98

    I followed the female corsair into the Black Ark. Druig follows closely behind me along with a few beastmen while the rest secure the deck and the towers. The interior of the black ark is just what I expected of a drukhari interior design. Jagged spiky edges. Gleaming with their sharpness. Grey, black, and darker colors splashed with some purple. Or red. Though usually the red comes from blood. Some torture instrument here and there. The only thing different however is how silent the place is. Too silent. I passed through what looks like a throne room that directly overlooks a fighting pit and it is also silent. The only sound is the corsair’s footsteps and the sound of our hooves. There’s no way dark elves sail their black arks with just skeleton crews. So it means that something very wrong happened here.

    The corsair led me to another set of stairs leading down and I paused as the beastmen that were sent to secure the deck caught up to us.

    “Find anything?” I ask for his report

    “Weapons. Some armors. Nothing else.”

    “Check the interior now. Do not go downstairs yet.” I commands

    “You will find nothing.” The corsair speaks. “Except the occasional valuables and traps in individual rooms.” She adds.

    “What happened here?”

    “It will be much easier to just show you.”

    “What’s down there?” I pressed my question.

    “The brig, the slave and beast pens, then the workshop and treasure vault.” The workshop and treasure vault placed below the slave and beast pens? Weird choice. Or maybe the slave and beast pens are bigger than the workshop and treasure vault and share some of the same floor in the ship.

    “Is there a hydra?” The mention of beast pens reminds me of them and if I can get some.

    “There was.” She didn’t say anything further. It''s that bad huh. I sure hope there’s still some hydra egg laying around. Will be quite disappointed if I don''t get my hands on one.

    I tap my hoof as I wait for the beastmen to finish checking. They returned fifteen minutes later. Some sporting fresh wounds from being pierced by crossbow bolts that manage to pierce their golden metallic skin and already the wounds are regenerating. Seeing from their empty hands, they found nothing interesting and valuable. At least in beastmen''s eyes. I will need to ask Marissith to send some of her elves to check other valuables that can be used in my trade with Cathay. The beastmen have cleared the traps so they can have an easier time doing that later.

    “Lead the way.” I said to the corsair and we went down to the brig. The first thing I notice when stepping foot on the brig is the whiff of something delicious. Though I don’t know what it is.

    “I smell something delicious.” The corsair shuddered as I said that. Ignoring that, I looked at Druig. “Do you smell that?” He took a big snort. Then second.

    “Elves, snakes, and excrements. No.” He answered. Am I the only one that smells it?

    Continuing on, we finally reached the prison cells. Lo and behold, there’s hundreds of dark elves within the cells. All stripped of their weapons and armors. But still doesn’t explain where the rest of thousands of dark elves that should man this black ark. In the middle is a bigger cell. Within it lies a medusa, her hands bound in thick steel gloves that are welded together, her entire body bound by a thick and tightly held chain bound on the collar on her neck, and her face entirely covered in black featureless mask. Oh I can’t wait to get my hand on whatever gene in that medusa. But first, the smell of something delicious is getting stronger and the corsair is leading me towards it. I followed her and through the stairs down into the second floor down of the brig. This floor is covered with water. Glowing, sparkling water which is very beautiful.

    I pushed the corsair away as I stepped forward. My hooves felt fresh as it stepped on the water. Faint whispers or screaming sounded to my ear but I ignored it. The water beckons me. I continued down and the water reached more than halfway to my knees which means that the water is at least one and half meter tall, fully filling this part of the brig floor which is almost as wide as the black ark itself. I scoop the water and I almost instinctively drink it. Stopping just as I thought that this might be a trap. I prepare myself for whatever might come and drink it.

    SPLASH

    “I paid my taxes!” Shouts back from inside

    BANG!

    The head of an axe smashed the door.

    “TAXES!” the tax collector repeats. A low growl rumbles from within the house. A pair of blood red eyes shines in annoyance.

    “I swear if this is one of those new undead tax.” The vampire stomps towards the door. Stopping when he saw that he needed to fix the door. Again. He opens the door, only peeking outside with his head.

    “What?” The vampire saw the special tax collector, standing 2 meters away from the door, closer than he should be. Bedecked in full silver plate armor, excessively ornate with the holy symbols of Morr that it hurt his eyes, and as usual partially covered with shit. He can kill the tax collector, but the tax collector made sure it would be as annoying as it can be.

    “Step outside please.”

    “If this is about the people that suddenly drop dead it has nothing to do with me.” He looked at the two other men beside the tax collector. A fat sack of meat in some nice servant attire and a tall and very thin beggar old man that should be one foot in the grave. This is no tax visit. But still he steps outside. There’s nothing much these mortals can do to him.

    “It has come to my attention that you are well versed in elvish, yes?” The tax collector starts. Indeed this is not a tax visit

    “Yes. what of it?” He answered, not yet realizing what he just admitted. Then the three mortals looked at each other and a sense of something very wrong struck him. The mortals took one step closer and he unconsciously took a step back.

    Realizing what he just did, the vampire lunges in rage. But his hand is stopped by the old man with unnatural speed and with the strength that belies his frail body, stops him entirely. His eyes widened in surprise then fear. Then a shroud covered his face, burning his face before a clasp of silver chain on his arms, binding and burning him, and sapping him from his undead strength. They are not tax collectors doing a shakedown, they are lunatics from the Order of the Shroud. A hand grabs his head, pushing it to one side. He can feel the old man’s breath on his ear and with a hoarse whisper the vampire lulled to sleep.

    “Are you alright sir?” the fat servant, Guerino, who is the servant of Randolf Steirmann, the nobleman that found Valariel’s effigy, asks the old man. “That is two spells in a row right?”

    “Three.” The old man rasped and lifted the unconscious vampire with one arm.

    “Is that alright then?” He asks again in concern. He knows casting spells has its drawbacks. To which the old man just patted his shoulder and immediately he felt his shoulder feeling cold.

    “It’s been easier to cast spells recently.” The old man rasped again.

    “That’s it then? You don’t need to abduct more vampires right? It’s starting to hurt our tax revenue” Guerino and the old man glared at the tax collector. The law enacted by Randolf Steirmann to tax the undead living in his land in exchange of allowing them to feed on the populace while very lucrative is not very popular to the followers of Morr who ends up dealing with all the problems it entails. One, it attracts the vampires here. Two, they are the ones dealing with the vampires that are too broke to pay the tax. They are more common than they once thought as older vampires tend to just leave their sired vampires loose to outright abandon them once their usefulness is spent. Not to mention they didn’t know if they are properly equipped to deal with vampires that are older than a century and hopefully they don’t need to as so far only the failed vampires are gathered here. The servant and the old man ignore the tax collector and leave. They have more pressing matters to attend to.

    —

    The shroud pulled from the vampire who now sat bound to a chair. All undead strength and powers sapped from him. Heavy presence of the divine pressing down on him, no doubt he is now within the temple of Morr. He looks around, the fat servant and the old man are also here along with a few others. But his attention immediately set on an wicker effigy that sat on a tiny chair on a table. The divine presence of Morr, the God of the Dead radiating from it. The vampire thinks and thinks, what defense could he possibly utter in the judgement of the God that hates the undead.

    “I-uh... I paid my taxes?”