Call Me Hermiad

From Anthony:


Call me Hermiad. No particular reason, except that is my name. My tale is not one of courage or might, but of survival. Months on the open north seas can be treacherous, lonely, and did I mention treacherous? Icebergs, dire polar bears, chilling winds, months without resupply, and no destination on the horizon; save that of hope. But this particular tale centers on my adventure, nay obsession, with keeping my clan protected from the most nefarious sea threat of them all: zombie penguins.

Our first encounter with these foul beasts was a month out of Hyboria. We had grown accustomed to seeing pods of spinning dolphins and flocks of gull birds following our ship. A careful arrow shot or spear could feed the boat for a meal. These were considered a delicacy, as most of our diet was rotting meat and the occasional net of fish. But gradually fewer birds were to be found, fish would turn up dead in our path, and the dolphins nonexistent. Then one day a dark fog encircled the boats. Having not eaten in several days, the watches were frantically hunting some form of food. Unbeknownst to us, we were the food.

The first cry of "dahl-feen" from the lead boat sounded of cheer as if prayers were answered. Bowmen and chuckers readied their weapons only to be caught by surprise -- these were not dolphins at all. A mighty froth quieted only to let forth a binary explosion of black and white. Dozens of forms engulfed the lead ship, sliding on their bellies along the decks only to stand up and show their ghastly true forms. Sleek in body they almost had a beauty of form and function to their design -- this ruined by grotesque disfigurement of their faces. Their heads bore fire red eyes and partially decomposed flesh surrounded jagged sharp beaks; these were of unnatural origin. Voraciously they attacked the lead boat crew jumping, pecking, and clawing with a ferocity the departed were not prepared for. Dozens were lost in the first barrage and scant hope of survival for the rest. The other ships in the flotilla, ours included, prepared for a counter strike, but at this time there was no need. In a final act of selflessness the captain lit his own vessel ablaze, taking the zombie horde to the briny deep along with himself and his ship. We could do little but watch in horror.

As we had the best fighting crew in the fleet, we took the lead, prepared for the next go-round with the undead sea creatures. The quiet did not last long, but at least we were prepared. I took an elevated position on a swing chair in the rigging with 200 arrows ready to loose. My comrades in arms were ready as well, but those are their stories to tell. The sea churned forth once again, warning of the evil hell about to spawn. Our warlord prepared the ship by constructing higher walls on the front and sides so that the enemy could only board from the rear. He referred to this strategy as an inverted soupson flank. Now I could direct my fire in one direction and once out of arrows, rope slide into the middle of the melee and continue.

The plan worked to perfection. At first the devil birds smashed into our improved walls. Unable to engulf the deck they attempted to attack in the only way open to them: our trap. The first kill was a mid-air shot as the beasts shot out of the water, but this victory was not to be savored. Immediately I fired another and another almost continuously. The zombie corpses littered our wake, but only a few had managed to get onto deck where they were quickly dispatched by our brutes. The second wave burst forth in greater numbers and this time we were not so lucky. I decimated their numbers, but our deck was quickly consumed by the black and white beasts. Our fighters held their own, though. I bought them time and with time, they finished off the horde with minimal losses. After three more assaults we grew weary, but also had a greater concern.

My supply of arrows was dreadfully low. While I longed to enter the melee, I was the only one keeping the surge from overtaking the ship. For every one I killed, it blocked the passage of three more, leaving only a dozen or so to be dealt with at a time. But this could not last. Our cleric and paladin were able to turn away some of the groups that were in greater numbers, but even that could not continue unless we could rest. We got a cabin boy named Budd to make me arrows as fast as he could, but that might buy me twenty or more shots before we were done for.

That's when, by chance, I noticed a curious anomaly in their attack. Each wave seemed to follow a larger penguin into battle. Most of the time, I would miss the leader but pick off the trailing wave which would clog the entrance. My mistake had been shooting at them as they emerged from the water -- usually too late to hit the leader but catching the followers mid-air or on deck (which then clogged their ability to land more on our ship). But alas, I noticed the sea would turn from deep blue to grey an instant before the froth and subsequent launching of the zombie penguins. Acting on instinct, I fired one of my precious remaining arrows at this spot. It caught one of the leader zombies in the throat, who then surfaced slightly only to go limp and sink. To my amazement, the throng of followers proceeded to follow their leader mindlessly downward. I tested the theory on the next attack with the same result. If I could get the leader of each wave before they launched, we could survive this.

Quickly the entire ship changed focus from prepared defense, to making me arrows and getting other archers into the rigging. Word was passed to all the remaining boats, who did likewise. For three more days I stayed up there killing dozens more of the large leaders, but no more zombies ever made it aboard. On the fourth day, the soupy fog broke to a beautiful clear sky. Once more, gulls were visible and started following our convoy. The attacks abated entirely and we could rest easily, knowing we were -- at least for the moment -- safe.

Later our scholars and mages proposed that the zombie penguins were the guard force for a necromancer on his own island. The larger ones were the only ones with sight (or at least good enough vision to lead the groups up onto the ships). Their explanations made sense from both a practical and archanic sense -- and were good enough for most to sleep well, knowing the danger was behind us. However, it is not enough for me. I will not rest fully until we are on dry land. Until then, I will keep a constant vigil up atop the rigging searching for that shadowy sign that slippery, pecking death approaches.