Bothvar Beorcolsson
Part 3!
A few days go by as we continue to sail east. The crew’s morale has all but vanished. Thorkel seemed to be the heart of it all, and without him and the rest, we sail in silence. This entire journey has been an utter failure.
We should’ve sailed west as Thorkel wanted. Maybe then we’d have seen success, and he’d still be alive. This is Thrain’s fault. Thrain and Gorm. Them and these elves. I want to hunt every last one of them down and kill them myself. Especially the one with the fire red hair. I’ll kill him if it’s the last thing I do.
More days go by as I put my anger and hate to work. With every rope I tie, I imagine tying it around the elf’s neck. My every effort is motivated by only revenge.
After days and days of sailing east, we finally come across both Throst and Einar. They must’ve regrouped after scattering. We sail up to them and tie the ships together. They share with us the tale of how they escaped the elves. Throst lost them in the fog while Einar crippled the other elven ship with a few well-placed shots with the Ballistae.
“We should continue south to see if we can find a few more ships before making the journey home,” Einar says.
“And what about the elves?” Koll asks. “We barely escaped.”
“They have two ships that need repairs and won’t make it back. The others we might be able to take in battle since we have a ship more than they,” Einar says.
“I’d still rather avoid them if we can,” Koll says.
“Perhaps we can find some unlucky merchant ships on their way up. Perhaps,” Rognvald says.
“But we have to tempt fate in order to do so,” Koll says and looks at Throst. “What say you, Throst?”
“Our only raid has been rather disappointing. We’ll still need more supplies if we want to make it through winter. I say we try one more time,” he says.
“Then it’s settled,” Koll says. “We’ll sail south.”
The men nod. I follow Rognvald back to our ship and we set sail, turning our ships south. Days go by as we continue to sail. We’ve eaten through more than half of our own food supply that we have brought with us. We did not get much from the only merchant ship we have found. It was mostly ale, wine, fine silks, and slaves.
With the scorching sun continuing to burn down on us and what little fresh water we have, we have to drink it sparingly. I’ve gotten used to the salty smell, and it no longer bothers me.
After what feels like forever, we finally come across two ships sailing north. As they see us, they try to turn back, but it is too late. We give chase and manage to sink our chained ballistae bolts on their deck and hull. Eager for someone to kill, I am one of the first on. Killing the few men who are willing to fight. I revel in the slaughter. All I could see was the elf who took my brother from me. His face was in every man I killed. It may have not given me pleasure to watch my sword sink into another man’s flesh, but it fed my need for revenge. Savagely ripping my blade into the gut of an elven sailor. I stare into his eyes, seeing the red-haired, vile elf who killed my brother. I watch the life seep out of his eyes before I move on to kill another and another. No matter how many I kill, I can’t satiate the thirst for blood. The raging fire within me doesn’t waver. It hungers for more death. Especially these elves.
I killed as many as I could until there were none left. It dawns on me that I have earned my first kill, and it doesn’t even matter to me. Not when that foul elf still breathes.
We take everything we can from the ship, including the people who didn’t fight and survived as slaves. Some of the crew took the opportunity to plant their seed in the slaves, but not I. I only see them as enemies. My only desire is to kill them all, but I hold my hand. Even though I haven’t satiated this new desire for blood, reason and logic wins out.
The ship is not completely damaged beyond repair, so we leave a few men to man it and take it back with us. Throst and Einar were successful in capturing the second ship, so we finally decide to sail back.
I take inventory of the new slaves. Most beaten and battered. Surprised to see some humans among the elves. I look at the humans. Some seem rather cowardly. One in particular, a short and chubby man-child who stinks of shit. I’m sure he soiled himself. It seems like this ship was carrying a few monks, both men and women. My men got the magic suppressing collars around their necks. Five of them. Three women and two men. Then another woman with dark skin the color of tree bark and curly black hair. She’s already a slave with a collar around her neck. It’s hard to deny her beauty however. Although she looks like she hasn’t eaten in a while.
“I… I am a nobleman and my people will pay a huge ransom to have me back,” the cowardly, shit-stinking man-child says. “My name is Lord Guthhere of Riverhall. My father is one of the advisors to Lord Arcas Ragnus.”
“Do you hear that, men?” Gizor says with a chuckle. “This whelp is a lordling…”
The rest of the crew chuckle and laugh. Gizor does a fake bow. “Well, lordling, my apologies. If we had known you were a lordling, we would’ve asked your permission to raid your ship.”
The crew snickers. Gizor spits in the cowardly lord’s face. I ignore the charades and look at the monks. The women are beautiful. All three have warm ivory skin. The dark brown-haired one is a little taller than the other two. The blonde is of medium height, and the red-haired one is the shortest of the three. All three women look broken and none meet my eyes. The two male monks are quite different. One is quite older than the other, balding and growing a beard. He gives me a defiant stare while the younger, who has blonde hair, is rather timid and avoids making eye contact. His eyes are red and puffy. From the way he stands and how he walked, I can assume he too may have been seeded. Most men don’t care whether a slave is a man or woman, they just need a hole to sow their seed in.
Even now, in my anger and grief, I still can’t force myself on another. I don’t care if they are slaves. Besides, my heart and my cock belong to Arni and no other. And I know how she would see such an act. It’s cowardice to me, but I can’t refuse the crew their fill as much as I’d like to. “Unless you lot have any problems, keep these slaves for my mother. She and Sigvor are in need of more hands. Especially these monks. They might have some use in healing.”
“Sounds reasonable to me,” Rognvald says.
“Good, put em down in the bottom deck but keep them separate from the elves,” I say. I watch the men take the slaves as they accept their fate without struggling. I take the key to their collars from Rognvald.
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