Doran is startled at first when the makaru releases him, and badly wounded enough that he considers fleeing for his life, but he knows his friends are depending on him. He grits his teeth and splashes through the water, hoping to get close to the monstrous beast and strike it while his crewmates have it distracted.
The water and his wounds combine to make him clumsy at first, and a massive tentacle swings at his head, but he ducks just in time to avoid it. A surge of adrenaline helps him to find his feet, and he nimbly dives into the shallows by the creature’s side, coming out of the water with a knife in each hand. His surge through the water brings him to his feet and he focuses on the thing’s rubbery hide. He strikes fiercely where one of the tentacles joins the body, figuring it must be a vulnerable spot, cutting deep into its flesh.
Vrunyar knows his companions are in precarious positions, especially those held by the writing tentacles of this beast from the depths of the ocean. Where else could it be from except some watery hell? He runs through the water to get into a better position for an axe attack, hoping he can get one more bolt fired before bringing out his battleaxe. Plus I’ll be close by if Thorn, Wyn, or John needs an extract, he thinks.
"The tentacle," Aaron calls out, at the same time reloading his crossbow and taking aim at the creature's tentacle holding John. "Cut it off, quickly!"
"Release the man, hurt the beast," he mutters softly, almost absentmindedly, to himself as he lets loose another bolt, the small projectile flying unerringly and embedding itself deep into the creature's flesh, right where the tentacle meets the main body, and inflicting a deep wound through skin and muscle and nerve. "Two birds with one stone and all that..."
The crossbow bolt slams into the makaru, apparently hitting some sensitive spot. The tentacle that grasps John begins to flail wildly and quickly goes limp. Blood and ichor ooze from the wound as John frees himself from the suddenly-still tentacle.
Vrunyar is about to yell out to John that he has an healing extract for him, when he thinks that might be a mistake. We really need a phrase in combat so the enemy won’t understand what we’re saying when it comes to healing.
Thorn feels the grip loosen from around his body slightly as he fell back into the water along with the tentacle. John had severed the tentacle from the Makaru's body providing Thorn the ability to free himself. Thorn roared with anger as he threw his arms outward to uncoil the tentacle from around his body with sheer force. The rage still filled to the brim and at the tipping point causes Thorn to act in haste before recalculating the scenario. "Damn you Makaru, I will kill you! Thorn drops to a knee to grab his sword from beneath the water's surface. Gripping the sword firmly with both hands, Thorn forces himself up to a stand and steps closer to the Makaru ready to strike. Thorn having the sword raised high above his head and ready to deliver justice when suddenly a jolt of pain tightens in his abdominal muscles. The muscles begin cramping and locking up on him causing Thorn to release his two handed grip of the sword. The sword blade begins to fall crashing back into the water to his right side. Thorn is able to maintain hold of his weapon with his right hand but just barley as he doubles over in pain. Thorn quickly returns to one knee to allow the pain to pass.
'Bit of Luck' on Ollivor - Ollivor's next d20 roll, roll twice and take better result
He backs up away from Crimson, "Electricity? Thanks Quinn, but if you could just keep our friend here off me maybe I can close up and do something about it."
While hating to waste the bit of luck, Ollivor can't close on the thing without getting seized by a tentacle or clobbered by Cog, so after his move he flings a jolt spell at the monster hoping it hits.
Thanks to divine guidance, the bit of lightning flies and strikes the abomination, and while it starts out a spark, it cascades over the hideous form as if it were a far more powerful spell than it is.
"I hope that hurt, you bastard!"
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Fighting for his life as the purple tentacle that was covered in black veined sucker pods wrapped around him, John howled in pain. Between the constricting grasp on the fleshy limb of the unnatural creature that was wrapped around his neck choking him and the repeated bone shattering strikes to his midsection, every nerve in John's body felt like it was on fire. Hanging on for dear life as the first tentacle held him in place, John could feel the impact of Aaron's crossbow bolt as it slammed into the Makaru's tentacle with pinpoint accuracy.
Falling into the water, John felt a second attack, this one directed at his mind begin to worm it's way past the hard-bitten marines defenses. It whispered to John, it pulled on the memories of grief and loneliness and it tugged on the feelings of solitude and helplessness that John had felt, trapped aboard the Wormwood. John had done things that he was not proud of and it was by the will of the Makaru that it plunged into these feelings, heightening them, strengthen them. Something inside of John screamed out against the memories. He had conquered them. The loss of his leg. The death of his friend. The abandonment of his wife and child. But had he? The voice cooed to him with sibilant whispers, heightening the shadows, drawing back the hope. John felt frozen. He couldn't move.
Dropping into the water, John felt the water around his chest and then his neck. GIVE UP.. GIVE IN! The alien voice whispered to him, filling him with doubt and remorse. John sank lower in the water. LET THIS LIFE GO.
Wordlessly, John slipped below the water in the shadows of the submerged cavern.
Bleeding and telepathically raging at the interlopers, the makaru flies into a frenzy. It whips around its tentacles, throwing them in each direction - all the while as its smaller feeler tentacles writhe in agony. Its mental assault pulses in their heads, into their minds. The first tentacle slams into Doran, hitting him in the temple and dropping him into the water. The second hammers down upon Wyn and tries to wrap her up in its death grip. Barely conscious, she pushes back with every bit of strength that she has. Her skill at slipping away from the grasp of every slimy sailor at the bar gives her the mental discipline to prevent its wrapping around her entirely, and she quickly gets free as the tentacle tightens onto nothing.
Bleeding from nose and mouth and wracked with pain, Wyn can barely stand. Seeing John sink into the water, retreat seems a cowardly, disloyal, and fruitless option.
Yelling a wordless cry that is as much pain as it is rage, she slams her entire body into the Makaru---but hits only barnacle-covered hide. She slides off it doing no harm. Her own injuries overtaking her, she passes out, falling into the water with a mighty splash.
Crimson rushes towards Vrunyar, deftly splashing through the water as he makes his rapid approach. Vrunyar looks up as he reloads his arrow just in time to see Crimson's boot slam into his chest, cracking a bone and knocking the wind out of him. Most men would be knocked down by the powerful kick, but Vrunyar keeps his steady footing. Crimson bounces backwards, trying to regain his footing.
"Hey, ugly!" Sandara and her magical double wade through the water into the range of the makaru's flailing tentacles. "They came here to rescue us - and now they're looking for revenge!" She unleashed another exquisitely painful bout of healing. It hits the sailors - two of whom who had been knocked unconscious by the creature's powerful tentacles - like a wave of emotion: joy and hate, desire and revenge, all the perils and experiences of humanoid experience. "You want my brain? Come and get it!" Sandara goads the makaru as best she can, trying to draw its attention to her - even though she has no defenses beyond her mirror image.
Noticing John under water, Aaron takes but a moment to chase the thought of running to his aid out of his mind. The other man is too far away for him to reach, not to mention that the creature's tentacles would find a chance to strike at him if he did so. "No," he says softly to himself, as if answering his own dilemma, and once more shoots at the large aberration, his bolt finding its target yet again. He would have to trust in the others to get John to safety in time.
The last thing Doran remembers is a massive, looming tentacle, seen just out of the corner of his eye and moving impossibly fast. Now, somehow, he has awakened underwater. Instinct keeps him from drawing the deep breath he needs, and instinct causes him to duck clumsily when he raises his head above the water's surface and sees how close he is to the makaru. Fortunately, the creature's attention is focused on larger targets, and its swipe at him misses, though not by much.
He stands, his small form a bit wobbly and dripping wet but intent on putting an end to the tentacled horror that plays with minds for its own enjoyment, enslaving people more deeply than any Chell ever dreamed of. He raises his arms out to the side, waits a moment poised on the balls of his feet, then slashes hard with both daggers at the tender underside of the creature exposed as its great limbs flail about, both blades striking deep.
Not wanting to engage Crimson, Ollivor races away from him while flinging a desperate jolt of energy once more at the now heavily wounded Makaru. In truth, if he had time to think about it, he'd be utterly amazed at just how fierce Doran was there. Each of the crew, in its own way, had known desperation at one time or another, but it seemed the halfling had tapped into it and used it to guide every stroke with clarity and strength.
Unfortunately, Ollivor's burst goes too wide, flying to the side of the immense abomination.
While still on one knee and water up to his chest, Thorn tries to take shallow breaths to avoid the pain that follows from his rib cage expanding. The strain of maintaining all of his rage is wearing down on him as he can almost feel the fatigue overcome him. The sudden rush of a familiar warmth soothes the pain in his body once more. Thorn pray to Erastil "Erastil I call upon you to grant me the accuracy to find my mark and bless me with the luck to fulfill my task to vanquish this evil beast. Thorn regained a two handed grip and fond the slash he made earlier targeting in on the mark before uncoiling like a spring. "DIE MONSTER! Time to go back to the depths from which you came." Rising up from the water like a geyser using the remaining rage harnessed in his body his blade slashed deep through its previous mark but digging deeper than before. Thorn twisted in the air with the momentum he generated and landed on his feet now facing away from the Makaru. Thorn knew he had scored a fatal wound and their task was now complete.
Thorn yelled out as he scanned the cave "IS EVERYONE OK"
The dying makaru unleashes a psychic scream that washes over the crew, doubling them over in mental anguish. They see visions and touch knowledge that they should know. Deep in the ocean, they know that something ancient and evil stirs from a slumber. As the psychic tendrils seep into their minds, they know that the slain makaru is just one of countless sharing a single mind of overwhelming power - and that it's taken a greater interest in humanity since the one of them fought off its incutilis puppets for several years. The neural pathways burn, releasing knowledge and skills into their minds from a thousand thousand slaves under the water. The visions and pain seem to last hours - but it is over in just a moment.
As the psychic trauma subsides, the makaru thrashes and writhes as it dies. The still-standing members of the crew pull up their injured comrades out of the water. John's paralysis and Crimson's mental domination end - as seen when Crimson pulls John out of the water. The pirate sputters his apologies to the others, begging for forgiveness for his weak will.
Suddenly, a splash echoes through the caves - then another, and another, and several more. Looking around in horror, the crew sees that the incutilis clinging to the walls have awoken and are falling all around them. Those that hit the water slowly start to move their tentacles and tendrils as they acclimate to the water - but if the crew doesn't get out of the cavern, they'll be buried amidst thousands of the creatures within moments. Sandara looks around at the others who have risked so much to rescue her and shouts, "Run!!"
Sandara's single word is enough to snap Doran out of his shocked state, stunned as he is by his own survival and the psychic explosion following the makaru's death. Blades still in hand, he rushes toward the exit, dodging falling incutilis shells as he goes, slashing through a knot of tentacles that unfurl and reach for him, knowing that if even one of them connects in his weakened state, he'll never leave this cavern.
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The dying makaru unleashes a psychic scream that washes over the crew, doubling them over in mental anguish. They see visions and touch knowledge that they should know. Deep in the ocean, they know that something ancient and evil stirs from a slumber. As the psychic tendrils seep into their minds, they know that the slain makaru is just one of countless sharing a single mind of overwhelming power - and that it's taken a greater interest in humanity since the one of them fought off its incutilis puppets for several years. The neural pathways burn, releasing knowledge and skills into their minds from a thousand thousand slaves under the water. The visions and pain seem to last hours - but it is over in just a moment.
The rush a hundred minds slams into Ollivor's psyche, threatening to bury him in a million dreams that are not his own. Yet where his mind would be easy prey, something in his blood... resists? And the memories that are stirred are anything but human, and certainly not his own.
He opened his maw and clamped down on the Wyvern's neck with fangs that put the pretender dragonling's to shame. Wyvern blood gushed in dark rivlets across the bronzed cheeks of the dragon. Herkantar shook the throat once, twice more, and then released the downed Wyvern before roaring a challenge to the rest of them, "Tell your master I am coming for him! Tell the Wyvern Wizard that swarms of his pets will not be enough to down me! My mate will be avenged and I shall bring Justice to these islands!"
And then, Herkantar opened his mouth again, and released the storm! Streams of lightning scorched the sides of the departing Wyverns that even now turned to flee. Few would make it, but a few would, and their master would know. He would know a Bronze was coming to him, and that the island fortress would be no haven from the justice of a stormbreath!
Ollivor gasps, surprised to find himself in a caves What ...what was that? Gods, I feel stronger somehow...what the hell is the Wyvern Wizard anyway?
The still-standing members of the crew pull up their injured comrades out of the water. John's paralysis and Crimson's mental domination end - as seen when Crimson pulls John out of the water. The pirate sputters his apologies to the others, begging for forgiveness for his weak will.
"Just fight as well on your own accord when we face Plugg and his lot, and all's forgiven I think, mate."
Suddenly, a splash echoes through the caves - then another, and another, and several more. Looking around in horror, the crew sees that the incutilis clinging to the walls have awoken and are falling all around them. Those that hit the water slowly start to move their tentacles and tendrils as they acclimate to the water - but if the crew doesn't get out of the cavern, they'll be buried amidst thousands of the creatures within moments. Sandara looks around at the others who have risked so much to rescue her and shouts, "Run!!"
"Don't bloody well have to tell me twice," Grabbing onto any of their party who doesn't seem strong enough to make it without help, Ollivor runs and then swims for his and whoever's life.
Despite being naturally resistant to a number of effects that assault the mind, Aaron still falters as a multitude of visions and memories almost overwhelm him. Managing to keep his wits about him, albeit barely, the pale man heeds the previously enslaved woman's urgent warning and does exactly that; he runs, just as a veritable rain of the smaller aberrations starts falling down all around them, threatening to bury them if they do anything else other than hurry to get out of the cavern.
A pair of hands, not his own. A pair of curved swords, not his own.
"Wh... What?" The single word, a question, is muttered ever so softly, his momentary lapse in focusing on what is happening almost causing him his balance and, consequently, perhaps even his life.
A swordsman's dance, the movements fast and fluid and graceful. Not unlike his own, yet different. The swords, the same curved swords as a moment ago, flash in front of his eyes, parrying and piercing, deflecting and slashing. Elegant, yet deadly.
He affords his own matching short swords a look as he keeps on running. Undeniably well-crafted, they now appear lacking in his eyes. Shaking his head, he tries to chase the images away, to focus once again in the here and now.
The opponent, clad in his exotic heavy armor, looks like a snarling demon, though he is but a man wearing a helmet forged in the likeness of a monster. He holds a curved sword of his own in both hands, his own movements powerful, if awkward in comparison to the one wielding the twin blades. Despite his armor, he is bleeding, his wounds many, but still he fights. He raises his sword. The twin blades cross, a shield against the heavier blade coming down...
And then the vision ends. And as it does so, Aaron can feel the fog in his mind lift, his thoughts and memories clearer than they have ever been in the years since he first found himself in this accursed island. There is still some of it left, of course; of the madness isolation can bring about. Even considering his long life, three years alone on an island and beset by nightmarish creatures and the animated bodies of his former crewmates have taken their toll. Still, with the makaru dead and its psychic backlash diminishing, he can feel like himself again. Certainly more himself than he has been in quite some time.
Clinging to one another, the crew dashes through the shallow water towards the tunnel that they arrived in. The water churns and thrashes with cephalopods that have fallen from the cavern's ceiling. They slash and stab their way through the incutilis swarm in the water, dodging their grabbing tentacles. Aaron makes it to the mouth of the cavern, looking back at the chaos behind him. Ollivor makes it through next, then Crimson and Sandara who half-carry John. Vrunyar and Doran follow Thorn through, and finally the badly-injured Wyn. With all of them present, they scramble to exit the flooded caverns.
The flight from the caverns is made far more difficult by the raising of the tide. Several of the passageways are completely flooded, forcing them to swim out. Every time they burst up for air and look behind them, the swarm of incutilis churns inexorably towards them. In their haste, each of them slams into sharp edges and coral of the cavern walls, coming out bleeding and bruised. A half-dozen times they fear that the incutilis will snatch them - but each time they push on in terror with a powerful desire to survive.
All but one of them.
As the crew flees in fear, desperate to survive, the former barmaid stops in a shallow tunnel after swimming through a narrow gap. "No more running," she whispers between panting gasps. "Go!" She turns before anyone can stop her, leaping into the oncoming storm of cephalopods. In the narrow tunnel, she slams her body into them and uses her fists to knock them back. They grab onto her, pulling her down. She shouts once more, "Go!" Wynifrid sacrifices herself to slow the swarm down, knowing that the others can escape if she gives herself to them. Truth be told, she has been wanting it for a while - and sacrificing herself to heroically save her friends is the way she wants to go. She allows them to latch onto her, giving the others valuable seconds.
The sailors continue to run and flee, knowing that her sacrifice would be in vain if they stopped to try the impossible and save her. It's clear from her words and actions that this was what she wanted. They swim and run and crawl onwards, given a brief respite from the incutilis. They emerge from the mouth of the cavern and climb onto the rough cliff side. One by one, they pull themselves up. Muscles burning and exhausted, they climb up towards safety. Half a minute later, more of the incutilis swarm out of the cavern's mouth, heading into the cove and towards the open sea. One by one, they climb over the edge of the cliff where they lay exhausted and pained.
"Wyn!!!" Ollivor cries out as she turns and leaps to give herself to the foe and buy them time. It's too late to help, too late to do anything but take the chance she's given them all and keep going, keep running, crawl if they have to and get to some ground where they might have even a moment to breathe.
When they find themselves on the rough cliff side, Ollivor lays there feeling very numb. The horror of the Makaru, the onslaught of memories, and now the death of a friend are almost too much to process at once. He lays there for a moment staring at an open sky. It's a sight he may never take for granted again.
Finally, he clears his throat, "Is everyone... everyone else, alright?"
screams Doran, slowing and turning, his teeth bared and his knives tightly clenched in his fists. He takes a step back towards the surging swarm of incutilis heads, moving to help Wyn, but even as he does so she disappears under them like a shore crab vanishing under an onrushing wave - though this wave will never wash peacefully back down the beach.
Faced with the horror of the onrushing mass of incutilis, Doran's instincts take over again, and he spins and takes off down the passage, though he runs with tears streaming down his face for their lost crewmate, for his clever student in the ways of quiet movement in the shadows, for his friend. The rest of the flight out of the cave and up the cliff is a blur of fear, pain and sadness, dimmed only slightly by the escape from the mind-controlling monsters as they fling themselves into the sea.
Doran throws himself on the ground, muttering "Wyn, Wyn, Wyn, dammit we almost all made it out..." He goes quiet, curled on his side and staring blankly, until Ollivor speaks up. "I'm alive," he says in response to Olli's question, "but all right? No."
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Pulled from the water with a gasp, John heaved in a breath of air. The cave was clammy, and a sickly green ooze was beginning to spread from the Makaru's corpse. John's head felt fuzzy and he clutched at it in pain. He remembered the feeling of deep hunger and mind-crushing otherworldly domination from the Makaru. In the blast of the beasts psychic deathscream, John had seen thousands upon thousands of such creature, as many as the incutilis that dotted the cavern walls, they hungered for the will of mankind.
He remembered his consciousness expanding somehow, through the sailor couldn't describe it. For just one brief moment he felt his friends and family. He could see Alima sitting in front of their family's hearth, knitting another poorly fitting shirt for John. He saw Farah playing with her friends beside a tidepool. He saw Lord Havershaw standing before an Andoran naval vessel in dry-dock. He saw all of his friends, his family and more, and somehow he knew that he was seeing them all at that very moment. And then, cruelly, it was ripped away from him.
Groaning in pain, John looked around, just as a splash from the nearby wall sounded. An incutilis had dropped from the wall. First one, then two and then more and more, falling like rain drops into the water with tiny splashes. Oh... Oh bloody, fething hells! John groaned before tiredly pushing his way through the waist high water to the exit of the cavern. Lets get the hell outta here!
Adrenaline, thick and visceral flowed through John's veins as he pushed his way through the winding waterlogged tunnels with the swarming forms of the hundreds of shiney shelled incutilis's streaming behind it. It seemed as if there was never a break in their flight. The water had risen between the time that the press-ganged companions had entered the cave and now, the labored trudge against the tide while being relentlessly pursued showed the group the fears the John had harbored all along. Part of him had feared entering into these caves. John knew water, he knew the tides. The fact that the group had pressed ahead could have not been avoided, but now he worried that the group would pay the price for their eagerness. At the head of the line leading the escape, John glanced back. He heard Wyn commit herself to her last stand. He heard her call out "No more running!" as she gasped for air through labored lungs. John gritted his teeth, he knew what was coming next. As a marine he had been taught to leave no man behind. It galled him to leave her. But she was making a choice, her choice, and John would be no worse than the incutilis's if he tried to deny her the chance to choose her fate.
Glancing towards Wyn, face hard John raised his axe, the light from the blade casting shadows on the narrow cavern walls. He roared out in salute to the woman. They had had their differences in the past, that was the truth of it, but John knew what Wyn was doing and why she was doing it. Everyone died eventually. Iakob had died by the blade of a murderer. Captain Jonas had died by the hell-cursed arrows of the hellish admirals devil. It was not a question of if but when and how. Watching Wyn's last moments with hard eyes, John knew he would never forget her heroic sacrifice, but he also knew he had to make it count. Turning away, even as the creatures swarmed her, John lowered his head and pushed forward through the tunnels as fast as he could, each step accompanied by the fading sounds of Wyn's final stand.
Breathing heavily, John raised his face up to the moonlight. The stars were strewn across the sky and the crashing of waves from below seemed to roll in with the tide mournfully. It was a somber moment. The group had managed to rescue Crimson and Sandra, but they had lost Wyn. It had been a good death. John wanted to tell the others. Wyn had sacrificed herself to save each of them. Cayden and Iomedae both would have recognised her heroic end. But John knew that the time was too soon. He wanted to tell them that It had been her choice to make. Even in the face of death she had made a choice and by doing so lived free. But it wasn't the right words. None of them were, and so he sat there, on the grass, quietly looking at the stars until Ollivor spoke up. I'm.. I'm fine. John said after a quiet pause, until as an afterthought John dug out the creased leather tricorn that belonged to Sandra, that he had recovered from the beach so very, very much earlier that day. Looking down at the hat, and then up towards Sandra, John frowned softly before holding it out to her. Call it silly, but when I found your hat, I thought that if held it in safe keeping you would be ok. Glancing down towards the crashing ocean in the cove below, John swallowed. He didn't know what else to say. The others would have thought him crazy if he told them that Wyn had died a hero. Well dammit, the words needed to be said. If not by him, than by who. Wyn died to save all of us. She made a choice to protect each of us. She went down fighting, not murdered in her sleep by a coward or by the arrows of a hell-spawned devil. An act of courage like that earns the respect Cayden. A sacrifice like that is something that Iomedae would be proud of. She died a hero. A bloody, fething hero.
On the edge of the cliff, Vrunyar’s chest heaves up and down recovering from his escape from the cave, as he struggles with the events he just witnessed. He lies on his back, hands balled over his eyes. He knows what he saw, but he still can’t quite accept it. ”Wyn,” he moans. He takes a shaking breath and then another as his companions begin speaking.
”Yes she was a hero. A brave woman pushing past any fear she felt to save us at the end,” the dwarf clears his throat. Rolling onto his side, he stands up to look at the cave’s entrance below them. ”A terrible loss. I will miss her.”
"Right. We'll drink to her over Plugg and Scourge's dead bodies," Ollivor states with surprising calm washing over him, "We need to rest one night more, gather our strength and spells, heal up, and then... then we go for their damn throats. Let's go back to Aaron's place or some other bolt hole and do that. Wyn's spirit will wait for her vengeance, she'd prefer it down right than done fast."
”Rest sounds wonderful,” Vrunyar says, stepping away from the cliff edge. He looks at Ollivor, and squints, as if he’s having trouble focusing. He shakes his head. He speaks a few words in dwarven then frowns. ”What did that creature do? My mind feels unsteady,” he says in Common. A series of noises heavy with popping, trills, and deep droning tones comes from him.
He stops and swallows nervously. ”What was that? I know I was speaking a language. I was repeating what I said in Common. 'My mind feels unsteady.'” He spreads his fingers onto his scalp, as if feeling his head reassures him somehow. ”We need to get to safety.” Grabbing his axe, he looks at the others. ”Is anyone injured? Can we run if we need to?”
"I don't understand a lick of it, Vrunyar, but whatever you said sounded a bit like what those merfolk were talking in..." He shrugs, and gets up, "That monster's death did a number on us all."
Doran listens to his friends talking about Wyn and how she met her end, how she chose to meet her end. He sits up and just listens, not speaking, as John describes how her choice was heroic, and worthy of the respect of gods. He's right, that's so. Her choice was what saved us all, and it's worthy of song.
Unbidden, and as if he's not even aware of it, Doran begins to quietly sing, his voice gradually building in volume and his head lifting in recollection of their lost shipmate. He sings of the sea, and its devastating, indifferent power, of shipmates forming strong bonds and deep emnity, of a mighty, swirling storm and a crew pulling together to survive, and the sun coming up on a calm sea afterwards, and the realization that one of their number has been lost to the storm.
When he finishes singing, he looks around at his friends, as if coming out of a trance, and says, "I don't know where that came from, it just welled up in me and came out. And it feels that there's a great deal left in that well, an ocean of song, calm and raging, beautiful and fearsome...that creature changed me somehow, opened something in me..."
He goes quiet for a long moment, then says, "You're right, Ollivor. We need to collect ourselves, rest and make a proper plan, and then take that ship for our own, and give Plugg and Scourge to the sea."
Aaron waits in silence as the rest come to terms with their friend's death, or at least try to, given the circumstances. While doing so, he ponders the images shown to him after the makaru's death, as well as his own memories and clarity that seem to have returned, even if they have not done so entirely, not yet anyway. He does feel more focused, more in control, although he cannot deny that a part of what he now knows are not his own memories and experiences, but someone else's.
"It did not so much change me, not much anyway," he remarks after Doran speaks. "I think it... awakened me. It reminded me of who I am, who I was, what I was. Before this island," he goes on, grasping for the right words, but not succeeding entirely. He shakes his head.
"Shall we make our way back to my stockade? And on the way, perhaps one of you could tell me of these... Plugg and Scourge you keep mentioning? I get the sense whoever they are, they are... obstacles to be removed? Albeit ones with unfortunate nicknames..." He smiles. "At least I hope they are nicknames. I shudder at the thought of those being their actual names," he adds, the words tinged with sarcasm rather than the flippancy his new acquaintances have been more accustomed to so far.
Laying flat upon his back a top the cliffs edge, Thorn gazed upon the mass of bright stars strung across the night sky. Thorn was trying to control his breathing but the exhaustion had already begun to set in on his mind and body. Thorn took in a deep breath and slowly released it to slow his heart beat down and calm his senses back to normal as he tried to take in what he had just experienced.
The sight of Wyn being engulfed by a swarm of incutilis had just begun to set in his mind as he was realizing Wyn was no more. Thorn began to reminisces about their first meeting on the Hellsmouth as the memory of her voice and his native tough brought a smile to his lips. The words were a sign of hope for Thorn after so many years of solitude he finally had found a glimpse of joy in his dark time.
Thorn sat up and stared out upon moon light reflecting off of the cresting waves just before the came crashing into the bottom of the cliff. The sound of the waves made Thorn think of each of the battles he and Wyn had fought in, from freeing themselves from slavery to taking over a ship, he could still see her fiercely bashing sailors on their heads but always showing restraint while doing so. Thorn would not forget the many times Wyn helped him to show mercy on his fellow man and to not take lives except when necessary. "I always though she was too weak for showing everyone mercy but now I see it takes more courage and strength to save a mans life than to take it."
Thorn could hear the rest of the party speaking among each other but he continued to think about the passing of Wyn. Thorn realized Wyn was not as he believed no more, but her light would live on inside of them and they would carry on her memory.
Thorn rose to his feet drawing his bow from his shoulder and removing one of his modified alchemy fire arrows from his quiver. Thorn notched the arrow before taking aim out into the sea.
"May the sea rise up to meet you,
may the wind be ever at your back.
May the sun shine warm upon your face,
and the rains fall soft upon your deck.
And until we meet again,
may Desna hold you in the palm of her hand."
Thorn let the arrow fly as he watched it soar into the clusters of stars before the arrow erupted into a ball of flames and streaked through the sky like a shooting comet. The flame disappeared into the horizon of waves. "May your fire burn on"
The survivors glance over the edge of the cove at the churning water, filled with thousands of incutilis. Some of them grasp and grab at the edges of the cliff faces, but most of them seemingly swim towards the entrance of the cove that leads into the sea. It is a sickening sight, made worse by the low light of dusk. The water boils with the shelled cephalopods as they climb over one another like ants in a deluge. The sailors tear themselves away from the nauseating vista and head to safety.
With Aaron leading the way, the crew - now up by two but down by one - ascends the mountain path to his cabin and stockade. He doesn't seem to need it, but Ollivor produces magical light to lead the way. Aaron sets up a few traps as they pass to ensure their safety atop the cliff. As they reach the top, they can see the campfires on the beach where the Man's Promise sits near. They're far too distant to see any motion on the beach in the night, but the crew knows that they have to return in the morning to do what must be done.
Crimson and Sandara both collapse as soon as they reach the cabin, exhausted from having their minds taken over by the makaru for so long - but not before they thank their rescuers time and time again for not leaving them in the mental grasp of the hive mind. The rest of them quickly join the pair in sleep, though two at a time stay on watch to ensure that the incutilis do not follow them up the pathway.
The morning arrives without fanfare. The sun rises over the glittering sea, bringing with it a new day. The birds of the island sing to bring their attention to the morning. The crew awakens, ragged and sore from sleeping on the floor and from their exhausting battles the day before. But they live, and they will soon be free.
After reaching Aaron's cabin Thorn fell into a corner completely fatigued from the physical exertion coming from battle and mentally exhausted from the constant mental assault from the Makaru. Thorn did not remove any of his gear or clothes after collapsing he just fell into a deep sleep.....
"Thorn I will be leaving for a while and I don't know how long I will be gone." Thorn could see the worry in Havaard's face and he could hear the uncertainty in Havaard's voice. "Where is it you are traveling off too and why the concern?"[/b A brief pause between the two men as Havaard turned to looked out over the steaming sea.
[b]Halgrim is in need of a new king Thorn and the only way I can be their king is to slay a linnorm. I then must bring back its head to prove the task complete. Now I know it can be any linnorm but the Syndergaard's have always been known for greatness and I will not settle for just any linnorm, I must slay a linnorm worthy of the Syndergaard name. I have chosen to go after the frost linnorm Frost bite. I hear he has been hunting in the Stormspear Mountains near the crown of the world." Thorn scanned Havaard with wide eyes as Havaard stood stoically facing the sea with fear and forced confidence.
"Don't try and talk me out of it Thorn, I have made up my mind and it must be done for Halgrim, my family and for father. I believe he trained me to lift the Syndergaard name into the heavens, Hell he even found you to help train me for an occasion such as this so I could rightfully take my place as a king."
Havvard turned and walked towards Thorn before slapping Thorn on his shoulder and pulling him in close to Havaard for a one arm hug. "Walk with me Thorn" They both walked back towards the great hall as Havaard had his right arm around Thorns neck. "I set off on a great adventure and a difficult task but I leave you with even a greater task maybe the greatest task of all." Thorn stopped and looked at Havaard with a confused look. "What could be more difficult than beheading an ice linnorm, not to mention Frost bite and become a king?"
Havaard grabbed Thorns head with both hands and looked him eye to eye before cracking a smile "Watching over my family wood for brains! I am asking you to watch over my family while I am away on my adventure Thorn!" Havaard stepped back from Thorn and looked down to hide his fear "Thorn there is something else. If I should fall while on my quest I am also asking you to pass on the Syndergaard name and teachings to my children just as father taught us." Havaard looked back up at Thorn withe a smile before his face turned stone cold serious "I would not trust any other man for this task and I am confident you will rise to the occasion. Can I count on you to fulfill this request I ask of you? Thorn looked at his brother Havaard with just as serious of a face and could see in Havaard's eyes there was no changing his mind "I will not let you down brother and you can always count on me to protect and preserve the Syndergaard family name and family members. I will not let you down!"
Havaard clapped his hands with excitement and appeared to have a great weight lifted from his chest. Smiling from ear to ear Havaard threw his arm around Thorns shoulders once more and lead them into the Great hall "Tonight we drink to celebrate our great tasks and reminisces about the past!" .........
Thorn rose to the sound of several birds singing and the bright light from the sun beaming through the window into his eyes. Rising to his feet Thorn could see the rest of his crew was still sleeping except for the two still on watch. Thorn quickly could see he was a mess and needed to straighten up if today was the day they were going to take back the ship.
Thorn removed his weapons before inspecting each one of them for any damage like a chipped blade or cracked arrow shaft. Thorn cleaned all of the recovered arrows and resharpened each of their arrow heads before also resharpening his elven curve blade. Thorn finished cleaning the blade by wiping it down with his shirt. Thorn noticed his dirty shirt after maintaining and readying his weapons for combat. Thorn also could smell the mixture of body odor, sweat and Makaru slime on his clothes and he decided to wash his clothes.
Thorn removed his dirty clothes and walked out to the water well to fetch some water to wash his clothes against the stones near the well. Thorn began to scrub his shirt against the stones "Well if you are going to meet Old dead eye today you sure don't want to smelling like an elk" A smile reached Thorns face as he rinsed his shirt in the bucket and ringed out the excess water.
Sandara wakes up early, walking out to the spring and staring out over the water. She plays with her hat, putting it on and taking it off. She walks back into the cabin where the others are still waking up. "I want to thank you for rescuing me," she says to the group. "It must have been tough getting Plugg to agree."
Crimson, on the other hand, seems nearly catatonic. It is his second brush with death and the weakness of his will in a month. He sits in the corner, sullenly staring into nothingness. "Fat load of good it's going to do. It's just a matter of time until it comes for us. I can still feel it out there..."
Beads. The curtains are nothing more than stringed bits of glass dangling in a spectrum of full colors that is, really, quite gaudy. There's smoke everywhere, or is it mist?
Where the hell am I? Ollivor wonders. This is not one of his usual dreams. He's never been here before so it's not memory. Nor is it any place ever really wanted to be.
Beyond the beaded curtain that he moves aside, Ollivor finds himself in a room that almost reeks of decadence. Beautiful women wearing next to nothing, their bodies adorned in the skimpiest of clothes lounge about, only a few up and about carrying trays of fine fruits almost as sinfully ripe as the women themselves, or drinks from all manners of cultures.
Gods, Ollivor thinks as he gapes at the sweet curves of two women feeding each other grapes, I truly need to find a lass of my own one day. I'm turning into a bloody hound.
Tearing his eyes away from them, Ollivor moves on, ignoring the temptation for now.
Until he finds the master of this place. The fellow is adorned in an open shirt of rich red, with dark pantaloons wound up by a colorful sash.His right hand bears a ruby ring. Nearby, a blade with a dragonheaded hilt sits, easily within reach should its owner wish to draw it. Ollivor can't place what it is made of, it almost looks like ivory.
It's hard to sort the man's background. His features show signs of Tian heritage, but perhaps there's some Kelishite or even Taldan as well. His hair is long and dark, save for a streak of almost unnatural red in it. His eyes have an odd serpentine cast to them.
Two women, as immodestly dressed as the others, hover about him, but he motions them away as he greets Ollivor, "Welcome, welcome," he says, raising a glass, "To my rescuer!"
A goblet is offered to Ollivor, but he declines it, "Who are you? Where is this?"
"Ah, such business like no nonsense, if I doubted you were of Bronze nature before, this would correct me," The man laughed, "You? You are asleep. We are in a memory. My memory. One of better times when I lived like a king. Do you like it?"
"Bit too fancy for my tastes," Ollivor said, cautiously taking a seat.
"Ah, but you eye the women," His host, or was it a guest, chuckled, "I saw that much."
"I said it wasn't to my tastes, I didn't say I was dead," Ollivor snorted, "This isn't one of my dragon dreams, and you're no kin to me. How'd you get in here? And you have a name or what?"
The man sighed, "I have more than one. In life on the seas, I was called Calxun Redlock. You have perhaps heard of me? I was quite infamous in my time." He leaned forward.
"Never did," Ollivor answered, "I'm Ollivor, Ollivor Myles."
"For my vanity's sake, I hope you're merely ignorant and I'm not so forgotten by most on the seas as all that," Calxun looked disappointed, then continued, "You may not be dead, but I am. My memories trapped within that damned abomination that you helped kill. At last, my spirit is free. And yes, I know your blood kept most memories away, but it would appear that being dragon blooded myself, my dreams were allowed into yours. And here we are."
"You've the blood and power of a red dragon in you," Ollivor instantly felt on his guard, the hair on his neck almost bristling "The worst of the worst."
Calxun laughed at that, "Look at you, ready to submit to your blood's prejudices to continue a battle. We are HUMAN Ollivor...well, you are. I'm a corpse, and I suppose those have no species that matters. You feel the urges, but you need not be a slave to them."
Ollivor bristled again, this time at how much the thought of being a slave to anything stung, "I'm my own man."
"Good!" Calxun's chuckle remained, "I knew the urges too. Sometimes it was nice to give into them, but never let yourself be limited. There is magic in your blood, but it is still YOUR magic. It took me years to realize that, but once I did, I was better for it."
"Until you got your mind taken by the Makarawhatzit," Ollivor reminded bluntly.
"Rude," Calxun frowned, "but true. At least now my soul can go onto Besmara's breast. Still, you would be wise to heed my advice. I am repaying a debt, something no red dragon would ever bother to do. You can be more than ...this, Ollivor." He gestured at the younger sorcerer.
"What the hell is that supposed to mean?" Ollivor glared.
"Meaning your power is not as limited as you are making it out to be. Allow me to show you...visualize the bronze scale."
Ollivor's eyes narrowed and his jaw set.
"Humor me," Calxun wheedled.
Ollivor grumbled, and did that, trying to picture a scale of shining bronze.
"Now a silver one next to it..." Redlock proposed, and he seemed to sense Ollivor doing so, he continued, "Now Copper, now Brass..."
Ollivor could indeed see the array of metalic scales lined up one beside the other, "I see them," He said, eyes have closed. How they shined.
"Then... ones of regular hues. Red, then blue..." his improbable mentor stated.
Ollivor felt dizzy from the image of multiple hues clashing against each other.
"Now take the scales away, let only the colors and sheens remain," Redlock declared.
Ollivor did that, the scales falling, and the colors burst from his hands like a spray of seawater and..
"What the hell?" He started, snapping back from one level of a dream to the other again, "Did I just cast?"
"Aye, 'Color spray' a useful spell for dealing with a mob. I think you'll find it helpful even if it is a bit 'gaudy' for your tastes, eh?" Calxun grinned.
"I don't understand," Ollivor admitted.
"Consider it a lesson. Magic of the blood may have to be coaxed, but you are not as limited as you first thought in how it may yet express itself," Calxun's grin grew wider, and Ollie thought it looked more like fangs than teeth, "And as I said, I repay debts. I am no more a true red dragon than you are a bronze ollivor. Seek your ancestor if you must, but never forget, there is more to you than your blood. THe blood is NOTHING without the will to bend it."
Ollivor twisted his head, "I half way expected you to try to possess me."
"If I could," Calxun answered honestly, "I would. One should take what they can in this world, life is too short to do otherwise."
"That's disgusting," Ollivor sneered, "World's got too many takers as it is."
Calxun shrugged, "To each their own then. As long as it is your CHOICE to be noble and not simply obedience to your upbringing and heritage..."
"My choice," Ollivor assured with gritted teeth.
"Good, good. Well, most like I will not be in your dreams again, but should you find a ship called the Red Raven... send them my regards. That vessel served me well in its time. If I had stayed aboard, I'd have had a different end." Calxun looked wistful, and glanced around the many women in the dream"I don't suppose you'd like to dream one last orgy for me? You could even join in."
"Fraid not," Ollivor actually found himself feeling a bit sorry for the debauched shade, "I can't lolly gag in dreams. My friends need me. Besmara be kind to you then."
"She rarely is," the Redlock laughed, "But she rarely let me be bored." The images of the laughing red dragon sorcerer began to blur...
And with that, Ollivor opened his eyes and clutched his head, looking about the room
Sandara wakes up early, walking out to the spring and staring out over the water. She plays with her hat, putting it on and taking it off. She walks back into the cabin where the others are still waking up. "I want to thank you for rescuing me," she says to the group. "It must have been tough getting Plugg to agree."
For a moment, Ollivor almost imagines he's still dreaming as Sandara approaches but then realizes he's wrong, "Once Plugg realized you two had been taken, rather than fled, he didn't give a rats ass, or so it seemed. He gave Doran orders to kill most of us, which shows just how fine an actor he is."
Crimson, on the other hand, seems nearly catatonic. It is his second brush with death and the weakness of his will in a month. He sits in the corner, sullenly staring into nothingness. "Fat load of good it's going to do. It's just a matter of time until it comes for us. I can still feel it out there..."
"Buck up, Crimson. We need every man we can get on our side. That thing is dead, and hopefully whatever pull its got left will be gone once we get off this cursed rock...listen, we've got to plan, find some way to take Plug and Scourge by surprise and kill them right quick so we can take the ship and be free folk again. You ken me?"
The boy's mother seems intent on keeping him at home, away from other children, away from other people. He does not entirely understand why, other than it has something to do with his father. Still, today she is so very tired, and tiredness leads to sleep. Now is his chance, he knows it. All it takes is an unlocked window and out he goes. It is still day outside, the middle of the afternoon. And the laughter of other children can be easily heard and easily followed to their source. And there he finds them, playing and enjoying what time they have left before their parents come looking for them. Three boys and a girl, around his age. He smiles, a thin smile. "Never grin, never ever grin," he remembers his mother telling him. The boys seem cautious; his pale skin, his strange eyes. But the girls feels a little more adventurous, and, with a smile of her own, gets closer and closer, reaching to take his hand and invite him to their game. But as her skin touches his, she pulls it back, startled at how cool he is to the touch. And then their parents' voices are heard, calling to them. And they leave. And so does the pale boy, his curiosity for the world outside his house sated... for now.
. . .
The carpenter looks at his work. The table and the accompanying chairs look functional, adequate. His client will be satisfied. Simply satisfied. But he probably will not be speaking of his work to others, will not be recommending him and talking about the craftsmanship. Clients will come again of course, but not as many as would approach him should he take better care to make something not just adequate, but good, beautiful. And that is just as well, that is how he likes it. The more numerous the people that come to him, the greater the chance someone will notice that something is not right. Just like that girl so many years ago. No, no... Adequate is good, functional is fine. Besides, the more he can spend in this place, the better; there is turmoil back home, although there are those who say that with House Thrune victorious and Asmodeus becoming Cheliax's official patron deity, that turmoil is at an end. Besides, he finds he rather likes working with wood, even though he occasionally feels like he should not, especially when sharpening pieces of it. He shrugs and sighs and chases the thoughts from his mind before looking up at the sky. A fine day. He is almost used to the sunlight by now...
. . .
Engineering is... interesting, he thinks to himself. One more or less makes something whole out of various bits and pieces. First he has to make it in his mind before actually constructing it, but is that not true for most things? Even as a carpenter, that held true. He chuckles softly. That was a good time, peaceful. All he needed was himself and his hands and he could make so many things; now, he has associates and supervisors and staff. Still, it had to end, that previous life. People were starting to notice that he did not exactly age like he should and no amount of clean living could explain that. Another chuckle. And then it is cut short, as some of the workers have a conversation regarding what is happening in Andoran; they expect a revolt sooner or later. "Another Sargava," he mutters to himself, shaking his head.
. . .
The slayer looks down from the rooftop, the darkness of the night posing little to no problem to his keen eyesight. It has been a while since the shadow beasts first appeared in Westcrown, their mere reputation either frightening people into staying indoors after the setting of the sun or actually drawing would-be hunters of monsters or bounties to the city. This is not the first time he finds himself walking its streets, however, even though the last time was decades ago. "Infernal Cheliax," he says softly, noone around to hear the almost unmistakeable disgust behind the words. He is lost for a moment in a memory of the time before House Thrune and Asmodeus. But only for a moment. There is movement at the street beneath him. Two blades leave their sheaths as his golden eyes narrow. Prey.
. . .
"What is there not to like about the sea? The sun, the breeze, the sight of it," the officer says to the sailor next to him. The sailor, a man going simply by Smith, undoubtedly is wondering how the pale man remains pale under all that sun. The officer takes in a deep breath. He finds he enjoys sailing almost as much as carpentry, although it has been many a year since the last time he made a table or a chair. "Proud members of the Chelaxian Navy, you and I, yes?" The question is more rhetorical rather than actual, but the other man still answers. "Aye, Mr. Ivey. Proud indeed," he says in a dry voice, making one wonder whether he actually believes it or not. The pale man sighs. Try as he might, he cannot convince the sailor to just call him Aaron.
Sandara's face darkens with anger when she hears that Plugg was willing to let her and Crimson die. "What? That slimy son of a b*!!*! Even if I didn't already hate him, I'd be willing to help you take him down. So what's the plan?"
Crimson still seems despondent, even with Ollivor's comforting words. "I guess, but I'm never going to be free. Even if we kill Plugg, I'll still feel the makaru in my brain. I didn't sleep well last night..."
Sandara's face darkens with anger when she hears that Plugg was willing to let her and Crimson die. "What? That slimy son of a b%@~!! Even if I didn't already hate him, I'd be willing to help you take him down. So what's the plan?"
Crimson still seems despondent, even with Ollivor's comforting words. "I guess, but I'm never going to be free. Even if we kill Plugg, I'll still feel the makaru in my brain. I didn't sleep well last night..."
"Maybe distance from this place will help yet, Crimson," Ollivor says, feeling truly sorry for the fellow, "And if not, well, maybe we'll find some magics that will help purge the nightmares yet," He turns to Sandara's question, though she spoke first, "John and Doran are probably the ones who'll have a plan, but ways I see it, we need some way of sneaking 'the dead' on board ship and then striking hard and fast. We need the element of surprise."
Vrunyar finds himself in a classroom, with many of his past classmates and some not classmates at all but friends like Yennard, Ollivor, and Wyn. Instead of one of his many professors, a bull dressed in the robes of a master alchemist is marking a slate board with yellow and white chalk from his horns. ”This formula will give you mighty strength. Some would say that of a bull,” he pauses to allow the students to chuckle before moving on. Vrunyar copies the formula, excited to test it.
”Now be careful when using it in combination with the mutagen for strength. That mutagen’s side effects to cognitive functions are well understood. The muscles become engorged with an increase of blood, and the vital force supplied by the blood, for greater strength. This leaves less of the blood’s vital force for the brain.
“Now,” the bull erases the board by licking it. ”This next formula will be useful if you ever find yourselves pressed into service on a pirate ship and need to escape into the water. Or say you’re in a water filled cave and need to swim fast. Start with a fish scale...” the bull chalks the formula on the slate board.
Vrunyar gets halfway through copying it when a wave of sea water washes away his parchment and knocks him to the floor. He feels disappointed and tries to stand but he can’t find his footing on the slippery stone. He stares at the mosaic tile work, appreciating the semi-precious stones’ colors used in the patterns. He runs his fingers over the floor, amazed at how flush the individual pieces are.
Sunlight glares from the wet stones and Vrunyar realizes he is outdoors. The lecture hall is gone except for the stone floor which has stretched lengthwise and formed a prow. It’s docked at a port. He debarks and passes a Mwangi woman selling roasted fish.
Music erupts from a tavern. The Green Peach! How did it get here in the Shackles? Doran is on a stage singing, hitting two spoons together for rhythm. The crowd starts singing along at the chorus...something about a captain with a broken mast not able to get to his lover’s port. Plugg jumps on stage. ”Not that song, not that song!” he yells as his brother Scourge whips the audience with a tentacle lash. Vrunyar meets his eyes and sees the joy he feels causing harm. Crack, the tentacle strikes Vrunyar in the face.
Vrunyar wakes feeling his heart racing. Dawn is about an hour away. There’s enough light for alchemy. He begins writing down the formula for increased strength from his dream into his formulae book. It appears correct. On another page he writes down what he remembers of the fish scale formula. With enough time to work on the formula he’ll finish it. For now though, he finds what he needs to create a strength-enhancing mutagen and starts brewing that. It will take half an hour. Then he can make today’s extracts. The dwarf doesn’t see anyway to avoid Plugg today. There’s no reason not to. He shivers thinking about his dream. So extracts especially useful in combat, he thinks. Besides extracts and mutagen, can I make anything else to aid us?
Doran feels the waves surge around him in the darkness and hears the roar of the ocean’s rage as he’s tossed about like a leaf on the wind. “What happened? Another wreck? Where am I?” is all he can think at first, his fear of dying fighting for dominance with his anger at the sea gods’ cruelty. He struggles to stay afloat, the waves ducking him deep under several times, the silence of the depths shocking after the crashing ferocity of the storm above. One especially massive wave swallows him up, and he looks up toward the surface only to see a massive flash of lightning that makes clear the surface is far above, almost certainly out of his reach. He has almost given in, almost decided that the fight is simply not worth it, when he hears something in the silence.
”Music?” he asks himself silently, “Where is that coming from?” He hears a slow tune, ethereal yet awesomely powerful, but cannot tell which direction it comes from. It grows slightly louder and clearer, but not as if it’s moving closer, because it is all around him, coming from all directions at once. He’s somehow hearing it more clearly and as it gets louder still, the deeper notes cause his body to vibrate in response, as if the music is somehow playing him. The sound and the feeling fill him with joy, but also with fear and respect for whatever is making this incredible, universal sound.
Looking once again to the surface, he knows somehow that he can make it there, that the mysterious music will buoy him up and give him strength, perhaps even enough to survive. He kicks hard upward, and as he swims toward the surface he sees that the storm has somehow abated, the waves smaller and the moon coming out from behind the thick wall of cloud that had obscured it. “How long was I down there, that the storm passed while I was under that wave?”
Just before he reaches the surface, he stops his ascent, fearful that the music will stop when his head exits the water, and not wanting it to end. His thirst for survival pushes him on, however, and he breaks the surface gasping for breath and instinctively looking about for something to cling to, and any sign of his friends. Once his breathing calms a bit, he listens carefully and is thrilled that he can still hear the music. It is quieter, but its beautiful power is still there, as if the sea is somehow singing its eternal song to him.
Tentatively, he tries to sing along. His wordless song has nothing like the dark force and flashing beauty of the music he hears, yet it is somehow right. Doran continues to sing, and is amazed to feel himself getting lighter – first just more buoyant amidst the waves, then actually beginning to rise above them. His song strengthens, and he lifts higher, now clear of the waves and able to see the flotsam from his ship swirling in the remnant storm-wash. He sings on, in a strange harmony with the wind and waves, and he sees that his shipmates are being lifted from the waves as well, but not only those from the Man’s Promise.
He does see his friends who have suffered with him under Plugg – Vrunyar, Olli, Thorne, John, Wyn, even Aaron is there. But his singing saves others from the ocean’s grasp, some who succumbed to it long ago: Kezin Jenidar, captain of the Black Wind, and his crewmates who died in that ship’s loss off Cheliax; friends and enemies who died on the his second voyage as his ship went down in flames; the bloodthirsty crew of the lost Fortune’s Bride, even the hated Makris Barrow. All of them pulled from the waves and saved, somehow, by Doran’s singing of the ocean’s mighty song.
Doran raises him arms, filled with the power of the song, wondering what else he can achieve with his newfound harmony with the ocean, when he is suddenly struck by a tall, slapping wave that causes everything he sees to disappear…
”Wha…? What happened?” he says as he sits up, wiping water off his face and looking around in confusion. He sees Thorn just walking past where Doran has been asleep on the floor, a swinging bucket in the elf’s hand. ”Oh, sorry,” says Thorn, ”did I splash you? Thought folk might want some water.”
As Thorn continues on his way, Doran finishes drying his face on his filthy shirt, then sits back and thinks on what he’s seen. Could we be at peace, the sea and I? I feel as if the sea-gods’ curse is somehow lifted, or watered down – funny that, but it’s how it feels. And I can still hear the song! His eyes light up with the realization and he looks around contentedly, glad that most of his friends survived the fight with the makaru and are around him. He stands up and begins to get ready for the day ahead, quietly humming along with the distant sound of waves breaking on the shore.
As his friends begin to discuss how they might take down Plugg, Doran chimes in with some thoughts he’s been mulling, ”I was wondering if we could take advantage of Plugg’s suspicious nature. Maybe we could get some or all of us into his cabin, make him think we’ve got some big secret to tell him, that no one else should hear. Maybe drop a hint about some treasure we found or something. He wouldn’t want anyone else to know about something like that, so we might be able to get alone with him – and kill him. That would only leave Scourge to take care of, and then the rest of Plugg’s villains might give in.”
He shrugs and says, ”It’s not much of a plan, but it’s better than the first one I had, which was John walks up and challenges Plugg, and I stick a couple of knives in the bastard while he’s worried about John’s axe.”
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Twenty four days. John thought to himself, staring out at the stars from atop of Aaron Ivey's reinforced cabin. The moon shone brightly down on the sea below, causing the light to reflect off the far away waves. In the distance on the eastern side of the island John could make out the flickering bonfires that had been built by the crew of the Man's Promise.
Twenty four days. John thought again, taking a slow sip from the canteen at his side. He was tired. His body ached, his leg and chest especially so. Twenty four bloody days since we set sail from Souston, though by the gods it felt like a lifetime ago. John grimaced to himself. Laid in front of him on the ground was his eagle embossed armor and his multitude of weapons. To his left was his worn Andoran naval cutlass and to his right was the boarding axe he had recovered from the Man's Promise during the hurricane. In front of him resting below his armor was the large two-handed falchion with its curved blade and its etched Osiriani script. Sitting, the marine picked up the axe and inspected the curved blade. There was a knick there that would have to be grinded out eventually. Putting the axe down with a sigh, John placed his whetstone back in his pouch before carefully wiping his weapons down with the sweaty rag that doubled as his bandana. Sliding his cutlass back into its leather sheath, John sighed pensively. In the span of twenty four days I was reunited with my best friend. I left my family. I fought spies and rescued Ollivor. I watched the death of shipmates, fought on the decks of two ships and have been nearly killed three times. Hells, my best friend was killed by that bastard Plugg. I was made a slave in all but name and then somehow got singled out by the bloody Queen of Pirates herself from some sort of gods-cursed blessing. All in twenty four fething days.
Rubbing his chest to smooth out the pain, John sighed. His whole body hurt. He wanted to take off his shirt and use the spring to clean himself. After the fight in the sea-tunnels and the psychic attacks by the Makaru, John felt dirty somehow. Like there was a layer of grease covering him. It was as if the creature knew how to target the worst of John's fears and desires. Shaking his head, John pushed himself to his feet before gritting his teeth. There was no point in thinking about it. The beast was dead. John had seen that with his own eyes. Besides, there was nothing that John could do but feel angry at the thought of how the beast had managed to control John through his own fears. To think on it any more would just make it worse. Picking up his armor and weapons, John pushed his way into the cabin before looking around for a spot to rest.
To his left was Sandra. She looked exhausted from the battle. John shivered a little. He didn't want to think of the way that the Makaru's control felt as it attempted to mentally dominate him, but he knew that that experience had only lasted for a moment. Sandra and Crimson had been in the clutches of the creatures control for the better part of a day. The fact that she had been able to fight it off, only impressed John all the more. Sighing, John dropped his armor as quietly as he could near to the fire. The heat would dry out the moisture from the leather straps and hopefully protect it from cracking during the wrong time. As he dropped the armor, the breastplate clanked against on of the pauldrons with a quite clang!
Immediately Sandra's eyes shot open and she opened her mouth as if to scream. Seeing John and the others around her, Sandra took a deep breath. It's ok Sandra. John said quietly. We killed the bastard and got revenge. You're among friends. You can go back to sleep There was something in the woman's eyes, John thought. He had seen it before and it troubled him. John had come to Sandra when Iakob had died. She had seen him in a moment of weakness. He had felt gratefulness towards her, but that was all. Then during the hurricane he had led the rest of the press-ganged members of the crew in stabilizing the mast and she had watched him. It was only when she was ordered to attack John that she had broken free of the Makaru's mental domination. Finally it was after their escape that John had presented her tricorn back to her. He had kept it, for her.. Sandra smiled at John, there was a questioning hope in that smile. You're among friends, go back to sleep. John whispered again, while looking at Sandra before turning back to the flames with a frown. Aw bloody hells.
:: had been twenty four days since John left Souston with Iakob Steele, Ollivor Myles, Doran Tidewrack and Vrunyar Magmabeard. The five had left the peace of Andor and become swept into events far beyond their control. Rickard Plugg and "Master Scourge" believed Sandra and Crimson dead. So much the better. Secrecy was the only true weapon that the press-ganged members of the Empty Lighthouse had at their disposal. From the moment that John and Doran had hatched their plan escape, John had known that everything would be secrets and lies, until death rendered all things equal and void. John slept now, before the fire in Aaron Ivey's hut. It was the night before he and the others were to lay claim to the Man's Promise and take revenge upon Plugg and his brother Scourge or die trying.::
::I FOUND IAKOB STEEL standing on the polished wood deck of the Righteous Eagle studying the sea. Massive icebergs drifted around the abandoned ship. The air was cold and thin. Colwin Myles was with him, and they were talking together with their cutlass's leaning across their shoulders. I approached along the ships deck, spreading my hands to run along the wooden edges of crates and bits of free hanging line that were lashed about me. Colwin saw me first. He turned and smiled at me, then tapped Iakob on the shoulder. Colwin called something out to me that I couldn’t catch. By the time I’d reached them, he had faded away like smoke. Iakob Steel looked me up and down before smiling. It's good to see you John, he said. It's good to see you too, Iakob I replied. Looking good, he said, glancing at my legs. Looking whole, I answered.::
::Iakob nodded. He was a slight man, tall and corded with muscle. His head was closely cropped with a tuft of beard on his chin. Is it time? he asked. Time? I replied questioningly. He shrugged. I'm here. In this place. In this dream. It's all connected. You, your dreams, the shark, the graveyard, Besmara. It's all connected. I've come to you like this, or maybe you came to me. I think you know what I'm here to here to ask. I frowned. Do I now? Iakob nodded again. You do. You made a promise and swore an oath. And now it's time to take what is due. Iakob nodded slowly, as he did a thin cut began to appear over his throat. Plugg.. I whispered staring into my dead friends eyes. You want to know if I am going to take vengeance for you.::
::Iakob looked away. I always thought I’d be the one leading a crew, taking a ship and freeing our friends from Deepmar. He said, his voice trailing off mournfully. The ghost shapes of orca's were melting off into the distant waters. Where is this? I asked him.
He shrugged. I'm not sure. Somewhere in the northern latitudes, maybe the Steaming Sea. She often brings me here. Although last time, the icebergs were over there.::
::The Righteous Eagle continued to drift in the waters. The horizon seemed to melt away and we reached the edge of a stoney shore. Mountain's rose in the distance. The water was calm lying like a glass spearhead amongst the evergreens that dotted the shore. It was so still and glassy it mirrored the trees, the mountain and the sky. And there we were too, side by side. Myself, wide-shouldered, thick-armed, my physique as tough and strong and well-worn as the armor breastplate I wore. And Iakob, as he had been at the age of twenty two, an eternity before the capture and imprisonment in Deepmar. He was a little shorter than me, lighter in build, short blond hair cropped in a military fashion and his a high cheekboned face. So, will you do it? Iakob asked. I nodded my head. Iakob, we've been through plenty together. Alot of bad things and close scrapes. Typhus Scalp-taker. That boarding of the Fevered Jackal. Hell, stuff I don't want to remember. I'll do it. It needs to be made right. Iakob frowned. Because you want revenge? he asked. I pondered that question. Did I want revenge? I was not a bloodthirsty man, but in my heart I knew that I had spent the last three weeks planning Plugg's murder. Iakob was my friend. He deserved the truth. I opened my mouth. Yes I want revenge. But it's more than that. I swore an oath. This is what we do. Iakob nodded softly to himself. He seemed pleased. She likes you, you know, thinks your cheeky. He muttered, looking at the rocky shore from the deck of the ship. She? I asked quietly, afraid to break the moment of companionship with my friend. The Queen. The one who blessed you. Iakob said quietly pointing to my chest before returning to a parade rest stance on the deck. Iakob's frown turned to a smile. Cursed at her while you hung from a yard-arm. Calling for a showdown! Iakob chuckled. Yes my friend. You certainly earned her attention. Gods would I have loved to have seen that.::
::I watched as in the distance the wind picked up and the sea's began to grow choppy. Iakob frowned, turning from me and glancing into the wind with clouded eyes. Our time grows short, John. Turning back towards me Iakob thrust his hand outward and I took it with my strong grip. It felt cold and lifeless but there was a thrum of power that surged through me when I took his hand. The wind grew stronger. This is just the beginning John! Iakob cried out as the wind began to whirl around us. I tried to hold onto his grip, but the wind was strong. We will see each other again! The wind lashed at me. It tore Iakob from my grip and threw me into the water. I awoke.::
Pushing himself up from the gutted fire, John rubbed his chest thoughtfully, thinking back to the dream. It had felt so real. Iakob coming to him, asking him if he would honor his oath. All of it. Shaking his head, John nodded to the others as if in good morning. He didn't want to discuss what he had dreamt of the night before. It was too much to take in. Yawning fitfully, John nodded at Doran. It could work, but the moment he spots us, he is going to try to disarm anyone he considers a threat. Pushing himself to his feet, John headed towards the door. I'll be back in a moment, nature calls. The marine muttered before pushing himself out of the cabin and towards the redoubt's natural spring.
The sun was shining. Birds were singing. It was hot already. John stumbled towards the spring to splash some water on his face. It felt cold against his skin. Sighing at the invigorating sensation, John tugged off his shirt and scooped up some water from the spring and splashed it on his chest and back. He rubbed the water along his chest, pushing away the grime and residue from the battle with the Makaru. John's body still ached fiercely from the beating he had taken during the battle. The bruise that was already starting to form along the left side of his chest was huge. He glanced down in the water, frowning before he closed his eyes and opened them again. He looked at his reflection in the water. You've gotta be fething kidding me. John murmured peering at the splotchy bruise on his chest in anger. A voice laughed in the distance It sounded like Iakob. "I told you she liked you mate."
As his friends begin to discuss how they might take down Plugg, Doran chimes in with some thoughts he’s been mulling, ”I was wondering if we could take advantage of Plugg’s suspicious nature. Maybe we could get some or all of us into his cabin, make him think we’ve got some big secret to tell him, that no one else should hear. Maybe drop a hint about some treasure we found or something. He wouldn’t want anyone else to know about something like that, so we might be able to get alone with him – and kill him. That would only leave Scourge to take care of, and then the rest of Plugg’s villains might give in.”
He shrugs and says, ”It’s not much of a plan, but it’s better than the first one I had, which was John walks up and challenges Plugg, and I stick a couple of knives in the bastard while he’s worried about John’s axe.”
Pushing himself up from the gutted fire, John rubbed his chest thoughtfully, thinking back to the dream. It had felt so real. Iakob coming to him, asking him if he would honor his oath. All of it. Shaking his head, John nodded to the others as if in good morning. He didn't want to discuss what he had dreamt of the night before. It was too much to take in. Yawning fitfully, John nodded at Doran. It could work, but the moment he spots us, he is going to try to disarm anyone he considers a threat. Pushing himself to his feet, John headed towards the door. I'll be back in a moment, nature calls. The marine muttered before pushing himself out of the cabin and towards the redoubt's natural spring.
"Don't we still need to hide John and Thorn somehow? Maybe Sandara and Crimson as well. I know Plugg wanted Wyn dead..the bastard, but I thought the only ones he wanted returning was yourself, Vyrunyar and I? O certes he ain't gonna let John clamber on board unchallenged I'm thinking. At the least, they will disarm some of us as John says."
Sandara touches her nose and points to Ollivor in agreement. "Plugg's too paranoid for something like that. If he ordered you to kill the others, he'll be very suspicious as to why it wasn't done. Especially if you show up with some new face. Why not just abandon the pretense completely? There are eight of us here, and we could probably get a few more of the sailors to mutiny against Plugg. Rosie, Conch, the others from your old ship... I bet that we could get half the crew. We could just show up and say, 'This ship's ours now, who's with us?'."
”You guys are right,” says Doran a bit glumly, ”we’re not supposed to bring some of you back alive, so that won’t work.” He ponders a moment, still humming quietly, then his tune picks up a bit in tempo, his toe taps quickly, and he speaks up again, a bit more excitement in his voice, ”I think I’ve got a better idea! How about this? Those of us that are supposed to return hustle back to the ship, saying we’re being chased by the others – maybe they’ve turned into vudu and are after us! We tell Plugg all about the vudu and the incutilis, we can even bring Aaron with us and say we rescued him, that he’s a hell of a fighter and Plugg should make him part of the crew. So most of us will be on board, then we hit Plugg and do as Sandara suggests, calling everyone to join us. I’d rather get the jump on Plugg, and get a couple of knives in his back if I can, before we make any announcement that we plan to take him down.”
”I don’t have all the details clear – maybe we can hide John and Thorn in the bottom of the john-boat somehow, so they can climb aboard once the fighting starts? – but I think something like that, arriving in a rush like we’re running from something and trying to kill Plugg when his guard is down, just might work.”
"We could try to time it at night, give John and Thorn a better chance to hide until they strike? Course it might also hinder us, but ..." Ollivor shrugs. Until John returned from nature's call, they'd not likely to get the man's further opinion