Ma-ek marched forward along the length of his ship. He looked around him at the sea that held the great fleet of Megarkos. The fleet had hundreds of ships within its ranks, among these being a dozen great behemoths from the time of the Hehkian expansion, long stored away and hidden in dry docks. Now revived, these giants cut an imposing figure within the flotilla.

Each of massive ships required one hundred and seventy rowing men spread over three decks to power them. The fleet's most prominent flag flew from the tallest mast of the largest of the ships, with the image of a golden sunburst radiating from a field of black flapping in the wind. It was the colors of Megarkos. The bow of each ship was adorned with rams that were carved to resemble the mythical beasts of their old tales. The ram on the ship that Ma-ek stood upon sported a Napat's Trident made from gleaming iron.

The sight was as spectacular as Ma-ek had imagined. Every ship in the fleet was in formation, with all of them displaying smaller versions of the fleet's standard as they approached the Neander capital city of Olr'du. Ma-ek looked out across the dark horizon. A fleck of light stood out in the distance, visible between dips in the waves. The sun broke over the horizon on his right side, bathing the tips of the distant mountains in an orange-pink glow.

Ma-ek went over the plan again in his mind. The timing is key. If we approach too early, we risk losing their attention. If we approach too late, then we will be ablaze with light and hard to make out.

Ma-ek glanced at the sun, judging daybreak to be no more than an hour away. The mist on the horizon hung heavy, obscuring the light. Turning, he looked at the fleck and saw that it had grown in size; it was comparable to a fist on the horizon. After some quick estimation, Ma-ek knew they would be cutting it close, having only a handful of minutes to display the ships before the break of dawn.

Ma-ek heard the distant sounds of commotion:the horns of the city watch and the yelling of the guards between each guard tower. Besteb's plan had called for the lead ships to enter the natural harbor a few ship-lengths to the south of the Palace of Olr'du. The Palace was separated from the water by an open courtyard of short manicured grass. A single immense, crimson-barked tree grew in the center of the courtyard, so tall that it dwarfed the masts of even their largest ships. The top of the tree was bright with emerald leaves that glowed in the morning light.

Ma-ek watched the townspeople begin to gather in pockets along the coast. The guard did their best to direct the civilians away from the spectacle, but their efforts proved to be in vain. The garrison of the city looked lost as they attempted to muster a defense for a foe they couldn't understand. The chaos on the shore was something the fleet from Magarkos had counted on, and when it seemed the citizens might overpower the garrison, another piece of the plan clicked into place.

Ma-ek’s father and the highest members of their naval leadership commanded the twelve mightiest. Ma-ek himself was given command of a lesser vessel in the fleet, relegated to a small ship with thirty oarsmen. He took the remaining time to shore up his men — particularly the oarsmen who had long since lost focus. While sailing was better for the longer stretches, nothing surpassed the strength of thirty men rowing in unison toward one goal.

The sun reached the predetermined point in the sky and the time to spring the plan had come. As one, the controlled, quiet nature of the ships and their crew gave way to pandemonium. Commands shouted from ship to ship could be heard from the coast. The ships began to drift closer and turn in the water. To the Neander on the shore, it looked like a herd of buffalo maneuvering to defend their young. The ships slowly began to form a shape and every Neander in the city, awakened by the shrill horns and sounds of danger, stopped to watch.

The twelve behemoths formed a wall of timber and flesh that spanned the entire bay of Olr'du. The smaller ships assembled between the wall and the shore, forming lines. The captains yelled between themselves, ordering their crews to toss lines back and forth, further hardening the ships together against the waves.

What was once a loose configuration of ships was now the trident of Napat made real. Each fork was a bridge between the massive ships and the mainland. The main tine was the widest, with the medium ships lashed together two abreast, forming a plaza for the main party to walk down.

The sun then rose over the bay of Olr'du. The usually clear water was churned to a sandy-mud color. Yelling from the men on board the ships flooded the air. The ships were lined with iron shields and teeming with men in their most polished scale mail armor. The smaller ships making up the two outer tines had men with iron shields above their heads, interlocked like scales. The wooden plaza at the center was lined with men at full attention.

The ships, having been lashed together, donated their oarsmen and drummers to the task of building a terrible cacophony that morning. The drummers began building a growing beat. The beat sounded like the approaching footsteps of giants large enough to touch the seafloor — giants that Besteb spoke of hearing tales about as a child. The oarsmen chanted in unison, sounding like the voices of those creatures. Finally, the men lining the plaza thumped the butt of their spears onto the deck. The scene it created was so intricate that it was almost divine.

When the sun finally broke into the clear and its light touched the bay of Olr'du, it exploded off the many shields polished to a mirror-shine in a supernova of light. At the same moment, everyone onboard ceased their action, ushering in an instant eerie silence over the bay. What was once the head of a trident now looked like the sun had landed to float in the bay. Everyone in the city in line of direct sight had to shield their eyes and those who were unable to were temporarily blinded.

Ma-ek watched in silence as a lone man, clad in all black, walked down the swaying plaza. He was tall, broad, and strode with purposeful and practiced steps. The figure's height told him it was Equian, but to see him now was different. Having talked with Besteb for many hours, they came upon a wild and devious plan, one that would either live on forever or get them all killed. Equian was to be the Neander god of Death made real.