Ruho shot up out of the bath, water cascading off his body. "PIRATES?!" His voice echoed off the marble walls. "WHAT DO YOU MEAN PIRATES?! ON MY ISLAND?!"
"SIT YOUR ASS BACK DOWN IN THE WATER!" Azirel's voice was sharp and commanding. "Nobody wants to see your junk hanging out in the open! You're naked! NAKED!"
"I DON'T CARE ABOUT BEING NAKED!" Ruho shouted back, already climbing out of the bath, water pooling on the marble floor. "There are PIRATES on my island! Pirates with weapons! Pirates who probably want to kill me!"
"If you don't sit back down and cover yourself, I'm not telling you any details," Azirel threatened. "I'll just let you figure it out yourself when they show up at your castle door."
"You wouldn't—"
"Try me."
Ruho stood there, dripping wet, completely naked, and realized Azirel was absolutely serious. He looked around the bathroom frantically. "Fine! FINE! Give me something to wear then! Where are my clothes?!"
"Your clothes are covered in blood and ripped to shreds," Azirel pointed out. "They're basically garbage at this point."
"Then where are the NEW clothes?! Vexor built this whole castle! Surely he included clothes!"
"I mean, there are probably some in the wardrobes in the bedrooms," Azirel said. "But you'd have to go find them, and you're currently naked in a bathroom, so..."
"VEXOR!" Ruho shouted at the ceiling. "VEXOR, I NEED CLOTHES!"
Silence. No response. The divine presence that usually manifested when Ruho called wasn't there.
"He's not here," Azirel said. "Probably busy with other projects. It's just you and me right now, buddy."
Ruho groaned, a sound of pure frustration that came from somewhere deep in his soul. He looked around the bathroom desperately. There hanging on a hook near the door, was a towel. A single, large bath towel that looked like it was made of some expensive medieval fabric.
He grabbed it and wrapped it around his waist, securing it as tightly as he could. It barely covered him to mid-thigh, and he felt ridiculous, but it was better than nothing.
"There," he said through gritted teeth. "I'm covered. Happy?"
"Ecstatic," Azirel said dryly. "Now sit down. This is going to take a while to explain."
Ruho sat on the edge of the bath, his feet still in the warm water, the towel clinging to his wet skin. "Talk. Tell me about these pirates."
Azirel's presence settled into explanation mode, his voice taking on that clinical tone he used when delivering bad news. "Okay. So. The pirates you're dealing with are called the Holura Pirates. And before you ask, yes, they're as bad as they sound. Worse, actually."
"How bad?"
"Rape, pillage, genocide, the whole historical pirate package except somehow more terrible," Azirel explained. "These aren't your romanticized 'Pirates of the Caribbean' types. They're legitimate monsters. They raid coastal settlements, enslave populations, burn entire villages just for fun. They traffic in drugs, weapons, and people. They've got a reputation across multiple archipelagos for being the absolute worst kind of seafaring criminals."
Ruho felt his stomach drop. "And they're HERE? On MY island?"
"Well, near your island," Azirel corrected. "Let me explain the geography situation. You're on what's technically one of the most remote islands in this entire world. The Quartet Archipelago is way out in the middle of nowhere, it's so far from major civilization that most people don't even know it exists. Your specific island, Verdant Reach, has never had human or humanoid settlement before. The Redlizarders—sorry, kobolds—are in the mountains on the other side, but they keep to themselves. Nobody comes here. It's too remote, too dangerous, too full of megafauna that will eat you."
"So why are pirates here NOW?" Ruho asked, already dreading the answer.
"Because they found it," Azirel said simply. "Pirates have good navigation. Really good navigation. And the Holura Pirates in particular are known for finding remote locations that nobody else knows about. They use them as bases. Drug ports, specifically, places to manufacture and store illegal substances away from any law enforcement. And also, they hunt the local fauna."
"Hunt the fauna?" Ruho repeated. "Why?"
"Rare hides," Azirel explained. "Megafauna on remote islands like this one have unique evolutionary adaptations. Their hides, bones, organs, all of it is valuable on the black market. Gigantosuchus hide? That's worth a fortune. Blood hound pelts? Extremely valuable for armor crafting. These pirates aren't just here to set up a drug port. They're here to kill as many rare creatures as they can and harvest them for profit."
Ruho thought about the Gigantosuchus corpse still lying on his plateau, mostly drained but with valuable hide and bones still attached. "So they're going to find my plateau."
"Eventually, yeah," Azirel confirmed. "The corpse is a beacon for scavengers, remember? And pirates are basically organized scavengers with boats. They'll find it, they'll see someone already killed it, and they'll start asking questions about who's on this island."
"How many pirates are we talking about?" Ruho asked, his voice quiet.
"That's where it gets complicated," Azirel said. "The Holura Pirates aren't a single unified group. The name is more of an ideology. A brand, basically. Let me break down the etymology for you—'Holru' means 'to travel by water' in an old nautical language. 'Lura' means 'to kill.' And 'Holu' means 'group.' Put it all together and you get something like 'group that travels by water to kill.' Very on-the-nose, I know."
"So it's just a general term for asshole pirates?"
"Exactly. Some jackass centuries ago trademarked the name and the ideology, and now any pirate crew that wants to signal they're particularly terrible uses the Holura banner. There are dozens of different crews, all operating independently, all using the same name and reputation. They're like franchises. Terrible, murderous franchises."
Ruho's grip on his towel tightened. "How many ships?"
There was a pause. A long, uncomfortable pause.
"Azirel," Ruho said slowly. "How many ships are coming to my island?"
"Two," Azirel said quietly. "I'm tracking two ships that just made landfall on the southern coast. About fifteen kilometers from your plateau. They've already started setting up camp."
Ruho sat there, dripping wet, wearing nothing but a towel, in his absurdly large castle bathroom, and tried to process this information.
Pirates. Actual pirates. Two ships worth of murderers, slavers, and criminals. On his island. Fifteen kilometers away.
"Fuck," he whispered.
"Yeah," Azirel agreed. "Fuck."