaves, to make them suffer as he had suffered.

Once he had made his vow, At'Uul resigned his commission to the royal guard and sold all his possessions. He purchased The Resilience, and from this ship, he plotted out his path to vengeance. From the Eastlands of Chanshire and the barbarian encampments on The Devil's Backbone, to the Southlands of Idas and the Northlands of Trul, the captain would terrorize slaves and trade them from bad circumstances to worse.

At'Uul earned a reputation as the most notorious slave trader in centuries. At'Uul sailed the seas as little more than a pirate. He bought slaves, beat them, murdered them, and sold them to slavers who would treat them with wrath. In total, At'Uul had killed well over a thousand slaves during his term as captain of The Resilience.

Now, on the deck of The Resilience, basking in the southern sun, the captain thought about these things.

"Captain, the new slaves are ready to board," said the first mate, Warren. "Should I bring them on deck for the demonstration?"

At'Uul's mouth twisted into a grin, "Yes. Bring them aboard."

Chained together, fifty slaves boarded The Resilience. As instructed, the slaves sat in rows of five on the open deck.

"Vanareth?" whispered a dwarf, "Vanareth, what's happening? Why aren't they taking us below deck?"

"Themren, be quiet you fool!" Vanareth shot back, "Do you want to take a beating?"

"Well, no, but isn't this peculiar?" asked the dwarf.

"Shut your trap, Themren. Do you not --"

A solid kick from a leather boot to Vanareth's stomach cut him short.

"Quiet slave!" said a deckhand.

At'Uul approached the commotion with a controlled stride, "What seems to be the problem here?"

"These two been whisperin' Cap."

A crooked smile formed on the captain's face, "Well, well, well... That's no way to treat our guests! Bring them forward."

The deckhand reached for his belt and unhooked his keys. He bent down to unlock the shackles of the two slaves. Grabbing them each by an arm, he pulled them to their feet. He then, led them to the front of the group, before pushing them to their knees.

The captain addressed the slaves that were now before him, "You must understand. You are now under my ownership. Which means, you must follow certain rules while under my... care. The first and most important rule that you must follow is this: your mouths do not open unless you are explicitly told by myself or my crew! You are nothing on this ship! You mean nothing, you worthless worms! Who are you to speak to us? Now, this rule... This very important rule has already been broken."

The captain pointed to Vanareth and Themren, "These two have violated this rule, and thus, they must be punished." At'Uul beckoned his first mate to his side.

"Ten lashings each."

Warren, holding a length of thin, bloodstained bamboo stepped forward and landed two blows in rapid succession against Vanareth's already scarred back. With each blow, Vanareth's skin split open leaving behind deep, oozing lacerations. Though the wounds screamed with pain, Vanareth did not.

On the final blow, Warren did not aim for Vanareth's back, but rather for the right side of his head. A sharp pain rang out from his ear. A deafening ring burst forth, overwhelming his ears, and he crashed to the deck. Vanareth watched as Warren took two steps toward Themren. He saw tears stream down his friend's face.

Warren raised the bloodied bamboo.

"No... Wait!" shouted Vanareth.

Stunned by the sudden outcry, Warren lowered the rod and shot a glance toward the captain. Amused, the captain walked to where Vanareth was lying. At'Uul crouched down and grabbed Vanareth by the chin.

"Have you learned nothing?"

"It wasn't his fault," Vanareth replied, "let me take his beating."

"Would you die for this man?" At'Uul spoke in a low, ominous tone.

"For my friend, yes."

The captain let out a hearty laugh, "Friendship... Let me tell you something about friendship. It's for cowards and fools."

At'Uul stood with a crooked smile. He slammed his boot onto Vanareth's jaw, crushing the bone.

"Warren," said the captain, "teach this one the meaning of friendship. Twenty lashings for his friend."

"Aye Captain."

Vanareth, lying on the splintered deck, watched as his friend received the first of his lashings. Then he blacked out from the pain.

After receiving their beatings, Vanareth and Themren were taken below deck with the rest of the slaves. Themren sat on the rough floor, holding Vanareth's head in his lap. He was still unconscious when Themren tore a length of cloth from his pant leg and wrapped it around Vanareth's jaw to hold it in place.

Vanareth's lengthy slumber ended with a slow stirring to life. Near this same time, The Resilience's cook entered the slaves' deck.

"Dinner time, maggots!" the cook shouted.

The cook pulled a bulky, brown sack through the doorway and began to pass out hardtack. He handed each slave a single piece of the stale, mold-riddled bread. Themren rested Vanareth's head on the floor. He walked to the cook who handed him a small piece of the bread, no larger than the size of his hand. After handing Themren the bread, the cook removed a small, wooden ladle from a water barrel and allowed him to sip from it. Themren held the water in his mouth and returned to Vanareth's side.

Themren carefully parted Vanareth's lips as to not disturb the jawbone. He leaned over Vanareth and spit the warm saliva and water mixture into his mouth. Vanareth swallowed the liquid with a pained gulp. The drink eased his parched throat and he looked to his friend with thanks radiating from his blue eyes.

Then Themren broke the piece of hardtack in two. He devoured one half and chewed the second half until a fine paste formed in his mouth. He spit the paste into his heavy hands before scooping it up with his fingers and feeding it to Vanareth.

"Thank you, Vanareth," Themren said, "for trying to save me. You've always been a good friend to me."

Through the immense pain, Vanareth forced a small smile.

Though they were each given different positions on the ship: Vanareth worked the main deck and Themren the galley; the two remained close. Themren would chew Vanareth's food and feed it to him as he did on that first day. At the risk of his own life, Themren would steal extra rations from the storeroom, feeding them to Vanareth in an attempt to nurse him back to health.

Weeks passed before Vanareth's jaw would heal. In that time Vanareth worked harder than the rest of the crew combined. To his dismay, the captain found himself relying on Vanareth to keep things running on deck. At'Uul resented him for this, so in return, he worked Vanareth to the point of exhaustion. Yet, Vanareth pressed on each day with renewed vigor.

At'Uul watched Vanareth from the helm, pondering how to murder him when his first mate interrupted him.

"Captain!" Warren shouted from the crow's nest.

At'Uul's cold stare broke away from Vanareth, "What is it?"

"Storm on the horizon!"

The captain sighed, there had been too many delays to his trip already. He pulled the spyglass off his belt and held it to his eye. Dark clouds were building in the distance. It was clear to the seasoned sailor that this storm was shaping up to be deadly. If they maintained their course, they would hit the storm head-on. To go east would add a week to their journey. To go west would trim their journey by a week, but it would mean sailing through The Love of The Gods.

According to legend, Ashh, the god of justice and truth, lay with the demigod Mother. It was from her loins that the world of Daughter was born. As a sign of their approval, the six gods, Ashh, Mayja, Vatar, Cera, Skell, and Drae, placed an archipelago on the surface of Daughter. They called this archipelago The Love of The Gods.

It was then that the gods gave dominion of Daughter to the demigods - Death, Time, and Mother. The demigods created all manner of fauna and flora that crawled across the surface of Daughter. In the beginning, the demigods walked amongst the mortals. They taught the mortals all there was to know about the gods and the vast universes that they had created. From this, religion was born, and mortals worshiped the gods and demigods without organization. They worshiped of their own free will.

However, factions emerged over time. Mortals fought amongst themselves. They enslaved and murdered each other while turning from their faith. Some even sought to kill the gods themselves. Mother, Time, and Death chose to allow their creations to rebel by retreating to The Love of The Gods.

On the best of days, with the best of crews, it was dangerous to sail through The Love of The Gods. The seas were rocky, rough, and filled with creatures that could demolish any vessel that wandered too close. It was treacherous in every sense of the word.

At'Uul weighed his options. He could delay his deliveries in an attempt to weather the storm, likely damaging his ship in the process. Or he could try to navigate the most dangerous stretch of sea that any living soul had ever faced.

"Gidar," the captain called to the helmsman, "set a course for The Love of The Gods."

"Sir?" Gidar hesitated as he replied, his voice reflecting uncertainty.

"You heard me. There's a storm on the horizon! We have no time to waste. We sail through The Love. Now."

"Yes, Captain."

Gidar adjusted the wheel to the left several degrees.

"Warren!" At'Uul shouted back up the mast, "Keep an eye on that storm. We're plotting a course through The Love."

"Aye, Captain!"

***

When they reached The Love of The Gods, it could not have been a finer day for sailing. There was not a cloud in sight and the winds were in their favor. Everything was perfect when a sudden wall of fog appeared in front of them.

By the time the fog appeared, The Resilience was too near to the archipelago to sail around. It was thick enough to obscure the islands that the crew could see an hour ago.

"Captain?" Gidar's voice trembled as he asked, "What are my instructions?""

"You have your heading, Gidar. Nothing's changed."

Gidar's blood ran cold. He knew the dangers that lay ahead, and yet if he were to question the captain, the dangers would be more immediate. So, The Resilience and her crew sailed deep into the fog on the captain's orders.

There was palpable tension amidst the crew. Warren stood atop the main mast in the crow's nest. He shouted orders to Gidar, guiding him as best he could through the rocky waters. On deck, the crew and slaves worked in silence, waiting for the inevitable cracking of the hull against rock. Yet, the captain sailed on.

A mysterious force seized the captain, filling him with an urge... A need to flee The Love with haste. His fear grew with every yard that they sailed into the fog. It wasn't long before the urge overcame his senses.

The captain barked a new order, "Raise the mainsail!"

Everyone halted in their tracks and looked toward the captain, Vanareth among them.

"Did you fail to hear me, you swine? I said raise the mainsail!"

The crew burst to life and rushed to do the captain's bidding. One deckhand reached for a rope, but before he could, Vanareth grabbed his arm.

"We can't do this. It's suicide."

Bewildered the deckhand looked up at the slave, "Watch yourself. If the captain sees this, he'll have your head."

"I'm trying to save your life. I'm trying to save all our lives!"

"It doesn't matter. If the captain gives an order, we follow. You, slave, have no say."

From the helm, At'Uul spotted the commotion between Vanareth and the crew mate.

At'Uul shouted down at the pair, "What seems to be the holdup, you two?"

Vanareth spoke up, "Captain if we raise these sails, we'll be going too fast to navigate the rocks. Your orders will doom us all!"

With fury carved into his features, the captain stormed down the stairs and confronted Vanareth with venom dripping from his words. "I gave an order, slave. Or have you forgotten your place? Perhaps another broken jaw will jog your memory."

"He's right, Captain," Themren said from behind.

At'Uul whipped around meet the dwarf's defiant stares.

"What is it with you slaves and sticking your necks out for one another? Is it worth the risk?"

Themren straightened up, "Of course it is. Without friendship, there is no--"

Blood sprayed as At'Uul's blade sliced Themren's neck with ease. A gasping gurgle replaced the dwarf's final words. At'Uul tossed Themren's crumpled body into the churning sea below.

The captain turned back to Vanareth, "You see what friendship gets you?"

Before At'Uul could plunge the blood-soaked blade into Vanareth's flesh, a bolt of lightning flashed through the sky, striking the center mast. With a thunderous crack, the mast came hurdling downward. With it came Warren, screaming as he fell, his body breaking upon impact with the deck. The screaming came to a blood-curdling stop. In one moment, it was calm and peaceful. The next, chaos erupted as the ship got caught up in the worst storm she had ever weathered.

Amidst the commotion, The Resilience struck a jagged rock, breaking a gaping hole in the bow of the ship. Cold water flooded the lower decks, and the ship began to sink. Crew and slaves alike clawed their way through the maze of rope and canvas strewn across the deck. Jumping from the ship, they clung on to anything that might save them.

The captain regained his footing as Vanareth scurried away amid the chaos, trying to escape the captain's wrath. At'Uul raged after him, determined to kill one more slave before his own inevitable demise. He reached down and grabbed part of the splintered mast as Vanareth made it to the edge of the ship. He swung the improvised club in the direction of Vanareth's head. The weapon struck Vanareth and his limp body fell overboard and sank into the briny depths of the Crystal Sea.