Role

Chapter 3

It was a fairly large ship, with a single massive mast. They were
about midship, and it seemed as though there were two other, higher
decks from which the crew piloted. The sails were black, and the wood
stained dark with pitch and tar. It was raining, and the boards were
slick, quickly becoming stained with the dead man's blood. He couldn't
see the ocean from his position; the walls of the oar pit were too
high, but it seemed to Norhm that a ship as large as this could only sail on an ocean.

There were three more guards on the deck, and many more men above and
below them. Clubs drawn, the men made their way carefully across the
rain-slick boards. Just as the thought was beginning to come to Norhm
that his situation was hopeless, another surge of energy ripped
through his gut and into his heart and lungs. Letting loose another
mighty roar he seized the chains the dead man had been attempting to
bind him with and dragged them into the aisle. Throughout all of this,
the slaves never stopped rowing, the oars never stopped moving. He
began to swing the chains above his head, glaring down his captors.

Norhm was already exhausted, having been beaten numerous times and
spent a great deal of time unconscious. He was little more than a
caged and desperate animal, driven purely by rage, grief, and
adrenaline. Time began to stretch, and it seemed as though the men bearing down on him would never arrive.

It was at this moment that a great, white bolt of lightning ripped
from the heavens, striking the ship's mast. The force of the strike
ripped through the entire ship, splitting in two with unnatural
ferocity. Every man on board was plunged into the cold waters of the
ocean within a matter of seconds, as the ship splintered and sank.