Bloody Tides

     Enough was enough, "Does anyone wanna explain why we’re standing on the beach, at night, with three crates of meat, staring out into the ocean?"

     The orc-blooded merchant glanced back at the hired guard, surprised that an elf would be so impatient at a five-minute wait, before he answered, "T’was in the contract you signed, you read it, did you not?"

     "Course I read it, but I don’t recall anything about standing out in the cold not a hundred yards from the biggest glacier in the world, at night," he snapped, neglecting to mention that he was drunk when he signed the contract and was still suffering from the hangover.

     The merchant rolled his eyes, easily pegging the elf as having been raised by humans, both by the hints of street slang in the way he talked and the faint aroma of alcohol that lingered on his clothes. While the Lost, as elves called them, were far less haughty and arrogant, they tended to drink more than dwarves.

     Deciding to explain things to his fellow guard, the shield-bearing half-elf spoke up, "You ever hear about the lobster men in Argoport? The same basic idea, but the ones that these crates are for aren’t giant lobsters, and don’t like sunlight. Thus, we are guarding this stretch of beach for our employer’s trade partners, at night, in the cold, because this is where they are going to step onto land that isn’t two weeks north and through a cave complex through that ‘biggest glacier in the world’ as you put it."

     Glaring at the half-elf, the first guard that spoke grumbled a mix of Argoport Gutter-Speak and Elven. The other three guards shook their heads at the foul-tempered elf, he’d be lucky to get work with anyone in their employer’s circle with that attitude.

     All five on the beach stilled as movement was spotted out in the water. Roughly six or seven wakes were forming heading towards shore. Preparing themselves, each of the guards readied weapons in case the ones arriving were not the expected traders. As the wakes came closer to the shore, the merchant took a step back, having developed a bad feeling.

     The six figures that burst out of the water were not who they were expecting; green scaly skin, lamprey mouths on heads covered in fins, the merchant had seen these creatures before. With a note of fear in his voice, he shouted orders to his guards, "Sahuagin! Kill them! Watch out for the one with four arms, it’s a mage!"

     The four guards leaped into battle, the foul-tempered elf letting loose with a bellowing war cry as electricity danced along the blades of his twin war picks. The half-elf rolled under the spear thrust of one while simultaneously deflecting another spear with his shield, his sword finding its way under the rib cage of the first sahuagin.

     The remaining two guards called forth their magics, a human woman muttering a prayer to Aelma as a burst of concentrated light flared to life in front of her, blinding the sensitive eyes of the sahuagin, while the halfling threw his hands forward, a gust of wind blowing two of the sahuagin back into the water.

    Seeing its fellows floundering, the four-armed sahuagin snarled before reaching out with its mind. Palming a skull in one hand, it felt the departing spirit of the dying sahuagin and forced it back into its corpse. The remaining sahuagin fought all the harder as their fallen comrade stood back up, all life gone from its eyes and stance, fearful of the undead companion even as it grabbed the one that killed it and bit down on his shoulder.

     From behind the sahuagin, ten new arrivals leaped out of the water, but these newcomers looked nothing like the attacking sahuagin. Though similar in body plan, two legs, two arms, a head and tail, that is where the similarities ended. Their torsos and heads were covered in bony, armored plates, in place of teeth and lips they had blades of bone scissors, and they seemed to lack necks.

     One managed to catch a sahuagin by surprise and got it into an arm lock before it reached forward and bit the sahuagin’s head clean off with a sound akin to nails on stone. The battle turned against the sahuagin, as horribly outnumbered as they were. The guards looked at the strange newcomers with caution, unsure of their intentions.

     "Gornashka, good to see you," the merchant called out as he approached the group, motioning for his guards to stand down.

     "Landwalker, you have meat?" the leader asked, the words in Common coming from a ring on its finger.

     "Indeed I do, three crates of freshly slaughtered lamb for your enjoyment. The runes on the crates will keep the meat from spoiling or leaking into the water, but they only affect the inside of the crate. I do not expect to receive the crates back when we next meet."

     "As agreed, *#@%*-ice for meat," the leader said, the ring squealing as it failed to translate a word.

     Two hours later, the merchant and guards were back on the merchant’s ship returning to Whaleden. Down in the hold, the five were sharing a drink, as the elf asked a question that was on all of the guards’ minds: "Just what were those things?"

     "They call themselves Khakrak, and from what I can tell they are the closest things to undersea smiths. This fancy ice I traded lamb for can be heated up and worked like steel, but one cut will suck the warmth out of you. Failing that, I’m thinking of smashing it into cubes and selling it to go in drinks further south," the merchant answered, a gleam of greed in his eyes.