A couple of well placed fireballs...yes. That was easily done. It would save many a mage all their energy in case they needed to prepare for a real assault. Umi smiled and bowed lightly as Captain Shankland gave his orders. "Aye, Captain. It shall be done."
The king turned heel and moved to toward the crowd waiting on the side of the ship. Clearing his throat, he made eye contact with a olive-skinned female elf with her wiry black hair full of feather and beads. She stood at the ready, taller and perhaps more assured than many others though a great number of the Nambuvians seemed poised for battle. Umi appeared to relay his orders to her, for she immediately turned and began to bark commands. Like oil to water, the elves split the crowd in half, allowing two to come forward to the centre.
The two elves turned to face one another, and - like a reflection on the water - moved in perfect time to spread their legs shoulder width apart, drop their hips, and outstretch their arms so that their palms pressed together. Their comrades around them quieted to a respectful murmur. The couple's eyes did not leave one another's faces, and one by one, their backs stiffened and their chests swelled with deep breaths. Unexpectedly, no powerful sound burst forth from them, but a soft, steady percussive stream of hot air and syllables began to spill from their lips like a warm brook. Their voices began to swell and rise with a darkness that swam through the air like a serpent with notes agile and flickering. Following the movement of their sound, between them, the air began to ripple and shimmer with heat. The pace of their words picked up as did the fluctuations of their volumes and notes, in a series of runs before their voices raised to nearly a shout, before suddenly dropping to a whisper. At once, a bright little flame appeared and danced between its creators.
"Beautiful", Tawny whispered. Many others were silent. She could not take her eyes off the display, transfixed.
Back and forth in tandem, the elves leaned in and whispered heated words to the flame in a steady, complicated rhythm. Fed by their encouragement, it swelled and swirled with brilliant orange and gold until it was larger than a horse's head. The elves separated and turned to face the ocean, but each held out one hand as if tethered to the flame on a lead. Their song leaped back and forth between them in a furious, but controlled duet. As they sang, they swung the flame between them, back and forth, slowly at first, and each swing deeper than the last until, finally, they released a deep, short primal note from deep within their guts and flung the fireball forward. As if it had a mind of its own, it arched beautifully over the sea and splashed onto the mainsail of the Thrain vessel, saturating it with amber and tendrils of black smoke.