Dawn broke gray and sullen over the beach.
The storm had retreated to a brooding presence on the horizon, leaving behind a littered shore of driftwood, torn sailcloth, and the rotting carcasses of the sea serpents.
The crew worked in silence at first, dragging logs, lashing beams, stitching canvas, each movement stiff from wounds and exhaustion.
Jax directed from the center of the raft frame, hands raw from rope burns.
The structure was simple but sturdy: a wide platform of lashed timbers, low rails of driftwood, a single mast from a long spar, and a square sail made from scavenged cloth.
Eurylochus hauled the heaviest beams, sweat cutting tracks through the salt on his face.
“Strong enough for eight,” he grunted.
“But the sea won’t care about our knots if Poseidon wants us.”
Jax tested a lashing with a hard pull.
“It’ll hold. We’re not crossing oceans yet, just reaching Aeolus’s island. One step at a time.”
Leucothea climbed the mast to secure the sail.
“Wind’s shifting. We’ll have a following breeze if we launch soon.”
Philocrates flexed his bandaged side.
“I can row if needed. Just don’t ask me to swim.”
Mentes organized supplies into waterproof bundles.
“Food for ten days. Water for five. After that… we fish or starve.”
Jax pulled up the crew status.
They were battered.
But they were ready.
The tide rose.
The crew pushed the raft into the shallows, then climbed aboard.
Packs secured.
Weapons close.
Jax took the steering oar.
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Eurylochus stood at the mast.
Leucothea watched the horizon.
They shoved off.
The beach receded.
The Horse wreckage shrank.
The raft rocked gently at first.
Then the wind filled the sail.
They moved.
For an hour, the sea was almost kind.
Waves rolled beneath them.
The cliff path disappeared behind a headland.
Then the horizon changed.
A dark shape appeared, low, sleek, bronze ram glinting.
A war-galley.
Poseidon cultists.
Red cloaks. Trident banners.
They had been waiting.
Eurylochus pointed.
“Cultists! They’ve seen us!”
Jax gripped the oar.
“Brace! They’re faster. We can’t outrun them. We fight.”
The galley closed quickly.
Archers lined the deck.
A tall captain in scale armor stood at the prow, trident raised.
The first volley of arrows arced high.
Most fell short.
A few thudded into the raft.
Philocrates returned fire.
One arrow found a cultist throat.
Leucothea nocked another.
“Twenty on that ship. At least.”
Jax activated [Basic Command].
“Eurylochus, hold the front! Philocrates, Leucothea, pick off archers! Everyone else, brace for boarding!”
The galley rammed close.
Grapples flew.
Cultists swung across.
The first boarder landed on the raft.
Eurylochus met him shield-first, crushing the man back into the sea.
Jax darted forward, dagger flashing.
He cut a rope, sending two boarders splashing.
A cultist with a trident lunged at him.
Jax parried, twisted, slashed the man’s throat.
The captain roared from the galley prow.
“Kill the sacker! Poseidon demands his blood!”
The fight became chaos.
Crew and cultists clashed on the raft.
Wood splintered.
Blood slicked the deck.
Polites took a spear to the shoulder.
Screamed.
Mentes clubbed the attacker down.
Leucothea danced between enemies, blade precise.
Philocrates fired point-blank.
Jax saw the captain preparing a massive throw with his trident.
Lightning crackled along the tines.
Jax shouted.
“Eurylochus, cover me!”
He climbed the mast.
Leaped.
The trident flew.
Jax twisted mid-air.
The weapon grazed his side, burning like fire.
He landed on the galley deck.
Rolled.
Came up behind the captain.
One slash.
The man turned too late.
Dagger found the gap in scale armor.
The captain fell.
Lightning died.
The remaining cultists faltered.
Some jumped overboard.
Others surrendered.
The galley drifted.
The raft bumped alongside.
The crew boarded the galley.
Cultists dead or fled.
The ship was theirs.
Better than any raft.
Bronze ram.
Oars.
Sails.
Stores of food and water.
Jax stood on the deck, blood on his dagger, side burning from the trident graze.
Eurylochus clapped his shoulder.
“You jumped a god-damned ship. Madman.”
Jax gave a tired smile.
“Had to. We needed a real boat.”
Leucothea pointed south.
“Aeolus’s island is that way. Floating. Impossible to miss.”
Philocrates bound his new wound.
“We live. That’s what matters.”
Mentes already rummaged the galley’s kitchen.
“Real food. Finally.”
Jax looked at the horizon.
The storm had retreated further.
But the sky still watched.
A blue window appeared.
Jax gripped the rail.
“South. Aeolus. Winds. Home.”
The galley turned.
Sails filled.
They moved.
The sea opened before them.
Chapter 6 done - from rickety raft to captured war galley in one brutal fight!
Jax's mid-air leap onto the enemy deck? Iconic. The crew holding the line, turning the tide... morale at 90% feels earned.
What hit hardest? The boarding chaos? The captain's lightning trident? Or just the sheer satisfaction of stealing Poseidon's ship? Let me know in the comments - I devour every one!
- Level 54! Cunning 102, Leadership 88 (Jax is peaking)
- New Title: Bane of Cultists (+10% vs divine minions - handy)
- Poseidon’s Favor: -25 (he's *not* happy)
- Quest at 90% - Aeolus next, winds incoming
Poll time!
With a proper galley under their feet and Aeolus’s island on the horizon, what should the crew prioritize upon arrival?
Arriving at Aeolus’s island: What's the crew's top priority?
