The wooden planks of the sea vessel creaked as heavy heels clanked down the stairs leading to the captain's chamber. A rough knock on the door was answered by a raspy, weather-worn voice, "Yar! Come in."
Captain Sargon Atwill, a tall wisp of a man sat relaxed, smoke trailing from his pipe and mug filled with ale. In his hand he was holding a soldier's insignia badge cut from the saddle of a torm beast, eyes distant, remembering something from a day gone by....
The clash of swords rang out as Sargon locked blades with Dur the Morat'torm rider. With a sharp whistle, two burly sea raiders stepped out of the shadows on the small ferry boat to join the fray. Dur's anger flared as he realized he had fallen clumsily into a trap and with a roar of rage he lunged at his attackers. With a deft parry and side step, Sargon dodged the blow sending Dur over the edge of the ship.
For a few seconds their eyes locked with mutual understanding, shining breastplates and thick metal boots were great for blocking blades but terrible for floating. He was never seen again.
"Captain.....Captain" a voice spoke distantly and then immediately as Sargon's awareness snapped back to the present..."the crates of equipment have been stowed on the beach and the hideout secure. Our intelligence has alerted us to a new standing army in the Empire, this new Ever Victorious Army."
"Nary a problem my boy, tis'nt a problem" Sargon said slyly. "We be raiders and tacticians, we will soon see if these here soldiers do be worthy to be called an army."