Dawn came slowly through the storm, gray light filtering across the black sand beach and turning the rain into a fine, cold mist.
The group stirred beneath the shelter of the Horse’s broken hull, stiff from cold and restless sleep, their breath visible in small clouds.
Jax had taken the final watch, eyes never leaving the distant lights of the village that had flickered through the night like a promise and a warning.
He crouched near the fire they had coaxed from damp wood and scavenged cloth, the small flames barely pushing back the chill.
The crew gathered around him, Eurylochus, Philocrates, Mentes, Leucothea, Polites, and young Elpenor, faces drawn from exhaustion but sharpened by necessity.
Jax spoke first, voice low but clear over the wind.
“The village is close enough to reach before full light. We move fast, strike quiet, take what we need, food, water, rope, sails if we find them, and leave before they can organize a counterattack.”
Eurylochus nodded slowly, rubbing his hands over the fire.
“Cicones land. They’ll have stores from the harvest, maybe livestock. But they’ll fight. They always do when strangers come with blades.”
Jax met his gaze.
“Then we don’t give them time to rally. In and out. No burning. No unnecessary killing. We’re not here to sack another city, we’re here to survive.”
Leucothea leaned forward, her scout armor still damp.
“I can take point. I know the paths from the raid maps. There’s a small orchard on the western edge, easy cover, low guards.”
Philocrates flexed his bandaged side.
“I can cover from the ridge if my bow holds. Arrows are low, but I’ll make them count.”
Mentes spoke up, voice gruff.
“Food first. Grain, olives, whatever keeps. We can’t sail on empty bellies.”
Jax nodded, then pulled up the crew interface mentally.
The blue box appeared, faint in the dawn light.
“Good,” he said aloud.
“We move in formation. Eurylochus and I lead. Philocrates and Leucothea flank. Polites and Elpenor guard the rear with Mentes. Stay low. Stay quiet. If it goes wrong, we fall back to the beach, no heroics.”
Eurylochus gave a grim smile.
“No heroics. Not like Troy.”
Jax felt the weight behind the words, but he let it pass.
There would be time for old grudges later.
Right now, they needed supplies.
He stood, armor clanking softly.
“Dawn’s our window. Let’s go.”
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The crew rose, weapons in hand, faces set with grim determination.
They moved out into the mist, shadows among shadows.
The path to Ismarus wound along the coast, a narrow trail of packed earth and broken rock that hugged the cliffs.
Mist clung to everything, muting sound and sight, turning the world into shades of gray.
Jax led with Eurylochus at his side, both men moving low, eyes scanning the terrain for patrols.
Leucothea darted ahead, scout training keeping her steps silent.
She returned twice, once to warn of a goat herder (avoided), once to point out a hidden stream (filled waterskins).
The village appeared through the mist after an hour’s march.
Low stone houses clustered around a central square, smoke rising from chimneys, the faint smell of baking bread drifting on the wind.
A wooden palisade ringed the settlement, not high, but enough to slow raiders.
Two watchtowers stood at the gates, each manned by a single Cicones warrior.
Jax signaled a halt behind a line of olive trees.
The crew crouched, breathing shallow.
“Two guards,” he whispered.
“Leucothea, Philocrates, take the towers. Silent if possible. The rest of us go for the western storehouse. Grain and olives first.”
Eurylochus nodded.
“I’ll cover the square. If they raise the alarm, we run.”
Jax activated [Nobody’s Guile] for the group, the skill stretching thin but holding.
Shadows deepened around them.
Leucothea and Philocrates slipped away like ghosts.
Minutes later, two soft thuds sounded, bodies dropping from the towers.
Jax led the rush.
They moved through the gate, past sleeping houses, straight for the storehouse.
The door was barred but not locked.
Inside, sacks of grain lined the walls, amphorae of oil and olives stacked neatly.
Mentes’s eyes lit up.
“Enough for weeks,” he breathed.
They loaded packs quickly, grain, olives, dried fish, a coil of good rope.
Jax kept one eye on the door.
Then voices.
Outside.
Close.
A patrol, four Cicones warriors, spears in hand, returning from night rounds.
They froze when they saw the open storehouse door.
“Thieves!” one shouted.
Jax cursed under his breath.
“Form up! Defensive line!”
Eurylochus stepped forward, shield raised.
Polites and Elpenor flanked him.
Philocrates and Leucothea returned at a run, arrows nocked.
The Cicones charged.
Jax activated [Basic Command].
He darted to the side, dagger flashing.
First warrior thrust, Jax parried, countered, opened the man’s throat.
Eurylochus bashed another with his shield, stunning him long enough for Polites to finish.
Leucothea loosed an arrow into the third.
Philocrates followed with a second shot.
The last warrior turned to run.
Mentes, quiet Mentes, threw his spear.
It took the man in the back.
Silence fell, broken only by panting breaths and the drip of blood on stone.
Jax wiped his dagger.
“Pack faster. They’ll come looking.”
The crew moved quickly, stuffing sacks into makeshift bundles.
No time for more.
Alarms began to sound, horns from the village center, shouts rising in the distance.
Doors opened.
Lights flared in windows.
Jax signaled retreat.
“Back to the beach. Double time.”
They ran, packs heavy on their shoulders, through the mist and olive groves.
The path back felt longer, every step weighed by the burden of stolen supplies and fresh blood.
Behind them, pursuit grew louder.
Footsteps. Shouts.
A spear whistled past Jax’s ear, embedding in a tree.
Eurylochus turned at the rear, shield raised.
“Keep moving! I’ll slow them!”
Jax grabbed his arm.
“No one stays behind.”
They ran together.
The crew reached the cliffs, mist thickening as they descended the narrow trail.
A final arrow from Philocrates felled the lead pursuer.
The rest hesitated at the cliff edge.
The group reached the beach, lungs burning, legs shaking.
They collapsed behind the Horse wreckage, packs dropped, breaths ragged.
Jax checked the crew.
No deaths.
But Polites had taken a shallow cut to the leg.
Elpenor’s shoulder bled from a glancing spear.
He knelt, bandaging quickly.
“Hold still. We’re safe for now.”
Eurylochus leaned against the hull, breathing hard.
“We got what we needed. But we spilled blood. Again.”
Jax met his eyes.
“We did what we had to. No lingering. No greed. That’s the difference.”
The big man nodded slowly.
“For now.”
Lightning flashed again.
Thunder rolled closer.
Jax looked out at the sea.
The storm had not relented.
If anything, it had grown angrier.
A massive wave crashed higher than before, foam reaching almost to the wreckage.
Jax gripped his dagger.
“We have supplies. We have a crew. Now we need a ship.”
The thunder answered with a deep, mocking laugh.
Chapter 4 down, the raid was fast, bloody, and efficient... but it left blood on everyone's hands again.
How did the crew's first "real" operation feel? Did Jax's "in and out, no greed" rule hold up, or is this just Troy 2.0 with smaller stakes?
Thoughts on the new crew members stepping up (Leucothea scouting, Mentes throwing spears like a boss)? And Eurylochus holding the line, trust building or still shaky?
Quick updates (no full stat dump, saving that for bigger milestones):
- Crew Morale up to 70% (small win)
- Shared XP flowing - everyone's progressing slowly
- Poseidon’s Wrath escalating... sea debuff incoming. Buckle up.
With supplies in hand and Poseidon’s Wrath building, what should Jax and the crew prioritize next?
