Thorvald barely noticed in time as the young witcher struck his serpent thrall with a sword of silver. He quickly commanded the serpent to move, but the beast was slow. The sword slashed across its face, not a mortal blow but certainly one that hurt. The serpent writhed and bellowed, but remained pushing the boat for the last few metres. Sailing through the air came a small bomb on an arrow. Thorvald took note of the archery skill of the witcher who fired it, before the bomb struck the serpent with an explosion of dimeterium. That accursed material, Thorvald narrowed his eyes and growled. Temporarily out of the control of the runed stone, the serpent stopped pushing the boat and thrashed around. The fire, the swords, the arrows, and the bloody werewolf on its back were becoming too much. It wanted easier prey, and so swam down deep into the water, and out towards the sea. The stubborn werewolf remained on its back, but Thorvald didn't care. The creature would almost certainly drown, and the serpent would bleed out from its injuries. None of it mattered, for he had suceeded. The young witcher stood alone in a tiny boat surrounded by skellige raiding ships. The rains slowed, and the mists grew thicker, as Thorvald strode to the edge of his ship and looked down at the witcher. Other raiders held spears and bows, all pointed at the boy. "There is no escape, boy" Thorvald bellowed "Let us take you aboard, or prepare to bleed"