Two days ago:
Barrett and his men crossed the scrub clad hills of Bberentaur and grinned at the sight of Samhain. A scant few emaciated peasants scurried about the once bustling township. Barrett's thought entirely of the gold no doubt stashed away in the moss eaten keeps of the town completely ignoring the grim omen of the blood red horizon. The sun finished setting just as the marines arrived in the town center. By then every peasant had hunkered down in their house with their doors barricaded with whatever they could use to block them.
The pirate lord strolled up to the town's main well, leaned over and spit, listening with satisfaction at sound of the splash. The noise echoed through the otherwise silent square.
"Captain Barrett, no sign of rogues," a soldier announced.
"Odd," Barrett replied, "our scout saw a small party. They must have run off when they saw us-"
The low moan of a horn blast cut off Barrett's words. From behind the scrubby hills hordes of beasts emerged. Barrett's father had been an adventurer in the far North and had told him many a tale about hunting these monsters, the fabled ice boars. Each was the size of an oxen, but they charged down the sloping hills quick and nibble as deer. On their backs road some manner of wild man. Layers of skins and furs obscured their forms and faces.
The horde had the settlement surrounded. After waiting a moment, stunned Barrett snapped back to reality and began to bark out orders.
"Turn over those carts, block that alley!" Barrett shouted, "They're in range someone start firing!"
The Privateer Marines loosed a volley, and reloaded with all haste. They fired a second, then a third. With their fourth volley they managed to put a pack to fight. Then the rest crashed into their lines.
One of the beasts charged Barrett head on. He drew his Cutlass and tried to jam it clear down the Boar's throat. The monster let out a shrieking roar as blood gushed from it's mouth. The wound was enough to make the creature angry, but didn't hit anything vital. Worse still the blade caught in its teeth. The boar wrenched its head to one side sending the cutlass flying. Then it swung its head back, and gored Barrett's leg with its ivory tusk pinning him to the ground.
The Admiral seemed helpless. The boar's rider drove a crude lance towards his prone form. With his left hand Barrett caught the haft and redirected it causing it to stick in the ground and with his right he drew his dagger and drove it into the boar's eye. The creature squealed in pain, bucked off its rider, and ran, crashing headlong into another of its kind, sparking a scuffle.
Before the wild man could get up, Barrett Brine clambered to his feet and impaled the rogue with his own spear. The boars continued to rut, locking tusks instead of finishing off Barrett's men.
"Retreat!" Barrett cried.
It was hardly necessary for him to say so. His last few men were already fleeing for their lives. Barrett would spend the rest of the night, hobbling with the spear as a splint tracking them down in the surrounds and rallying them together again.
The last dozen or so of Barretts troops could travel no further then Bberentaur so they stopped in a hollow amidst a series of squat little hills and tried to rest for what little was left of the night.
Barrett himself was hardly in proper condition to travel. Blood loss had turned his typically sanguine complexion to a pale hue with just a touch of blue in his lips. One of the company's healers was hard at work changing his bandage. The other draped a white sheet over the still form of a privateer, aged not a day over eighteen.
"Ahoy!" cried Smee, their scout, as he skipped back into camp with a pack mule in tow, "look who I found! It's Benny, and she's got the gold still on her!"
A few privateers cast greedy looks at what little treasure they'd looted in the outskirts of Darfix. The rest just sat grumbling around the fire. A lanky dark haired man with his arm in a sling rose to his feet.
"The hell with this!" he announced, shouldering a pack.
"Were do you think you're going?" Barrett demanded.
The marine didn't answer, he just walked away from the camp, his shadowy form getting harder and harder to make out as it retreated from the dancing light of the fire.
"Get back here!" Barrett shouted.
Three other men stole glances at each other, then without a word shouldered their own packs and followed the first.
"GET BACK HERE!" Barrett cried again as they disappeared into the night.
Barrett sighed and retired to his tent. A thick fog set in as dawn broke on the strange little hallow they'd camped in. Barrett emerged from his tent to find the last of his marines, seven in all standing waiting with, arms crossed.
One of them, a red bearded fellow by the name of Malaise spoke up.
"When are we goin' home!"
"We have to regroup with Amy and Karibash, then I'll decide," Barrett said.
"Sod Amy and Karibash!" Malaise bellowed, "we've gotta get out ah here or we're all dead!"
Barrett stepped closer gritting his teeth so as to avoid visibly wincing in pain. He came up to Malaise's nose yet was no less intimidating for it.
"Are you questioning my orders?"
"Ay mate I'd say I am," Malaise replied, "what's more I says you ought-ta up ar shares."
"You're making a mercenary's wage already that's more then fair-," Barrett replied.
"Oy you call tha' fair? Ya drag us half way around the world, fill yer saddle bags and we trade life and limb for a day wage!"
Malaise put his hand on his hilt.
"I says you better up our shares or we takes it all,"
The rest of the survivors grumbled in agreement, Smee and the healers skulked nervously behind Barrett. In spite of the tense moment and rising tempers something managed to steal Barrett's attention.
"Do you hear that?" he asked.
"Don't go changin' the subject-"
"SHHH!" Barrett hissed. Surprisingly Malaise stopped speaking.
Somewhere in the fog they could hear the sound of leathery feet scraping over cold earth. Barrett's eyes scanned the earthen mounds that surrounded them and a grim realization set in.
"These aren't hills," he said, "they're barrows."
Just then a shrill cry rang out. The company turned in time to see a Privateer, blood gushing from his neck, and over his shoulder a wight with its mouth stained crimson.
"To arms!" Barrett shouted.
Steal clashed against bone and dried flesh as an army of wights invaded the campsite. Moments into the melee a revenant slammed a club into Barrett's wounded leg. Searing pain shot through his body, and he blacked out from the shear agony.
He caught the next few moments in glimpses. Smee loading him onto Benny. Then he felt clomping gait of the mule as he swayed back and forth, behind him he made out just two surviving marines trudging along after him, Malaise and a fresh faced, blonde haired boy, who's name he could not recall. Then finally the lapping of water on wood. Then darkness.
When Barrett finally regained his senses he realized he was in a dockhouse. He heard voices whispering outside and guessed they belonged to the two privateers. Barrett could make out Malaise's voice.
"Smee says Under Darfix is overrun," He said
"Well mayhaps we'll skirt the border then give them the slip," The other replied.
"Give them the slip are you daft, we've been ambushed twice in as many days!" Malaise said aloud.
"Well what do you propose?"
"I propose we take the loot," Malaise whispered "charter a ship and live like kings back in the Dragon Isles, let Barrett die and rot out here just like his crazy grandfather!"
Suddenly a grating voice interrupted his eavesdropping.
"Stars blessin's yer awake me laird,"
In scurried a short, pot bellied peasant, bald headed with a scruffy beard about his chin. He had the thick forearms and leathery chapped hands of a sailor.
"Not often we get charters from noble folk abouts here," He prattled on, "Ships almost ready just another two hours time. Just waiting on some provisions what needs be delivered 'n loaded"
Before Barrett could tell the old man to stop jabbering and let him listen to his potentially mutinous men the ominous tone of a bell rang out.
"What's that?" Barrett asked.
Just then his privateers burst in.
"The wights followed us," Malaise yelled, "they were spotted an hour away from this village at the most."
"Well what are you waiting for!" Barrett ordered, "get ready to embark!"
Without a second thought the men ran out to gather up their belongings, and gold. The bumbling old charter sailor crept up to Barrett.
"Begging your pardon laird but we can't get shove off in time. I told you two moar hours to get the provisions 'ere and loaded, give or take-"
"How long if we only need provisions for me, my scout and my healers?" Barrett interrupted.
The sailor scratched his head.
"Well I wager we could shove off now. We got your mule and gold 'n all,"
"Take me to your ship, now!"
A biting cold rain began to fall as the boat shoved off. Barrett could see the two aspiring mutineers standing dumbfounded on the docks with crates of hard tack still in hand. Malaise dropped his pack and drew his crossbow, firing out of shear spite. The bolt whistled passed Barrett's head and embedded itself in the main mast. A deck hand standing nearby let out a yelp of terror.
Barrett smirked ever so slightly, then turned away and limped down to his cabin. There sat the booty his privateers had died for (or deserted for, or were abandoned for as the case may be). It numbered 1,774 gold pieces in total, for some this would be a vast fortune but to Barrett it was scarcely a pittance. He still yearned for the treasure of Darfix.
