v. 0.0.1 - Added: Earth Walker 3 mana 4/2 Grow: +1/+1
v. 0.0.16 - Stats changed to 3/3.
The hold of the marauders' ship was a maze of metal bars and woven wooden slats, pathways opening and closing with the play of light and shadow through the top hatch. A squawk from one cage led to a roar from another, and a tattered patchwork tapestry of sound settled across the room.
One by one the caged creatures roused, turning circles or hiding heads beneath wings, poking holes in the cacophony with their silence before the sound fell to shreds. The ship rolled gently in the surf, timbers creaking.
From a dark corner came a keening, whistling cry. The gallery held its breath. Somewhere in the labyrinth, clawed feet trampled splinters.
The sailors were amused by the little spiky shelled creature stomping its way around the bottom of the barrel where they had trapped it. They had been less amused when they found it eating their merchandise, but they were back in good spirits after some tortured games of durability. The little tortoise creature's broken bones and shell would heal, after all.
Morning found broken staves and bent metal hoops, but no beast. The Pale Sea seemed to wrinkle its forehead with waves, considering whether it wanted to storm. By the time the ship was ready, the barrel was forgotten. Thunder rumbled through the night, hiding the stillness of the hold.
The next day was inspection. The first mate went below to check the beasts at noon.
Four hours later, the first mate had not returned for his watch. The second mate went into the hold to search. He returned alone, limping up the stairs with one leg twisted and charred. The hold was empty, he said, empty but for horror and flame.
The sailors gathered on the deck in a silent ring around the hatch, the sun at their backs as they peered into the darkness. The wan light faded to gray. The deck warped, bloated with force from below. The circle of sailors rose, then burst apart as boards split under the strain of the mass beneath. Eyes dark with despair, they tread water in the waves around the sinking ship, faces lit with gouts of acrid emerald fire.
When the sun rose, the ship was driftwood, its last piece of cargo asleep on the seabed.