Connor son of Duncan's page

"...S-Ship.." she muttered.

The words seemed enough for him; she did not struggle to free herself and dive into the waves and she seemed eager enough to be on the ship. He wondered if she meant the ship he took her from, but given the state of that vessel, he did not have time to worry about such things. He looked again at his own ship and hesitated before leaping across and carrying her aboard, instead offering only his oath as a surety of his sincerity to help her.

"...I'll protect ye" she mimicked.

Connor heard her words and paused moment, staring at her with surprise and a bit of confusion.
Could she indeed offer some sort of magical aid or protection for him and his ship? She was not like the men of his crew, or himself, but clearly a creature of strange powers. Could she then summon the aid of spiritual beings to stand by them on the waves?

Of course, it was also possible that she was testing the words he spoke, repeating them as she tried to learn his language.

As he looked into her haunting eyes all concerns of this matter washed away suddenly and he shook his head to clear it.

He was not used to overlong considerations being instead a man of action. He considered an option and then acted on it; sometimes rashly, but trusting to his instincts in most things and his luck where instinct failed him.

She was under his care – he had given his oath to protect her; that was the end of it.

To protect her he must take her to his ship and ensure she was safe, and that was what he would do.

With this in mind he leapt across the narrow space between the ships and landed hard on his booted feet and strode with a purpose to his cabin at the aft end of the ship. There, without preamble, his foot lifted and he reached his hand from under her sinuous body to grasp the handle to the door and open it, then carried her within. He glanced about the cabin, still impressed at the opulence of the late captain who had enlarged his personal living space in a way that seemed unseemly to the northman, for the very breadth and size of the cabin was beyond anything he was used to in his sailing in small, spartan-sized living spaces.

There was enough room to bring the cask inside the door to this place, perhaps. But it would then have to be filled within; and he would not allow her to stay in the tub below decks – no. He needed her to remain in a place that he could attend to her and ensure the door would be sealed from prying eyes.

For now he moved with a purpose to the bunk which was on the far side of the cabin and glancing it shook his head. It was clearly large enough for the late captain Montresor to enjoy the company of more than one occupant and Connor had scoffed at its size, but given the dimensions of his charge, it should be large enough to accommodate her tail and slender body.

He lowered her gently to the sheets upon the bed, not able to pull them back while he carried her, and knelt down by her as he stared at her intently, his rough hand brushing her hair back from her face as he watched her lift the robe to cover herself from his gaze.

It was not an issue for him, though.

It was true that he was a man of passion and fire, and as such, he would normally be impressed by the beauty of her form as any other man might be, especially when he had long been without a woman while sailing. But it was of no consequence to him; he had given his oath – such a thing, rarely given by him, when offered was binding and he could not turn from it, and so he put aside her beauty and form without conscious thought and considered only that she was someone under his protection.

As he felt her hair his hand sought mainly to ascertain the feeling of her skin; was it overly dry? Was it becoming chafed or worn from a lack of water? He did not know, but she seemed hale enough, at least for now, but for how long?

His mind tacked back to her words – “I’ll protect ye” – even as he had said. It could be that she desired to learn his tongue by repeating his words, or it could be that she had power of sea and storm with some uncanny power to move wave and water. He did not know, not yet, but such things needed to be discovered.

After all, there must be a reason that she was held in that ship; was it something simple as just a trophy taken from the sea to return to land for some sport or was there more?

He had taken prisoners, he knew as much for they were on the main deck outside awaiting their Fate; they may offer answers. Until then, though, he would see to her.

“Do ye wish water?” he asked her with a quiet voice, then glanced to a skin hanging on a hook by his bed that he knew was filled with fresh water and lifted it to her and offered it to her take and taste.

He paused a moment and squeezed a few drops from it, to let it fall on her skin so she knew it was water, and to see how she might react to it.

All the while his movements were slow and careful and his eyes tender on hers.

“Water?” he asked again after the drops fell on her, so she could at least be sure of the word. He knew that such a word, if she did not already know it, would be important to learn later on.

As he waited for a response, he slid the robe up from the edge of her tail to study it and examine how the scales seemed to be doing as she lounged in his bunk, not sure how the dry air – or at least, air rather than being submerged in water – would affect her scales and body below her slender waist.

He looked up at her eyes again and watched her.

“Asena… good?” he asked slowly, not sure of the right way to ask her if she was well, or needed food or drink or fresh water or salt; or if she needed none of these things but rest. Would she desire the tub of water he could prepare for her, or would the bunk alone be enough? And most important, she had no legs; would she be alright to lay like this on his bunk, or was the flat beams and mattress hurting her lower back where the tail had curved? After all, such a bunk was good enough for a man to recline in, yes; but for one with the lower half like hers, it may not be good enough…

He waited for her to speak, and as he waited he watched her eyes and considered things.

He was a pirate, a killer and had slain those who stood at her door. Were they her friends or her jailors? And now that she was with him, surely his brutal ways must trouble her – how could she trust him to be with him? She did not likely know his tongue well enough to know he had sworn her safety, and even if she did, what of it? Why should she trust his word, whether he gave an Oath or no?

Unsure of what to do he offered the skin of water for her to drink from and began to sing softly to her.

Óró, sé do bheatha bhaile
óró, sé do bheatha bhaile
óró, sé do bheatha bhaile
anois ar theacht an tsamhraidh.

’Sé do bheatha, a bhean ba léanmhar
do bé ár gcreach tú bheith i ngéibhinn
do dhúiche bhreá i seilbh meirleach
's tú díolta leis na Gallaibh.

Óró, sé do bheatha bhaile
óró, sé do bheatha bhaile
óró, sé do bheatha bhaile
anois ar theacht an tsamhraidh

The words he sung were that of his people, they told of a woman who had been sundered from her land but returned to it, and his words were soft and gentle, and he sang it to her, hoping it the words would ease any tension she had. He was worried that she might be confused by the words he used, but more interested in making sure his tone was calm to sooth her spirit.

Then, he waited to hear what she would say in response – about the water he offered, and possibly food, and how her back where the tail rested on the bunk – and, perhaps, how she felt in general, if she could tell him at all.

Yet if she could not, he would content himself with ensuring she felt secure and, more importantly, safe…

"...will, come along" she spoke softly.

He nodded his head in assent, marveling at the ease that she seemed to be grasping his tongue; though not overly surprised at it, given the fact she must have picked up some bit of the lingo of the sailors she had traveled with.
He then reached gently into the water and slid his hand delicately under her tail, his other brawny arm reaching gently around her slim back and he paused, looking into her eyes.

He was struck by a sudden feeling; as if he had recalled lifting her body up from the water and carrying her, holding her delicately in his arms – her weight negligible to him. Even so, that feeling passed and he stooped and then did indeed lift her gently from the water, feeling her arms around his shoulders and chest as he lifted her.

“It’ll be alright…” he said softly to her as he held her, looking into her eyes, his own eyes deep and filled with concern for her safety as he took her gently.

He was not surprised how easy it was to lift her and carry her, nor was he surprised how easily it was to hold her in his arms. He was struck only by the thought that he had held her like this before; that somewhere in some forgotten place in his past he had held her in his arms and carried her as she held him, and he wondered at it, but did not let it halt him as he lifted her gently from the tub and carried her in his arms outside the door of the cabin to head to the large chamber outside the small room she was in until he was at the stairs leading to the hatch above decks and held her gently, carrying her aloft.

The robe he had offered her was draped over his arm; she could take it and cover herself with it, but he was not worried that the other lads might see her, for they would surely see or know of her before long once she was taken to his ship.

As he carried her to the prow of the ship he continued to whisper softly to her.

“I’ll take care of ye, lass…” he said with a soft, gentle voice “I’ve done bad things, aye… but I’ll not do them with ye, or let bad things happen to ye again… Ye’ve my word; when I give my word on a thing I keep it, or else die in the attempt,” he added with a low voice for her ears only, not even certain she could understand what he was saying, knowing only that he wanted to say it; that he wanted her to trust him, to believe him.

He was not sure why it was important to him, that she trust him, or if she would understand him; and why she should trust him in the first place, considering the horrible things he had done on this ship to get to her, and all around her. Even so, he felt in his gut that it was important, and thus he was as gentle with her as he could be.

He stood with her in his arms a moment, staring at the sea between the ships and looked at her.

He knew if he let her fall into the waters it was likely she could be free, to swim where her heart would take her; to go where she wished, to swim anywhere she wanted. She would not have to stay with him, to stay with the other cutthroats that he sailed with; and even if he ordered them not to do anything harsh or dangerous to her, would it even matter? Why should she believe him; or anything he said? He was, after all, a pirate and a killer – he did horrible things so casually and so easily. That was clear enough from the stream of dead bodies that were littering the decks of the ship he was prepared to leave.

She had no reason to trust in him, and nothing he could offer to her that would make her want to say, or convince her that she would come to no harm in his care. He could do nothing to convince her, and – indeed – did not feel it was right to try to convince her if she wished freedom.

The only thing he could offer her at this point, the only thing that counted and that mattered, was that he would offer his word. A northman was brutal and harsh, aye; and they rarely gave their word openly, but when they did, they held on to it.

“If ye come with me lass, if ye come, I’ll protect ye; I’ll take care of ye. No harm will come of ye if ye come with me… I give ye my word… I promise…” he said the last gently, but then he said no more as he stood at the place near the sea between ships and held her gently.

If she desired to leave him, we would not stop her. He did not wish to stop her from having her freedom and feeling safe from the barbarism of him and his men.

Yet if she understood him, and she believed him, he knew that he would do nothing to harm her and everything to make sure she was safe and content.

After all, he had given his word.

He watched her then, and waited to see what she would do next…

He watched her first take the seaweed and instead of eating it, rub it gently on her tail and marveled at it. He had eaten his share of seaweed as a sailor, eating anything he had to so that he did not starve on long voyages. But it was clearly not meant to be for her to eat…

He nodded his head at what she did and smiled.
“Good,” he said in response, keeping his words simple to mirror her style.

He felt the delicate touch of her hand on his rough one and felt her guiding his hand to her tail slowly but gently.

“…Soft…” she had said, and he felt the soft press of her tail under his hand and marveled at the way the scales felt to him; not rough, but delicate and the way they blended together was, to him, surprising at their lucid feeling under his hand.

“…Soft…… smooth…” he added, trying to offer her more words to consider, as he moved his hand slowly up and down the length of her tail, to demonstrate that when he meant smooth he meant the feeling as he slid over it, rather than soft as he pressed into it.

He recalled absently how the tail had shimmered in color, seeming to blend to merge with the blanket, and wondered at what sort of power she might have. But beyond wondering he considered what to do next.

The ship she was on had been heavily damaged and he would need to take her off it and to his own ship for safety. Yet where would she stay on his ship? Could they even get the tub out of the chamber?

He knew that they had large wooden vats that had been used for holding fresh water that were empty. Perhaps they could be filled with seawater and she could rest in one of them, if she could even be moved safely from the tub she was in. But no matter what happened, he could see from the way the ship was listing somewhat drunkenly, that it was taking on water and he would need to get her out.

Or should he?

She seemed a prisoner to the folk who held her – perhaps he should let her make her own choice, to return to the sea or come with him?

He did not know why he felt so generous with her, but when he looked into her eyes he felt a sudden pang of tenderness for her; he did not wish to see her come to harm, though he could not explain the motivation for that feeling.

He called out behind him in a loud voice for one of his men.

As he waited for a response he looked at her.

“Asena… good…” he said gently, hoping that the words would be known and she would feel safe with him.

One of the mates rushed to the door and he turned and rapidly told him to take one of the casks they used for fresh water that was empty and fill it halfway with seawater, then prepare to cast off while he brought aboard something.

The mater nodded his head, his eyes flicking past Connor and saw the girl, but said nothing but hurried off to obey orders.

Connor waited a moment and stared at her.

“Asena… good… come?” he said the last, then gestured to her with his hands, knowing she could not walk, but hoping she might move to him so he could hold her and possibly carry her safely to his ship.

He waited a moment for her; would she move toward him so he could lift her in his arms, or would she cringe back in suspicion.

Only time would tell…

His eyes narrowed a bit as he watched her.

“Asena…” he said slowly, doing his best to try to pronounce the word with the same tone and inflection.

He pointed to himself again, placing it on his chest and said slowly – “Connor” – then, placing his hand out gently toward her, he laid it on her chest gently and said softly – “Asena”…

He waited a moment for her to deduce he meant no harm and was not trying to hurt or harm her. All the while his eyes cast about the room, seeking for something to give him a clue as to what to do next.

He saw something interesting, then; a series of earthen jars caught his attention, for they were not fancy or impressive, though they seemed obvious for their simplicity.

As he fidgeted a bit, he lifted the lid of one of them, and noticed the smell of pickled seaweed in them, and in another of the jars he saw something that looked like dried strips of fish, possibly cod, but he wasn’t sure.

He reached inside and lifted one and suddenly wondered if it was food; or rather, if it was food that she would prefer?

He took the jar gingerly in his hands and offered it to her slowly. He suddenly realized he did not know how long she had been in the chamber and if she had eaten anything, but realized that food would not be a problem, at least, not to offer it.

He waited for her to study the contents of the jar and then see if she would take what was inside.
As he waited for her to act, he began to speak slowly to her, testing her patience for his words and trying to see if she could duplicate what he said.

“Eat… eat?” he asked, pointing his hand to the contents of the jar, then at his mouth as he pantomimed eating and watching her to see how she would react.

He feigned eating the food and then rubbed his stomach to demonstrate that he was supposed to be swallowing something, and waited to see how she would react.

“Connor,” he said again, pointing at himself – “Asena” he added as he pointed at her.

He smiled her, his smile obvious, but he tried to make sure it was not threatening, but merely peaceful so it did not cause her any distress.

He looked at the water again that she rested in, the tail still obvious, and wondered if he would take her on his ship if he would need to take the whole damn copper tub? And if he needed to, could he even move it? If he didn’t take the copper tub, what would happen to her once she left the water? Would she die at once, or would it take time, or would she not die at all with her tail not wet?

He didn’t know, but did what he could to maintain his calm and do everything he could to remain patient so as not to upset her.

He waited to see if she would try the food, then, and how she would react and simply remained patient with her, not know what she was thinking or feeling, but eager to know more.

Connor heard the high-pitched cry and his eyes narrowed as he watched her.

He noted at once the tail in the water beneath him, but he did not react it to – at least, not overtly. His eyes widened somewhat, for he had heard tales of creatures of the deep who had the ken of men’s faces and the bodies of aquatic creatures, and while he had never witnessed such a creature with his own eyes, he was determined not to do anything to complicate this meeting.

His mind tacked back to the crone who had spoken his language that stood as apparent guard at the door, and he wondered if the creature before him was some sort of demon-spawn to be used as a weapon, or a prisoner to be held for threat of trade…

One thing was certain, he did not know much about her, and she did not seem to be inclined to speak, if she could even answer him.

At that moment ben-Hadad suddenly strode across the empty deck behind the door and Connor half-turned to the man.

“Did ye find anything aboard?” he asked ben-Hadad before the man could speak.

“With respect, sahib, there was little of note. The ship’s log was writ in some archaic tongue, else it was encoded, but Rinaldo is working on it.”

He seemed to be oblivious to the dead woman on the deck and was more interested in the signs of the door and the tub that Connor stood in front of.

“Have the lads take what goods there are to find aboard to our ship. This one’s not worth much, we can let it drift, I’d warrant, as I we dinna have the crew to con both vessels. As for the prisoners – ask them if they are willing to serve with us. Those who are give safe and fair treatment; those who aren’t, cut their throats and throw them overboard,” he said with a flat voice forestalling any questions by ben-Hadad who glanced behind his captain again, then looked at Connor and nodded.

Connor watched the man go and then turned to look at the creature before him.

He studied her for a moment, then placed his hand on his chest.

“Connor,” he said slowly, watching her carefully “Connor…” he repeated.

He put his hand toward her and hoped she might tell him at least her name, or a way to communicate, and then waited to see what she would say next.

September 6th
Time: Roughly 1:17 PM
Location: On the deck of []The Valkyrie[/i]
Moon Cycle: Full Moon; Next Full Moon 4th of October
Moon Cycle
Weather Conditions: Warm, low wind
Temperature: Roughly 89 F

It was eighteen days since the incident at the island and the ship – renamed by Connor as “The Valkyrie” – had discovered its first prize.

A ship with dhow rigging, likely one from northern Sandaria, had been sighted and been given chase. When the men under Connor’s command had assailed them, they discovered that the Sandariain ship had no cannon aboard, but instead, squat ballista which lobbed vials of oil and pitch at their ship and lighted at range with fire arrows. The chase was brutal, but when they drew in range the men on “The Valkyrie” were content to open fire with their muskets and grape shot, causing huge and ugly smears of ruined bodies to decorate the keel of the enemy vessel.

As the ship drew in range grapples were tossed and Connor led the boarding party who swung across and crashed hard upon the enemy deck and, after a brief skirmish, soon had the majority of the men slain while those few who surrendered were beaten down into further submission until their fate was determined.

Connor cared little for the lot of the enemy crew, though, being more interested in what treasures were below. After a quick examination of the captain’s quarters he scowled at the lack of wealth apparent and turned on his heel to head below, leaving the details of securing the mundane loot to Vespucci.

Rushing below deck he noticed at the aft side of the ship was a solid, oaken door; bound with iron bands and covered in strange glyphs. Yet was most puzzling was that before it stood a strange site; a woman with features like that of any from Thalore, yet her eyes were gone, burned away by what was likely hot irons, and at Connor’s presence she lifted her sightless gaze and seemed to stare at him.

“Who be ye to come to this place?” she called out in a sing-song voice with an accent strong from his homeland.

“I am one who has achieved much in battle; and because of that, I may claim what I wish,” he retorted brashly, but his eyes narrowed in suspicion at the blind crone.

“Aye! A northman who speaks with a tongue of my lands, true?” she cackled in response, her laugh causing Connor to stare at her with a tense look.

“Tell me then, man of my lands; what do ye know of darkness and demons?” she prompted.

Connor scowled in response to this query.

“I know enough that iron and blood are real enough to allay even the gods, if Fortune stands beside you,” he responded with a wary tone.

The crone cackled again.

“Aye, aye! Well spoken! But no, thus, man of my land, beyond this door is a thing fished from below the waves; from those wretched cities drowned by dark gods of bygones ages it may be – or worse… And if ye think ye can survive such peril mark ye well that it comes not to ye with a knife or iron; yet shall it stab at thy heart… for what ye shall see is what has driven men mad with need and they who pursue it meet grim tides indeed,” she added, then fished a bag from around her neck and tossed its contents on the deck between them.

Connor raised his weapon then paused, studying what she had cast, and there he spied a collection of bones before them and watched her pass her hand over them, as if feeling their size and location.

“What’s this, what’s this I see? A darksome tale for thee… yet fear shall not halt thee thus; instead ye driven forth by lust…” she added, and Connor made a symbol with his hand to ward off her chant, sure now that she was mocking his lust for treasure and wealth.

“You are plotting some devilment with me, witch,” he growled “yet among my people it is oft said – A Crushed Head Holds No Plots….”

He lifted his axe suddenly and the woman before him suddenly jerked out a long knife and lunged at him with an accuracy that belied her blindness. Connor dodged the assault, but barely, and then his axe swung in a fast arc and he buried the metal head in her skull.

Jerking out the weapon he grimaced at the hideous form of the dead crone and paused to clean the axe head off on her skull and then moved to the door.

Given the writing and the iron bindings he assumed that opening it would be complicated, yet was startled to discover the door opened with ease at his mere touch; as if those who fashioned it were content that the crone and writing was enough to halt any intruders.

He heard the men moving aloft, eager to hear of what he discovered, and called to them that he was yet unsure but they should continue in securing the vessel. And then he pushed the door open…

Beyond the door the cabin was dark, and as the grimy light seeped in from where he stood he noticed at once a large, copper tub, filled with water. Lifting his axe warily he moved forward and saw what looked like a strange sight; a red-haired woman with dusky skin lay in the tub, her head back and face had the look of one who had suffered much.

Connor noted that her ears were sloe shaped, as the Fae creatures of his homeland, and he felt a nervous edge in his belly as he stared at her. Then, her eyes opened and she seemed to flinch back from him, as if afraid, and he stared at her in confusion, uncertain as to how to react.

Casting his gaze about the cabin he spied a fine robe folded on a wooden bench and tore it up and handed it to her, so she may cover her modesty.

While the northman did not care overmuch for the needs of civilized men to hide their nakedness, he knew at least that there was something strange and mysterious about this woman before him and, uncertain how to proceed, elected to do all he could to make her comfortable.

He lowered his axe, though was still wary as he looked upon her, the robe offered to her.

“I am Connor, a northman from Thalore. You will not be harmed. If you need aid, I will help you,” he said slowly as she watched him from her place in the water.

“Who are you, and how did you come to this place?” he added, extending the robe, hoping that even if she did not understand his language that she would at least accept the gentleness of his tone.

Then, as he held the robe for her to take, he waited to see how she would respond…