(I toss a random number and I get a 7)
You take the ship’s wheel and turn this alien vessel out of the narrow harbour, into the roiling waters of the Tozaz Sea. It is less than an hour past noon and yet the winter night has already closed in. You share the icy darkness with a crew of six Lencian outposters, all of whom have volunteered for this perilous mission. Lanza has ordered them to land you on the coast of Ixia and wait at anchor for seven days for you to return; they must wait no longer.
With ten miles of sea behind you, you hand over the wheel to one of the crew and settle down on the wheelhouse floor to sleep. But you have barely closed your eyes when the deck begins to buck like a stallion. The ship has sailed directly into a saesha—a sudden and violent sea-storm for which the Tozaz is infamous. Thunder roars and sleet blows with blinding ferocity as the ship dips and rolls in the waves.
After what seems like an eternity, the ship emerges from the storm—a storm against which few craft other than this could have sailed. The darkness gives way to an eerie dawn which casts its watery light upon a new danger. In the grey half-light you see thousands of icebergs ahead, stretching across the horizon as far as the eye can see. Your heart sinks—navigating a course through this icy maze could well prove impossible.
(Do I take the wheel or act as pilot? I think with my skills of long range sight, I’m better as a pilot)
Quickly you instruct the helmsman to listen out for your directions; then you leave the wheelhouse and make your way forward to the bow. The vast bulk of any iceberg lies hidden beneath the surface and, with this chilling thought in mind, you lean over the prow and keep a careful watch on the waterline. This ship is strongly built but a collision with a submerged ridge could easily rip its hull wide open.
Guided by your telepathic directions, the helmsman steers the vessel towards a passage that is over-shadowed on either side by two monstrous mountains of ice.
(Pick a number and add 3 for Grand Huntmastery – I toss a 3 and get 6 and make it)
You pilot the ship cautiously along a string of narrow fjords which cut an uncertain route through this treacherous field of icebergs. Using a mix of hand signals and telepathy, you send directions to the helmsman at the rear of the ship. It is a gruelling procedure which soon takes its toll on the nerves of all aboard.
Every few minutes your vision is obscured by gusts of powdery snow which swirl across the deck, blown down from the tops of the surrounding ice cliffs. During one of these fierce blasts you are momentarily blinded. You clasp your hands to your stinging eyes and suddenly the incessant howl of the wind is accompanied by the tortured screech of the hull as it shudders along a bank of submerged ice. The impact sends the ship careering violently to port and almost hurls you overboard. You crash heavily against the rail and rebound to the deck where you lie for a few moments, stunned and gasping for breath: lose 2 ENDURANCE points.
Mindful of the deadly danger, you scramble to your feet and rush to the prow. The crew have been clearly terrified by the collision; most of them are cowering along the ship’s rail, staring up at the encroaching walls of ice, their eyes haunted with fear as earnestly they offer prayers to the Goddess Ishir. Then, almost without any warning, the snow-laden wind abates and the ship emerges from the iceberg field into the open waters of the Tozaz Sea. The crew give a hearty cheer, relieved that their icy ordeal has at last come to an end. One man pulls the cork from a bottle of black rum which he has been keeping for a special occasion. He takes a mighty swig, and then passes it to you. Just as you are about to take a swallow, unexpectedly you hear the helmsman’s voice echoing along the deck: ‘Ship ahoy!’
Fear returns to tie a knot in your stomach as you turn and focus your eagle eyes upon the distant vessel.
Less than a mile to the north, like some nightmare apparition surfacing from the deep, you see a broad-prowed vessel of prodigious size breaking low in the stormy water. You magnify your vision and see that its main deck is completely enclosed by a canopy of overlapping green-grey timbers, affording it the appearance of some gigantic fish. Two glassy portholes and a jagged line which stretches around its prow complete this chilling illusion.
For its shape and size it moves towards your ship at an unnatural speed. You call the crew to arms, fearing it to be an enemy vessel closing to attack, and you sense a shudder run through them when, for the first time, they clearly discern its alien design. You focus your Kai senses upon the oncoming craft and suddenly you realize its purpose. It is an Ixian vessel, come to rendezvous with your ship, believing it still to be manned by the undead horde which attacked Fort Azgad.
‘Stand firm!’ you shout, attempting to rally the nervous Lencians as the craft speeds ever nearer. When less than a hundred yards distant, its great prow begins to creak open. It is as if you are looking into the ghastly maw of a hungry sea predator. The fearful sight alarms the Lencian crew and they flee towards the bow of the ship in panic: ‘Save us!’ they cry. ‘Ishir save us! It’s going to eat us alive!’
The great alien vessel looms towards your ship, its jaw-like prow hinged open as if in readiness to bite you in half. Then, with stunning swiftness, your entire craft is consumed by this onrushing vessel, swallowed up in its great jaws. There is a moment of deadly silence. Then, in the morbid, greenish gloom, you hear a bubbling rush of icy water echoing through the vast depths of this gullet. With fearful anticipation you unsheathe your weapon, move towards the ship’s rail, and then look down. The surrounding seawater is fast draining away, leaving your ship dry-docked upon a long, V-shaped plinth which glistens like polished bone. The bubbling subsides, to be replaced by another noise—the sound of a great portal grinding open. Bright light streams across the deck, blazing down from an archway which is opening close to the starboard bow. Silhouetted in this light are a hundred moving forms, each man-sized and armed with a sword or a spear. A ghastly howl of anger arises from their ranks when they see unexpectedly that the ship is crewed by living men. As the first of their number leap from the arch and crash upon the deck, you recognize their form. Once these creatures were Drakkarim warriors; now they are undead slaves in the service of the Ixian Deathlord. You shout to the Lencians to prepare for battle as the first wave of undead Drakkarim comes surging forwards.
(I choose to stand and fight)