Of Justice Writ in Ice
Eighth Day of the Fifth Month 293 AC
The slender ships of the Efreeti in no way resemble the round-bottomed whalers of Ibben. They seem more like broad-headed arrows from above expanding into heavy rams, a broadhead cast in brass and horribly
bone. The realization of what the Efreeti had been making their ships from, the same ships that according to Baella are the lurking monsters of calves' nightmares, is sickening. Even so, you will not stoop to slaughter, not least because it would upset your gentle friend.
By the same token you've no interest in paying any mind to the niceties. "Rina, why don't you start?" you ask her, voice carefully balanced to be supportive but not patronizing.
"I.. I will, Your Grace." Her expression hardens as she turns from you to look towards the ship below, eyes glittering deathly blue.
Cold fingers trace angular symbols over your scales sending a shiver down your spine... a blessing, yes, but where your eyes might see an uncertain young woman in need of a friend, your instincts are slower by far to trust. Luckily you've had a great deal of experience ignoring instincts.
"Thank you," you rumble softly, sincerely. Her aid will make all this far swifter and more certain.
Your foes cut a fearsome figure, enough to put to flight most mortal foes for certain you would wager, for they are flame and fury, armed with cruel axes to split a Fire Whale's stony skin, swords of brass long since quenched in blood. In bespelled armor they are guarded against raiders and beasts as much as their quarry for their blood-soaked gems are after all coveted enough to kill for twice.
Against the blow of the blizzard leaden with deathly black ice hail it serves them not at all. Not one weapon cuts true, not one spell finds its mark before you sweep the decks... though granted the mage and every crewman near him twisting until they take the shape of turtles with shells of iron and skin of flame does not give the sorcerer many chances to shine. Some small whimsically cruel part of you wonders what would happen if you just let your prisoners loose.
Would it not be fitting for those who hunt thinking beings as beasts to end their days as beasts themselves, never able to recall what they once were save perhaps as a shadow glimpsed in dreams?
Only their captain and first mate show themselves to be a true Efreeti. As you descend upon the gaudily-dressed genie in the middle of the deck, he rushes over to a prostrated mortal slave and lifts him like a rag doll: "Wish the dragon away!" he screams, half in fear and half in rage.
You will never know what the slave said as Dany's spell swiftly silences both of them... and Ser Richard takes issue with the attempted attack, jumping the last thirty feet from his shadow steed to the deck to land point first with Oathkeeper in the offending fire spirit's neck.
"You should teach him to be less messy with that," Tyene jests as she sweeps past to pick out crew members from the rigging with her whip.
As the fire elementals who had joined together from the shield ships crew came over the railing, all organized resistance broke, with the first mate willing himself away by the power of some trinket he held while some of the crew casting themselves over the railing in terror and a few made the local offer of surrender: offering their hands to be manacled.
What do you do?
[] Finish the fight, death in battle or upon a weirwood's roots is the least they deserve
[] Accept the surrenders, Baella would wish you to
-[] Write in terms (optional otherwise defaults to previous cases of capturing slaver ships)
[] Write in
OOC: It bears remembering these are not 'just fishermen', but beings with a wish SLA, if they get desperate enough. The other whaler fights will not be shown on screen but I needed to both show the risks, in case you want to refine your plans of attack, and get the vote on surrenders.