[Alcarillo]

Captain Vórimandur watched the king move down the pier to his flagship, speaking with his assistant and the ship's captain. Vórimandur soon became disinterested and turned his attention to the last report on the Ráca's supplies. It sat on his desk, and Vórimandur moved from the window and to his cushioned stool, and his eyes passed over the last paperwork before sailing to Umbar. Written in the neat, tight handwriting of the purser was an account of every single nail to sail aboard the ship. His mind drifted away from the dull matter at hand and soon he was thinking of the great naval battles he would take part in, how he would avenge the sinking of the Telpelingwë, and how he would bring undying glory to him and his crew, and how the name of the Ráca would one day be immortal, forever read about by schoolchildren in their history lessons. Yes, they would one day read about how Captain Vórimandur burned the Corsair flagship and slew its cruel captain, and reduced the Lords of Umbar to client kings, paying golden tribute to Gondor each year in their shame. They would read his great tales and his memory would never be forgotten.

A horn blew somewhere on the docks, and men began to shout. Captain Vórimandur was knocked out of his reverie and hastily signed the supply notice with his favorite pen. He stood and adjusted Sercendil at his side. This was an important occasion that required one to look his best. He took a deep breath and left his lavish office at the stern, moving through the ship. Sailors and soldiers saluted as he passed. Oh, it was good to be sailing again, to have the wind at one's back and adventure laid before your feet. Captain Vórimandur climbed a flight of stairs, and emerged into the sun. He stood on the quarterdeck, and the crew seemed to know now to sail and only anticipated his command. He gave it:

"Set sail!"

With that the sailors leapt into the rigging, moving as deft as spiders in a web. Captain Vórimandur always secretly envied their skill, for when he was only a sailor of the lowest rank he was assigned to duties on and below deck, and never could climb like his peers. But he was a captain and would not let such desires get in the way of his duties. He saw Caradhril, who instantly took his place at the helm. "Follow the King's ship!" He called. "Aye, sir!" was the reply. By now sails were unfurled, and the ship sailed from the pier, part of the great armada to Umbar.

Captain Vórimandur saw Morgond about to go below deck. "Morgond! Come! Have you gathered the sailors on the docks."

Morgond approached. He was a tall man with a large build, larger than Vórimandur and most of the other crewmembers. Vórimandur trusted him; he had been the Master-at-Arms for some years now and had never erred. "Aye, sir," he said, saluting, "About ten or so sailors and a few soldiers. Caught some by the tavern."

"Good, Morgond," Vórimandur gazed towards Harlond receding behind them, "Bring them to my office in an hour. I want a word with them."

"Aye, sir."