Blood in the Water

     The nervous seaman looked over to his captain at the front of the boat, before cautiously asking the question that was at the forefront of his mind, "Cap'n, ya sure this is a good idea?"
     Turning his head so that his steely gaze locked eyes with the question asker, index finger pointedly stroking the hilt of his sword. The lone blue eye, like chips of ice for all the warmth they held, stared into the mud colored eyes of the ship hand, the only other acknowledgement of his question being a single raised eyebrow.

     "I-it's just tha' I heard stories 'bout these waters. A ship hand on the Bloody Tides tol' me 'bout how small ships that sail through here never return. Invaroth's no small ship, but the dingy we're in certainly is!

     The captain didn’t respond, simply continuing to eye the ship hand with a piercing gaze. Squirming under his captain’s gaze, he mumbled an apology before averting his eyes while continuing to row. Captain Elindro “Severed Ear” Andullyn was extremely intimidating even without saying a word.

     Captain Andullyn had gotten his hands on a map to a sunken ship that supposedly was filled with treasures from before the Historical Wipe. If true then the gnomes would pay a fortune for the thousand plus year old relics. Provided they could get to them. The waters on the far side of Meresk Delas were infamous for pulling ships farther south than they wanted to go. They were leagues farther than the starting point of the Southward Current, though to be fair the street urchin they picked up in Argoport had a trick with air that made windless days a thing of the past.

     Unbeknownst to the pirates on the dingy, they were not alone. Their progress was being watched by hunters far more dangerous than them. Using tactics that had been perfected over centuries, the true hunters of the sea circled the small boat, fierce, feral grins on every one of them. Briefly one would breach the surface, causing a small splash before ducking underwater out of sight.

     The crew on the dingy had stopped rowing, each had a weapon out as they looked and listened for whatever was in the water with them. Lines formed in the water as something passed by just shy of the surface. As the crew readied themselves, there was a terrible shriek of pain, shock, and terror as one stared down at the hook that had bit into his chest.

     As they turned, the crew could only watch as he was pulled overboard into the water by the rope attached to the grappling hook in his chest. Still they could not see their attackers, though many leaned over the edge to try to see their friend. All they could see was the crimson bloom of his blood, far too much for a simple hook.

     “Turn around! We aren’t prepared for f**king fish-men!” Captain Andullyn bellowed, furious.

     Scrambling over themselves to obey, another screamed out in agony as he too was hooked like a fish before being pulled over. Then another. By this point, the hunters no longer bothered with the pretense of stealth, one using the dingy to pull itself up to hook its prey before diving back down. Captain Andullyn collapsed into his seat, having seen the attackers and knowing that there was no escape.

     “Of course, there’re zang here. Explains no one ever returning,” he muttered to himself as the last of his crew was pulled overboard.

     Feeling the boat rock as one of the zang climbed aboard, Andullyn calmly remove his hat and looked at his killer. The zang, he had no idea if it was male or female, was slimmer than he’d expected. From the sailor’s tales he had heard he expected them to be bigger than orcs, but it had the build of an athletic human. It had black eyes, a pale chest and belly, scars crisscrossed its entire body, fin-like protrusions on its upper arms, a maw filled with serrated teeth, and a leather bandoleer filled with green cylindrical objects. Its right hand held a viscous, three-pronged hook with a length of rope tied to the opposing end. In its left was a bone-tipped spear, easily six feet long.

     “Metal would make for a better spear head,” Andullyn quipped, determined not to die screaming.

     The zang stepped over a bench, a raspy, harsh voice coming from its mouth, even though it didn’t seem to have lips, “Metal…rust…how…forge…under…waves?”

     Andullyn gave a nod, conceding the point. Standing to his feet, he readied his sword; he was going to die, but he was determined to die fighting. The zang gave a nod, approving, before it tossed the hook over the side and removed its bandoleer.

     Both were experienced warriors, both with distinct advantages over the other: Andullyn had experience fighting spears while the zang had little experience against swords. The zang on the other had had more experience fighting on a rocky dingy, and if the boat flipped only one of them would be able to breathe.

     The zang struck first, a probing thrust intending to test Andullyn’s defenses. A smooth twist of his wrist sent the spear tip away from his chest, followed by a quick slash at the zang’s face. Pulling its head backwards, the zang easily dodged the swipe.

     Both had a measure of the other, and they tightened their grips on their weapons. The rocking boat threatened the balance of both, and neither wanted the fight to end because they rocked the dingy too harshly. For a good while, neither attacked, reading their opponent as they shifted their stance to defend or attack in response to their adversary.

     More zang had surfaced, watching their huntmaster fight the surfacer. A few seemed to be whispering to each other, perhaps betting on how badly the surfacer would injure his adversary before dying.

     Growing impatient, Andullyn took a step forward and thrust at the zang. Moving like the water it lived in, the zang flowed around the thrust before plunging its spear into Andullyn’s chest. Leaning in, the zang opened its mouth wide and bit deeply into Andullyn’s neck. Blood spurted as the thickest veins and arteries in the body were severed, the triangular teeth finding purchase in the former captain’s flesh.

     Pulling his spear from his victim’s chest, Turant swallowed the blood of human that entered his clan’s hunting waters. Few of his clan cared for the taste of human, too many bones anyway, but he would not disrespect the warrior by washing his blood without partaking of it. Putting his bandoleer back on, he selected the appropriate yinu before squeezing it over the middle of the boat. Similar in function to surfacer potions, yinu contained potent magics that had to be drawn out either through eating them or, in specific cases, squeezing the inner liquids out. This one contained an acid that would eat through the wood of the boat, sinking it.

     The task complete, Turant dived back into the water and almost sighed as he relaxed his gills. He could hold his gills closed for the longest in his clan, but it was still uncomfortable. Joining the rest of his clan’s hunters as the dingy filled with water, all listened as he gave orders, “Gather the clan, it has been too long since we’ve had a good raid. Our target is the surfacer vessel that brought them here.”

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