Blythe sleeps fitfully. On the second day of the voyage, her legs still a bit wobbly under her, Blythe finds Cedric.
Handing him a small piece of buttered hard bread like her own, she smiles, looking out over the waves. "So why this painting? What drove you to need to paint this?"
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The day passes swiftly and the captain is too busy to have time for her guests. The coast diminishes in the distance until it is replaced by grey choppy ocean and a blue sky crossed with swiftly scurrying fluffy white clouds. The breeze is strong and cool, filling the bulging sails, and the Ocean Tern cuts through the waves swiftly. The crew are busy and after a while there is little to do beyond watching them at work, or the horizon, or the other ships. Close to Dornas there are other vessels in the vicinity – mostly merchantmen, plus the odd war galleon – coming from or heading towards the capital. Dornas sits at the south end of Sativsen Gulf, a wide bay several hundred miles across. The Tern’s course will cut across its open mouth northwards for several days before reaching Point Niematt, a rocky and remote promontory otherwise undistinguished except as the most westerly point of the mainland Empire. From there the ship’s course is north-west, into the open ocean.
As the sunlight fails, the ships cook serves a passable meal of boiled meat and greens. As night falls there is little to do other than pace the deck or retire to a cabin.
The following morning is bright with high cloud, turning the sea a deep blue. Other ships are few and distant. A gaggle of seabirds follows the ship, fighting for scraps as the slops are thrown overboard. Blythe finds Cedric standing on the rear deck, enjoying the view.
"So why this painting? What drove you to need to paint this?"
Cedric looks a little nonplussed at the proffered bread but takes it anyway, out of politeness, though he doesn't eat it. "I don't know,” he answers at length. “I've always been interested in drawing and painting, ever since I was a child. I perhaps have some talent, and my father has always encouraged me. Why do you fight and risk your life?"
Grulorg steps out onto the deck of the ship, shirtless and armorless, something that his line of work does not generally allow for. He heads to the stern to watch the wake of the ship and see if any dolphins will dance out of the water this day. He nods to Blythe and Cedric but figures that their conversation should stay private.
The first day Ishmex watches the crew and learns generally how they work on this ship. He stays mostly out of the way so as to not anger any of the crew. The second day you can see him eyeing the crows nest as he had never been in one before. He wanders over to the rigging and pulling on it but never quite gets the courage to climb up. He spots the seabirds behind the ship and decides on another course of action. Scrambling below decks he reappears a short while later with a small scrap of bread floating just in front of him with a larger chunk in his hands. Reaching the stern of the ship he wants to the others then wills the bread to float towards the birds. He plays a little game taunting the birds with bread till one catches it then floats out another piece from the bread in his hand till it is gone. He grins at Grulorg but leaves Blythe to her conversation.
Blythe nibbles on her bread, while staring out at the ocean. She stands half a step back from the railing, looking uncomfortable at the decks swaying. ”I defend myself when I’m threatened. As I’ll defend you if threatened. But I don’t really feel I...risk...my life. I don’t seek that. But I’ve a skill with my blade, and it pays. Even pays well, sometimes,” she chuckles, throwing a sideways glance at Cedric. ”But I do love the dance of the blade. It’s...well, it’s my paintbrush.”
"Perhaps that is an apt m-metaphor," says Cedric with a smile. "Art is a means of communication, perhaps the truest. When I paint, when you dance with your blade, we expressing who we are. We communicate with others through art, but perhaps we communicate most with ourselves, are most truly ourselves at that moment. Which is why we seek to make our art true, I s-suppose."
Cedric looks at Blythe shyly. "I, er, if it were p-possible, I mean... I would like to sk-ketch you, if I m-may. Especially when you are maybe training, or s-sparring - when you d-dance, as it w-were. I'd like to sketch all of you, a-actually. Studies of form and f-figure. I don't often get to meet people such as yourselves."
Meanwhile, a few of the sailors watch in fascination as Ishmex's floating bread frustrates the gulls. A few murmurs of "Magician" go round the crew. Finally Captain Budd calls from the wheel.
"You are distracting the crew! Could you stop that, please!"
Grulorg turns about as if to say, what am I doing and ceases doing what he was doing and instead stands perfectly still so as to not be a distraction to the crew.
Not realizing he had an audience besides his party, Ishmex jumps when the captain yells to him. Seeing the small crowd that has gathered, "Sorry Captain Budd!". Whispering to Grulorg, "I think the captain was talking to me."
Somewhat embarrassed for causing a scene, he sheepishly heads back to his cabin.
Blythe chuckles at her gnome and orc friends. "That would be fine. Just name a time, and I will accommodate."
"Sure, why not?" Lheorvine finally emerges from his cabin and wanders over to the group, absentmindedly chewing on a chunk of uncooked bacon while pushing his tangled hair out of his face. "I need a little time to put my suit on, so let me know when you want to do it. Unless you just want a light sparring session, no armour involved. That I can do right away."
Cedric looks at Blythe shyly. "I mean... I would like to sk-ketch you"
"However you f-feel most comfortable," says Cedric to Lheorvine, getting out his sketchbook. He spends a happy day filling it with studies of each of his protectors in various poses: Blythe, Lheorvine and Grulorg mostly looking martial, including studies of the them sparring with eachother on the deck; Ishmex in a 'incantation stance', looking out to sea, or playing with the seagulls; and Delmar lurking by the rail, his look of detached amusement ably caught by the artist.
As the sunlight fails, the captain finally invites her passengers to dine with her in her quarters. She is joined by Jakson and Ward, who is the Second Mate. The meal itself is pretty similar to the previous night. The captain is mostly silent, subjecting her guests to a penetrating stare as she assesses them. Cedric mostly toys with his food and makes small talk where he must. Ward is quite talkative, regaling his audience with tales of his extensive voyages.
As the Captain is quiet, Grulorg aims his questions at the Second Mate, "Ever been to where we are going? Anything we can expect as to what dangers could be present? I get that we're on a beach but I guess there could be some local animals that might be aggressive if we have to go to the interior to forage".
"We'll armour up tomorrow. Platemail's too much work for a casual spar." Lheorvine spends the morning dodging Grulorg's massive sledgehammer or catching Blythe's sword on his shield. "I'm nobody's idea of a dancer," he grins as he's catching his breath between bouts. "More like a bricklayer. All force, not much in the way of finesse. The desired end product is cutting down the opposition, not to put on some sorta show, after all."
His left forearm is covered in dense rows of narrow scars. "Once drawn, the sword will draw blood," he explains, giving himself yet another nick while muttering a quick benediction. "For instances like this, that blood will obviously be mine. The Wanderer appreciates an affirmation of dedication."
During the dinner, Lheorvine listens appreciatively to Ward's tales before telling the hosts about how his grandfather once fought and defeated a barrow-dwelling warlock - "It turned out he was long dead, only sustained by an ancient curse! Once they finally cut him down, his body crumbled into dust in a matter of minutes" - and how he and a group of rangers once spent last winter tracking a halfling werewolf - "An odd creature. Thankfully he didn't have the strength to batter down locked doors" - without ever cornering the beast.
"On a beach?" says Ward, looking puzzled, then, "Oh, you mean Skull Beach! That's across the water from Port Elveden, but they do have houses and suchlike there, you know!"
Then he looks a bit more sober. "They're a strange place, the Isles. They worshipped a dragon, in the days before the Empire, and the locals said it could call wind and ice out from nowhere to assail you, or surround you with chill fog and hunt you like cat in the dark. The fleet that finally killed the creature barely made it through. It was more by luck than anything else they killed the beast - a fluke shot - or else all of them would have gone to the botton. Or down the dragon's gullet." Cedric listens to Ward with renewed interest as he talks about his forebear's deeds.
The old man continues, "When you are out on the sea, the Empire seems a long way away. The reverends will tell you that the Old Gods are just a figment, tales for children or old salts like me. But you learn to doubt less and trust more in what you are seeing out here. I've seen some things you wouldn't believe, sometimes I don't believe. So it seems to me sensible to keep an open mind and hedge your bets, if you get me - the world is a big place, and there's plenty of room for the Old Gods as well as the Empire.
"But it's the Isles you are interested in? Don't know much about beasts on the land, I rarely stray from inns by the harbour! But I'll tell you this. The Isles aren't a place for folk from the Empire. Around the Isles, the seas are higher, the storms are fiercer than other places. They are surrounded by shoals like the teeth of a shark." His voice drops. "Some say the ghost of the dragon watches over the place, summoning terrible storms to send poor sailors to their doom, or just to vent its dreadful wrath."
"People tell all sorts of tall tales when they've had a few to drink," says the Captain dryly.
"Aye, Captain, that they do!" says Ward with a gap-toothed grin, grabbing the bottle of rum from the table to refil his mug, "And don't mind if I do!" Jakson laughs and the mood lightens again.
Grulorg nods at Ward's explanation, Perhaps this will not be so desolate a job after all.
"Yes, the Old Gods are with us, Gods do not die, their followers only forget them. When belief continues, so do the Gods live on. That's what I understand anyway".
Blythe eats her food quietly, a pensive look on her face.
Ishmex listens to the stories with mild interest until the dragon is mentioned again. At this he pertains up hanging off of every word. "So the dragon is dead but might still affect things... interesting."
Jakson snorts at Ishmex, "You're getting as bad as old Ward here! Most of his stories just float up from the bottom of his cup!" Ward cackles at this, and the Captan smirks. Jakson continues, "Tell 'em that tale about when a sea nymph tried to get her wicked way! Until I heard this one, I didn't realise that sea nymphs were blind as well as having designs on mortal men!"
"I was much younger then!" protests Ward, and then launches into another unlikely tale.
The evening ends convivially. The days and nights onboard take on a rhythm. Cedric sketches on the deck while the others spar or find some other way to amuse themselves, and most evenings they dine with the Captain. On the fifth day, the lookout in the crowsnest shouts out that he has sighted Point Niematt and the Captain adjusts course, turning north-west. The Tern continues to scythe through the waves for a week longer.
A few days out from the Isles, a huge brown gull lands on the rail of the for'c'stle. A few of the sailors try to chase it away but it either takes flight for a moment, settling back a few feet away, or lashes out with its dagger-like beak. In the end the crew leave it to its own devices.
"Allam gull," grunts Mister Ward, "Nasty creatures, vicious. Shouldn't kill 'em, mind - they might be messengers of the sea gods."
The gull parades along the rail in an arrogantly proprietorial fashion, eyeing the crew individually. It hops down to the main deck and does the same, and then up to the poop deck at the stern of the ship. Finally satisfied, with a shriek it suddenly takes wing and flaps away.
The weather hitherto has been reasonable, the winds fair and the ocean rolling but not hostile. But a few hours later the southern horizon darkens and the wind picks up. The gentle sway of the ship now becomes more stomach-churning, the Tern's prow lurching upwards before dipping heavily down again. The waves begin to crash on the ship's hull, making her roll and throwing spray across the deck. Black clouds taller than mountains march closer.
"There's a big storm coming," says Mister Jakson to the passengers, "Best to go below decks."
As the journey progresses, Lheorvine unpacks the armouring dummy from the hold and gets ahold of Cedric. "This is both for your own personal safety and your artistic edification. Don't let Blythe's leaps and turns and fancy footwork confuse the issue - swordfighting is about killing your foes, and the way to do that is to make them bleed. So, as you see here, the weak spots of an armoured enemy is the armpit and the knee joint..." Over the next days, he spends half an hour per day showing Cedric dirty tricks and simple and effective ways to end fights quickly. "Just in case the worst happens."
"There's a big storm coming," says Mister Jakson to the passengers, "Best to go below decks."
"Those are intimidating clouds," Lheorvine observes as he heads indoors. "Should we be worried?"
”Remember, though...it’s not your job to kill something or someone. It’s ours. If you focus on defending yourself, and nothing else, you’re much more likely to survive the few crucial seconds before one of us can hopefully get to you.” She says, teaching him sweeps and blocks and parry’s, the basic forms of stopping most general attacks.
”Get a feel for the ringing a sword makes in your hand when you stop someone’s blow that’s intended to kill you. It stings. You’ll feel it all day. That sting means your alive. Never fear it.”
Much as Grulorg would like to experience the storm on decks, he cannot swim and will not risk it, he heads below.
Ishmex was getting bored trying to not distract the crew with his games. The prospect of a storm coming got his blood pumping again though. He heeds Mister Jakson's advice but stays close to the door back outside hoping to catch a glimpse of something exciting happening.
"Those are intimidating clouds," Lheorvine observes as he heads indoors. "Should we be worried?"
"The Tern's been through worse," says Jakson.
The wind gets stronger and drives white-capped waves across the sea. The captain orders all the hatches to be securely fastened to prevent swamping, for the sails reefed to reduce the chance of a mast being lost or the ship capsized, and for heavy lines to run out the back of the ship to slow her further. She then turns the ship into the storm so the bow, the strongest part of the ship, meets the force of the waves. The captain stays at the wheel, shouting instructions and steering the ship through the gales.
The storm blows for hours on end, day turning into night and with no sign of stopping. The swell tosses the ship like a toy, the wind roaring like an angry beast. Below decks anything not secured, including passengers, is thrown about.
"Might as well take it all in. We are powerless to affect it anyway." Lheorvine installs himself in an aft-facing location and admires the massive waves as they hurl the Tern northward. "We really had to expect foul weather, considering our destination, and this one is a doozy."
Ishmex regrets his decision to try to stay near to door. He looks woozy but manages to keep his lunch. As the waves get worse he retreats to his bunk to try to find some sort of soft thing to hold on to.
.
Blythe seeks out Cedric amid all the waves and chaos. "How're you holding up?"
Grulorg is able to handle the horrible motion of the ship, he spends is time below decks praying to the Night Maiden to keep the ship safe that he may continue to do that which she wishes of him.
Grulorg gets a lot more pious when effects beyond his control can potentially harm or kill him!
Delmar takes the storm precautions to heart and seeks out Ishmex. "How are you fairing my friend? Do you fancy that bird brought the storm?"
Delmar finds Ishmex with his bed roll wrapped around him keeping a careful eye on his items. Everything seems to be tied down or at least tied together with an excessive amount of rope and twine.
"So far there's been no injuries. I almost threw up though! I wouldn't be surprised if that bird was some sort of magical omen. It was acting very strangely. I didn't want to cast any spells to examine it in case it would offend the crew or the sea gods."
As he speaks, a wave causes a part of his mess to fly out of the backpack it was in. He points at it and mutters some arcane syllables and it floats back into the bag.
Delmar finds a place to sit that's as clear of ropes as possible. "If you try to let your body relax, and roll with the ship, it's much more bearable. Sick you say? Please don't it won't help with the smell in here. The captain thinks the ship has weathered worse, I'm sure this will be over soon."
The storm continues to roar for the whole day. With the dark skies it is hard to tell, but the sun rises, crosses the sky and sinks again, all unseen, and the night comes on again even as the wind howls on and the ship bucks in the grip of the churning sea. The constant violent motion makes it hard to sleep and soon both passengers and crew are very fatigued. The sailors grab rest when they can, but most are required to man their stations with hardly any respite. The captain maintains her vigil at the helm, facing the Tern into the waves to prevent her from being overwhelmed. But even with her skillful helmsmanship the battering takes its toll on the hull, the power of the waves smashing into the timbers dislodging a few and causing leaks. Led by Jakson and the ship’s carpenter, many of the crew are fully occupied in bracing the hull planks, pushing them back into position to stem of influx of seawater and hammering oakum into the seams to create a water-tight seal. But as soon as they succeed with one they have to move on to others. Other sailors man the pumps, expelling the deepening water that sloshes at the bottom of the ship. Extra measures are taken to stop the cargo coming free, as its unrestricted rolling about inside the hold could amplify the effects of the waves and cause to a capsize. Too much shipped water could do the same.
But as darkness falls on the second day of the storm, the winds finally calm slightly. The ship receives less of a pummelling and the noise of the elements quietens a little. The improvement is enough for the captain to decide that it is safe enough to turn about and make way towards the Isles under reduced sail. She retires to her cabin, although her lantern remains on as she plots the ship’s position after all the turmoil rather than rest. An exhausted Jakson comes past the passengers’ berths and pats the Tern’s timbers. “She’s a tough old tub, this one.” Except for those manning the pumps or engaged in routine tasks, the tired crew flop into their hammocks.
During the storm Delmar will have lent his aid in whatever way he can. He's not strong, but an extra pair of hands can be of help. He will retire where needed to get sleep to maintain his spell casting abilities.
As evening falls on the second day he will be retiring again, to his cabin.
During the worst of the storm, Ishmex keeps to his cabin so as to stay out of the crew's way. Once the storm is relatively done with he wanders about the the interior of the ship trying to find any broken timbers he might be able to fix. As he finds them he sits and begins casting over them. Ten minutes with each and they seem good as new. After a couple castings, he sees that his efforts aren't amounting to much and fatigue is starting to take hold. He heads back to his cabin to rest.
Blythe helps where she can, but stays out of the way most of the time. She makes sure to stay with Cedric when he is awake, if he's wandering about the ship.
Lheorvine is no skilled sailor or craftsman, but he is strong and tireless. Leaving Cedric to the other party members, he offers to help man the pumps or wrangle errant cargo; throughout the ordeal, his sword remains strapped to his back.
As the storm quiets somewhat, he remains with the pumping crew. "I'll sleep once the next gang wakes up," he demurs.
The Tern sails on through the night. The clouds obscure the stars and the moon and, other than a few lanterns onboard the ship, it is pitch black and virtually nothing can be seen past the rail. The wind is strong, although the rain has largely stopped. A few hours before dawn a voice from the crow's nest calls out, "Light off the starboard bow!" To the north a beam pulses rhythmically.
The Captain steps on to the deck. "The Dragon Point Light," she declares, and gives instructions to turn north towards it.
For an hour the Tern follows her new course. The Captain stands behind the helmsman, clearly tired from her ordeal of the last few days. The ship begins to shake slightly. Then Jakson approaches her, looking worried.
"Captain, we're caught in a strong current. That shouldn't happen around Dragon Point."
The Captain frowns. She pulls her spyglass out of her coat pocket and looks at the light. Then she curses and at the same time the shout comes from the lookout, "The lights gone!"
The Captain closes her spyglass with a snap. "Prophet! It must be wreckers."
"But there's never been wreckers in the Isles," protests Jakson.
"Well there are now!" she replies. "We must be in Seeker's Shoals heading north towards Saupa Strait."
"And the rocks!"
"I know. Helmsman, turn her about! Everyone, full sail! Full sail now!"
But it is too late. The ship suddenly lurches, the deck pitching violently. With a scream the sailor in the crow's nest plunges from the top of the main mast and two others tumble into the sea. Timbers tear asunder and water gushes in thunderously as the rocks lurking under the surface tear a gash along the hull.
Blythe’s eyes dart open in the darkness. Something was wrong. Grabbing her sword, she finds her feet, and stands up cautiously.
Ishmex is jolted awake as the ship lurches. He hurriedly grabs his spell casting pouch and a wand and starts heading towards the deck.
Not good. Lheorvine dashes back to his room, grabbing his lightweight shield before heading to Cedric's cabin.
Once there, he simply kicks Cedric's door in. "CEDRIC!! Wake the hell up! Ship's sinking. Get dressed and get up on deck unless you want to drown. Latch onto Grulgor - he'll keep you safe. I'm getting my backpack before it is too late."
Blythe grabs her belongings and jumps in with Lheorvine, Ishmex and Grulorg in getting Cedric out of the depths of the ship.
"Delmar! Move! Get your junk, now! We're going down!"