<span style="color: #FFFF40"><span style="font-weight: bold"><div style="text-align: center;">Amid the confusion, it was difficult to keep tabs on which side was winning this raid at sea.  There was blood shedding back and forth, and for a few moments it seemed the slaves would be put back in their places.  But then, the ship swayed and a loud CRASH marked the turn of events in which they pushed back, and ultimately, with the deck now something like a graveyard, the slaves were the clear victors.  Some of the crew had turned hands, and now stood among them.  The sight seemed like a battle hard won, but the fight was only beginning.  For, amidst the bloodshed and the shouts penetrating the otherwise quiet night, one had gotten away.  He was but a mere deckhand, but he knew he would be the one to survive. He'd unloaded into the single life boat hooked to the ship's hull, and had slipped away before he could get cut down.  With the blessing of the motorised propeller, he was able to quickly escape the cleanup of the merfolk lingering in the depths below the ship, where they were enjoying quite a buffet of those thrown over board.<br/><br/>The deckhand returned to Port Laio in Jaihan, where the ship had sailed from.  By now, the ship might be long gone, but Idreans possessed a very capable navy, and once they were made aware of this development, they would be stopped.  It was only a matter of time. As for the deckhand?  He would be justly rewarded for his efforts.</div></span></span><br/><br/><div style="text-align: center;">-x-</div><br/><br/>From the small cloud gathered on deck was raised one voice, belonging to a fishy-looking fellow holding what appeared to be a cooking pot.  The fay tinkerer could not hold this attention for long, because as he looked to the figure making his speech, his curious eyes ventured down.  There were various weapons still laying about, some remaining fastened to the hands of their previous owners.  He knew that this battle may not be the last, and if they were intending to survive even a moment in this freedom, they would need these weapons.<br/><br/>Wordlessly he slipped off of his perch on the doctored cannon, and began gathering the scattered weapons as the man addressed them all on the hostage situation.  He meant no disrespect toward him, but with his mind so occupied with the notion that any one of these lads tied up before the mast could easily make a leap for a blunderbuss or a sword, he was hard pressed to simply sit still and listen to what he had to say.  The faerie thus set about prying them from the hands of the dead, sorting them into barrels lined up near the cabin door.  He also confiscated the ammunition, if there was any, and sorted that into its own container.  Many of the arms he'd gathered were still covered in blood, and much of it was damaged, but it would have to do.  Leto drew his utility knife, using it to carve tallies into the wall of the cabin over each collection of arms.  He'd counted six swords, thirteen rifles, two blunderbuss, and an assortment of blunt weapons totaling eight.<br/><br/>It would suffice for now, but he knew they wouldn't last long if they remained at sea.  There was also a matter of food storage, medicine, as well as the necessary repairs to both the hull and the engine; he'd only managed to patch it during the fight, but it would not hold forever.  He predicted they could manage a week, perhaps, with what he guessed the vessel was already stocked with, and assuming it survived the battle.<br/><br/>It raised another question.  There clearly stood a choice to be made- what would they do with this newfound, if temporary, freedom?  Perhaps they had all fought together, but that didn't mean they would remain that way.  Some of these lads were carved from a tougher wood than the slavers.  As Leto thought about this, he turned his head enough to observe the occupants on deck.  The fellow who had been previously offering his insights on the captives was now grinning at the small crowd.  He couldn't imagine what was to be so excited about.  This was not a good situation.  Idrea wouldn't be exactly thrilled to hear that an entire vessel was hijacked by the very slaves they'd already purchased.  Even less so that they now possessed hostages.<br/><br/>They needed to dock.  It would be good to avoid the ports along the northern shores, as there were far more trade routes, and running into the coast patrols was more likely.  If they could somehow pull together, at least long enough to make it out of Jaihan...<br/><br/>Leto took two careful steps toward the Mortimer, his yellow eyes darting between him and the captives.  Of course, it would be easy to simply kill them, but the creature raised a good reason not to.  The last thing they needed were the merfolk following their vessel, wherever it may go.  It spelled bad news for all of them.  They would have to control them somehow, and with the pressing need to make port for supplies, they would need to conceal them somehow.<br/><br/>"You won't find a single cabin on this vessel which isn't a prison," he mused aloud, still looking at the captives, though he didn't raise his voice and spoke mostly to himself.  However, his next statement was directed at the Mortimer.  "This vessel will endure perhaps a week."  The fay eyed the cooking pot warily, but said no more as he slowly crossed his arms and awaited some seemingly important words from another man whom had taken up over the cabin where he lined the barrels.