The platform, erected in one of the city’s squares, is bathed in the flickering light of the torches affixed to the supporting posts in each of its corners. A widely spaced line of guards, carrying torches of their own, surrounds it as much as to remind of the official approval as for dissuading any possible resistance to the proceedings.
Looking at what can be seen of the gathered faces, barely illuminated now that the low gray clouds obscured the sun this late evening, one cannot help but to notice the expression of silent relief that is being attempted to be hidden, for better or for worse, by the majority of the spectators. There are some who loudly express their delight at the spectacle, as it always happens regardless of the circumstances, but most of the crowd is simply… there. After all, it could be any of them up there, their abused bodies stretched by the tight ropes bounding them to the stake.
Four are standing on the tell-tale piles of kindling. Their bruised heads, the only part of their bodies not forced in position by the heavy ropes keeping them in place, hang low, causing a slow dribble of saliva and blood out of mouth of one with most teeth shattered or pulled out. Dry and cracked lips of another man move wordlessly, his eyes, like of the rest, dull and unfocused. The single woman among them, despite the best effort of the executioners, hangs limply in the bonds, their harsh strands having torn the body enough for the drawn blood to cause them slide over what remains undamaged of the skin. The sack-like cloth, thrown over all the bodies for some semblance of misplaced decency, glistens wetly on the front where the flesh underneath had undoubtedly been ripped apart by eager pliers of the torturers.
Placed at the side of the gathering, she dares not to look at the last man, her eyes focusing instead with a clarity only such moments provide on the twisted shape of the man’s hand. With arms twisted behind his back, as the rest of the captives, it protrudes from the mass of knots and coils of rope hidden from majority of the witnesses behind his body to attract her terrified attention. The gentle, soft hands of the scholar the middle-aged man was are twisted beyond recognition, painted in the deep purple of crushed bones in places where the flesh itself is untouched. Half of his index finger is missing, and the little finger is hanging down, the bone clearly separated from the rest of the hand.
Her eyes tear up and mercifully obscure the scene as the man on the platform, dressed in priestly robes, finishes the speech that is a droning background of sound to her mind finding no comprehension in the chaotic horror that holds grip despite her greatest efforts to awaken from the nightmare that the world had become. She does not see as torches touch the final pyres of the bound prisoners, or the sudden last animation of their bodies. There is a roar of fire in her ears, drowning out the scattered shouts of approval from the crowd, and the wetness of tears that cannot wash away the madness that the eight years old’s world has become.
The ship creaked ominously, with shouts of alarm that tore her out of the restless slumber still sounding around. It took her a moment of blank staring at the timber making the wall of her cabin to shake off the cold terror still clutching her throat and heart with an iron grip. Pulling on her boots, she stumbled out, making slow way along the pitching and yawning corridors of the Prancing Lamb. The merchant ship hired as an exploratory vessel, meant to chart an alternative to the shore-bound trading lines with Cuhanna, was still clearly in the grip of the unending storm that dictated its heading for several days already.
A wall of water hit her face as she was approaching one of the open hatches leading onto the deck. A sailor pushed by, with a hasty apology, and scrambled up the slicked stairs. The coldness of the water washed away the last of the sleep, and the crisp air was welcome after the stifling smells of the ship’s interior.
“We lost two more sails. At that rate, we may end up using those bales of cloth in the holds for sails, whatever their colors may be, and profit be damned”
The unperturbed voice of the ship’s captain greeted her from his usual spot by the helmsman’s wheel. It seemed that, what looked like a complete catastrophe to her, was just a part of sailing on the open ocean.
On the other hand, the man would probably keep the same tone of voice if they were sailing through the domain of Culnul and Peralia themselves.
“Any idea where we are yet?”
He took a moment to place a heavy hand on the helmsman’s, turning the wheel ever so slightly as the ship crested another of the enormous waves.
“We will go where the storm takes us, miss, until it clears. Do you know what happens when somebody tries to maneuver in this weather?”
She brushed the dyed hair away from her face, the rigors of the voyage having long destroyed its peculiar style. Glancing around at the water, impossibly surrounding the ship on all the sides for quite some way up, she shook her head mutely, holding tightly to the poop deck’s railing.
“Best you don’t find out, then, miss”
The storm
Continued
The rigging surrounding the ripped sail was swarming with the crew conducting the needed repairs. On the deck, clusters of sailors easing or pulling at various ropes added to the feel of continuously postponed outbreak of complete chaos that seemed to constitute majority of the sailing time.
“That was not so bad, after all. We are only completely off course and with just a few spare sails left.”
The captain shrugged, his narrowed eyes scanning the slowly emerging horizon through the gray haze of low clouds that still surrounded them even as the storm continued to fade away. The blonde-haired woman, standing next to him, watched the progressing work with interest. She also listened with an expression of bemusement.
“I do not think I heard that one before.”
It took the man a moment to recognize the melody and words coming from the crew, and just for a heartbeat one could think there was crack in his stoical manner. The men below continued with their song, the third mate’s piercing voice leading with each line before the thunderous chorus of the repetition from the rest of the crew.
“It helps with work, miss. It’s the rhythm. Men focus on it, coordinate, work goes easier.”
She nodded humorously solemn assent,
“It is amazing how many serving maids turn out to have such incredible abilities.”
Taking her eyes off of the ship, she glanced around, taking in the vast emptiness surrounding the ship. To the left, and ahead, the horizon seemed rather closer, and the dark grayness did not seem to be letting up.
“Another storm?”
The captain, seemingly unphased by the recent events, was personally manning the helm, allowing the three crewmembers usually ready to rotate at a call the long deserved rest. As far as she knew, he did not sleep for the last thirty two hours or so, but he seemed completely unaffected by it. His heavy, almost chiseled face retained its usual placid expression. Whomever thought the man simple, or devoid of imagination, however, had but to notice the sharp, calculating gaze of his eyes to understand why he considered to be among the best captains to anchor in Cear.
As she glanced toward the man, she realized that his face had already been turned toward the spot for some time.
“If it’s a storm, it won’t come this way. Though, with the wind, it should be moving away from us.”
They observed the dark line on the horizon for some time, as the songs of the crew washed over them as a soothing part of a small island of order among the precarious expanse of untamed nature.
“Gilbert still not done?”
The name of the hired wizard resulted in yet another of the general shrugs seeming to cover anything from unusual cloud formations to demigods fighting.
“Better take more time than get it wrong. You get the heading wrong, and a few weeks later land in a completely different place, right direction or not, miss.”
His brow furrowed as the man leaned slightly over the wheel, gazing ahead.
“It’s not moving.”
“What?”
“The clouds, or whatever that is. It is not moving.”
The door below, leading to the officer’s quarters, flew open, with quickly paced steps bringing the sharp-featured half elf to them. The wizard was frowning, his head continuously turning toward the direction of their own interest.
“Over there. Any idea what that is?”
“Not at all, master Gilbert. We were wondering just the same. Captain Karev just determined that it is stationary.”
The beaklike nose of the wizard turned at the woman. Before the man could launch into one of his already well known monologues, she continued with an inquisitive raising of her brows.
“Volcanoes, perhaps?”
The wizard paused for a moment, considering.
“Irrelevant. We have to get closer.”
The announcement, as much as the curt manner in which it was delivered, caused both the captain and the woman to study the wizard with interest. It was the woman who, after a glance at the captain, proceeded to question.
“Why is that? I appreciate your expertise at divination, but unless the sun changed its course, this is still the wrong way to Cuhanna.”
The half elf’s face hardened, the expression causing him to look even more hawk-like.
“The contract I was hired under clearly states that, in case of an occurrence of magical nature, I am the one to decide the best course of action. I suggest this irrelevant discussion be dropped rather than waste our mutual time, since I decided that we should go that way.”
The woman’s increasing interest was clearly evident on her face.
“’Magical nature?’ Why would you assume such?”
The wizard jabbed his finger at the dark spot on the horizon.
“Because whatever that is, it is interfering with magic!”
*
The cry from the crow’s nest was silenced as soon as it sounded. The top of the mast, from just below the lookout point, suddenly slid to the side, filling the air with the noise of strained wood and snapping ropes. The unfortunate individual high up lost his footing and started the death plunge toward the deck below.
Then blurred and disappeared.
The falling mottle of wood and ropes, just a moment ago a working and firmly attached part of the ship, seemed to lose its outline, then vanished as well.
The short-cut cry of the lookout was repeated by several sailors, as they suddenly found themselves in the midst of flailing ropes and falling wood. A crewman, just a moment ago operating a winch, found himself tossed across the deck by a flailing rope. He lay there in a spreading pool of blood, dazed as much from the impact as by the sudden loss of his arm, the severed member sent flying overboard.
A pair, trimming the upper mizzen, suddenly found the yard they were hanging onto no longer secure in the complex cocoon of ropes as the supporting parts were sheared off by an invisible line overhead. One of the men, more by luck than design, managed to grasp the climbing ladder of the mast, luckily attached below the point of destruction. Suffering little more than slight abrasions of hands, he saw his companion’s hands losing their grip on the sliding wood. With a cry of anguish, and a great presence of mind, the falling man pushed away from the separated yard, launching himself into the air far from the deck of the ship. The splash of his body hitting the ocean’s waters was followed by the groaning and snapping of ropes beyond their tension support, and a crash as the heavy timber of the yard shattered the rail of the ship and slid overboard, dragging a tangle of ropes behind it.
“Sever those ropes! Man overboard!”
The captain’s raised voice sent the momentarily frozen crew into a whirlwind of activity. He marched toward the helmsman, directing each group of the sailors on the way toward their new tasks at dealing with the unexpected event.
“Prepare for maneuvers!”
The wizard and the woman, having jumped away from the poop deck’s railing they were standing by until the yard crashed just several feet away, both turned toward the captain as the man approached the helmsman. The woman was, as usual, first to speak.
“That man that fell down… is there a chance he survived?”
The captain nodded, glancing at the progress of the sailors with satisfaction. The large group of, admittedly, quality sailors, that was hired as reinforcement for his usual subordinates for such a long journey, had by now been transformed by him into a smoothly acting crew relying as much on knowledge of the next man’s quirks and capabilities as individual sailing prowess. Despite the sudden catastrophe to the ship’s rigging, the majority of the damage was already cleared, and the remaining operational sails were well manned for whatever adjustment in the course he deemed necessary.
“Wait! You cannot turn for that man!”
The wizard’s angry voice caught the captain in mid-tap on the helmsman’s shoulder, breaking off the command to follow. Instead, he turned toward the half-elf with eyes narrowed in controlled annoyance.
“Why not?”
The wizard gestured at the dark strands of the strange, mist-like cloud that they approached. Even now, there seemed to be flickers of movement within it, unseen but out of the corners of one’s eyes. His sharp face looked particularly predatory in the dusk-like light, its gloom increasing as they approached the strange phenomenon despite it being only late, and by now sunny, afternoon. Several times it was only the insistence of the wizard that kept them on the course, and men were loudly expressing their displeasure at the heading just before the disaster struck.
“We must move away as soon as possible!”
For the first time they knew each other, Karev’s face carried clear signs of anger.
“You told me to get closer, wizard. I did. It cost us already, and I am not going to let another of my men die just because you suddenly changed your mind about it!”
While he kept his voice quiet, the cold tone of it caused the wizard to pause and rethink his demanding tone. Unfortunately, even his explanations carried the tone of barely tolerated condescension.
“I had enough time to partially identify the phenomenon. It was an undirected discharge of randomized magic that caused the damage. The probability of it striking the ship again increases exponentially as you get closer to whatever the source here is. Something causes magic to gather around this area, and it flares out once the precipitation quotient overcomes the…”
A loud shout from one of the sailors above interrupted the wizard. He appeared about to pick up his explanation again, when several more followed.
Something was definitely stirring, and it looked to be the entire wall of lightless air on the ship’s side. With ponderous intensity, it visibly surged toward them, seeming to swallow the light in its passage.
“We must turn!”
The hands of the wizard were already dancing as he exclaimed the final warning, lithe fingers trailing light of worked magic behind them. A sudden wind filled the sails, causing the stricken ship to pick up speed. With a final look to where the outline of the yard was still visible among the low waves, the captain made one of the many difficult decisions that were such integral part of life at sea.
“Hard to starboard!”
The captain’s command, repeated by the ship’s mates and loudly acknowledged by the sailors, began a slow turn as the merchant vessel started to parallel its course with the surging grayness. It was clear, however, that it would not be able to turn in time.
A complex cry of arcane invocation erupted from the wizard’s lips, and the air suddenly seemed to thicken to the sound. A large, shimmering shell cocooned the ship. A moment later, the light-deprived grayness of the surging mist enveloped them.
The ward held.
The captain patted the helmsman’s shoulder, then reached over the surprised man to return the wheel to its neutral position. Without the sight of the sun, or anything just beyond the shimmering shield, it was only the experience of lifelong sailing that allowed him to judge the ship’s heading relative to the still blowing wind. If the wizard’s spell held, they were on their way out of whatever just engulfed them.
A terrified cry filled the air, and something flickered in the air. A sailor’s body was pulled off of the rigging, sending him flying past the shimmering shield and into the grayness beyond.
“That was not so bad, after all. We are only completely off course and with just a few spare sails left.”
The captain shrugged, his narrowed eyes scanning the slowly emerging horizon through the gray haze of low clouds that still surrounded them even as the storm continued to fade away. The blonde-haired woman, standing next to him, watched the progressing work with interest. She also listened with an expression of bemusement.
“I do not think I heard that one before.”
It took the man a moment to recognize the melody and words coming from the crew, and just for a heartbeat one could think there was crack in his stoical manner. The men below continued with their song, the third mate’s piercing voice leading with each line before the thunderous chorus of the repetition from the rest of the crew.
“It helps with work, miss. It’s the rhythm. Men focus on it, coordinate, work goes easier.”
She nodded humorously solemn assent,
“It is amazing how many serving maids turn out to have such incredible abilities.”
Taking her eyes off of the ship, she glanced around, taking in the vast emptiness surrounding the ship. To the left, and ahead, the horizon seemed rather closer, and the dark grayness did not seem to be letting up.
“Another storm?”
The captain, seemingly unphased by the recent events, was personally manning the helm, allowing the three crewmembers usually ready to rotate at a call the long deserved rest. As far as she knew, he did not sleep for the last thirty two hours or so, but he seemed completely unaffected by it. His heavy, almost chiseled face retained its usual placid expression. Whomever thought the man simple, or devoid of imagination, however, had but to notice the sharp, calculating gaze of his eyes to understand why he considered to be among the best captains to anchor in Cear.
As she glanced toward the man, she realized that his face had already been turned toward the spot for some time.
“If it’s a storm, it won’t come this way. Though, with the wind, it should be moving away from us.”
They observed the dark line on the horizon for some time, as the songs of the crew washed over them as a soothing part of a small island of order among the precarious expanse of untamed nature.
“Gilbert still not done?”
The name of the hired wizard resulted in yet another of the general shrugs seeming to cover anything from unusual cloud formations to demigods fighting.
“Better take more time than get it wrong. You get the heading wrong, and a few weeks later land in a completely different place, right direction or not, miss.”
His brow furrowed as the man leaned slightly over the wheel, gazing ahead.
“It’s not moving.”
“What?”
“The clouds, or whatever that is. It is not moving.”
The door below, leading to the officer’s quarters, flew open, with quickly paced steps bringing the sharp-featured half elf to them. The wizard was frowning, his head continuously turning toward the direction of their own interest.
“Over there. Any idea what that is?”
“Not at all, master Gilbert. We were wondering just the same. Captain Karev just determined that it is stationary.”
The beaklike nose of the wizard turned at the woman. Before the man could launch into one of his already well known monologues, she continued with an inquisitive raising of her brows.
“Volcanoes, perhaps?”
The wizard paused for a moment, considering.
“Irrelevant. We have to get closer.”
The announcement, as much as the curt manner in which it was delivered, caused both the captain and the woman to study the wizard with interest. It was the woman who, after a glance at the captain, proceeded to question.
“Why is that? I appreciate your expertise at divination, but unless the sun changed its course, this is still the wrong way to Cuhanna.”
The half elf’s face hardened, the expression causing him to look even more hawk-like.
“The contract I was hired under clearly states that, in case of an occurrence of magical nature, I am the one to decide the best course of action. I suggest this irrelevant discussion be dropped rather than waste our mutual time, since I decided that we should go that way.”
The woman’s increasing interest was clearly evident on her face.
“’Magical nature?’ Why would you assume such?”
The wizard jabbed his finger at the dark spot on the horizon.
“Because whatever that is, it is interfering with magic!”
*
The cry from the crow’s nest was silenced as soon as it sounded. The top of the mast, from just below the lookout point, suddenly slid to the side, filling the air with the noise of strained wood and snapping ropes. The unfortunate individual high up lost his footing and started the death plunge toward the deck below.
Then blurred and disappeared.
The falling mottle of wood and ropes, just a moment ago a working and firmly attached part of the ship, seemed to lose its outline, then vanished as well.
The short-cut cry of the lookout was repeated by several sailors, as they suddenly found themselves in the midst of flailing ropes and falling wood. A crewman, just a moment ago operating a winch, found himself tossed across the deck by a flailing rope. He lay there in a spreading pool of blood, dazed as much from the impact as by the sudden loss of his arm, the severed member sent flying overboard.
A pair, trimming the upper mizzen, suddenly found the yard they were hanging onto no longer secure in the complex cocoon of ropes as the supporting parts were sheared off by an invisible line overhead. One of the men, more by luck than design, managed to grasp the climbing ladder of the mast, luckily attached below the point of destruction. Suffering little more than slight abrasions of hands, he saw his companion’s hands losing their grip on the sliding wood. With a cry of anguish, and a great presence of mind, the falling man pushed away from the separated yard, launching himself into the air far from the deck of the ship. The splash of his body hitting the ocean’s waters was followed by the groaning and snapping of ropes beyond their tension support, and a crash as the heavy timber of the yard shattered the rail of the ship and slid overboard, dragging a tangle of ropes behind it.
“Sever those ropes! Man overboard!”
The captain’s raised voice sent the momentarily frozen crew into a whirlwind of activity. He marched toward the helmsman, directing each group of the sailors on the way toward their new tasks at dealing with the unexpected event.
“Prepare for maneuvers!”
The wizard and the woman, having jumped away from the poop deck’s railing they were standing by until the yard crashed just several feet away, both turned toward the captain as the man approached the helmsman. The woman was, as usual, first to speak.
“That man that fell down… is there a chance he survived?”
The captain nodded, glancing at the progress of the sailors with satisfaction. The large group of, admittedly, quality sailors, that was hired as reinforcement for his usual subordinates for such a long journey, had by now been transformed by him into a smoothly acting crew relying as much on knowledge of the next man’s quirks and capabilities as individual sailing prowess. Despite the sudden catastrophe to the ship’s rigging, the majority of the damage was already cleared, and the remaining operational sails were well manned for whatever adjustment in the course he deemed necessary.
“Wait! You cannot turn for that man!”
The wizard’s angry voice caught the captain in mid-tap on the helmsman’s shoulder, breaking off the command to follow. Instead, he turned toward the half-elf with eyes narrowed in controlled annoyance.
“Why not?”
The wizard gestured at the dark strands of the strange, mist-like cloud that they approached. Even now, there seemed to be flickers of movement within it, unseen but out of the corners of one’s eyes. His sharp face looked particularly predatory in the dusk-like light, its gloom increasing as they approached the strange phenomenon despite it being only late, and by now sunny, afternoon. Several times it was only the insistence of the wizard that kept them on the course, and men were loudly expressing their displeasure at the heading just before the disaster struck.
“We must move away as soon as possible!”
For the first time they knew each other, Karev’s face carried clear signs of anger.
“You told me to get closer, wizard. I did. It cost us already, and I am not going to let another of my men die just because you suddenly changed your mind about it!”
While he kept his voice quiet, the cold tone of it caused the wizard to pause and rethink his demanding tone. Unfortunately, even his explanations carried the tone of barely tolerated condescension.
“I had enough time to partially identify the phenomenon. It was an undirected discharge of randomized magic that caused the damage. The probability of it striking the ship again increases exponentially as you get closer to whatever the source here is. Something causes magic to gather around this area, and it flares out once the precipitation quotient overcomes the…”
A loud shout from one of the sailors above interrupted the wizard. He appeared about to pick up his explanation again, when several more followed.
Something was definitely stirring, and it looked to be the entire wall of lightless air on the ship’s side. With ponderous intensity, it visibly surged toward them, seeming to swallow the light in its passage.
“We must turn!”
The hands of the wizard were already dancing as he exclaimed the final warning, lithe fingers trailing light of worked magic behind them. A sudden wind filled the sails, causing the stricken ship to pick up speed. With a final look to where the outline of the yard was still visible among the low waves, the captain made one of the many difficult decisions that were such integral part of life at sea.
“Hard to starboard!”
The captain’s command, repeated by the ship’s mates and loudly acknowledged by the sailors, began a slow turn as the merchant vessel started to parallel its course with the surging grayness. It was clear, however, that it would not be able to turn in time.
A complex cry of arcane invocation erupted from the wizard’s lips, and the air suddenly seemed to thicken to the sound. A large, shimmering shell cocooned the ship. A moment later, the light-deprived grayness of the surging mist enveloped them.
The ward held.
The captain patted the helmsman’s shoulder, then reached over the surprised man to return the wheel to its neutral position. Without the sight of the sun, or anything just beyond the shimmering shield, it was only the experience of lifelong sailing that allowed him to judge the ship’s heading relative to the still blowing wind. If the wizard’s spell held, they were on their way out of whatever just engulfed them.
A terrified cry filled the air, and something flickered in the air. A sailor’s body was pulled off of the rigging, sending him flying past the shimmering shield and into the grayness beyond.
- Jewel
“No, back! Turn the other way, now!”
The air seemed to take on an oily quality. Objects further away seemed distorted, and there was an odd taste in the air. Like the perception of sharpness just after a spring storm, it lingered on the senses in a way beyond any physical perception.
This, however, had no origin in the physical realm. Just as the captain looked over his shoulder, the wizard’s expansive gesture caused the glimmering shield about the vessel to grow and expand, forcing the dull lightlessness beyond it away from the ship.
“Turn it! I will make the way clear, turn it now!”
The wizard’s voice had taken on a previously undisplayed tone to it. Gone was the cold self-control, verging on superiority, replaced by an intensity bordering on manic. Even as he spoke, his fingers trailed another arcane symbol in the air, pushing the protective shell of the spell further away. There was a barely perceptible movement of something battering at it.
“I cannot endanger the ship, or the crew, any further, master Gilbert. This thing is clearly dangerous, and there is no knowing what will happen the longer we wait.”
The wizard paused, his features drawn back in a rectus of fury. He strode toward the massive form of the ship’s captain, magic congealing about his body. His hands clenched, then opened to reveal two blazing orbs of actinic fire.
“Turn the ship NOW!”
“Gilbert? What are you doing?”
The woman’s voice interposed the request, causing the half-elf to turn toward her with a snarl. The possessed expression on the man’s face caused her to take a step back, with sudden fear clutching at her throat.
There was an unexpected wooden sound, then the wizard’s face softened. The half-visible shell of enchantments about his body ceased to exist, and he folded down with a soft sigh.
Karev slid the belaying pin back in its place, crossing arms over his chest.
“Keep it steady, mister Johns. We might actually get out of here with the ship largely intact.”
The Prancing Lamb’s bow was facing an opening forced by the wizard’s shield as it expanded beyond the range of the grayish wall. Even as they watched, the two parts of ahead of the ship began to surge toward each other. Warning shouts from the crew served as the unnecessary reminder that they were racing time before the phenomenon fully reformed. Fortunately, the wizard’s magic gave them enough room to have a chance.
The woman leaned over the prone wizard, noticing with interest that the blow from the captain seemed judiciously applied to solely render the target unconscious, a very difficult feat to achieve without unpleasant side effects… such as a broken skull. It seemed that life of the high seas was good for picking up vast range of expertise…
“What happened to him? This was nothing like Gilbert…”
She sounded uncertain, as if the fact that a man’s actions went against his personality bothered her more than the unexpected circumstances surrounding the event. Without taking his apprising gaze from the two dark strands trying to block the passage of his vessel, the captain shrugged.
“Hard to say. Though…”
His pause had barely time to mature before she voiced her curiosity.
“Yes?”
The man smiled lightly, glancing at the unconscious form on the deck.
“The answer is rather simple, miss. He is a wizard, after all. Many of such people crave, most of all, one thing alone – the power that magic brings.”
“Why now, though?”
The man laughed, and for a moment she suddenly felt no longer intimidated by the gray dullness approaching the ship with increasing speed. The helmsman also seemed to relax, if only for a few heartbeats, and even after it passed, the sudden change seemed to have left a sparkle of optimism in their minds.
“The magic is immensely powerful here, miss, for whatever the reason. He is a wizard, yet, I ask you… where was his spell book when he cast his spells?”
The brief conversation was interrupted by another shout of alarm. As the grayness approached them, something dark began to form behind the ship’s stern.
With a solemn expression, Karev clapped the helmsman on his shoulder.
“Maintain the bearing, mister Johns. I’ll see to the crew.”
Moving with ease of somebody better accustomed to the tilting deck of the ship than steady ground of the land, he stepped down the stairs from the poop deck. A few moments later his strong, enforcing voice began to correct any errors in the crew’s performance. He seemed to move in a sphere of calmness and order, spreading his influence to all he passed.
“M… miss?”
The helmsman’s voice broke her reverie. Turning, she saw the man’s face go white, his eyes no longer scanning the horizon beyond the maze of rigging and sails, but rather focused on the damaged top of the mainmast. As her own eyes followed, she saw one of the supporting ropes snap.
She looked back at the man and his rigid posture, taking in the beads of sweat suddenly pearling on his skin. There seemed to be…
“The mast is going to break!”
With the words of the captain in her mind, she concentrated, and magic bloomed in front of her eyes in the indescribable cascade of change it always seemed to be. Neither sight nor sound, but the sensation clearly brought in her view the forces flowing from the helmsman into the mast itself. Looking into it, she could sense the wood of the mast splintering, then falling onto the vessel itself in a deadly shower of wood and ropes.
She forced herself out of the passive watching with great difficulty. Her mouth felt dry, and sound seemed muted, save for the pounding in her head. Turning toward the wide-eyed helmsman, she reached into herself to use what few abilities she possessed.
“It will not happen. With anybody but Captain Karev, we assuredly would have perished, but that is not a man that will get both us and the ship out. The ship will hold. Is it not true that it is a living thing, nurtured by the love and care of those that link their fates with it?”
The words were merely a vehicle for the magic that reached out to the man, slowly manipulating his perception. She never felt it so strong, and for a brief moment she almost understood the lure their wizard must have felt…
The man sagged slightly, nodding quietly. She worried briefly how long such a charm would hold, then remembered the intensity of it as it was being shaped.
Long enough.
A cry of urgency sounded from above. She quickly looked forward, fearing that the ship was already encircled by the gray mass. Yet the way forced by Gilbert’s spell was still, even if diminishing by the second, open. Several more cries joined in, finally directing her eyes at the water in the ship’s wake.
The churning and oddly breaking waves spread out, indicating an ever increasing mass just below the water’s surface, as if one of the monsters of the sailors’ dark tales, quietly voiced during the infrequent spells of quiet, had been stirred from their place in legends.
She focused, and suddenly multiple channels originating on the ship sprung into her vision, along with sudden understanding of the phenomenon.
“Captain!”
She stumbled down the stairs, still unused to the pitching and yawning of the walking surfaces, rushing to the man’s side as he paused in his task of directing several of the crew in untangling one of the lower boons from the damaged part of the rigging. Her wide gesture encompassed the ship, its crew, and the dark walls closing in on them.
“They are causing it! They must be channeling all this wild magic into their fears!”
For all his solid looks, the captain had not lived so long without having a sharp mind behind the weathered features. In but a moment, the man comprehended, analyzed the assumption, and proceeded to test it in what could prove to be the most personal destructive test of a supposition.
His voice, clear and enthralling in the fullness of its power, send shivers down her spine. Hesitatingly at first, then with the grim challenge to whatever may come, the crew picked up the song, their voices and minds enforcing each other…
Oh now the storm is raging
And we are far from shore;
The poor old ship she's sinking fast
And the riggings they are tore.
The night is dark and dreary,
We can scarcely see the moon,
But still I live in hope to see
Dasarian shores once more.*
*Credit where due:
The Holy Ground, modified
http://www.irish-song-lyrics.com/The_Holy_Ground.shtml
The air seemed to take on an oily quality. Objects further away seemed distorted, and there was an odd taste in the air. Like the perception of sharpness just after a spring storm, it lingered on the senses in a way beyond any physical perception.
This, however, had no origin in the physical realm. Just as the captain looked over his shoulder, the wizard’s expansive gesture caused the glimmering shield about the vessel to grow and expand, forcing the dull lightlessness beyond it away from the ship.
“Turn it! I will make the way clear, turn it now!”
The wizard’s voice had taken on a previously undisplayed tone to it. Gone was the cold self-control, verging on superiority, replaced by an intensity bordering on manic. Even as he spoke, his fingers trailed another arcane symbol in the air, pushing the protective shell of the spell further away. There was a barely perceptible movement of something battering at it.
“I cannot endanger the ship, or the crew, any further, master Gilbert. This thing is clearly dangerous, and there is no knowing what will happen the longer we wait.”
The wizard paused, his features drawn back in a rectus of fury. He strode toward the massive form of the ship’s captain, magic congealing about his body. His hands clenched, then opened to reveal two blazing orbs of actinic fire.
“Turn the ship NOW!”
“Gilbert? What are you doing?”
The woman’s voice interposed the request, causing the half-elf to turn toward her with a snarl. The possessed expression on the man’s face caused her to take a step back, with sudden fear clutching at her throat.
There was an unexpected wooden sound, then the wizard’s face softened. The half-visible shell of enchantments about his body ceased to exist, and he folded down with a soft sigh.
Karev slid the belaying pin back in its place, crossing arms over his chest.
“Keep it steady, mister Johns. We might actually get out of here with the ship largely intact.”
The Prancing Lamb’s bow was facing an opening forced by the wizard’s shield as it expanded beyond the range of the grayish wall. Even as they watched, the two parts of ahead of the ship began to surge toward each other. Warning shouts from the crew served as the unnecessary reminder that they were racing time before the phenomenon fully reformed. Fortunately, the wizard’s magic gave them enough room to have a chance.
The woman leaned over the prone wizard, noticing with interest that the blow from the captain seemed judiciously applied to solely render the target unconscious, a very difficult feat to achieve without unpleasant side effects… such as a broken skull. It seemed that life of the high seas was good for picking up vast range of expertise…
“What happened to him? This was nothing like Gilbert…”
She sounded uncertain, as if the fact that a man’s actions went against his personality bothered her more than the unexpected circumstances surrounding the event. Without taking his apprising gaze from the two dark strands trying to block the passage of his vessel, the captain shrugged.
“Hard to say. Though…”
His pause had barely time to mature before she voiced her curiosity.
“Yes?”
The man smiled lightly, glancing at the unconscious form on the deck.
“The answer is rather simple, miss. He is a wizard, after all. Many of such people crave, most of all, one thing alone – the power that magic brings.”
“Why now, though?”
The man laughed, and for a moment she suddenly felt no longer intimidated by the gray dullness approaching the ship with increasing speed. The helmsman also seemed to relax, if only for a few heartbeats, and even after it passed, the sudden change seemed to have left a sparkle of optimism in their minds.
“The magic is immensely powerful here, miss, for whatever the reason. He is a wizard, yet, I ask you… where was his spell book when he cast his spells?”
The brief conversation was interrupted by another shout of alarm. As the grayness approached them, something dark began to form behind the ship’s stern.
With a solemn expression, Karev clapped the helmsman on his shoulder.
“Maintain the bearing, mister Johns. I’ll see to the crew.”
Moving with ease of somebody better accustomed to the tilting deck of the ship than steady ground of the land, he stepped down the stairs from the poop deck. A few moments later his strong, enforcing voice began to correct any errors in the crew’s performance. He seemed to move in a sphere of calmness and order, spreading his influence to all he passed.
“M… miss?”
The helmsman’s voice broke her reverie. Turning, she saw the man’s face go white, his eyes no longer scanning the horizon beyond the maze of rigging and sails, but rather focused on the damaged top of the mainmast. As her own eyes followed, she saw one of the supporting ropes snap.
She looked back at the man and his rigid posture, taking in the beads of sweat suddenly pearling on his skin. There seemed to be…
“The mast is going to break!”
With the words of the captain in her mind, she concentrated, and magic bloomed in front of her eyes in the indescribable cascade of change it always seemed to be. Neither sight nor sound, but the sensation clearly brought in her view the forces flowing from the helmsman into the mast itself. Looking into it, she could sense the wood of the mast splintering, then falling onto the vessel itself in a deadly shower of wood and ropes.
She forced herself out of the passive watching with great difficulty. Her mouth felt dry, and sound seemed muted, save for the pounding in her head. Turning toward the wide-eyed helmsman, she reached into herself to use what few abilities she possessed.
“It will not happen. With anybody but Captain Karev, we assuredly would have perished, but that is not a man that will get both us and the ship out. The ship will hold. Is it not true that it is a living thing, nurtured by the love and care of those that link their fates with it?”
The words were merely a vehicle for the magic that reached out to the man, slowly manipulating his perception. She never felt it so strong, and for a brief moment she almost understood the lure their wizard must have felt…
The man sagged slightly, nodding quietly. She worried briefly how long such a charm would hold, then remembered the intensity of it as it was being shaped.
Long enough.
A cry of urgency sounded from above. She quickly looked forward, fearing that the ship was already encircled by the gray mass. Yet the way forced by Gilbert’s spell was still, even if diminishing by the second, open. Several more cries joined in, finally directing her eyes at the water in the ship’s wake.
The churning and oddly breaking waves spread out, indicating an ever increasing mass just below the water’s surface, as if one of the monsters of the sailors’ dark tales, quietly voiced during the infrequent spells of quiet, had been stirred from their place in legends.
She focused, and suddenly multiple channels originating on the ship sprung into her vision, along with sudden understanding of the phenomenon.
“Captain!”
She stumbled down the stairs, still unused to the pitching and yawning of the walking surfaces, rushing to the man’s side as he paused in his task of directing several of the crew in untangling one of the lower boons from the damaged part of the rigging. Her wide gesture encompassed the ship, its crew, and the dark walls closing in on them.
“They are causing it! They must be channeling all this wild magic into their fears!”
For all his solid looks, the captain had not lived so long without having a sharp mind behind the weathered features. In but a moment, the man comprehended, analyzed the assumption, and proceeded to test it in what could prove to be the most personal destructive test of a supposition.
His voice, clear and enthralling in the fullness of its power, send shivers down her spine. Hesitatingly at first, then with the grim challenge to whatever may come, the crew picked up the song, their voices and minds enforcing each other…
Oh now the storm is raging
And we are far from shore;
The poor old ship she's sinking fast
And the riggings they are tore.
The night is dark and dreary,
We can scarcely see the moon,
But still I live in hope to see
Dasarian shores once more.*
*Credit where due:
The Holy Ground, modified
http://www.irish-song-lyrics.com/The_Holy_Ground.shtml
Last edited by Kartina on Wed May 23, 2007 2:34 pm, edited 2 times in total.
- Jewel
-
ChikenKannon
- Dasarian Hero
- Posts: 1268
- Joined: Tue Nov 14, 2006 10:34 am
- Main Player Character: ------
- Other PCs: Haven't touched these in ages:
Lok'Tok
Lorne Mearesworth
Mars Benedict
Cpl John Mackev
Gutsnikk
Lorne Xavier Sunderson Falderhouse Skulltickler Mearesworth
Oronar - Location: Somewhere over the rainbow
-
obsoletenihilist
- Dasarian Scout
- Posts: 476
- Joined: Thu Nov 23, 2006 11:13 pm
“She is holding, captain. Rauth willing, the wind will not change until we reach the land. If we take a wave on the starboard, though…”
The tiny, weathered man, the ship’s carpenter, shrugged meaningfully. The large gash toward the ship’s stern, just above the water line, was for now spared the intrusion that would quickly spell doom to the damaged vessel. Under the direction of the ship’s first mate, the repair crew was currently patching the hole with a huge swath of heavy canvas. They escaped danger for now, but not without a price in both lives and their own chances of further survival.
“Very well, mister Candery. Carry on.”
As the elderly individual departed, the captain turned to the yellow-haired woman climbing the stairs of the poop deck. With slight detachment, he noticed for the first time the tell-tale discoloration at the base of her hair proving her to be, surprisingly, a brunette. With a faint rasp, his hand ran over the hard stubble covering his own chin. There were few fashion accommodations that survived a prolonged sea travel, and with a smirk that remained within his mind, he gave the woman credit for managing to avoid such a disclosure for so long.
“Gilbert seems asleep. Vert is with him, as well as one of the cabin boys in case we need to be informed.”
The captain nodded acknowledgement. With the importance of this voyage, the investors were generous enough. In fact, he had found himself in the unusual situation where he could sign on everybody he wanted, rather than having to balance the expenses incurred against the benefit of having a particular person on-board. The ship’s healer, Vert, was certainly somebody whose worth had already far exceeded their pay, even considering the hefty bonus he was going to argue in favor of with the expedition’s financiers. The man was relatively young, but with his almost instinctual grasp of curative magic, he seemed to be truly blessed by his patron Goddess. Without meaning to, he had already managed to bring the worship of Ineania to consideration of several of the crew members, as men walked out of the healer’s confined cabin with nothing but bruises and scars in place of the original serious injuries, easily enough to put a man out for weeks, if not months. As with Candery, knowing that Vert was on the job was enough to ensure that everything humanly possible would be done about whatever problem they were facing.
He spared a glance toward the lines lowering the makeshift scaffold down to the damaged part of the ship. The small figure, standing sternly next to the working party, brought a soft smile to his lips. Where most gnomes excelled with complicated mechanisms, or perhaps knowledge of obscure alchemical formulas, Candery channeled all that combination of ingenious instinct and methodological approach into his very specialized area of carpentry. Nobody was certain how old the man was, exactly. He had already been aged when he was repairing the ship of the captain’s grandfather, and he had the particular air about him of somebody who would still be doing the same kind of work long after the current generation of humans gives way to their successors. The gnome was a true master at his craft. The complex web of temporary supports overhead, holding the ship’s masts and sails together, took him no more than a minute of study of the damage to develop an alternative. Ten minutes of infuriatingly, to some, patient explanations later, the crew had been swarming the riggings with full understanding of their task.
Some of the merchants he dealt with often failed to understand the importance of quality crew on any type of a voyage. It was this combination of expertise and teamwork that infused the very wood of the ship with life, reflecting aspects of the crew onto it. It was more than simple superstition that kept sailors off of the decks of vessels known for their bad luck, but few considered that it was the crew itself that had been mainly responsible for cursing a ship.
“Captain Karev?”
The woman stepped to the side, allowing the rushed sailor to pass. After an acknowledging nod from the captain, the man continued.
“We inspected the rigging, and it looks like we are good to go until we hit something major.”
The man’s eyes turned toward the group of sailors lowering the master carpenter with several men to the damaged area. Like all the longtime crew members, he seemed more concerned about the ship herself than the significant danger the current damage might present to their own lives.
“Thank you, Jacobs.”
For a moment, the man seemed to linger. As he was turning to depart, driven by his sense of duty and obedience, the captain spoke again.
“Mister Candery says she will hold, Jacobs.”
An expression of relief crossed the sailor’s turned face, and the man’s departure showed renewed vigor and motivation.
“Will… ‘she,’ captain?”
The woman’s quiet voice brought him out of the consideration of how much the ship meant for the people surrounding him. The solemn expression on her face suggested that she was not too confident in the words spoken.
“She will, miss… as long as we keep on the course, and will not run into heavier seas. But the men do not want to know that. It is the officers’ job to worry, and theirs to do the job we ask them to.”
He glanced at the gray-green vastness of water surrounding the stricken ship.
“The storm left us for now. While we will not know where until we do, we are on the course to reach Cuhanna. The wind is favorable, the crew is doing all they can to keep us afloat… the rest is in gods’ hands, miss.”
She turned to him, with a sudden gust of the wind draping her disarranged hair in a yellow-orange flame-like halo around her face. A pair of ice-blue eyes focused on him, and the time seemed to pause in a laden expectation of the words to follow.
She shook her head, the gesture tossing the dyed hair out of her face and breaking the intensity of the moment.
The thoughts that for a moment carved her countenance in such hard lines went unvoiced.
The tiny, weathered man, the ship’s carpenter, shrugged meaningfully. The large gash toward the ship’s stern, just above the water line, was for now spared the intrusion that would quickly spell doom to the damaged vessel. Under the direction of the ship’s first mate, the repair crew was currently patching the hole with a huge swath of heavy canvas. They escaped danger for now, but not without a price in both lives and their own chances of further survival.
“Very well, mister Candery. Carry on.”
As the elderly individual departed, the captain turned to the yellow-haired woman climbing the stairs of the poop deck. With slight detachment, he noticed for the first time the tell-tale discoloration at the base of her hair proving her to be, surprisingly, a brunette. With a faint rasp, his hand ran over the hard stubble covering his own chin. There were few fashion accommodations that survived a prolonged sea travel, and with a smirk that remained within his mind, he gave the woman credit for managing to avoid such a disclosure for so long.
“Gilbert seems asleep. Vert is with him, as well as one of the cabin boys in case we need to be informed.”
The captain nodded acknowledgement. With the importance of this voyage, the investors were generous enough. In fact, he had found himself in the unusual situation where he could sign on everybody he wanted, rather than having to balance the expenses incurred against the benefit of having a particular person on-board. The ship’s healer, Vert, was certainly somebody whose worth had already far exceeded their pay, even considering the hefty bonus he was going to argue in favor of with the expedition’s financiers. The man was relatively young, but with his almost instinctual grasp of curative magic, he seemed to be truly blessed by his patron Goddess. Without meaning to, he had already managed to bring the worship of Ineania to consideration of several of the crew members, as men walked out of the healer’s confined cabin with nothing but bruises and scars in place of the original serious injuries, easily enough to put a man out for weeks, if not months. As with Candery, knowing that Vert was on the job was enough to ensure that everything humanly possible would be done about whatever problem they were facing.
He spared a glance toward the lines lowering the makeshift scaffold down to the damaged part of the ship. The small figure, standing sternly next to the working party, brought a soft smile to his lips. Where most gnomes excelled with complicated mechanisms, or perhaps knowledge of obscure alchemical formulas, Candery channeled all that combination of ingenious instinct and methodological approach into his very specialized area of carpentry. Nobody was certain how old the man was, exactly. He had already been aged when he was repairing the ship of the captain’s grandfather, and he had the particular air about him of somebody who would still be doing the same kind of work long after the current generation of humans gives way to their successors. The gnome was a true master at his craft. The complex web of temporary supports overhead, holding the ship’s masts and sails together, took him no more than a minute of study of the damage to develop an alternative. Ten minutes of infuriatingly, to some, patient explanations later, the crew had been swarming the riggings with full understanding of their task.
Some of the merchants he dealt with often failed to understand the importance of quality crew on any type of a voyage. It was this combination of expertise and teamwork that infused the very wood of the ship with life, reflecting aspects of the crew onto it. It was more than simple superstition that kept sailors off of the decks of vessels known for their bad luck, but few considered that it was the crew itself that had been mainly responsible for cursing a ship.
“Captain Karev?”
The woman stepped to the side, allowing the rushed sailor to pass. After an acknowledging nod from the captain, the man continued.
“We inspected the rigging, and it looks like we are good to go until we hit something major.”
The man’s eyes turned toward the group of sailors lowering the master carpenter with several men to the damaged area. Like all the longtime crew members, he seemed more concerned about the ship herself than the significant danger the current damage might present to their own lives.
“Thank you, Jacobs.”
For a moment, the man seemed to linger. As he was turning to depart, driven by his sense of duty and obedience, the captain spoke again.
“Mister Candery says she will hold, Jacobs.”
An expression of relief crossed the sailor’s turned face, and the man’s departure showed renewed vigor and motivation.
“Will… ‘she,’ captain?”
The woman’s quiet voice brought him out of the consideration of how much the ship meant for the people surrounding him. The solemn expression on her face suggested that she was not too confident in the words spoken.
“She will, miss… as long as we keep on the course, and will not run into heavier seas. But the men do not want to know that. It is the officers’ job to worry, and theirs to do the job we ask them to.”
He glanced at the gray-green vastness of water surrounding the stricken ship.
“The storm left us for now. While we will not know where until we do, we are on the course to reach Cuhanna. The wind is favorable, the crew is doing all they can to keep us afloat… the rest is in gods’ hands, miss.”
She turned to him, with a sudden gust of the wind draping her disarranged hair in a yellow-orange flame-like halo around her face. A pair of ice-blue eyes focused on him, and the time seemed to pause in a laden expectation of the words to follow.
She shook her head, the gesture tossing the dyed hair out of her face and breaking the intensity of the moment.
The thoughts that for a moment carved her countenance in such hard lines went unvoiced.
Last edited by Kartina on Wed Jun 13, 2007 9:18 pm, edited 1 time in total.
- Jewel