Grand Admiral Noster Raynott is Hungry

First Sea Lord and Grand Admiral of the Eldermont navy Noster Raynott stood atop the aft castle of the Queen Beatriz, hands clasped behind his back, and outwardly radiated assuredness and calm.  Inwardly, Raynott was far from calm.  He was, quite frankly, nervous as hell.  He was not nervous for his safety, or that of his crew.  He was nervous about failing in his task.

 

The Queen Beatriz sailed in the center of an armada of ships travelling north.  The Eldermont fleet was a composite primarily consisting of former privateer vessels and regular navy ships from other nations whose captains had pledged allegiance to Eldermont.  There was also a smattering of newly-constructed ships built in Eldermont to serve its navy.  At last count, the Eldermont navy consisted of 73 ships.  Trailing closely behind the armada were 15 supply and transport ships containing extra stores and supplies, as well as several hundred Kings’ Men ready to do battle should the fleet make landfall on Swaldune.  The supply ships also carried dozens of Baron Stonehill’s new “ballista platforms” – rafts outfitted with outriggers and mounting ballista.  The weapons platforms would be deployed as they neared Swaldune and then they were to be towed behind designated ships as they closed for battle.

 

Several issues plagued the admiral’s mind as they drew closer and closer to Swaldune.  First, he was concerned that his fleet had little combined training and cohesion.  The phrase “herding cats” came to mind.  Raynott had tried to alleviate some of that by practicing maneuvers and drills as they travelled.  And he had to admit, there were signs of progress.  But some of his captains, primarily the privateers, tended to ignore orders and take whatever actions they deemed most appropriate.  Raynott knew that problem would diminish greatly when Cobb and Warhawk joined them. The privateers nearly worshipped King Vax and Cobb, and Raynott would gladly use that to his advantage.  If they didn’t always listen to the Grand Admiral of the fleet, they would slavishly follow whatever First Mate Hamish Cobb had to say.    

 

No, fleet cohesion was not his biggest worry.  Peering northward, he tried to visualize the coming battle.  It would be unlike anything Kempin had seen in a century and a half.  It promised to be an epic clash of nations.  Raynott frowned as he contemplated the conflict.  No matter who won, dozens and dozens of ships would be lost, and thousands of sailors from all sides would find themselves in Moch’s watery embrace.

 

Raynott shrugged mentally at the necessity of the pending battle.  This conflict between the Feron-Jacobe Empire and the island nation of Swaldune was just one more skirmish in a long, unfinished war.  Raynott hailed from the Empire originally and was an avid lover of naval history.  He voraciously read every account he could of the conflict.  Over 150 years ago, Swaldune had joined with the land of Norlund, forming the Cold Sea Pact with the express intent of destroying the Feron-Jacobe Empire.  Jestak and the Empire had been victorious, but Raynott knew that despite how the bards had glamourized it, it had come perilously close to losing.

 

The Empire’s victory had not come without cost, however.  It lost over three-quarters of its entire fleet in the war.  In the intervening century, the Imperial Navy had been on an outrageous building spree.  They took the philosophy of quantity over quality to heart.  Raynott shook his head.  It was an emotional response to losing so many ships.  He understood that.  But even the large Feron-Jacobe Empire could not hope to man that many ships with competent officers.  Raynott had watched in disgust as officer slots were continually filled as patronage positions – rich nobles buying commissions for themselves.  It was one of the reasons he had left the Empire himself.  He was the son of a poor barber, and had no chance to advance either on his merit or by political connections.

 

Today, the Feron-Jacobe Empire had a bloated, corrupt navy that blundered into victories, not by talent or skill, but mainly by sheer numbers alone.  But Grand Admiral Raynott was not certain that numbers would be enough to win the day this time.

 

Swaldune was an island steeped in magic and arcana.  But its greatest martial strength was its unique naval unit – the dragon ship.  The ship itself was nearly irrelevant.  The real threat came from the tamed and trained dragon each one carried.  The magical beasts caused havoc as they flew through the air and rained fire down on their enemies. 

 

Despite his desire to present a calm demeanor to his crew, Raynott could not help but shiver.  Baron Stonehill and the Night Owl engineers had done what they could to equip the Eldermont ships with weapons and defenses against the beasts.  But Raynott knew how vulnerable any sailing ship was to fire.  It was a sailor’s worst nightmare.  Even with the combined might of Kempin’s navies, Raynott knew that the Swalduni dragons would burn a large swath through those ships of wood, tar and sailcloth. 

 

The Grand Admiral shook such thoughts away and bared his teeth in what only a fool would call a smile.  Yes, death and fire awaited many in the days ahead.  But Noster Raynott happily sailed his armada straight into the coming danger.  There was no place on Kempin that he would rather be than in the midst of this coming battle.  General Vott Ornsson commanded the King’s Men on behalf of Eldermont.  The Heroes of Eldermont fought the strange, magical threats to the nation.  But the sea, the sea was his domain.  On board this ship, commanding this navy, was how Noster Raynott would serve his king.  Defeating the soulless Swalduni at sea was how Raynott would repay the trust that King Vax had shown him.  And if he died in the doing, so be it.  It would be a death in service to his king and country.  It would be a death in which to be proud.

 

Just then, a sailor in the crow’s nest announced that the Warhawk was in sight, coming to rendezvous with the fleet.  Raynott smiled again.  He raised his voice and shouted to his crew.  “Men!  Now that Mr. Cobb has deigned to join us, signal the fleet to make our best speed northward.”  He took the cutlass off his belt and pointed it north.  “And be quick about it!  I missed lunch, and intend to have dragon meat for dinner!”