User blog:Leea/The Tale of Voronwe, Chapter 98

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4th Era 171, 7th of Second Seed, Abecean Sea
Many of those in the wider world viewed the Altmer as a whole as purely mages, but this was not nearly the case. Plenty High Elves were also expert warriors, who often had little to nothing to do with magic, other than the occasional piece of enchanted weaponry or armor.

Captain Kael was one of these; a master swordsman. As he had travelled the known world, he had learned all he could about swordsmanship. From the legendary warriors of Hammerfell, the Orcs of the mountains, the hardy skirmishers of Skyrim: he had learned from them all over the years, and he brought his knowledge to bear now, in fighting his First Mate. He employed the feints and swings from the dusty badlands of Hammerfell; the parlaying of the ancient Orcs; and the skull-crushing techniques of the Nord warriors. While he did know some spells - little ones he had picked up here and there - he was averse to using them on his ship: scratches and shallow slices from swords were nothing to worry about, but one errant flame could very well destroy the whole ship, like a famished person before a plate of food. He therefore stuck to physical weapons - which he was best at - for fighting, as did his crew.

While the First Mate was also a swordsman, and had also learned from various masters over the years he had been a part of Kael's crew, Kael had the advantage of having done this for far longer. He was older, and more experienced. He was also not guided by anger. Sometimes anger helped in battle, sometimes it didn't. It might make you forget your hunger, thirst, fatigue, etc.; yet, the other times, it could kill you easily by making you foolhardy and take chances and risks you normally wouldn't.

* * *

Kael sidstepped the First Mate's swing, and kicked out with his foot and the man's knee. The man took the blunt force and staggered back, before falling to the side and jabbing up, attempting to cut Kael's sword hand. He hit Kael's sowrd instead, the blow glancing off with a sharp ring of metal on metal. The blunt edge of his scimitar in his other hand, Kael shoved forward like he was carrying a shield, cutting the Mate's second and third fingers beneath the guard of his own scimitar, the first finger being protected. He cried out in pain and anger as he swiftly rolled to his feet. Using the momentum of the roll, he swept his sword in a downward arc at Kael, intending to slash his chest open. He never made it.

Taking this opening, where his First Mate's arm was over his shoulder, Kael thrust up in that second, slamming his sword through the Mate's gut to the hilt. The Mate's sharp cry of pain quickly became a gurgle, before silencing altogether. He spared his Captian one shocked look - likely born from his own foolishness in leaving an opening for attack - devoid of malice before sagging to the deck as Kael yanked his sword out of its fleshy scabbard. The Altmer's blood stained the deck in large puddles, gore ran down his clothes, and coated the Captain's fist, still clutching his own weapon. The red substance fully encased Kael's scimitar, it lighting with a horrid bluish crimson glow when lightning flashed overhead. He lowered the weapon as the former First Mate passed from the world, the man's blood running down the blade and dripping onto the deck. He hated that it had come to this, yet it seemed to be impossible to avert. What bothered him the most was how far he had been willing to go to disobey him. In all his years as a Captain, none of his crew had ever disobeyed or attacked him. Ever. He looked up from the dead body to the remaining crew members. They were all standing around him in a half-circle, eyes wide and jaws slack with shock.

The thought came to him to ask his other crew if they desired to state any "opinions" they might have on his station. "Does anyone else wish to question my authority as Captain?" he asked quietly, voice tinged with both sadness (he had been a very good and able First Mate) and irritation (the man apparently cared only for himself and for profit).

He didn't need to raise his voice; everyone's eye's were popping at the fight and subsequent death. The First Mate and the Captain had always gotten along. Always. This turn of events was totally out of character. If any had had doubts before, this erased them completely. In unison, they shook their heads vehemently and exclaimed to the negative: no, he was still their Captain, and they didn't doubt him.

"Good." he said with finality, bending to wipe clean his sword on a dry patch of his dead Mate's clothes, not wanting to sully his own garments, and doing the same with his hand. He slid his weapon home in its scabbard on his hip. He faced his wide-eyed and pale-faced crew.

"You two" - he pointed to two of his men - "clean up this...mess and toss the traitor overboard. He has disrespected me, my crew, and Auriel. He does not deserve any honors of a normal burial at sea." He pointed to two others in the group. "You: go below deck and into the cargo hold and move the Moon Sugar out of the way. Stack it higher in a corner. Get some spare bedding from the Crew's Quarters if you can, or something to use in its place. We're going to have a guest here soon and he or she needs someplace to stay." He looked over the rest. "The rest of you: go back to your normal duties."

Everyone nodded and spared a fearful glance at the dead First Mate, who was being lifted in the arms of the two crew members who were "dealing" with him before quietly going back to work. Kael himself went to the Captain's Quarters, intending to pour himself a drink for his nerves, which were under full assault today. Some Argonian Ale, which was known for its strong properties. He needed it.