-[Act 3 * Part 5]-

Razazil observed the battle with growing concern as his wounded sailors were being brought back in ever greater numbers. In a show of defiant resistance, freshly bandaged men and women sprung up from below the deck to take their place in the barricades alongside their comrades. The tenacity of these pirates was admirable, but the drive behind their foe was equally impressive. The Red Hands and the Iron Sentinels kept pushing against the ever-shrinking perimeter of the Sea Dragon’s Roost and the old Admiral was in no position to deny their advance. All he could do was to try and weather the storm. Outnumbered as he was, he had to rely on his enemies exhausting themselves against his fortifications, like waves crashing against a rocky shore, for the day to be won.

As time passed the fighting drew ever closer to the ships. Magic projectiles and gunshots were now being exchanged between the buildings in plain sight of the Admiral. The sound of clashing sabers and battle cries occasionally cut through the overwhelming noise of screams and crackling fire.

Amidst all this chaos the two-headed ogre XO returned to his Admiral. Shrapnel had grazed one of his heads and left a deep gash, but that did not seem to bother the hulking creature in the slightest.

“We have no more reserves left to commit to the fight,” the XO reported.

“Then have the crews fall back behind the barricades,” the Admiral commanded. “We will make our stand under the cannons of the ships.”

Just as the XO set out to relay his orders, Razazil sighted a frightening beast as it made its way out onto the street that ran to the right of the ship. The creature was bipedal, covered in a thick grey fur and carried a massive wooden club in its hands, easily the size of a grown man. On its neck was perched a smaller critter—a hobgoblin—who used his reigns to steer the dim-witted beast towards his enemies.

“So, the Red Hands have brought their trolls?” Razazil remarked. “Didn’t expect the orcs to share their toys with an elven crew...”

The dirty beast swung his club left and right as he lumbered his way down the street. Advancing behind it were several elven sailors of the Iron Sentinels, clad in full plate armor. They carried large tower shields and formed a tight shield wall from behind which several bowmen occasionally emerged to fire down the street at Razazil’s retreating crew.

The Admiral realized the danger that their rapid advance presented to his organized retreat and moved to counter it.

“I want all cannons aimed on that troll!” he ordered in a thunderous voice. It was almost ethereal in nature. Not even the loud noise of gunfire could snuff it out.

The sailors who had the line of sight on the troll aimed their cannons down the street and awaited the order to fire. Most of the ship’s guns could not, however, be turned towards the lumbering beast, as the broadside was far too wide to cover the narrow path of its advance at such a close range.

“On my command!” Razazil ordered.

The Admiral held in his breath as he waited for the right moment to unleash the cannonade. The old dragon-kin pirate then closed his eyes and focused. As his vision turned black he activated an ability that granted him arcane sight. {Battle Vision} was an ability of the highest tier, only achievable through countless years of command experience and focused training. It was the perfect tool for any officer who sought to lift the ever present fog of war that was the bane of centralized command.

Through the smoke and crumbling walls of the battlefield, he could now see his men and their enemies as they moved from building to building in a frantic melee. Razazil noted several of his sailors holding positions on the street that the troll was rampaging down—the very same street that he was about to annihilate with his cannons.

“Get into the buildings,” he ordered his men without a word spoken. The command was given telepathically and was part of the Admiral’s {Battle Meditation} skill, from which the {Battle Vision} ability was derived.

At the behest of his command, the red figures of his sailors ducked into cover and opened up a clear firing line on the troll. Razazil made sure to give them a moment longer to find suitable cover and then gave his gunners the order to fire.

The Admiral reached out with his hand and directed the crews with his finger, imparting a supernatural guidance into the minds of the gunners. “Fire!” he yelled and the cannons opened up on the hapless troll with incredible precision.

The first shot vaporized the hobgoblin mounting it, the second and third struck the beast in the chest and stomach sending him falling backwards, bones broken and organs crushed. Three out of the seven cannonballs hit the mark. The others were a close call and grazed the Iron Sentinels following the beast.

The sudden and violent death of the troll halted the advance of the elven warriors, but they did not scurry into cover now that their brutish vanguard had been felled. Instead they tightened their shield wall and stood their ground. Then a blue wall of energy appeared in front of them and rose up to about the second floor, completely shielding the street behind them from weapons fire.

“Fire at will!” Razazil ordered. “I want that barrier spell broken! Do not let them come any closer.”

The cannon crews immediately set to reloading their guns. They had soon poured volley after thunderous volley into the barrier, but the magic wall stood fast.

Just as the advance of the Iron Sentinels had been checked, the street on the left of the plaza was flooded with a green tide of monsters. Orcs in their hundreds came swarming down the road. They tore into the barricades and clambered up the walls, trying to force their way into the fortified buildings as they sought to flush out the defenders. Many orcs were hit by gunfire along the way, but scant few went down for good. Their sheer bloody-minded rage and endurance carried the brutish creatures through the worst of it. The {Blood Frenzy} racial trait of the greenskins came in handy for these assault troops as they kept on fighting long after any other creature might have been felled.

“We won’t stop a Red Hand assault with brute force alone,” Razazil noted from his past experience. “We have to let them exhaust themselves first.”

The Admiral once more closed his eyes, activating the {Battle Vision} ability, and reached out to his men fighting in the buildings.

“Prime the traps and demolition charges. Then fall back,” he ordered. “Deny them everything. BURN EVERYTHING!”

Razazil knew that scorching his own supply stores and workshops was a costly proposition, but his foothold in Port Malus and the 9th Hell was worth much, much more than whatever loot and provisions he had to give up for it.

Scorched earth was a commonly practiced strategy among pirates so his sailors knew just how to best deny valuable ground to their frenzied foes. Almost immediately following the Admiral’s order the houses along the path of the Red Hands’ advance began to combust. The street soon grew to resemble a roaring furnace as the careless orcs triggered the traps left behind by the retreating defenders. As the houses around them blew to pieces or were set on fire, the greenskins were funneled back out onto the street and towards the cannons of the ships. Forced out into the open and left disoriented by the smoke and loud explosions going off around them, the wandering orcs were rendered easy pickings for the Admiral’s sailors who sniped at the lumbering brutes at their leisure.

With the orcs now massed out into the street, Razazil gave the command to fire the cannons. This time it was the lower deck—this time it was grapeshot. The cannons fired in rapid succession, unleashing a cluster of densely packed munitions that were devastating against massed infantry. Rank after rank of charging greenskins was cut down by the wall of lead as it impacted them head on.

At first it seemed like the Admiral had managed to check the Red Hands’ advance, but as the smoke cleared it was revealed to the defenders that there were still a lot of orcs left alive. Even so, for the moment their assault had been halted. Those orcs that could still move dug in behind the rubble and piled up corpses of their own dead for protection. They were trying to hold on to what ground they had already taken. Sporadic fire was exchanged between the defenders and the Red Hand sailors while the latter awaited reinforcements.

On his part Razazil had precious few options left. The cost of halting the combined assault of two pirate outfits had taken its toll. He surveyed the thinned ranks of his marines holding the barricades in the plaza—many of whom were wounded—and weighed his options. There were still a few holdouts left in the harbor, from which his sailors could launch a counter attack. But that seemed like a costly proposition, given that the old Admiral did not know how large a force his enemies had held back in reserve.

“We need to straighten our lines,” he told his XO. “We will have to rely on the cannons to carry the day now.”

Having made up his mind, Razazil reached out to his sailors with his {Battle Meditation} skill to deliver his orders. “To all remaining holdouts, fall back to the ships! We will make our last stand onboard the ships! Make ready to abandon the plaza. Leave nothing behind!”

Using the brief lull in the fighting that the withering cannonade had bought them, Razazil’s crew fell back to the relative safety of the plaza. There they gathered their wounded comrades and carried them onboard the ships alongside any supplies that they had managed to salvage along the way. The retreat was well organized, which was a testament to the skill of the crew and its commanders, but it was still a retreat.

As the last sailors abandoned their posts, the barricades surrounding the plaza were rigged to blow by the marines manning them. Kegs of gunpowder demolished the improvised defenses. Incendiary charges were triggered inside the surrounding buildings, denying their cover to the enemy for as long as the fires burned.

With the plaza now opened up for butcher’s businesses the gunners and sailors set about covering all of the remaining approaches from behind the safety of their ships hulls. If a second wave of attack was incoming then the Admiral resolved to make it as costly as possible. Only now, without supplies or port facilities to protect or friendly targets to avoid, he was in a better position to bleed his enemy without restraint.

“Enemy cannon!” one of the spotters in the crow’s nest yelled. The sailor pointed to the barrier that the elves had thrown up.

When Razazil searched the battlefield for the cannon he found the gun situated well behind the protective barrier spell. The Admiral smiled as he recognized the folly of his foes. He considered the move a bluff, as the few cannons his enemies could bring to bear against him could do little against his ship’s own broadside in these close quarters. If it was their intention to pressure him with this threat, then they were sorely mistaken.

“Hold your fire!” he ordered the cannon crews. “Load solid shot and make ready to fire on my command! We will annihilate them once they lower the barrier to shoot at us.”

Meanwhile the cannon crews of the Iron Sentinels pushed a second gun out into the open and directed its stubby barrel down the road at Razazil’s ship. They then set to loading the cannon behind the safety of the arcane barrier.

While the Iron Sentinels made their preparations the Red Hands did not sit around idly. Followig their initial advance they had brought forth several of the Admiral’s wounded sailors and formed them into a living wall.

“Your orders, Sir?” The XO asked as he gave the hostages a solemn look.

“What can I do?” Razazil asked in return. “If the Red Hands advance, we will have to fire through our own men…” There was a hint of heavy-heartedness in his voice, but the old Admiral did his best not to reveal any emotion. He had to remain steadfast in the eyes of his crew, no matter what.

“Damn cowards,” he muttered to himself. “I will gut you all for this barbarism.”

But the orcs did not push the hostages forward as expected. They instead resorted to hiding behind them while a new barricade was being constructed out of the debris lying in the streets. At the moment they were just about as far out from the Admiral’s ships as the Iron Sentinels.

As he once more surveyed the burning harbor a curious development caught the Admiral’s eye. As the wall of rubble and charred lumber was being stacked, the Red Hands pushed out several stubby cannons and positioned them behind the rising barricade.

Just like the cannons of the Iron Sentinels, the Red Hands had positioned their guns behind an obstacle. But unlike the magic barrier guarding the elves, the orcs could not simply lower the pile of rubble to shoot at the Admiral’s ships. It was as though they did not plan on having a clear line of fire at all...

Perplexed by the actions of his enemies, Razazil looked to the Iron Sentinels and found them raising their cannons up into an absurdly steep angle. The old Admiral followed the suggested arcs of their guns and came to a harrowing realization.

“They won’t lower their barrier to fire!” he announced to the crew of his ship. “They will fire over it!”

The XO looked to the admiral in confusion. “How is that possible?” one of the heads asked.

“Short barrels mean fast drop-off,” the other head answered. “They are going to be shooting up to hit us! Those are bombards they are using!”

“The bastards have such equipment?” the first head asked. “The Guild has banned the use of bombards in the Nine Hells.”

“Yeah, well we can call a time-out to discuss it with them,” the other head answered. “I bet they are going to be real eager to listen to our complaints.”

“Raised the magic barriers!” Razazil ordered. “Make ready to cast off! Signal the other ships to leave the port immediately!”

“Sir!” the XO objected. “If we raise the barriers now, we won’t be able to fire our cannons if they charge us!”

“Trust me,” Razazil said, “I am aware of the risk, but I am not going to sit around and wait for them to blast us into the oblivion. As much as it pains me to say it, the harbor is lost. We need to withdraw before they begin their bombardment.”

The XO complied and set the crew into motion.

Several pirate mages moved to erect arcane walls around the Admiral’s ship. They followed the observations of the Admiral and made sure to tilt them upwards so as to better shield the vessel from shots that might come in from above.

“Damn you, Basil,” the Admiral hissed. “You may just have cost me my access to Port Malus. Your father was cursed and so are you! I should have broken our contract a long time ago…”

With the barriers raised and mooring lines cut, the ship was made ready to cast off into the Astral Sea. Admiral Razazil drew his furious gaze across the burning remains of what had long been his quarter of the port—the Sea Dragon’s Roost—and swore vengeance upon his enemies.

Sporadic gunfire erupted from the positions of his dug-in foes. They were fired out of range and out of sight, so the shots probably rang out in celebration of their victory. At least, that was what the Admiral thought.

“Yeah, celebrate while you can,” Razazil yelled towards the city in a thunderous voice. “I will be back to reclaim what is mine! Mark my words! Admiral Razazil will see both of your cowardly crews pay for this!”

As if responding to his curses, the celebratory gunfire from his enemy’s positions grew in volume.

“I WILL BURN YOUR SHIPS!” Razazil yelled. “YOUR FLAGS—I WILL WIPE MY…”

The Admirals soft spoken farewell was cut short when both the Iron Sentinels' and Red Hands' sailors jumped their fortifications and charged forth, towards the plaza.

“They are charging?” the XO asked. “Now? But why?”

The stampeding mass of elves and orcs made their way down the road and out into the plaza. The barriers that Razazil’s crew had erected around their mooring were still burning, but the pirates clambered over them regardless.

“We can fire at them, Admiral!” the XO exclaimed. “The guns are loaded. Just give the order to lower the barriers.”

Visibly confused by the actions of his enemies, Razazil raised his hand, but did not carry out the command. Instead, he looked on silently as more and more of his enemies crowded into the plaza. He then noticed the crews of the enemy cannons turning their guns around to face the city. But before the gunners could fire they were chased off by volleys of arrows.

“Well, I’ll be damned,” Razazil said. “The red bastard has arrived… and not a moment too soon.”

He once more activated his {Battle Vision} ability and searched the burning streets. By now Razazil’s enemies had been reduced to a disorganized mass. Soon the Admiral sighted the source of their fear; the cause for their sudden rout. To the shimmer of polished plate armor several crimson shapes appeared amidst the fleeing orcs and elves. The crimson knights charged again and again, felling every single foe they came across without so much as taking a telling blow in return. Only when hit by gunfire did the crimson caped warriors relent for even a moment.

One by one the gunners among the pirate ranks were picked off by arrows and bolts. The previously unseen archers finally appeared in the shadows and on the rooftops of the surrounding buildings. They dashed from cover to cover only ever stopping to fire. A volley or two and they were gone, leaving their enemies jumping at shadows in search of a target to shoot at.

Razazil growled. “Where were you earlier?” he wondered out loud. “I lost so many men for it all to end like this? A one sided slaughter?”

Amidst the chaos of the rout one of the Iron Sentinel gunners got a crippling shot off on one of the crimson warriors. Seizing the opportunity to strike a nearby elven warrior went on the offensive and delivered several powerful strikes with his sword. The elf pressed his advantage and cornered the shield maiden against a burning building. Scarlet’s faithful servant managed to hold off the Iron Sentinel for a while longer, but her defensive posture broke when two more bullets struck her torso. Severely injured, she was forced down on her knees. Blood dripped from her lips as she held her shield over her head, trying to keep the elven warrior from delivering the final blow.

The elf tore away the shield and raised his sword for the strike. Just then a bolt of green energy pierced his neck. Along the way the magic arrow passed through his shield and the solid steel neck guard like they were made out of paper. The unexpected blow sent the man stumbling sideways into a drainage ditch, where he fell down dead.

A black clad ranger abandoned his vantage point on a nearby rooftop to help the wounded shield maiden below. He threw down a smoke bomb at her feet. Hidden by the billowing smoke the ranger then carried the shield maiden away from the field of battle. All the while their companions rained down covering fire, pinning down the pirates and drawing their attention away from the wounded paladin.

As the ranks of his enemies thinned, Razazil realized that he needed to intervene or all of them were going to end up dead. And dead hostages were going to be of no use to him.

“Take us back to port!” the Admiral commanded his crew.

He then directed his attention to the rear line of the battle and closed his eyes as he once more activated his {Battle Meditation}. Peering through the burning buildings and rising smoke he could visualize his dead and dying enemies as well as the members of his own crew that had been left behind. Their bodies took shape before his eyes in fine detail as his arcane vision crossed the battlefield. The minions of Basil von Doom, guarded from such prying eyes by magic wards, only appeared as clouds of red mist. He could see their presence, but nothing more.

In the far reaches of his burning harbor Razazil sighted three abnormally strong individuals. Their shapes were clouded by magic interference, but he could identify others in their company, such as the succubus walking alongside them. He could also visualize his own crew following close behind, Ivar Razazil among them.

The Admiral focused on the largest of the amorphous blobs of energy and reached out telepathically to the person. “Halt your attack, I need to take as many of the bastards alive as possible,” he said. “This is Admiral Razazil speaking,” he added.

“Consider it done, Admiral,” Basil replied. “Good to know that you are still alive. I am pleased that we can be of assistance.”

The fires all across the harbor began to dwindle, as if they had been cowed into submission by the sheer will of the approaching beings. The crimson warriors and black clad rangers halted their pursuit of the fleeing pirates and disappeared from sight. It all happened so quickly that their hapless foes failed to take notice. The orcs and elves kept up their mad dash for the plaza. At this point they were running from ghosts.

“Stand down!” a woman ordered in a roaring voice that carried across the plaza. Dressed in blood red armor adorned with holy scripture, she issued her command from atop of the tallest rooftop that was still standing. Scarlet’s position left her open to fire from nearly everyone gathered in the plaza below, but she did not even bother to raise her shield in defense.

“Those who surrender now will be spared,” she told the pirates gathering in the plaza below. “Resistance is futile.”

As the hundred or so surviving pirates standing below her realized where the voice was coming from, they directed their frightened looks to the speaker—some, also their guns.

It was not a wise decision to make, threatening Scarlet. The few fools who had done so found their throats slit open in a flash. They didn’t even notice the shadow of the killer moving among them, but the sound of their comrades gargling blood was enough for most of the pirates to freeze in place.

“You move,” Schwartz announced to the helpless pirates, “and you die.”

A deathly silence settled over the rubble strewn plaza. Both orcs and elves stood shaking in fear in front of the blood red paladin, incapable of turning their heads to catch a glimpse of the shadowy man lurking among them, lest either one killed them on a whim.

Likewise, the crew onboard the Admiral’s ship had been rendered dumbstruck by the sudden turn of events. Not one sailor among them could muster the resolve to either cheer for their victory or to lament the loss of their comrades. The sight of the slaughter had been too overwhelming even for these hardened pirates.

“Take us back,” the Admiral ordered his XO. “We need to gather up the prisoners and send them down to the priestess post haste.”

With the fighting brought to an abrupt end by the intervention of the dungeon keeper, Razazil left his XO in command of the ship and sat down to collect himself. In spite of all that had just happened, all the bloodshed and horror, he knew that the worst was still to come. As he pondered on the coming audience with Basil, the key in the pocket of his vest felt like it was weighing him down something fierce.

The Admiral reached into his pocket and pulled out the key. “Are you sure that you want this?” he asked as he examined the key in his hand. “Are you sure that you want to go out searching for the truth?”

He looked towards the harbor and sighted Basil’s hulking form. The dungeon keeper led his party through the ranks of terrified orcs and elves like they had nothing to fear from them. Basil’s confidence proved justified as not one of the pirates so much as dared to look at him.

“And what if you find the answers you seek?” Razazil asked. “What if you find out what we did to you… what will you do then?”

For the briefest of moments Razazil considered throwing the key overboard, but he ended up pocketing it instead. “It’s not for me to decide.”

Basil’s voice once more forced itself into the Admiral’s head. “I have come for what was promised,” he said. “I have come for what is mine.”