Flight from Barmwich
John Evenwood sat on the deck of his ship looking out over Barmwich Bay as his men went about their duties. He had seen the Bay a thousand times in his travels and the knowledge that he may never return set deep in his stomach like a stone conjured by some crazed sorcerer.
The magic wards that once protected the city had failed and chaos had fallen on the inhabitants. He had only just made it back to his ship as the sun sank below the mountains of Uthrod’s Lands on the north side of the Bay. The flames consuming the city were visible even from a few thousand feet out on the water.
He turned his attention back to the ship as his first mate approached with large, heavy steps that could be felt from a good distance away.
“Grug, how goes the crews progress?” Evenwood asked as the behemoth of an Ogre walked up the stairs gingerly.
“The crew is worried about leaving at night, Captain. They think it’s bad luck. A few of them want to cross the bay and drop anchor for the night.” Grug replied, adjusting the cap that made his intelligence possible.
“I know all about bad luck.” Evenwood replied, producing the charm necklace he kept beneath his tunic. “There would be far worse luck staying too close to the city tonight. We may as well disembark and head for the north-lands. Thymora will look favorably on us as Helm protects us.
“We should reach the borders of Uthrod’s lands by morning, then we can take our rest. I’m sure Uthrod is already expecting the refugees from Barmwich.”