The players find themselves upon the slave ship “siren”. Its bow plows the oceans like a merciless blade. With its hardened wood decked with blackened steel plates, its black sails spell doom or a lifetime of servitude for those unlucky enough to witness its cursed shape on the horizon.
Here, in the proverbial “belly of the beast” the players find themselves bruised, bloody and covered in the filth of a hundred humans. They have survived a week aboard this bleak ocean-borne prison. A week of torture and humiliation. The slavers have taken everything from them, their weapons, gold and dignity, though within their hearts lies a burning sense of retribution and a longing for freedom. This is not how their tales end, this is how they begin.
By cunning craft and merciless action the players manage to organize a revolt. The wails of the broken, raped and dying are silenced for a while as the plotting begins, and soon the plan is executed. The decks run red with the blood of the slavers, and the desperate, wretched press of famished, diseased, clawing and biting mass of bodies are enough to initially surprise the guards on the lower decks, though when they finally break up an out onto the weather deck they find themselves facing a withering hail of arrows from the remnants of the guards, mariners, a handful of the jeweled bedecked elite warriors of the Pantian Navy known as “the Lazuli”, all commanded by the slave ships noble-born captain Makallik ibn Jashid. The bodies of the slaves fall pierced, dead and dying from the storm of bolts that rain down upon their unprotected flesh. Still, many stand and are ever hungry to exact bloody vengeance on their past-tormentors. A churning melee takes place on the ship as it buckles and shifts in the savage waters of the Bajiate sea. The players fend off attacks to their right and left, through the hazy chaos of battle there is little to discern who is friend and who is foe, they stick together and carve themselves a crimson path towards the bridge. Soon the savage fury of the slaves is spent, and the discipline and arms of the guards prevail. There is no longer a chance of the revolt succeeding, the only chance of life lies with the chill embrace of the stormy sea. And the things that dwell within…
The quelling of the revolt is indeed a pyrrhic victory, if at all that.. The “siren” now stripped of its infamy, turns its blooded structure home, to Shara-Kesh “The City of a Thousand Souls”. Here the captain must explain his failure to his guild and house, and receive loss of face, coin and stature.
Meanwhile the players must hope that rescue comes in one way or the the other, be it from the jaws of a shark, watery grave or a sandy beach, who can say?