A storm was coming and Kolouz Bloodblade lord and tyrant of the dusty plains new it would not be safe to sail the Goldmist his lorcha in a storm like the one to come. The Siberian weasel becond his captain and younger brother.
“Kolan, set us on a course towards the cost in the east,” he instructed . “And get the slaves rowing double time.”
“Yes Kolouz.” Kolan, replied trying to gouge his siblings mood. “Do you require anything else?”
“Nay brother, do as i have told you then be easy.” pressed Kolouz dismissing Kolan with a hard stare.
The storm raged bucking the Goldmist up and down like a mad beast. A small fox slave clung grimly to the mast as he furled the sails of the four decked lorcha. Glancing at the other three masts he saw other slaves…
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