Through Perils Unknown

Through Perils Unknown

Ty Rigsword absently scratched the back of his neck. They had been waiting long enough. This Eowyn woman was not showing, and as he glanced around deck, he noted the passengers starting to mill around. The crew was restless, holding their respective positions about the ship but most of the work was done. All that was left now was to set sail.

Ty's heavy footfalls crossed the deck to where the Captain stood. He gently tugged her away from the two women and Captain Blacktip to a bit more private place on the ship.

"Cap'ain, they're getting antsy."

Silver nodded and sighed. "I know but we cannot leave yet."

"Cap'ain, maybe it's best we dinnae take this little….voyage."

Silver's eyes rose to meet his, defiance clear in the set of her jaw. She crossed her arms and shook her head. "I gave m'word, and despite the rumors you hear, She has done nothing to make me rethink this whole trip."

Ty grimaced and turned to rest a hand on the rail. He knew when she had that look nothing could change her mind. "Aye, Cap'ain, but look at this motley bunch. And where is she..?"

It was then Silver's gaze fell over the rails of the ship to the dock. A solitary figure stood on the docks, waiting, but she wasn't alone despite appearances. Silver straightened, Ty moving to stand at her side. He warily eyed the figure before looking back at his Captain. "I don't like this."

"You never do, Ty." She smiled, placing a reassuring hand on his arm, more to reassure herself then to ease his nerves.

The first mate moved to stand amidst the passengers waiting, keeping an eye on the one called Avathar. With the arrival, or should he say appearance out of nowhere, of the last woman, he couldn't tell what this stranger might do.

"Passengers on deck!" Her voice rang out over the quietness of the night. If the very last passenger was finally boarding, she'd have everyone at least together for Eowyn's approval. The Lady Captain crossed her arms loosely in the gesture that was quickly becoming her habit. If any extras or uninvited guests where here, she'd see to it they were ceremoniously dumped back on the docks before shoving off.

Silver looked down at Eowyn. "Ahoy – Seeking permission to board?"

She knew better then to ask, but when the cloaked woman made no move towards the ship, Silver figured she was waiting to see if anything happened, or waiting for the formalities of boarding. Hoping that nothing was planned to go wrong, Silver chose the latter and quietly waited.

Silver and Ty Rigsword


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Isa, having watched the captain motion to the location of quarters, stopped in her tracks when "Avathar" made his presence known.  This dark figure made the hair on her neck stand and alarmed every sense of recognition she had in her body.  The stranger's height and stature, not to mention the sound of his voice, alarmed her.  It would be twice now that she thought of him since she'd been in Stormpoint.  She had just shaken off the feeling that had come over her when a young man approached her.  Obviously mistaking her hesitance, he said, "Bit overwhelming, don't ya think?  I think I've passed my point of usefulness up here . . . startin' to get in the way.  I can help you with your gear if you like . . . show you where quarters are.  Oh,  sorry . . .  forgot.  I'm Jaden."

Isa looked at him and noticed a twinge after the offer, for at the same time three new passengers arrived to board.  "Thanks for the offer, Jaden, but I can manage."  She tossed her pack over her shoulder and headed for quarters.  Before passing the threshold that lead to the bunks, she looked over her shoulder, gave a quick smile and said, "By the way, I'm Isabella, but my friends call me Isa."  That being said, she hastened her steps.  She had her own exploring to do and was quite relieved for the out the three new arrivals had just given her.

Isa claimed her bunk, she chose one in the corner so she could have only one person to her side.  Wood, although cold and damp, will help her with her own sense of security, where others would chose to be closer to the door.  Her philosophy was, the further from the door the safer from the attack and the more time to make ready.

Appearing from below deck, Isa took note of the activities around her.  Before offering her help again, she would make herself more familiar with her surroundings.  She decided to begin at the stern and work her way to the bow.  She watched as deckhands and some of the passengers helped with preparations to set sail. Isa kept a keen eye out for spots that would make it easy for surprise attack if she had need of them. As she walked, she assessed some of the happenings of the day.  She giggled to herself, as she thought of how she must have looked before boarding.  She thought, "It's funny how people make assumptions before you've even opened your mouth.  Although, they do say, actions speak louder than words."    An action she had a hard time concealing, was playing with her ring.  She made mental note and was going to try to make it less noticeable.  Some may come to the unwise conclusion that it was a tell and she'd hate to have to make that correction to anyone. 

Isabella Solestra


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Brextyl shrugged defeatedly as the woman declined his offer and began to walk away. Well, no one could say he hadn't tried. Maybe she just didn't like strangers. He was about to turn away himself, heartened at least for the chance to study the three latest arrivals when the woman flashed him a quick smile over her shoulder, adding, "By the way, I'm Isabella, but my friends call me Isa."  He smiled back, encouraged by the gesture, and watched her as she descended the steps.

When her form passed out of sight, his attention shifted, almost regretfully, to the newcomers. They were an odd trio, but they had shown the same blasted amulet that had started off this whole affair. The speaker for the three, the one who had introduced herself as Nemina, gave the impression of being self-possessed yet somewhat at odds with her current situation. 'Welcome to the group,' he thought sardonically. The owl that perched upon her shoulder seemed incongruous with the blade sheathed at her side, but he'd seen a lot stranger things ... especially since being tapped for this mission.

The one named Blacktip was curious in both meanings of the word, and Brextyl watched him surreptitiously as he scurried about the ship, conducting his own appraisal of her seaworthiness. He seemed to know what he was doing, as far as Brextul could tell, but the true captain of their voyage was understandably irked by his antics. There was something about the man that was vaguely familiar, but the thief couldn't figure out what it was without moving closer than he cared to. He'd ask Jaryssa about it later and see if she could recall. If Blacktip was going to be part of this increasingly peculiar crew, they'd have ample time and opportunity to suss it out later.

The final member of the trio was arguably the most unusual, though it was a close call. She was quiet, too quiet, and she moved with wraithlike indifference across the deck. Wrapped in a cloak of pale forest green and moving with the unquestionable grace of an elf, Brextyl thought at first that she might be Eowyn come at last. A chill breath blew across the back of his neck with the thought. But when she turned he caught a brief glimpse of silver-white hair beneath the cowl of her cloak. Elven she was, but the patron of their venture she wasn't.

He was about to give a sign to Jaryssa in case her suspicions were of a similar vein, but when he glanced up toward her perch he saw that she was signaling him, her right hand working to relieve an imaginary knot in her neck. He cast about instantly, looking for the source of her concern, but the fog was thick upon the docks and his vision thus impaired. His mind raced for a moment, then came to a screeching revelation. The fog hadn't been there before, and while fog could move quickly, he'd never seen it rise at this rate. Making sure that Avathar hadn't roused himself from his supposed slumber, Brextyl squinted his eyes tight and scanned harder, finally focusing on a dark figure at the fog's vanguard. The chill that had touched him earlier returned with colder breath. Their patron had arrived at last.

"Passengers on deck!" The captain's voice rang clear through the night.

Brextyl groaned inwardly but grudgingly complied with the order, moving towards the area the captain indicated. He stopped just behind Avathar, deciding it was close enough. He still wanted to keep an eye on that one. For her part, Jaryssa was also moving to comply with the captain's call, albeit slowly. Brextyl suppressed a knowing chuckle. She clearly liked her bird's eye view and was loathe to give it up. He couldn't blame her, but he had a sinking feeling that with the boarding their final passenger they were soon going to have bigger worries.

He tried to push the thought from his mind, but met with little success. He'd heard too many stories about the woman they'd awaited, and knew too little about why he and Jaryssa were there. Had Eowyn been the one who'd called in the favor from the Tulhaven guild? Were they present at her request, or had they been sent by another to watch the elf and discover her designs? He wished he knew and cursed the fact that he didn't as he waited for the "shopkeeper" to finally board. But the dark-clad woman, whom he could now see clearly, seemed rooted in place atop the docks, only her cloak and hair blowing in the salt laden breeze. Aboard the ship, the thief stood likewise still, though his heart sped a beat and his hand became painfully aware of the dagger that lay hidden just inches from his fingertips.

Brextyl


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The lady captain paced the deck in a small area, noting that not many of the passengers were appearing or seeming to heed her words of being present on the deck. She inwardly sighed and gave a nod towards Jaden and Brielle. At least the first two to arrive were shaping up to be worth taking aboard. She noted Isa still up on deck and Avathar, but many were still missing or milling about.

Silver cast a glance at Ty and, in a mirror image of his bad habits, rubbed the back of her neck. She looked back to the deck and made a motion for Eowyn to board. At least that would somewhat settle Silver's nerves. She called down for her to board and waited...

Silver


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Knowing dawn was eminent, Sylvin slipped belowdeck to find the galley.  Following a narrow passage towards the stern, she took note of the various changes going on around her.  A slight dip in temperature here, a noted increase in humidity there....ah, there it was.  The unmistakable scent of salt-cured pork in an oaken barrel filled Sylvin's senses, and she knew she had found her destination.  The galley was not spotless, to be sure, but it was markedly cleaner than most Sylvin had seen and for this she was grateful.  Her chances of finding potable water were slightly better.  Not that she couldn't make do with any liquid, even seawater, Sylvin just preferred a glass of clean water in which to mix her potion.

Due to the hard work the crew had put in overnight to ready the ship, one of the water barrels had already been tapped.  Casting about with no luck in finding the ship's cook, Sylvin took the cup left conveniently tethered to the barrel and filled it half way.  Adding the contents of her packet, Sylvin swished the liquid briefly to dissolve the potion fully before downing the brew in a few short gulps.  Taking a clean handkerchief from her sleeve, Sylvin wiped the cup clean so as not to waste the precious liquid.  She made her way easily back to the passage as she retucked her handkerchief when she heard the lady captain calling for all hands on deck.  A slight smirk crossed her features at the thought that Eowyn most likely having arrived had orchestrated everything down to her "grand entrance", but she quickly dispelled the thought and made her way through the claustrophobic underbelly.  Sylvin emerged on deck to find the curious couple already assembled before the captain, and the lady she overheard give name as Isa standing nearby.  Avathar was present and clearly still watched by the ship's crew.  Sylvin emerged from the narrow staircase in time to catch Captain Silver's exasperated mood. Rather than say anything to provoke her ire, Sylvin merely took a place near the others assembled and awaited further instruction.

~Sylvin~


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Having reached the top of the gangplank, Ari moved across the highly polished deck to stand just outside the circle of sailors and passengers who surrounded the tall blond women.  She bit her lip, wondering if she should move in and present herself, but decided instead to take a moment to get her bearings.

Her shoulders ached with the weariness of a long journey and her stomach grumbled softly.  Removing her pack, she slipped it gently to the deck, and pushed her hood back, twisting a stray strand of chestnut-colored hair back into the single braid that fell down her back.  She definitely felt like 'a fish out of water' and smiled sardonically, thinking it very apropos.  Ari had never been on a true ship before and she tried to push down her feelings of apprehension.  After all, she was sure the woman captain was very capable and Eowyn would be on this voyage with her.

Ari studied the odd group surreptitiously through honey-colored eyes.  She could not help but stare at the huge Ogre, for it was seldom that she had seen such a being.  Her gaze returned to the captain and she felt a moment of calm, for indeed this woman seemed to have it all under control.  She knew she must look a sight for she had taken little time on her personal toilet.  Brushing a hand down her cloak, she tried to smooth out the wrinkles and adjusted her serviceable skirt that seemed a bit twisted.  Checking the sashling that circled her slender waist, she smiled.  All her precious herbs and potions were tucked away in individual pockets and reassured her that if the time came, she would be well prepared to care for all.

Now, she thought, if only I could be shown my cabin, I would brew up a pot of peppermint tea and see about a loaf of fresh bread from the galley.  At this point, it would indeed be a welcomed respite.

Arilyn


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He muffled a groan as he stretched sore muscles and strained to peer out of the tiny knothole that had been punched out the crate in which he stood. He and his companions had been waiting for close to a day now for her, and more importantly the box she carried, to appear.

They had watched the Starstruck Siren while the parade of characters boarded and the crew prepared to sail for whatever destination the elf woman had planned. Too bad all that work would be in vain as soon as the elf showed. He glanced at the rune within the crate that his employers had left, tempted to run his finger along the design to see what it would do, but he had been warned not to until he saw the elf arrive ... so instead he waited as his men dozed behind him.

And so the long hours passed as he watched the ship, boredom becoming his most deadly enemy. If he gave in for just one unguarded moment ... closing his eyes just for one second, the elf could be past them and aboard the ship ... sailing off along with their payday. His patience, however, was reaching its limit and he was about to join his men in slumber when his endurance was finally rewarded. A preternatural mist had risen and was slowly spreading across the docks outside their hiding place. It had to be her.

A hiss escaped the mercenary leader's lips, bringing his men to a quick attention from the hours of inactivity as his eyes cast about the docks. It wasn't going to be easy to spot her in this fog, but he'd be damned if he let her slip away so easily. Determined, his grim eyes scanned the docks, searching for some sign of their quarry. Then he saw her.

Appearing like a ghost out of the mist, he saw the one they had waited for, the one named Eowyn, walk towards the ship she would never reach. He smiled. Fortune had favored him, for she stood just a few yards away. His hand shook slightly as his finger traced the rune he'd been given, still wondering exactly what it would do. When his finger finished the last sweep of the intricate design, it flashed once then the wooden crate in which he and his cohorts hid shuddered then exploded outwardly, sending wooden shards flying into the darkness. In that brief second, the world seemed to freeze as the mercenaries and the elf woman stared at one another. Then, like the snap of a whip, time shot forward and the men quickly surrounded the lone figure, blades drawn. "We are not here for you," their leader growled in a low voice, "so if you want to leave here in one piece give us the box, elf bitch."


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Marcus ignored the sounds of the ship getting ready to travel around him the best he could, and was even successful in capturing a few small morsels of sleep as they all waited for Eowyn to arrive. It was in the hour when the moon had given up its rule of the night, but the sun had yet to begin it ascension to its daily throne when he felt Eowyn's touch upon the ship. In that instant, he knew that she was aware of him even as she stood at the end of the gangplank.

Marcus was wondering how she would react to his willful disobedience when he heard the shattering crash of the crate on the docks below. In that instant, before thought could register, he was moving ... the wide-brimmed hat he was wearing fluttered down on the box he had rested atop mere seconds ago. He ignored the astonished cries of those around him as he weaved his way through them to leap up on the rope that lined the gangplank. The mist-soaked line was slick under the sole of his boots, as he had expected in either a complete disregard for his own life, or sheer heroic folly. But often fortune favors the fool, and he slid down the rope-railing without falling, his long coat blowing out behind him like a set of wings.

Reaching the bottom, he launched himself into the air and flew into the back of the man closest to the gangplank ... the one who stood between him and his employer. They tumbled to the ground, scant inches from the elven woman, but only Marcus rose from the docks, his adversary unmoving at his feet. He held a bloodied dagger in one hand, and with his other he reached for his sword, risking a quick glance to his friend.

"Admirers?" He quipped, as his eyes moved back the half-dozen men still surrounding them.

"What defines a person? Memories? Experiences? If so, what happens when you lose them?
Is such a second chance to start over a curse or a blessing?"

MK


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Silver warily eyed the passengers as they sauntered their way up to the deck at a leisurely pace. She sighed, running a hand through her hair before sending a glance at Ty. His return stare only mirrored her questions and growing frustration. Just as she was about to utter a few words, she heard the thundering explosion on the docks.

With a quick turn, she dropped her gaze to see men crawling from the smoke and flying debris to head towards Eowyn. Knowing full well Ty would have words with her later, Silver turned towards the plank. The mystery man who had been sitting so quietly slid down the rope and on his heels, Silver half slid half ran down the gangplank.

As he leapt into the one man, Silver drew her blade in one fluid motion and came to stop before the band of men that had gathered. There was no use in killing if she didn't know the circumstances, but she'd be damned if she was going to let anything happen on or in such close proximity to her ship. Besides, Eowyn was standing alone on the docks when they came for her.

Silver held the sword between her and the few men that stood in front of Eowyn. With a slight glare she looked towards the one that spoke to the elven woman. "If I knew we were going for such a flashy entrance, I would have planned better. But it might help you to mind your tongue, Sir.." she spat the last word, her eyes narrowing. "Apparently you're a slow one and never learned not to pick on lone women. Though it seems the odds have evened out no?"

Silver's fingers held the blade steady as her gaze slid down the length of the sword to rest on those gathered, keeping a watchful eye on those around her. For the love of the Goddess, they hadn't even left port yet.

Silver


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As the fog gathered, a pit of dread weighed heavily in Darvydia's gut. ~This cannot be good, she thought. Something's wrong.~ She cautiously made her way to the side of the boat overlooking the docks. A woman stood there waiting in silence. ~Something IS wrong,~ she thought, sliding her hands along the folds of her cloak. Darvydia found the smooth wooden case, the one holding the flute that Eowyn had given her in exchange of a favor. She removed it from its case, leaving the empty case in a pocket within the folds of her cloak.

Then, there was the explosion. Attackers, swords drawn, surrounded the woman on the docks. It was Eowyn. Darvydia watched as the man named Avathar sailed to the dock and downed one of the attackers. As Silver joined the action, Darvydia brought the mysterious flute to her lips and focused on the assailants.

She blew softly at first, allowing the music to flow through every essence of her being. The low notes resonated in her bones. And as she played, the music took a life of its own, trickling in mysterious tones and then rising in tempo. She was alone and felt nothing between herself and the attackers, no boat, no others.

As she continued, she felt the flute drawing from her essence, her very soul. She had lost control. The music controlled her now, drawing her breath. Her fingers moved rapidly, then slowly, then rapidly again as the music varied in melody, tone and pitch. Still, she had no control. Darvydia played on.

Darvydia watched in horror as the assailants turned on one another, fighting amongst themselves. Blood spilled as the silver flashes of swords and knives sliced through the fog. And slowly, a couple attackers dropped from her sight. Darvydia was shaking now, and pain sailed through her veins. Darvydia continued to play.

She no longer saw fight below, her vision blurred, and then there was nothing…

Darvydia

"Hear me, four quarters of the world - a relative I am!
Give me the strength to walk the soft earth, a relative to all that is!
Give me the eyes to see and the strength to understand, that I may be like you.
With your power only can I face the winds."

Black Elk (1863-1950)
Oglala Sioux holy man


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Captain Lucian Clover rolled over on to his stomach with a content grunt, one hand reaching down to pull the summer blanket back up.  He had been sleeping in Silver's quarters for the-gods-only-knew-how- long, though the empty bottles of rum and whiskey that littered the cabin floor and tables suggested it had been quite awhile. 

Above deck sounds of loading and boarding had disrupted the pirate's booze-scented dreams, and with another grunt -this one of slight annoyance- he wedged his head beneath the pillow, both tattooed arms coming to rest atop it, trying to muffle the pre-voyage noise. 

His lids slowly drooped, hazy images of scantily clad island women slowly coming back into focus as he returned to his dreams.  Several of the beauties surrounded him, giggling and cooing, one ran a hand through his hair and whispered in his ear... He grinned, "'Course I'll help ya get rid o' tha' nasty li'l top, darlin', an'... wha'? ALL of you need some help?  Well, alrigh'... then we can....."

BOOM!  Lucky was snapped from his reverie as a crash above deck echoed through the ship. 

"Bloody hells!" his curse was muffled from beneath the pillow before he tossed it aside and rolled out of the hammock.  Some new hands probably dropped a cargo box from the sounds of it, though the sound of extra activity above piqued the pirate's curiosity.

With a lazy stretch, Clover ran a hand through his flat and disheveled softspikes before grabbing a thin, maroon sweater and slipping it over his head.  Tucking the slightly glowing amulet behind the shirt, he then stretched once more, stepped into his boots without tying them, and proceeded above deck.

Captain Lucian Clover


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Jaryssa was still climbing down from the mast when the unexpected crash and spray of splintered wood shook the docks. Startled, her hands tightened about the ropes as she whipped her neck around, trying to figure out what the hell was happening. It didn't take long. The mysterious patron of their ill-informed voyage was surrounded by a ring of armed men. They wanted something she carried, a box. They couldn't seriously hope to wrest it from the elf, could they? From the accounts she'd heard, the woman was more than capable of dealing with such an attack, plus she was standing at the foot of ship full of recent hires....more than enough to deal with the threat they presented. What was their game?

She was still trying to figure it out when the man who'd introduced himself as Avathar sprang to life and slid down to join the group, the captain close at his heels. One of the attackers fell quickly, but the rest seemed intent despite the increase in quarry. Jaryssa was considering adding herself to the impending fray when two unexpected and unrelated events stayed her hand. The first was the realization that she knew one of the attackers. Garlin Creel. He'd been tossed from the guild over ten years ago.... prior to the "feet first" removal policy established by Striker. She hadn't seen him since, but had heard he'd joined the guild in Talondale. Unsure of what his presence here meant, she dropped down to the deck and began to work her way over to Brextyl. She was halfway there and had managed to mouth his name to her lifelong partner when the second event occurred.

It began in a much less startling manner. Indeed, it was surreally soothing at first. Standing on the deck just before her, the bard, Darvydia, had begun to play a flute. She looked to Brextyl, finding by his expression that he was equally stunned. What did the bard think she was doing? Playing them a lullaby? She was about to stop the woman when the sound of swordplay rang from the dock below. Damn it. This wasn't starting off well. Her hand went near instinctively to the dagger in her boot, but before she reached it she realized that the ring of bandits wasn't attacking Eowyn and her allies, but rather each other. Their eyes were wide and glazed and their movements unnatural, like stringed puppets dancing to the tune of the . . . . piper. Realization hit with lightning speed. It was the flute. The bard was controlling them. Their blades swung faster and wilder, wielded by a force that was not their own until two of them fell, blood-soaked and still, on the wooden planks of the docks. It seemed that they might all likewise fall when suddenly the music stopped and a small thud sounded from beside her.

Darvydia had fallen. The flute was still clenched tightly in her hands, but sang no more as its minstrel lay unmoving on the deck beside it. Jaryssa dropped to her knees beside the bard, but was unable to do more than shout for the help of a healer.

Brextyl, on the other hand, was more concerned by what was happening on the docks. Freed from the song of the flute, the attackers were awaking to themselves once more. No longer were they attacking one another, but were now turning their blades upon their original targets and moving with a maniacal frenzy, unimpeded by the wounds they already wore. One was rushing towards the elven woman, seeing a way clear while Avathar and the captain were holding off the others. It was Creel. Brextyl didn't stop to wonder what the man was doing here. He didn't stop to think that the elf might be able to defend against the attack. He didn't even stop consider that more might be at work than was immediately apparent. Instead, thought gave way to adrenaline and instinct, and in the flash of an instant a dark-bladed dagger flew from his hand and lodged itself deep into Creel's throat.

The attacker dropped his sword as metal sunk into flesh, but if the blade made any sound as it fell at his feet, it was lost in the din of battle. Gloved fingers, wet with blood, clawed desperately at the blade in his neck, but it was too late. Ungrieved, Creel fell to his knees and then to the splintered planks below, his final rasps of life, like the clatter of his sword, unheard. Later, Brextyl would wonder if he'd done the right thing, but for now the thief rushed to the railing of the ship and readied another dagger.

Brextyl and Jaryssa


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Standing idly was not one of Sylvin's favorite activities.  However, circumstances being what they were, she was able to do little else.  Casting about to take in the details of the deck, she noticed a strange fog beginning to rise from the surface of the docks.  A prickly feeling lifted the fine hairs on the back of her neck.  I have a very bad feeling, but what could it be?  Moving toward the railing, Sylvin caught a glimpse of a dark figure standing at what appeared to be the center of the fog's emanation.  Knowing immediately, without knowing how she knew, the lone figure was the elven shopkeeper, Sylvin began to move toward the gangplank to greet her curious acquaintance.

The instant she turned her back on the railing, an earsplitting explosion shattered the otherwise calm night.  Shards of wood flew from the docks a few feet from where Eowyn stood, one narrowly missing Sylvin's ear as it whizzed by.  Time seemed to slow down, and Sylvin clearly observed the man called Avathar spring to action followed only seconds later by the lady captain.  Feeling as though caught in a haze, Sylvin watched Avathar quickly dispatch one of the assailants as Captain Silver confronted another.

Something pierced through Sylvin's fog as she realized the attackers had begun to turn on each other.  Slowly turning her head, Sylvin realized the elven bard had descended from the mast and begun to play a flute.  She watched as the bard wielded the music as her weapon and slowed the attack on Eowyn and her protectors.  The sound of the bard's body hitting the deck was enough to snap Sylvin out of her haze.  Watching as the woman called Brielle instinctively reached for a dagger at her waist, Sylvin quickly crouched and freed a dagger from her right boot and was running at top speed toward the gangplank in a blink.  Brielle's partner, the man called Jaden, had already hurled a dagger at the throat of one assailant, taking him down instantly.  Focusing on the back of the attacker closest to the ship, Sylvin leapt off the deck and landed hard on him, sending him crashing to the dock to cushion her descent.  Reaching down with her left hand, Sylvin grabbed and handful of hair and held the man's head back, setting the edge of the dagger to the soft skin of his throat.  "Don't even twitch," she hissed into his ear.

Glancing around to take in the situation, Sylvin could see it was well in hand between Silver and Avathar.  The rest of the would-be assailants would be dealt with shortly.  Forcing the thug under her knifeblade onto his back, moonlight glinted from two decidedly pointed teeth in the smile Sylvin flashed him.  "I wouldn't try to escape, if I were you."

~Sylvin~


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Silver was relieved when others deemed to join the fight, but when the flute music started to play, she had to admit she was somewhat confused and agitated. "Who in the seven bloody hells of Davy Jone's damnable grave would be playing music at a time like...."

Her thoughts paused as she swiveled to glance up on the deck, quickly turning her gaze back to those at hand. The Lady Captain took a few steps backwards, keeping her sword raised, but making no movement to fight. It seemed everyone was turning on each other, and Silver and her passengers just looked one in confusion.

It was the flute player. Silver smirked, her thoughts shifting to one of being grateful for the bard's secrets. When the music quickly ceased, Silver took her chance and lunged towards one of the men standing around Eowyn. Her knee caught him in the gut and upon his bending over she slammed her elbow up into his nose. He would wake up with a splitting headache and broken nose, but at least he wasn't like some of his comrades who would never wake up again.

Sheathing her sword, but keeping her hand on a dagger at her hip, she warily eyed those around her. All she wanted was to be on the ship and sailing out into the open sea.

She'd had enough of this blasted port.

Silver


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The shoppekeeper hadn't moved since the attack began, save perhaps to turn her eyes towards the sole attacker who had demanded the box she carried. Little did the man realize that he carried something she sought as well. It was less certain, perhaps . . . less tangible, to be sure . . . but its importance burned brightly in the mind of the seemingly elven woman, and she would have it. She showed no clue, however, no suggestion of intent as she reached for it, locking eyes with the speaker and searching behind the thin veil of flesh that housed the secret she would know.

There was much darkness within. There always was. But it made no difference. Darkness had long been her companion and she knew well its winding landscape. Much was hidden within these shadows, a life . . . several lives . . . misspent and twisted to a purpose that clawed and scraped with blood-fueled hubris against a grander design. She didn't need to look to know that it would end as it always did, and indeed, she didn't bother. Her goal lay not in this one's future, but in his past, and she tore almost heedlessly through thought and memory to reach it.

It was close, she knew, and growing closer with each tiny eternity that flew unheralded by. She could sense it. She could almost see it . . . wrapped in a tattered shroud of recollection. She reached further, stretching with an unseen hand towards the tousled edges of the shroud.

From faw away, she saw Marcus as he slid perilously down the rope that bordered the gangplank, and she knew his intent. At another time, at another place, she would have sought to stay his hand. But she was so close now, so very close. Her fingers were brushing against the shreds of the ill-woven shroud and were about to close around them. In a breath, in a heartbeat, she would pull the shroud free, but as her fingers finally latched upon the tatters, she was plunged once more into darkness even as Marcus' quick-wielded blade plunged also into the man's chest. It was gone.

With a newly born anger, her eyes rounded on the one who had cost her her goal.

"Admirers?" he asked.

~Hardly~ she responded.

She hadn't meant to do it, but in the wake of her search she'd forgotten to return to speech. It mattered little, however. Marcus was well used to her voice, and the brief glimpse the statement had afforded her revealed that he'd acted not out of bravado, but rather out of concern. She should have known it . . . indeed, part of her had . . . and she let whatever anger she felt fall away. The man she'd lost was but one of many. There were others who would have the same information . . . others from which to choose.

Turning from her well-meaning friend, she scanned the group that encircled them, preparing to make that choice. As she did so, she noticed the captain racing to join them and smiled inwardly at the gesture. The harbormaster's assessment had proven to be true. The attackers, however, appeared undisturbed by the sudden presence of the shoppekeeper's two defenders, and instead began to close about them. Marcus and the captain stood firm with blades drawn, but the shoppekeeper's uncharacteristic blade still hung untouched at her side as chose the assailant she would search next.

She had just begun her search when she heard the music drifting down from above in thick, melancholy strains. Darvydia. She'd brought the flute and, unbeknownst to her, had joined the fray. Eowyn turned her mind towards the bard, but it was already too late. The music had risen, quiet and insidious, and had claimed the young musician as its own. It had claimed too, several of the attackers, bending them to its timbre and tune and setting them against one another for its grim amusement. One fell, red with death, upon the fog-slickened dock. and the music, deprived of one plaything, set its sight harder upon the rest. Two more fell beneath its merciless wail before the bard collapsed and the song of the flute was lost.

The resulting silence lasted but a moment. A cry rang out for a healer even as dagger pierced the night before the shoppekeeper's face and lodged itself into the throat of another assailant. Eowyn hadn't time to discern its source before a flash of black and white landed atop an attacker armed with a dark-edged blade. The voice which followed belonged to Sylvin, and again the shoppekeeper was pleased with her choice of the kindred woman.

She was concerned, however, with Darvydia. She had scanned the ship when the music fell silent, but couldn't see the young half-elf from the docks. Guilt-laden worry turned her from her search of the attackers and led her instead to seek the young bard, sending unseen threads of thought towards the ship. She was there . . . alive, but weak. The power of the flute was strong and it had drunk deeply from the bard, leaving her spent and motionless upon the deck. A dark- haired woman knelt beside her . . . a woman who was not a healer.

Feeling the first touch of panic, Eowyn stepped closer to the ship even as she called with unspoken words to Arilyn, urging her to tend to the bard. If Arilyn didn't answer, she'd have to go herself. She'd done much that she regretted in preparing for this voyage, and knew that more regrets were to come, but she was not yet ready to barter with the life of one in her company.

Eowyn

"Away with him who heeds the morrow!
Death, plucking the ear, cries: "Live; I come!"

Virgil, Copa 1. 37


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Startled by the loud noise, Ari's eyes widened in a moment of fear. What have I gotten into, was her first thought. Shaken down to her toes, her senses reasserted themselves as she watched the action play out before her eyes. Ducking down, she pulled her pack upon her shoulder and moved closer to the side rail of the ship, and her eyes widened again in shock and surprise. A blanketing fog seemed to have settled on the docks, and in its midst stood her good friend and benefactor, Eowyn. Shaking off her earlier fear, she let her hand slip inside her cloak to clutch a small dagger. She was not a fighter, but she would not leave her friend to the mercy of the fiends who materialized from the fog.

Piercing musical notes filled the air with a vengeance. Arilyn's neck whipped around and she gazed with astonishment at the young girl whose fingers raced feverishly over the openings of a finely carved flute. Tearing her eyes away, the healer glanced down again at the deck where her friend stood. It seemed as if the whole ship had come alive and the tall blond captain stood in front of Eowyn with her sword held up in warning. As quickly as the music had begun, it stopped. Turning to see what had happened to the musician, a loud gasp left her lips. The young girl had slipped to the ground and was being attended to by one of the other passengers.

Shaking off the hypnotic lethargy that had begun with the explosion, Ari raced into action. In one fluid motion, she was beside the fallen girl. Quickly, Ari tucked her pack under the head of the woman as she covered her with her warm cloak. The girl's hands were like ice, as was her skin. The lifelessness of the woman frightened Ari. Quickly, she felt for a pulse and nodded to herself, 'aye, the pulse was very faint, but still there.' She loosened the strings of the musician's cloak and tilted her head upwards. Pulling a vial from the pouch about her waist, Ari moved it slowly beneath the woman's nostrils. No response. Ari thought quickly and, opening a pouch, withdrew a small pill and slipped it between the woman's stiff lips as she rubbed the woman's ice-cold hands. Now, all she could do was wait and pray as she tried to infuse her warmth into the still form of the bard.

Arilyn


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Everything was dark. Empty. Darvydia felt as if her very essence drained from her body. 'Am I dead?' she thought. 'Why am I so cold?'

She felt hands, warm hands, feeling her throat, and rubbing her hands. Still, she could not move.

Time was unknown to Darvydia, as she struggled to move a hand or open her eyes. After a while, she could hear voices, men and women, saying… what she could not tell. Still, she could not move.

She opened her eyes. A woman hovered over Darvydia. She looked concerned. A healer?

Darvydia

"Hear me, four quarters of the world - a relative I am!
Give me the strength to walk the soft earth, a relative to all that is!
Give me the eyes to see and the strength to understand, that I may be like you.
With your power only can I face the winds."

Black Elk (1863-1950)
Oglala Sioux holy man


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Seeing the scuffle begin to slow, Silver's grip lessened on her sword as she slid it around again to easily fall into the sheath at her hip. She eyed Sylvin, taking note of the prisoner she held. The Lady Captain's eyes quickly swept over the docks, mentally counting those on the ground, adding in the one Sylvin held and trying to figure out if one was missing.

Her hand kept near the dagger at her side as she took a few steps toward the Shoppekeeper. "Looks like you brought a welcoming party, Eowyn." The Captain grinned. "I have to say I wasn't expecting such a show."

However amusing a brawl was, there was one missing. Frowning, Silver ran her fingers lightly over the dagger's hilt, her eyes continuously scanning the docks and her ship. As she glanced up towards the deck she noted Ty's signal. All was well, which, to her relief, meant the bard was alive. No loss of a passenger's life yet, and with a healer on board, that meant not having to spend more time finding a clinic for the woman.

"Eowyn, someone's unaccounted for ... we also must get underway."

She frowned. They should have left earlier. There was no telling who would show up after hearing the explosion followed by the scuffle. You could pay a harbor master to "not see" a few things, but if his whole dock was threatened.... Silver shook her head. She did not know who these men where, what they wanted, and if any others were coming.

Dawn would break soon, that she was sure of.

Silver


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Jaryssa's attention was divided, torn between the battle on the docks and the woman who lay unmoving at her side. She was relieved when the woman who had given no name answered her call for a healer and knelt beside the fallen bard, and Jaryssa thus stood briefly to get a better vantage on what was happening below. From what she could tell, the pitch of the attack was ebbing. Those who had taken to the docks seemed to have the matter well in hand, and many of the assailants lay slain upon the salt-worn boards. Among these lay the body of Garlin Creel, a familiar dagger lodged deep in his throat. Her brow arched almost imperceptibly as she looked toward Brextyl. He merely shrugged in response before turning back to the scene below. She'd have words with him later.

Assured that her aid was not needed elsewhere, she knelt again beside the bard, watching mutely as the healer worked her craft. She hoped the woman knew what she was doing. The healer seemed to be trying several different remedies, none of which was yielding results. The gnawing sensation of worry in the pit of Jaryssa's stomach began to grow stronger until finally it pushed a few reticent words from her lips.

"What can I do to help?"

Her question was barely asked before it was rendered gratuitous. The bard's eyes had finally opened with a bleary haze. Jaryssa breathed a small sigh of relief and gave the healer an admiring nod. Whatever she had done, it had worked. A good healer was well worth his or her weight in gold, and thankfully someone had arranged to have one on board. The thief had a feeling it wasn't the last time the woman's services would be needed. It was a feeling she tried to shrug off as she rested a gloved hand gently on the bard's shoulder.

"Darvydia, are you all right?"

Jaryssa


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Arilyn watched the young bard carefully, still trying to rub some warmth into the lifeless hands.  She saw the young girl's eyes flutter and then open.  Her smile was reassuring as she bent closer to the girl.  "Please do not fear and do not try to talk.  I am Arilyn, a healer, and I shall take good care of you.  Do not worry.  It seems that the fracas is over now and Eowyn is fine.  We must get you below decks to a warm cot."  She felt once again for the bard's pulse and though still thready, it seemed to be stronger. 

Glancing up at the woman, Arilyn smiled.  "I thank you for your offer of help.  I am a healer and will take good care of the young bard, but, if you would be so kind, we need to get her below deck and into a warm cot.  I fear she is suffering from some kind of shock and it is imperative that we infuse some warmth back into her body.  If you can find a sailor or two, that would be most helpful."

Ari looked back down at her patient and smiled again.  "Please do not be afraid.  I assure you I'll have you back up on your feet in no time, but we must get you into a warm bed.  Tucking the cloak tighter about the young girl, Ari continued her ministrations and waited patiently for help to arrive.

Arilyn


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"Darvydia, are you all right?" The woman called Brielle stooped over Darvydia, her face twisted in concern for the bard. The healer knelt silently beside Darvydia as she continued to rub warmth into the bard's hands.

~At least I still have the flute~ Darvydia thought. Concentrating, she tried to remember what had happened. She remembered the battle and playing the flute, but then the flute took control, drawing her energy to fuel the music. Such a powerful tool… Darvydia cringed at the thought of it falling into the wrong hands.

"Please do not fear and do not try to talk. I am Arilyn, a healer, and I shall take good care of you. Do not worry. It seems that the fracas is over now and Eowyn is fine. We must get you below decks to a warm cot." Darvydia felt the healers hands on her wrist once more. Her wrist pulsed under the healer's touch. She wished that she could offer the healer a smile as reassurance, but her body was not yet her own.

Darvydia listened distantly as Arilyn told Brielle to get help so they could move her to a cot.

"Please do not be afraid. I assure you I'll have you back up on your feet in no time, but we must get you into a warm bed." The healer tucked her cloak around her and continued to rub Darvydia's hands. Slowly, Darvydia could feel the chill retreating from her bones. Although, she was still very cold.

Brielle left Darvydia's side. She seemed half-reluctant to go.

Darvydia

"Hear me, four quarters of the world - a relative I am!
Give me the strength to walk the soft earth, a relative to all that is!
Give me the eyes to see and the strength to understand, that I may be like you.
With your power only can I face the winds."

Black Elk (1863-1950)
Oglala Sioux holy man


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Jaryssa hesitated a moment before leaving the bard's side. The woman was extremely weak, and she wasn't sure it was wise to move her. But the healer seemed to know her art and so Jaryssa complied, rocking back on her feet and setting off in search of help. The healer, Arilyn, had said to find some sailors. The deck was littered with them, but the thief had another idea. Strong as the sailors were, it would take two of them to carry the bard gently and they still might jostle her as they tried to move together. Better to find someone who could carry her alone. One candidate came immediately to mind -- Quig.

Standing a good five feet above crew and passengers alike, the ogre wasn't hard to spot. He still carried his cudgel, prompting Jaryssa to wonder why he hadn't joined the battle below. It was almost enough to make her reconsider her idea, but if the ogre was foe rather than friend he'd surely have attacked along with the band on the docks. Reassured, she pressed on, finding that as she neared the ogre she was forced to crane her head up at an awkward angle to see his face.

"Quig, we need your help," she said, stopping a few feet shy of where she normally would have to avoid having to wrench her neck further. It took a conscious effort not to shout in a perceived need to overcome the distance between them. "One of the party's been injured and we need to get her below."

The ogre stirred immediately to life, hoisting his weapon over his shoulder. "Then ye best be leadin the way."

The thief didn't need to be told twice, and she was already turning to lead Quig to the fallen bard as she pointed in response. "This way."

Whether he followed her gesture or simply saw Darvydia for himself, Jaryssa didn't know, but the ogre moved ahead of her with long, purposeful strides. He reached the bard in a half-dozen steps. It took the thief considerably more, but she was at his heels as he knelt down and placed his cudgel on the deck before gently lifting the bard in strong, ruddy hands. She might have been a rag doll for all the effort it seemed to take ogre, but her carried her with far greater care as he headed off toward the makeshift sleeping quarters with massive steps. Seeking to be helpful, Jaryssa thought to take and carry the cudgel he'd left behind. It was about the size of quarterstaff and she expected it to be no heavier. When she closed her hands about it and she went to lift it, she discovered that she was gravely mistaken. The thing weighed at least as much as she did -- probably more, and though she thought she might be able to lift it from the deck, the chances of her carrying it any distance were minimal.

The cudgel's owner, meanwhile, was crouching down to enter the sleeping quarters, still cradling his limp charge. It was an uncomfortable fit and he had to remain stooped, but he managed to squeeze inside without much difficulty and without distress to the bard. Jaryssa, having given up on moving Quig's weapon, slipped inside the cabin a few steps behind the ogre. Many of the cots remained unclaimed, but the thief recognized a bag sitting atop one of them as belonging to Darvydia, and she moved to it wooden floor below as she called to the ogre, "Over here."

The bent behemoth nodded once, then set the bard carefully down upon the cot.

"Wot happen ta her?" he asked. "I was watch'n the scuffle on the dock.. seemed to be have'n it well in hand without me lumbering in to the mist of everything, but I not be seein anything reach the ship. Do ye be need'n a doctor?"

Jaryssa and Quig


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Arilyn quickly gathered her pack and cloak and followed as best she could in the Ogre's footsteps. With littler ado, the Ogre made his way below decks and softly laid the bard on a cot. Her initial fright at the large creature laid aside, she moved to her patient. A grateful smile filled her face as she kinked her neck to look up at the giant ogre. "I'm grateful for your help, sir. I am a healer and I shall care well for the bard."

Dropping her pack at the side of the bard's cot, she moved quickly and took several blankets from the surrounding cots. Moving to the bard's side, she debated on whether to remove the flute that was clutched tightly in the bard's finger. Obviously, this was the instrument that had drained the bard's life source. Surely, It was connected to her psychic as well as her physical body. Arilyn debated; should she attempt to remove the flute from the bard's fingers. Not one to ponder long over such things when her patient's good will mattered, Arilyn plied the flute from the stiff fingers. As she held it in her hands, she felt a tremor run through her body; it held great energy and without ado, she quickly laid the flute along the still body of the bard.

Working quickly, she undid the laces around the young woman's throat and removed her boots. Whipping the blankets about, she covered the bard's body and tucked the loose ends of the blanket beneath the young woman's still body. Grabbing a flask from her pack, she removed a pouch of powder from her waist. With great care, she sprinkled the bitters into the fresh spring water. Placing a hand underneath the bard's neck, she lifted her head slightly as she bent low. "Try and drink a bit of this water, it will make you feel better." Holding the flask to the bard's lips, Arilyn held her breath, hoping that the bard was conscious enough to hear her words.

Arilyn


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Now assured of Darvydia's safety, the shoppekeeper turned back to the ebbing encounter on the docks. All but two of the attackers laid dead on the salt-worn flats, their lives having flowed forth on a final tide of greed and futility. Of the remaining two, one laid among the fallen. He was unconscious and blissfully unaware of the carnage that surrounded him. His companion was not so lucky. He had been caught by Sylvin and he struggled pointlessly within her unholy grasp. Features that once blazed with menace now wore only panic as he realized that his life was but a brief flicker in the rapacious darkness that held him.

It was on this one, alone alive and conscious among his allies, that the shoppekeeper focused, piercing again a soiled veil of flesh with silent intent. His fear was strong, and it made her task easier. The truth thus came quickly, and she turned away with nary a word, leaving him to whatever fate the kindred woman chose. Her business now lay with another.

She found the one she sought sprawled lifeless upon the docks, a dagger buried hilt deep within his neck. He was the one who had spoken, the one who had demanded the box. In life he had been a thief; in death, a fool. It didn't matter. He was the leader of the assailants and the only one who knew their purpose. A measure of distaste flickered across the shoppekeeper's face as she knelt beside him and pulled the dagger from his throat. His heart had long since stopped beating, and thus no new blood spilt from the wound, but the blade was still thick with the dark stench of it. She wiped it twice upon the man's vest before handing it to Marcus, who had moved to stand beside her.

Marcus didn't speak, having seen her expression and guessing her mind. She meant to learn what this man had known, and his death would not stop her. He'd seen it before, and though he'd learned to hide his revulsion, the sight still disturbed him. Try as he might, however, he could never turn away. It was concern, he told himself, concern for her; but perhaps concern of something else as well. He pushed it from his mind, steeling himself as he watched the seemingly elven woman's hand settle softly upon the man's pallid face. Beneath her fingers, long and lithe, the man's eyes fluttered, responding to something Marcus couldn't name, and didn't want to. The fluttering grew more rapid, more erratic, and in time was soon joined by spasms that twisted the cooling face into varying and often grotesque expressions. Hovering above him, Eowyn didn't move, but her face too now bore a similar countenance above a mien of clear disgust.

He knew she hated this, or at least, he thought she did. She'd never spoken of it, but the clouding darkness of her eyes seemed to give clear testimony to his opinion. They were different than they were at other times, different even from when she probed the living. He forced back a shudder. He'd been inside another's mind once, and found it abominable. How much worse would crawling through a cold, dead mind be? He tried not to think about it, instead studying the dagger she'd handed him as he waited for her to finish. Its blade was darkened and didn't catch the light as he turned it in his hand. Odd.

"Captain, if you're in agreement, I suggest we make ready to sail."

Marcus' eyes flew from the dagger back to his employer just in time to see her rise to her feet.  Her skirts swayed beneath her and for the first time he noticed that she was wearing a blade.  His brow raised at the sight.  She sounded . . . tired . . . or perhaps annoyed.  He wasn't sure which, but he was curious as to what she'd learned.

~~Nothing~~

Her voice rang in his mind. She'd forgotten to switch again . . . or she wasn't ready to tell the others.

~~He knew nothing.~~

It wasn't entirely true.

Eowyn

"Away with him who heeds the morrow!
Death, plucking the ear, cries: "Live; I come!"

Virgil, Copa 1. 37


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Silver watched, her hand on the hilt of her sword while Eowyn and Marcus conversed. She eyed Sylvin and then the man in her grasp. What poor luck for him to be trapped in the mysterious woman's hold. She wondered what constraint it took for Sylvin to not outright kill him.

When Eowyn bent over the dead man to retreive the dagger, the Lady Captain was about to speak. However, her words were caught in her throat as she watched the Shoppekeeper and the dead man. When his eyes fluttered, Silver arched a curious brow. But when his body began to convulse, she simply turned her gaze to watch the going ons of everyone else out of respect for Eowyn. She knew, or at least had a very good idea, of what was happening.

"Captain, if you're in agreement, I suggest we make ready to sail."

Silver returned her gaze to the Elven woman and offered a nod. "Been ready to sail for hours. If everyone will just board, and if'n you want to take the prisoner, that's fine by me. M'crew can keep watch on him and find a perfect place for him to stay." She shot a slightly distasteful glance at the man before turning on a booted heel to march back towards the ship.  "All hands on deck! Make way to sail!" her voice rang out once again over the strangely silent docks. "Passengers on board and ready to make way!"

Determination now sunk in as she set foot upon the deck, feeling the gentle sway of the ocean. It was time to once again find comfort in the sea, if not anything else this evening.

Silver


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Collecting the threads of her temper, the shoppekeeper pushed a stray lock of hair behind a decidedly pointed ear. The captain was ready. Good. It was time to put the city behind them, and she wanted to leave before dawn was full upon them. There remained only one matter undone, and this she finished by handing Silver one of the small wooden boxes she carried.

"Per our agreement, captain. Keep the box. You may find it of use. As for them," she cocked her head in the direction of the two living attackers, "I accept you offer. Take them."

Though the two knew little, they could yet prove useful; and if they proved otherwise they could be disposed of with ease. Only time would tell whether it was they or their lifeless companions who had fared better that eve, for the shoppekeeper dared not risk a forward glance. The Siren's crew was more than capable of keeping watch over them, and this was enough for now.

As if offering testimony to their skill, the crew responded to the captain's orders to embark with practiced alacrity. The passengers, however, were somewhat less swift of step. The shoppekeeper could see only a handful of them as she ascended the plank which led to the ship, but she sensed the presence of all and hoped that each would serve as promised. The journey before them would be both long and arduous and they could ill afford to bear any who would not carry their weight.

The kindred woman, Sylvin yet stood on the docks, the sole conscious attacker still held within her cold embrace. Marcus, however, had begun the ascent as well, following his patron's steps if not her orders. She could hear him behind her and she knew what was thinking. His questions, however, indeed all questions, would have to wait.

She reached the top of the gangplank and boarded the Siren without comment, choosing instead to survey those above deck. Both Lolindir and Nemina were present. No doubt they had found one another unusual companions, and their escort, Blacktip scarcely palatable. Still, he had been true to his word brought the two women to Stormpoint unharmed and unseen. His continued presence, however, remained unexplained.

Also present was a swarthy man who refused to meet her gaze. So this was one of the pair that had been sent? Interesting. The dagger she'd retrieved from the neck of the fallen leader had flown from his hand. This too was interesting. He'd adopted a false name, but that was of little surprise. Let him call himself what he wished. She knew both and who he was. Feeling generous, or perhaps sending a message, she caught Marcus' eye and nodded in the direction of the man, indicating that he should return the dagger to its owner while she sought the others.

The bard, Darvydia, she could tell was below deck, recovering from the spell of the flute. For the second time, the shoppekeeper wondered if she'd been right in giving it to the young woman. She reminded herself that it was the flute, rather than she, that had chosen, but still she was troubled. The flute's power was strong, but not entirely benign. Much darkness lay within it and it was this that the bard would have to overcome, lest she herself be overcome instead.

Arilyn was below deck as well, tending to the young musician. Eowyn was grateful she'd agreed to come. It had been some time since she'd seen the young healer, and in a softer part of her heart that she rarely acknowledged, she was glad if somewhat pained to be seeing her once again. She was not alone, however. Two, no three, more were with her. The Fomorian giant was there, bent by more than simply cabin's height, and already his strength had proven useful. A woman . . . tall, lithe, dark . . . stood nearby as well. She was partner to the one above and she too answered to a name that was not her own. Interesting that she was there, below deck with the bard and the healer, and interesting that she wore a look of concern.

Finally, off to the side of the bard and her trio, was Isabella. She'd not spoken to the others so far as Eowyn could tell, and the shoppekeeper was uncertain if the others had even noticed her presence. Her demeanor was quiet and her voice often soft. One would be ill-advised, however, to dismiss her, for her heart was strong and her skill great.

They were all here. They all thought themselves ready. It was time to find out.

Eowyn

"Away with him who heeds the morrow!
Death, plucking the ear, cries: "Live; I come!"

Virgil, Copa 1. 37


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Darvydia watched the healer through glazed eyes. ~My flute~ she thought longingly, as Arilyn pried it from her grasp. Darvydia was relieved when the healer returned the flute to Darvydia's side.

"Try and drink a bit of this water, it will make you feel better." Arilyn said, as she held a flask to the bard's lips.

Darvydia sipped the water, and coughed. Then attempted to drink some more before the healer returned her head to the pillow. Warmth filled her body, and slowly she gained some control of her limbs.

Turning her head, she noticed that several had gathered around her cot. Eowyn, she was here. Darvydia attempted to sit, but could not.

"Rest," someone said.

"I'm ok." Darvydia's voice crackled.

"No, rest." Was someone speaking. Was it in her head? Was she imagining it?

"Ok, I'll rest." Darvydia closed her eyes.

Darvydia

"Hear me, four quarters of the world - a relative I am!
Give me the strength to walk the soft earth, a relative to all that is!
Give me the eyes to see and the strength to understand, that I may be like you.
With your power only can I face the winds."

Black Elk (1863-1950)
Oglala Sioux holy man


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Isa perched on the rail of the ship, discretely tucked and hidden from sight. All seem to be handled and she felt no need to encumber the rest in offering help. She found that she was of much more use when knowing of her comrades abilities and loyalties.

Isa could put the names with the faces later. The collapsed one on deck was being tended, by who she could guess to be a healer and her intuition told her all would be well in time.

The Lady Eowyn proved to be the most enchanting of the group, having seen the dead man twitch in her hands, Isa knew she need not make this woman her foe. This entourage seemed capable for the time being. How well they would fare on the long journey ahead was yet to be seen. Isa was confident of her own abilities and hoped her silence would not prove to be disconcerting, but a blessing during this journey. A quiet voice yields a sharp ear. Searching the sky, she saw her hawk friend and smiled to herself and thought, "Once again he proved true, danger lurked. Thank you my friend."

The first to leap into action, the one who called himself Avathar, was one Isa already knew. He appeared to be the same man of stature but his eyes told of a much different person. The man she knew was gone. His stealth and accuracy during the events on the docks only confirmed her suspicions. A decision now had to be made, and it was not going to be easily done. Once again, she played with the ring on her finger but this time she looked at it with dread, knowing what its future would be. She was letting go...

Isabella Solestra


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Finally, Silver thought with a wry grin. It was time to shove off and though things weren't boding well thus far, she was ready to feel the swell of the waves beneath her and nothing but the open seas to deal with.

She arched a brow at Eowyn and hesitantly accepted the box. With a quick motion, three crew members scurried down to the dock to take into custody the two remaining members that had luckily been spared their lives. Once they were seen aboard, Silver ascended the plank and passed the box to Ty. "M'quarters." He nodded, though eyed her warily. Silver shot him a glance as he disappeared below decks to lock up Eowyn's gift. The two would no doubt have words later.

"Catch the wind, south, south east to sail out of port!"

"Aye, Aye, Cap'ain!"

With great restraint, Silver paused to look around and make sure all passengers were accounted for before the crew made way to slide out of port.

The Lady Captain rolled her shoulders back before lending a hand to join in the duties aboard, keeping an eye out to the horizon. She made a swirling gesture with her fingers towards the crow's nest which was answered with a glint - probably a mirror. Nothing in sight yet, but she'd know soon enough what lurked beyond.

"Make ready to sail! All hands on deck!" Her voice rang out one last time as the ship began to gently lurch towards the open sea. She would not have passengers hiding, or at the very least, spilling their lunches below deck. That could be done over the rail.

Silver


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"To sing and to drink,
On a log in the sea
To be without need
For as long as can be

To wake up to stars
To pull on the lines
And swing from the yards
Aye, to know no time

Aye, to sing and to drink
On a log in the sea
Ne'er to know yesterday
A pirate's life for me.."

Blacktip was singing gently under his breath as the vessel shoved off. He was tucked neatly in the shrouds stretching from the foremast to the bowsprit, and had watched the brawl with mild disinterest when the boat was docked. He noted, however, quite carefully, that the woman in charge was just that--in charge. The corner of his mouth tugged gently to the right and there was a semblance of a twinkle in his eye. He took a hard pull on the breezy sea air, his chest inflating outwards and idly tinkered with his stolen amulet as he continued to hum thoughtfully.

The owl that had boarded with the copper-headed woman swooped towards him and perched, eyeing him with clear dissatisfaction. "You could have helped, you're aware."

Blacktip gave it only the slightest glance, undisturbed by its vocal skills. "They didn't need me."

Unruffled, the owl took back to the air. "Quite. Common courtesy, I've forgotten, gives you heartburn."

A grin opened his mouth into a small laugh, unheard. "Better watch that tongue little one, else some sailor leery of philosophizing fowl will lash a stone to your leg."

Below deck, a pair of blue eyes were struggling to open. Groggy and disoriented, Nemina picked her head up slowly and let her eyes drift into focus. The figure seated across from her gazed back quietly, and her voice was barely audible above the din of activity on the main deck. "You were very tired."

Nemina forced herself to sit up. Never had she slept so deeply. Indeed, she had quite trained herself to sleep lightly. Instinctively her hand shot to her side to check her weapon, and found safe, she relaxed. The owl returned and settled on her shoulder. "Nemina, are you alright?"

She nodded shortly. "Just--exhausted, I suppose. What's happening?"

"There was quite a brawl," the bird replied. "Your elven hostess cleaned it up apparently, and we're now on our way. Ahoy!" He chortled to himself.

She opened her mouth to ask where Blacktip had wandered off to, but thought better of it instead; perhaps he'd fallen overboard or he'd been sadly lost in the battle. Nemina bit her lip, admonishing herself mentally for such a thought. Her patience needed to hold, this was sure to be a long journey.

The elven woman's pale robes rustled as she stood. "Shall we?"

The trio left the lower decks and emerged to find the vessel absolutely pulsating with life. The decks thumped, sails were moving, and the blue-green water seemed to gleam ahead for eternity.

Jaysa


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"Make ready to sail! All hands on deck!"

The captain's voice had barely faded when the ship began to lurch forward, leaving Jaryssa's stomach a few feet behind. Gripping it with her hand, she convinced herself that it was just the suddenness of the start and that she wouldn't have further problems. She hoped she was right, but the initial lunge within her stomach was soon joined by another when a small, featured creature darted inside the cabin and sailed into a shadowed, and apparently occupied, corner.

Damn.

She should have noticed there were others in the cabin ....... Nemina and Lolindir, she thought their names were ......... but she'd missed them. What the hell was wrong with her? She shook her head silently. She didn't usually make mistakes like that. She couldn't afford to. Maybe it was the excitement of the attack and the need to care for the bard. Maybe. There were just too many unknowns, and she didn't like it. She shook her head again, trying to clear it, and returned her gaze to the bard.

Darvydia still looked weak, but had given up her fight against the healer and was now resting quietly, most likely asleep. Hovering beside her, Arilyn looked unwilling to leave her charge, and the thief saw no reason why she should. She thus placed a gloved hand on the healer's shoulder to draw her attention, and said as much.

"Stay with her. I'll let them know what's going on."

She was gone in an instant, moving far quicker and far quieter than she would have had she been thinking clearly, but she was too busy trying to quell the waves in her stomach and mind to give her movement much thought.

Above deck, the crew was busy at work. As before, they moved with practiced ease in what had no doubt become a nearly choreographed ritual of skill and seamanship. Jaryssa had no clue what most of them were doing, but her eyes didn't stay long on any one in particular. She found Brextyl without looking for him, and was about to approach and ask what had happened when he gave her an expression that said they'd talk later. It was look that made her stomach turn again, but she kept an impassive face and began her search for the captain.

Although the lead seafarer stood in the midst of her crew, her figure stood out easily amongst them. It thus didn't take long to find her and Jaryssa was soon moving astride the woman and as she called out to her.

"Captain Silver, Darvydia . . ." she couldn't think of the words to adequately describe what had happened to the bard, still uncertain exactly what had happened herself, "....fell ill during the battle. I'm not sure what happened, but the healer's below deck with her now. The ogre, Quig, is there too," she added, suddenly remembering the greenish shade of the hulking figure. "He's not looking too good either."

Not knowing the captain, she couldn't yet read the woman's reaction to her words, but she made mental note of her expression for later comparison. In the meantime, she decided it was best to at least appear helpful and asked if she might lend a needed hand. She couldn't help but risk a quick glance in Brextyl's direction, wondering what he wasn't saying and whether his slightly ashen hue was due merely to the roll of the ship.

It wasn't. For his part, Brextyl tried not to look at Jaryssa again. In part, not to alarm her, and in part to keep their connection from the eyes of Eowyn. He'd known the trip would be dangerous, both Striker and Quaralyn had said as much, but it was what they hadn't said that troubled him most. They hadn't said that the elven sorcerous, or whatever the hell she was, would be involved, and they hadn't said that Garlin Creel would make an appearance. Maybe his presence was just a coincidence ........ maybe; but Brextyl didn't like coincidences, especially when they could point a finger at both him and Jaryssa.

Creel had fallen before he could talk, silenced by Brextyl's dagger ...... a dagger which was now in the hands of Avathar, Eowyn's apparent cohort ...... another coincidence he didn't like. He'd acted out of instinct at the time, but now that his adrenaline- fueled fever had passed he wondered exactly what instinct he'd acted from. He also wondered what Eowyn had done when she'd knelt over Creel's body. He'd never seen anything like it. In his experience, the dead were dead. They felt nothing, they did nothing, they said nothing. Yet he'd seen Creel's lifeless body jerk and reel under the elf's touch, he'd seen the man's death-stilled face contort beneath her fingers, and he suspected that the elf had seen something as well. He swallowed hard against the thought.

Did Creel know that Brextyl and Jaryssa were aboard; and if he did, did Eowyn now know as well? A sound halfway between a snort and grunt issued quietly from a scowl-lit face as another reality set in. What difference did it make what Creek knew? If the elf could see into the minds of the dead, the minds of the living would present no challenge. There was nothing to stop her from seeing his thoughts and there was no place for him or Jaryssa to go. Ironically, it seemed the only thing he could do was trust the man who'd sent them ........ and while Striker Kel was a man who engendered much fear, Brextyl wasn't sure that trust was part of his reputation.

Brextyl and Jaryssa


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The chanting had yet to begin but it was at the tips of the sailors' tongues, before the woman Brielle, who came aboard with a male companion approached. The Lady Captain, never losing the rhythm of hosting the sails up, eyed her and nodded as she told the story.

"Aye, I know as much but thank ye for the news. Can ye please tell Quig if'n he's gonna spill 'is lunch ta do it over m'rail and not in the bunks?"

With a wink, she turned back to the task at hand, her voice ringing clear above the movements of the ship. "What shall we do with a drunken sailor?" The crew joined in immediately after, each movement coinciding with the melody and rhythm of the song.

"What shall we do with a drunken sailor?
What shall we do with a drunken sailor?
Early in the morning?
Way-hay, up she rises
Way-hay, up she rises
Way-hay, up she rises
Early in the morning"


Silver slipped out of line as the men carried on their duties, her singular voice rising out again. "Put him in the long boat 'til he's sober"   With a grin, she crossed her arms and looked out to sea as the crew finished the song themselves.

"Pull out the bung and wet him all over
Put him in the scuppers with the deck pump on him
Heave him by the leg in a runnin' bowlin'
Tie him to the taffrail when she's yard-arm under
Way-hay, up she rises
Way-hay, up she rises
Way-hay, up she rises
Early in the morning"


Silver glanced up at the sky, noting the first light of dawn raising her pink fingers across the indigo sky. Soon the sun would be upon them and the comfort of the early morning breezes would melt away into the heat of the sun at their backs. Holding a hand to her brow she glanced up at the crow's nest again and gave a short, shrill blast of whistles. The answer was another series of whistles, which seemed to make the Captain content as she glanced about the ship.

Looking for Lucky, the Lady Captain pinpointed the disheveled, hungover co-captain easily. "Hey, drunkard. Think you can clean out m'cabin? It smells like the Mermaid inside!" She rolled her eyes. "Reg would have yer head if'n you left this bar in that mess...good fer nothin..."

Upon approach she turned her gaze out to sea and lowered her voice to his ears. "Need you to join me below deck in a few minutes." She nudged him in the ribs to give the appearance of a lighthearted jest before spinning upon her heel and eyeing the crew once more. "C'mon lads put yer backs into it! She hasn't seen the sea in too long!"

Silver


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The multitude of events that occurred following Lucky's arrival on top deck seemed to pass in a blur.  There were brigands, then most of them were down.  Music played, then stopped.  People arrived.  Returning or reappearing or just coming on - who knew?  They stood in their own small huddles of conversation.  Chit-chat, chit-chat.  Orders here, orders there.  Sails hoisted, sharp whistles...  For the love of the nine hells, it was enough to make the pirate's head swim, (though this, admittedly, was no large task considering the murderous state of his hangover).

Then the song started, and with a lazy turn on the heel Lucky soon found himself facing the approaching Silver.

"Hope this 'ere song ain't on me own account, there, Cap'n," he chuckled, though his call was drowned out by the singing sailors' voices.

"Hey, drunkard. Think you can clean out m'cabin? It smells like the Mermaid inside!" She rolled her eyes. "Reg would have yer head if'n you left this bar in that mess...good fer nothin..."

Lucky grinned, one side of his mouth turning up more than the other.  "Las' I checked I wasn't on swab duty, Cap."  He finished with a wink, sobering (figuratively, anyway) as the lady captain spoke once more.

Upon approach she turned her gaze out to sea and lowered her voice to his ears. "Need you to join me below deck in a few minutes." She nudged him in the ribs to give the appearance of a lighthearted jest before spinning upon her heel and eyeing the crew once more. "C'mon lads put yer backs into it! She hasn't seen the sea in too long!"

Lucky nodded once at Sil, his grin back in place, though it was less than authentic.  Without further word he made his way back to her cabin....

Below deck chats?  Intriguing.  But of greater importance at the moment was ridding himself of the goblin horde tramping around inside his skull.  So he searched out a tonic, glancing to the stairs now and again as he awaited Sil and her news...

Captain Lucian Clover


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They were away . . . finally. Long weeks of planning had at last given way to action and the first leg of their voyage had begun. It lifted her spirits slightly, but only slightly, as there remained much of concern. Two points, however, were of more immediate than the rest.

The daybreak was coming. Indeed the first rosy fingers of dawn had already appeared on the brink of the horizon, singing a hymn to the coming morn. She had hoped to slip away while the deep veil of night still hid their passing, but hopes were often insubstantial and elusive. Dawn would do. It would have to. But it did place one of their number at risk.

Though her strength and will were great, Sylvin could not stand long beneath the light of the sun. If she hadn't taken preventative measures, she'd soon need to seek the shelter of the cabin that she and the shoppekeeper would share on this voyage. At the moment, however, the kindred woman appeared confident in her bearing and made no move from the softly lit deck. Eowyn nodded to her by way of both acknowledgment and appreciation for her earlier restraint. She could have easily slain the man she held within her grasp and sated her hunger with his ebbing life, but she had relinquished him to the custody of the captain and her crew. It boded well for what lay ahead, and went some way towards easing the shoppekeeper's conscience in regard to her earlier promise.

But Sylvin was not her only concern or pang of regret. There was also the bard, who had fallen victim to the power of the flute. She needed to see her and was about to make her way to her side when a quiet and quick-moving figure drew the captain's attention and began to speak.

"Captain Silver, Darvydia . . . fell ill during the battle. I'm not sure what happened, but the healer's below deck with her now. The ogre, Quig, is there too. "He's not looking too good either."

The shoppekeeper made brief note of the messenger's face whilst a curious tug at the corner of her own mouth suggested a small measure of amusement. Interesting.

"Captain," Eowyn interjected, "I must see to the bard now. I'll return shortly."

It was then, when against all measure of understanding the shoppekeeper possessed, the chanting started. The captain and crew had come highly recommended by a man whose judgment she trusted, but she now began to wonder if her old friend had taken leave of his senses. She'd clearly stressed the need for secrecy in their initial meeting, and she'd thought the captain understood. Why else would they put out to sea before first light? Did the attack on the docks and the corpses of the men they'd left behind fail to demonstrate that need?

She closed her eyes as the chant droned on, thinking that if she wished to alert all in the area to their presence, engraved invitations couldn't have been more effective. New strains of frustration and anger were steadily weaving themselves into those she already held, forcing her to leave the deck before she did something she regretted. As it was, she turned on her heel and strode purposefully away from the chanters with the beginnings of a scowl and a headache, speaking to only one as she left, and him only in thought.

~Well, Marcus, you wanted to come along. Make yourself useful. Quiet them!~

Biting back further comment, she moved towards the stairs which led down to the makeshift passengers quarters. But before her foot touched the first step, she turned her head sharply to one side, her attention momentarily drawn by a greasy, ill-groomed figure who clung to the ship's failing shadows. They stared silently at one another for a few tense seconds. They both knew he wasn't supposed to be there, that the amulet around his neck had been given to another, but neither knew what would become of it; he, perhaps for lack of foresight; she, for refusal to use such vision. As with so many other things, time would tell. She sent him a penetrating glare of warning. Should he choose to remain, she would not be responsible for his fate.

Leaving him to whatever musing currently held him, the shoppekeeper continued down the stairs and into the cabin. There, she saw not only the healer and her fallen change, but Quig as well. The stealthy young woman had been correct. The ogre did look unsettled; and though he didn't look as if he was going to be immediately ill, the shoppekeeper feared that the enclosed area of the cabin would only exacerbate the situation. She therefore thanked him for his help and suggested that some fresh air might serve him well. Besides, she thought wryly, if he became ill near the sailors, maybe they'd stop singing for a moment or two.

"Quig, gratzen tuga eiksen. Krachtau inglemmerin ust nyaderach tugist pletgentior. Psakedrin ekra y tuklaksen naudechsen?"

The ogre nodded in recognition and understanding before lumbering to the cabin door and crouching to squeeze through it. When he had gone, the shoppekeeper turned her attention to the two remaining occupants; and, for the first time, the traces of vexation around her eyes began to fade. Too long had passed since she'd seen Arilyn. The daughter of old friends, she'd known the healer from birth and had watched her grow from a toddler, to an adolescent, and now to a young woman. It was a journey the healer's mother had not been blessed to see, a fact which grieved Eowyn greatly. Throughout the years, she'd sought to stand in her stead as much as she was able, and to teach her friend's child those things attendant to her elven heritage. It had been a promise, and one that she regarded most highly. The shoppekeeper thus greeted the healer with a kind smile and familial embrace that stood in contrast to her more traditional greeting.

"Arilyn, elen síla lúmenn' omentielvo. Antan lyen hantá tulesso. How is she?"

She switched to common for benefit of Darvydia who, though half-elven as well, knew little of the ancient tongue. The bard lay still and seemingly asleep, but Eowyn judged that she may yet be aware of her surroundings. Guilt sprang anew as she looked down at the pale and fragile figure, prompting the shoppekeeper to kneel at her side and take full stock of her face as she awaited Arilyn's response.

Eowyn

"Away with him who heeds the morrow!
Death, plucking the ear, cries: "Live; I come!"

Virgil, Copa 1. 37


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"I'm Nemina. And, to be true, I'm as in the dark as you are about this trip."

He wasn't surprised to hear it. No one, not even the captain, seemed to know where they were going and what they were about. The elven witch was more tightlipped than a corpse ... perhaps tighter, he thought, as the image of her kneeling over Creel's slain body returned to him. The memory strengthened the growing sickness in the pit of his stomach and he fought to push it back down. It helped to know that he and Jaryssa weren't the only one's stumbling about in the many shadows the voyage had already cast.

Nemina, for her part, seemed forthright and pleasant enough.....appreciable qualities for a potentially long trip in a confined space ...... though in truth he was far more interested in her possible other qualities. He'd already suspected that she was no stranger to battle, in one form or another. The sizable blade which hung from her hip suggested as much. The strength latent in her grip only provided further corroboration. He was struggling to think of a way to ask her about her likely trade when her owl descended, wraithlike, from the fading darkness of the early morn.

He'd seen it, perched atop her shoulder, when she'd first arrived; but seeing and hearing, or rather, not hearing, it in flight was an entirely different matter. He'd heard somewhere that owl's feathers weighed more than their bones, making them both silent and deadly predators. It had seemed like so much myth at the time .... feathers heavier than bones .... pshaww ...... now, he wasn't sure.

"I assume you've been told nothing," Nemina again spoke, "just the same as we three. Do you know why you were summoned?"

He was glad she was willing to continue. He hadn't had much luck talking with others thus far.

He shook his head. "Not a clue. But I'll tell you, wherever we're going, we've got a damn peculiar company. From what I've seen, we look to have a rural healer, a bard, an archer of some family rank, an ogre, the leader of gypsy camps, your trio, and 'Mr. Mysterious' over there," his voice was heavy with sarcasm as he nodded towards Avathar.

"Then of course there's the crew, and many of them look a bit more 'experienced' than the average sailor." His tone leaned on the word 'experienced,' but he didn't explain further. "And to top it off, our captain possesses more skill with a blade than any seafarer has a right to. And by her own words, even she doesn't know where we're going."

He shook his head in an expression of baffled frustration and looked out over the water, wondering, half-jokingly, if it was too late to jump ship. Sadly, he knew that whatever awaited them on this journey, it was likely to be more pleasant that the fate that would inevitably follow from disregarding the guildmaster's orders. He drew a deep breath, letting the brine air fill his lungs. It stung his face and nostrils, but he'd have to get used to it sooner or later. A dry chuckle slid past his lips as he exhaled, realizing that he'd likely have to get used to a lot of things in the coming weeks. In the meantime, he decided he might as well learn all he could.

Nemina had said she didn't know anything about their purpose or destination; and he believed her. But seeing as no one aside from their patron seemed to possess such knowledge, Nemina was as good a companion as any; better than most, he added, amending his thought as he considered his other options.

"I don't know," he said finally, turning his gaze back to the copper- haired woman. "How'd your lot end up here? Forgive me for saying, but you don't exactly look like you're regular traveling companions."

Brextyl


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Nemina laughed. It was the first real laugh in weeks, maybe months; she couldn't help but agree. She glanced up towards the rigging, where she knew Blacktip would be, and aye, there he was. Asleep. He didn't appear asleep but she knew that posture and it meant he was unconscious while trying to seem otherwise. She wouldn't doubt if he had eyeballs painted on his eyelids.

"No, I wouldn't say we're much the other's types at all." She smiled again and laughed shortly. Usually she would be wary of giving away information freely, but she supposed that now was not the time for suspicion. Watchfulness, yes; defensiveness, no. "I am from an island, far east of here, called Elocin."

As she spoke the word aloud, a vision of rolling green fields and high golden grass waving in the wind slipped into her mind. The sun on the trees; the pure clear water rushing between those same trees with all its might as though it had somewhere important to be. She opened her mouth to say something more, but realized there was nothing else to be said about it just now. Nemina glanced over the side of the vessel; the sunlight, what there was of it, made the blues of the otherwise murky water a bit brighter at the top before fading into the abyss. Momentarily, she wondered how she traded the rolling hills and towering cliffs of Elocin for this--the sea. What seemed like millions of miles of sea.

She turned her gaze back and fixed it to Jaden's own. "I apologize for being impolite," she said, meaning her distracted pause. "I am not so usually out of sorts, but I'm sure you can understand, this journey being what it is already." She straightened a bit, recalling.

"I was summoned by the Elder Council of Elocin and told that my presence was requested here, in Stormpoint. The details were vague. Early one morning I boarded a vessel and met those two," she tossed a look towards the other side of the boat, where Lolindir stood with her hood up, peering into the distance of the horizon. "Lolindir had traveled from even further east than Elocin, and Blacktip..." she paused again. "I am at an utter loss." She half-smiled. "He was just there. We were given these medallions," she fingered the green stone at her collarbone, "and shoved off. That was about as much information as we received." Nemina stopped herself and looked at him again.

"Yourself?"

Nemina


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Silver caught Eowyn's eye as she disappeared downstairs and silently cursed herself. She knew they were under the cover of night but she didn't realize that the song they usually sang to get started would upset the Shopkeeper so much - until it dawned on the Captain that, of course, they were under the cover of stealth.

Silver silently cursed herself for forgetting and her weakness for sea shanties. With a grumble, she stuck her fingers in her mouth and made a quick whistling noise. The men immediately shut their mouths and silently pulled the rigging. Silver's eyes flew up to the crow's nest as she waved a hand, and received a flashing wink in response. The flicker of light let her know that all was well...so far, and if her mishap didn't cost them any unwanted visitors.

Her steps led her to the side of the rail as she glanced out at the moon winking on the inky sea. She inhaled the salty air and allowed a very slight curve to curl her lips upward. Ever wary, she gently rested a hand on her sword hilt and glanced back at the passengers as they began to lend hands and quietly associate.

At least now, they were sailing out of port.

Silver


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Eowyn knelt quietly beside the bard, waiting for Arilyn to respond; but the young healer, whom she'd long known, stood silent. She didn't bother to look back. She knew what the other's silence meant, and she didn't want to answer the questions that would undoubtedly be burning in her eyes. There were always questions . . . too many questions from too many people . . . and too many answers that the shoppekeeper was loathe to give. Regretably, the bard, who lay still on the cot beneath them, represented a bit of both.

Resigned that it was so, the shoppekeeper placed one of her hands atop the bard's brow. She was still slightly cold to the touch, and she didn't stir as Eowyn's fingers brushed softly over her eyes and a single word drifted from her lips.

"Envinyata."

It may have been that as the seemingly elven woman spoke, some small measure of warmth passed from her frame and into that of the bard. Then again, it may have been nothing. Regardless, the bad still slept and the shoppekeeper said nothing else as she rose to her feet and turned towards Arilyn at last. A silent understanding passed between them, one born from long years and an uncommon trust. Eowyn knew that the healer would tend to the bard and would summon her when the young woman awoke. There was presently no more for her to do within the cabin, and she was needed without. With a small nod, she thus left the healer to her charge and slid wordlessly from the two women, the watcher and her ward.

Outside, the morn was now breaking, and its soft rays of promise provoked an ill-tempered twitch from the shoppekeeper's lips. She had hoped to slip away under the darkness that night would provide, but such things could not be helped. At least the crew was no longer singing. Had she known a deity in which she placed faith, she would have offered a silent prayer of thanks. But the time which stretched long behind her like an ancient stream had left her suspect of those who claimed the name "divine." The entity venerated by the priest, Father Selnecker, seemed somehow different from the rest, but as yet she'd had no time to learn more. For now, it sufficed that the crew at least was silent. Whoever deserved the ultimate thanks could safely be the source of later debate.

With the coming of light, the temperature should have risen, but wet salt air now held a slightly greater chill than before. It didn't bother the shoppekeeper physically; indeed, such things never bothered her apparent kind, but its peculiarity did concern her. One more thing to worry about, one more item to the list. She considered its implications as her boots padded noiselessly across the smooth- worn deck.

It was a solid ship, she was pleased to note again, and well kept; and now that they were tacitly going about their tasks, the crew once again seemed both fit and able. Her eyes passed briefly over them as she trod, taking silent stock and measure. Few paid her heed, either too busy or too well-trained to question. One, however, alone among the rest watched her keenly. He was a large, barrel-chested man with eyes that had seen much during his years atop the azure depths. They were full now with an equal measure of suspicion and distrust. She managed to ignore him, having now collected and rewoven a sufficient portion of her temper, passing him with neither glance nor comment. It seemed, however, to engender only further misgivings. She had little doubt that it was something she'd need to address later, but it fell low on her current agenda. Less than a quarter hour had passed since she'd first set foot upon the steadily plowing vessel, and she still "labored" beneath the wait of her traveling possessions. She would leave them in her quarters, and then find the captain.

The captain hadn't told her where she'd be lodging during the voyage, but the ship was of limited space and so it took no special art to find her quarters. The room was small, no doubt having been converted to its current use, but it was tidy and had been fitted with two cots. One already bore Sylvin's belongings. The other lay vacant. Between the two sat a tired wooden, side-table. All had been bolted firmly to the floor. It was far from her usual accommodation, and afforded her far less privacy than she was accustomed to, but it would serve. Satisfied, she let a small pack slide from beneath her cloak onto the cot; but the box she carried, the one the attackers had demanded, she placed carefully atop the wooden table.

Unadorned as it was, it still looked out of place in its current surroundings in some inanimate, ineffable way. Perhaps it was the suggestion that it alone was privy to the mind of the shoppekeeper, or perhaps it was the fact that its passage had been already been purchased with blood. Its appearance, however, did not concern its owner. Indeed the sole patron of the circumspect voyage had already turned her eyes from its evenly-squared angles. Confident in its safety, the shoppekeeper didn't look back as she left the tiny cabin. Any who wished to investigate it were welcome to try.

Outside once more, Eowyn began her survey for the captain. The woman would no doubt be wanting a heading soon, and though she was obliged to give answer, she doubted either of them would be pleased with the result.

Strewed about the deck, the crew continued to work in silence while the passengers milled about in near similar suit. Her eyes had yet to find the captain when they were drawn instead to a dark shadow winging quickly downward from the pale morn sky. She extended her hand to greet it, and it landed obligingly atop her forearm with a ruffled huff of ebony feathers and a muffled caw.

"And to you," the shoppekeeper responded evenly. "You know, you might have at least told me where you were going," she added with equal parts civility and chastisement, "you took off rather . . precipitously."

The bird responded with another ruffling and several sharps clicks of its beak. A keen pair of eyes might also have noticed an occasional stomp of a clawed foot.

The shoppekeeper's voice and brow arched in simultaneous reply, "Really?"

The bird cawed once in seeming affirmation before hopping from its mistress' forearm to alight on her shoulder, where it resettled itself with an air of smug satisfaction.

Her avian companion now quietly settled, she shoppekeeper strode with renewed purpose in search of Captain Silver. She found her standing at the rail, looking over the expanse that spread out before them; but despite the look of peace that graced her features, one well- tanned hand rested upon the hilt of her sword. The shoppekeeper smiled inwardly with silent approval. Danger rarely came announced, and the ready hand struck truest. With a proverbial nod to the captain's nature, she allowed the rustling of her cloak to be heard as she approached, announcing her presence in softly spun whispers.

"Captain," she began, suddenly conscience of her prior silence. "Please accept my gratitude for your earlier assistance." She knew of no better way to express sincerity than silence, and so she let the steady lapping of waves against the ship's hull express the remainder of her thoughts for small time ere she spoke again. "The course is yours till noon. The city must be far beyond site before our course turns true. In the meantime, should anything . . . unusual occur with the prisoners, I should like to be advised."

Eowyn

"Pereat qui crastina curat!
Mors aurem vellens 'vivite' ait, 'venio!'"

Virgil, Copa 1. 37


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Silver stared out at the open expanse of water that was just beginning to slide from black to indigo, and in time to blue-green. The sun was dipping her fingers over the clouds and into the sea, making the waves swirl in indigo and black against the side of the ship.

The Lady Captain rested a hand on the rail, her other hand comfortable on the cool metal hilt at her hip. She was finally settled at finally moving out of port, especially after the havoc of the passengers arriving and the ensuing scuffle. It was strange, all of it. She mused quietly to herself, allowing her eyes to roam as she thought.

The characters on board were an unlikely group. She could feel the uneasy tension in her crew, catching their looks as she moved through her ship. She couldn't say she disagreed with their feelings. Things had only gotten stranger. Who would have known they were sailing? She was not as naive to think that even under the darkest cover of night, no one would know of the lone ship sailing out. However, well prepared attacks were last on her list, especially since the one piloting the ship did not even know the means of the journey. Silver's brow creased as she glanced at the horizon. Someone else besides Eowyn knew what this voyage was entailing, and that put her in an uneasy state of feeling, one she highly disliked.

Her eyes turned back to the horizon. Someone else knew the details of this voyage. There was an attack before they even set sail. Who else? Did they have connections? How did they know when those hired did not even have any knowledge? Something tugged at the back of her mind, swirling just out of her depths of understanding. Silver rolled her shoulders back, rubbing at her temples. The gentle whisper of an approach ceased her thoughts, and glancing over her shoulder, she noted Eowyn making her way towards the rail.

"Captain, please accept my gratitude for your earlier assistance."

Silver nodded to the words, offering a slight smile in return. She was not one to fawn for gratitude or ask for thanks. She was only protecting the safety of her ship - and Eowyn, though she'd not admit it to the Shoppekeeper. It was an unspoken respect.

"The course is yours till noon. The city must be far beyond site before our course turns true. In the meantime, should anything . . . unusual occur with the prisoners, I should like to be advised." Eowyn continued.

The Captain nodded again. Previous thoughts swept through her mind as to the discretion this voyage was kept under. "Unusual?" Silver frowned. "Is there anything I should expect with these prisoners? Or passengers?" It was better to be prepared. Some things should just not be kept in secret.

Silver glanced up at the crows nest. She curled her fingers about a small piece of mirror in her pocket, and rather then make any more noise, she turned the polished surface towards the first rays of sun and flicked her wrist. In a moment, she was answered with a series of gestures from the one on watch.

"So far so good..." The Captain looked back to Eowyn. "Little movement out at sea. We should be slipping into open water at any moment. " Which, untold, made her more wary. Her fingers slipped the mirror back into her pocket before finding their way back to her hilt. She would not feel any better until they were safely out in open water, and anything approaching could be seen miles away. "Is there anyone else that might be subject to pursuing our course?"

Silver


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"I was summoned by the Elder Council of Elocin and told that my presence was requested here, in Stormpoint . . . ."

Elocin. Brextyl hadn't had heard of it, but Nemina's account suggested that it lay some distance to the east, and he'd had little cause in his life to venture that direction. He wondered briefly if their current voyage would change that. He also wondered what talents Nemina and her traveling companions possessed that warranted their procural from such distances and why Nemina herself had been personally selected by some sort of council. In his experience, Stormpoint was home to a wealth skills, and those which it lacked could generally be found in neighboring Ogrekvania or the small towns which stood within its shadow. He was debating whether to ask, or at least to casually pursue the issue, when Nemina's tone shifted to one of inquiry.

"Yourself?"

He smirked. It was the expression of one who didn't like talking about himself.

"We were hired off the roster in Tulhaven." It was near the truth, and if anyone bothered to check, they'd find ample evidence to support it. "Don't know where we're going or why we're here." His smirk stretched into a rakish grin in an attempt to make light of the situation, and he shrugged while adding, "Don't suppose it's that unusual, though. We've worked for the tight-lipped type before."

As if on cue, out of the corner of his eye, he noticed the elf witch crossing the deck in search of someone or something. He also noticed that she no longer carried the box that Creel had demanded and subsequently died for. A fire sparked in the pit of his stomach and blazed quickly to his brain. She'd left it somewhere ...... probably in her cabin ...... possibly unguarded. The fire burned hotter, but he managed to quell it. There'd be time to check later ..... plenty of time, and under greater darkness and distraction that the breaking day currently offered.

Too late, he realized that in his curiosity he'd turned his full gaze towards the elf as she and the captain took quiet counsel at an upper rail. He cocked his head in their direction and threw a quick question to Nemina to cover his distraction.

"There's a conversation I wouldn't mind overhearing. Don't suppose you can read lips?"

His eyes were smiling with a glint of conspiratorial friendship as he turned back to Nemina. Inside, his smile was broader. Nemina might not be able to read lips, but in looking back towards the captain and the voyage's patron, he'd seen someone who could .... and she had an excellent view of the two. He shook his head, dismissing his statement for the half-joke it was.

"So, tell me about Elocin. Can't say as I've heard of it."

Brextyl


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"Unusual?" Silver frowned. "Is there anything I should expect with these prisoners? Or passengers? . . . . Is there anyone else that might be subject to pursuing our course?"

The shoppekeeper didn't respond right away, but held the captain's question in silent musing as she cast a long and distant gaze over the open water. On her shoulder, a pair of black bead eyes stared in the opposite direction, and saw in their mirrored gaze a woman of silent step and watchful eye. She wore the name Brielle, a moniker that Eowyn would accept, for now. The veiled yet watchful scrutiny she employed, however, the shoppekeeper would not accept, at least not entirely. True, the woman stood some twenty paces away and the wash of the dawn-capped waves below would cover a moderate voice from all but the keenest of ears; but a skilled eye could glean much that a sharp ear might miss, and Eowyn strongly suspected that woman 'named' Brielle had just such an eye.

Mildly vexed, the shoppekeeper drew in a deep breath, filling her lungs with the brine-filled air then allowing it to sail slowly past her lips in a long, telling sigh. For a moment, she considered reaching for the captain's mind to ensure that their words would be neither heard nor seen; but in truth, it was not yet the time to share matters of serious import, and she was loathe to enter another's mind without consent . . . again. She took another deep breath, an involuntary attempt to clear her memory of recent events, before leaning against the railing and fixing her stare on an invisible point somewhere beyond the horizon.

"One of our passengers," she began with a quiet whisper, "has taken an interest in our conversation, and I'd rather she not have the opportunity to guess our words."

The captain too may have noticed the would-be eavesdropper, or perhaps simply possessed sufficient wisdom not to scan the deck for a likely candidate. Either way, she likewise turned only to face the sea, her stance a close mirror of the shoppekeeper's as she waited for the curious patron of the ill-started voyage to continue. Surprisingly, she didn't have long to wait.

"Something about the prisoners troubles me," the seemingly-elven woman explained. "I cannot name it, and I dare not reach to learn it. It's possible that more than fleshly eyes seek our location, and my actions on the dock may have drawn attention. I've no desire to draw any more."

Her voice and expression hardened as she spoke, but if she said anything else on the subject, her words were drowned by the steady beat of the waves below as they lashed against the hull of the ship.

"As for the passengers, they are, as you've noticed, a motley lot," a small sound that might have been a half-hearted laugh escaped her lips. "They boast a varied set of skills, which, if fortune favors, we may not need." A thin, sardonic smile spread with grim measure across her face. "But I've long since learned not to trust in fortune. Fortuna quem nimium fovet, facit stultum, no? Regardless," she continued, returning to the passengers, "they'll cause no trouble."

As if to lend support to its mistress' simple assurance, the bird perched upon her shoulder narrowed its eyes, focusing them upon the woman 'named' Brielle whilst ruffling its wings and cawing twice in a manner suggesting both threat and mockery.

"Yes, I'm sure you will," Eowyn responded, smoothing its feathers with a distracted hand as her own eyes maintained their unfocused gaze across the rising waves. Their caps were lit now with the orange-pink light of the new day. It should have been a soft-hued palette of waking morn, but to the shoppekeeper it appeared strangely cool and crisp as it lit a new look of concern upon her wind-blown brow. Somewhere, beneath her feet, beneath the broad beams of the ship, beneath the deepening stretch of the waters, something wasn't right . . . beneath . . . and beyond as well. Her eyes tightened almost imperceptibly in response. Her self-imposed limitation, despite its probably necessity, was already taking its toll on her patience.

"I don't like this wind, Captain. I suggest you signal your man above to keep close watch."

Eowyn

"Pereat qui crastina curat!
Mors aurem vellens 'vivite' ait, 'venio!'"

Virgil, Copa 1. 37


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Unknown to the passengers on board the ship, they were being watched! Green eyes glowed in the dark as silent, grey shapes moved through the waters far off to the left and disappeared beneath a coral atoll.

Meanwhile, deep within a cave of the lagoon, Meraoli smiled as she watched her mer-twins playing happily among the sea-kelp and toadstools. She frowned as the clacking and clicking of a nearby crab disturbed her tranquil moment. It's shadow loomed larger than life in the darkness of the cavern, causing Meraoli concern for the very small mer-children.

The noise grew steadily more insistent and suddenly, Meraoli woke up from her dream only to realise that there were no twins...not any more!

Little bubbles streamed from her eyes in silent grief as her loss hit her anew. Although it had been ten terran years since they had gone, she felt the pain sharp and fresh as if it had just happened!

The clicking, clacking resumed more urgently this time and she arose from her gently swaying bed of coral as the tentacled arms released her.

It was Chuk, the messenger dolphin. His click-clacking conveyed all she needed to know. She must hurry! Ships had been sighted by the Tridents on SeaSearch. There was a potential Harvesting! She must join her Siren group at once!

Meraoli had always found this particular activity very distasteful...no matter how functional and necessary it was. Never-the-less she quickly joined her group and they set off towards the coral atoll the ship would pass by as it entered open water.

They reached the atoll just in time! The sun was rising and this was normally moonrise work, being too dangerous during daylight in case they were seen. That they were out during daylight told her how urgent this was!

Meraoli had no time to wonder about the bleached coral of the atoll as she quickly swam toward the ship and rested below it, coming up from time to time to listen to the voices.

Her dark, blue-black hair was disguised with green seaweed as her head bobbed up and down, trying to catch as many different voices as she could. The speech meant nothing to her but her hearing was the best of the group and she could also count the mumblings from within the ship itself.

She wasn't worried about being seen when it was night and it was still dark enough to hope that any sharp-eyed ones on board the ship would mistake her for a dolphin.

A very faint metallic type of smell had lingered in the air around the ship and it nagged at her as she swam back to her group.

She sighed as she joined them. The top spot was left for her again as she was the best singer. She had bribed one on the last AolaLure with a Queen Conch to go in her place. Perhaps there would be no need for singing this time! But as the sun rose she felt the danger rising too!

Meraoli


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Having finally set sail, it was time to take note of who was doing what and where she might fit in. When it came to sailing, she was knowledgeable, but had not had many opportunities to put that knowledge to use. Being who she was, she wasn't permitted to frequent the ports of her home. But that life was now a distant memory. Maybe one day she would return, but those decisions would have to wait. This mission was now and it unfortunately included a part of her past, however fleeting the hopes of recognition might be. He too was different from when they last met, that was overwhelmingly apparent.

Crisp air swirled around Isa as she perused the ship, mentally taking note of people and objects of use, hoping to find something at which she was deft. Upon doing so, she spotted her winged friend circling ahead of the ship, signaling danger lurking once again. Her senses now alerted, she moved quickly to the bow to see if the pending danger was imminent. As she passed Lady Eowyn and the captain, she tried to convey a silent warning between them. Her goshawk had been extremely accurate in their travels. He had helped her thwart many an attempted ambush on land, so an alarm at sea would be treated with urgency. After all, he had the best vantage point.

As she reached the bow, instinctively she removed her ring from the ring finger on her left hand and moved it to her middle finger on her right. Isa climbed atop the bow and leaned against it and the bowsprit to try to gain a better view. Noticing nothing, she jumped down. Peering over the port side, Isa made her way to the stern. For a split second she thought she saw something, she wasn't sure what, but something none the less. Looking towards the bow once again, her goshawk still circled.

Intuition kicked in. Isa hurried below deck to retrieve her gear and when she resurfaced, looked to the sky again. She made her way back towards the bow hoping her actions were not enough to raise alarm among any of the other crew or passengers, but the glance exchanged between she, the captain, and Lady Eowyn hopefully served as notice of impending events. Isa approached the two women, "Captain, Lady Eowyn," Isa lifted her eyes towards the sky at her goshawk friend. "I think we may be in for a bit of trouble. Sir Ramiere is circling ahead at the bow and I thought I caught a glimpse of something off the port but I can't be sure. Permission requested to make ready at the port bow for anything that may come about."

Isabella Solestra


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Standing behind and above the captain and her current patron, Jaryssa was in the perfect position to observe their conversation.....that was, until they turned to face the sea.

'Blast it all!'

She wondered if she'd been seen or if they were just being cautious. Her question was soon answered when the crow perched atop Eowyn's shoulder fixed its black bead eyes upon her and squawked out a derisive caw. Her stomach churned in disgust ..... in disgust and dread; the first for being mocked by what was, for all accounts, a blackened pigeon; the second for the very real possibility that what the 'pigeon' knew, its owner knew as well.

'Blast,' she thought again. Not only had she missed the chance to learn something about their ill-defined voyage, but she'd been spotted doing it. She was pretty sure that one or two such instances could be dismissed as simple curiosity, but beyond that, she wasn't sure. She'd have to be more careful. She'd have to remember that the normal rules of stealth didn't apply with the elven 'shop keep.' For a moment, she found herself wishing that Galyn had been sent with them, thinking that it might be useful to have a mage of their own. Then she remembered that the lecherous mage's chief talent lay in being an arch pain in the ass, and decided that they were far better off without him.

Despite her decision, she was still in the process of imagining their tight-lipped patron sending a searing bolt of mystic-wrought energy plowing into Galyn's smugly 'innocent' face when Isa rushed past with purposeful step and climbed atop the bow. She looked as if she'd seen something. She also looked if she was transferring a ring from one hand to the other. Odd. Odd too was her unexplained rush below deck, followed by her better-equipped return.

Her curiosity now firmly piqued, Jaryssa slipped from her perch to follow Isa, who was now approaching the whispering conspiracy of two at the rail.

"Captain, Lady Eowyn, I think we may be in for a bit of trouble. Sir Ramiere is circling ahead at the bow and I thought I caught a glimpse of something off the port but I can't be sure."

Jaryssa could only guess that 'Sir Ramiere' was the hawk she'd seen following the ship earlier, and she marveled at the unusual number of birds on the voyage, hoping that Eowyn's was the only that shared a direct link with its master. She imagined that she'd find out soon enough, and hoped that it wouldn't be the hard way again.

"Permission requested to make ready at the port bow for anything that may come about."

Eager for the chance to learn something.....anything.....about what was going on, and seeing an opportunity to jump in, Jaryssa took it.

"If you need any help," she offered, speaking to all three, "I'd be glad to lend a hand."

Jaryssa


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Meraoli sat on the coral atoll watching the ship as it passed, her silvered skin itched and tingled in the sun as her sense of danger heightened.

Her sisters had already departed with their Harvesting taken earlier that day when the skirmishing had broken out aboard the ship before it had set sail.. They had taken a great risk swimming so near to the docks to "rescue" the seemingly lifeless bodies that had fallen overboard. Lucky! They had managed to rescue a body each before the sea had claimed their spirits. But that was not nearly enough!

The smell in the air still irritated her! There was something so familiar about it...but the memory was so elusive...so far away!

She endured the sun for a moment longer then slipped silently into the sea.

With quick flicks of her long dragonet tail, she reached the ship, deeply troubled. This Harvesting wasn't going as planned.

The sea patrol mer-folk had warned of another ship nearby, reporting that visibility had been impeded by schools of fish in their path. The aggressive vibrations in the sea around that ship had sharpened the mer-sharks bloodlust!

This bode ill for the Harvesting! Much bloodshed! Wasted bodies! Circling round the ship Meraoli sought a way of warning the people on board.

The mer-folk needed as many fresh, able bodies as possible. The shark numbers had risen alarmingly around the coral reefs in the last few years. Too quickly for the Sea-Search patrol to control. They had lost many mer-folk! Many mer species were in danger of extinction.

Suddenly the tingling in her skin started anew. Then she noticed the winged menace on the ship. Had the winged one spotted her? With danger singing through her body like fire, Meraoli submerged quickly as an old memory came back to her.

The memory flashed behind her nictating eyes. An old witch had stood on a hill with a large, winged creature flying round her head as she chanted. The air around the witch was sparking as if filled with hundreds of fireflies and Jenny had fallen off the cliff into the sea...unable to breath. Both eyelids opened in shock as she realised she had been Jenny in that far-off time!

Jenny had been harvested by a mer-man of the mer-shark species. Although she was glad of the second thick film of skin that protected her eyes against the sunlight, they didn't have the luminescent green glow of the shark folk and she couldn't see too well out of the sea.

Freeing herself from the memory, Meraoli bobbed up again, searching for the black creature on board, shivering in the magical atmosphere around the ship...

...a soft wailing started deep inside her. It was magic! Magic she could smell in the air! That was the disturbance causing the bleaching of the coral reefs. Massive numbers of crabs were attracted to the magical elements in the area and they were eating their way through the coral reefs. Soon there would be no coral reefs left for the mer-folk to inhabit! They would become wanderers like the mer-sharks, but without the protection of the shark folk, Meraoli and her species would become prey to both humans and sea creatures!

The sadness and desolation of this thought welled up inside her like a bubble and burst. Meraoli started singing!

Meraoli


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Leaning against the railing beside Nemina, Brextyl focused the majority of his attention on her account of her homeland. He doubted it would be important, but as it was likely to be a long journey, it didn't hurt to be courteous. The rest of his concentration, however, lay roughly divided between keeping alert for a signal from Jaryssa and admiring the glints of copper that dotted Nemina's hair as the morning light flickered through it. He was just in the process of thinking that maybe the journey wouldn't be so bad after all when he became dimly aware of buzzing and movement behind him.

People were talking. Someone had seen something. He thought he heard Jaryssa's voice, but he couldn't tell what she was saying. Everything was slipping away, lost in the call of a haunting song that drifted up from the water in waxing ripples of sound. He didn't know who was singing or what was sung. He only knew that the song called and that he was drawn to it ........ that he had to go to it. In the brief yet endless seconds it had spun in his ears, it had become more needful than air, more precious than life. It called, and he must go. Unbidden by conscious thought and driven only by the eerie-soft song and the unnamed need it spawned, his limbs began to climb over the ship's rail, even as his eyes glazed over in an unseeing stare.

He didn't remember jumping. He didn't notice the salt air stinging his face as he fell towards the watery peaks below. He didn't feel the cold shock of the sea as its now jagged surface closed over him. And he didn't hear Jaryssa's voice as she screamed in wide-eyed horror from the prow of the ship above.

"Brextyl!"

Brextyl


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Silver peered quietly into the darkness, mulling over Eowyn's words. At least they were out to sea, and she hoped that now anything coming their way they would be able to spot and prepare for. However, she knew that was wishful thinking.

Especially when she heard the first sound. Strange it was, really, until she turned and looked to Eowyn. Raising a brow, she listened closer to make out the singing. Was someone on deck singing? Her suspicions were inaccurate when she watched one of her crew men climb up on to the rail.

"William!" She yelled, but the look on his face was one of ... love? His eyes were slightly glazed and hung low and his lips were curved almost into a kiss. Good lord! Silver ran towards the rail to watch him plunge, welcomingly, into the sea.

"Bloody hell! Just wonderful!" Silver quickly scanned the ship and noticed that the amulets on those who had them, were glowing. When her first mate rounded the corner, holding two amulet-free crew members under his burly arms, she realized that Eowyn's enchanted necklaces were protecting the wearers.

"Cap'ain! They're goin' nuts from tha' singing!" Silver nodded as Ty continued, shaking the two crew members as they tried to get free. "What should I do with them?"

"Throw them in the cargo hold until we can get this mess cleaned up."

Silver quickly paced the deck. "Anyone not ready to jump overboard, round up those who are!!" She barked orders loudly above the singing. "I don't care if you have to knock out m'crew, get them in the cargo hold before they jump ship or we'll be shit out of luck at sea!"

She sighed and reached a hand out as the young cabin boy prepared to scramble over deck. Grasping his shirt she gave him a swift smack upside the head to daze him momentarily as she dragged him across the deck and dropped him, rather hard, into the cargo hold. Peeking inside, she noticed the men trying to scramble out of their makeshift prison.

She quickly ran to the rail as those around her got to work on saving the crew. Whoever was out there singing needed to stop, and she was determined to find out what was going on. The lady captain walked down the deck, only to find one of the chosen passengers taking the plunge into the sea. Did he not have an amulet? Why was it not working? She looked up at his female companion. "What is ..." She was about to say "Jaden doing?" when she heard the name screamed out.

Brextyl? Who the hell was Brextyl? Planting that in her mind she waved to Jaryssa and ran towards the rail he jumped from.

With a half-smirk at the irony (afterall, the ship was the *Starstruck Siren*), she glanced into the oncoming dawn and the unforgiving waves.

Silver


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As Meraoli sang, night had crept in from the land, blanketing the ship with an invisible cloak. The air shivered with her wailing, the darkness lending her lament an eerie quality.

She swam round the ship, her body gleaming silver within the deepening shades of a sapphire sea. With each circle she completed, her aolian enchantment grew stronger.

Her song poured out...told of her lost love...gone forever...leaving her cold and lonely. Her home in the oceans below...purple valleys filled with intricate lacy fronds of pink and green, where jewels of yellow and blue flickered here and there. Empty...empty and lonely!

Her silvered tail flashed in the night as she dipped and dived around the ship. There was no creature immune to her song...not even the fish in the sea that silently swayed to her sorrow. She was joined by other voices of the sea...a mournful message!

Onboard the ship, hearts gripped in chains of grief...blood turned to ice...and a new sound joined the song! Whales? Wind? The mind was numb! The memory gone! Ripe for replacements! Then...Meraoli swam further away from the ship as she played among the dolphins who had joined her! She looked back at you, arms outstretched...her melody had changed! It rippled through the sea with bubbles of excitement....promises of beauty unexplored...treasures glittering in mysterious lands...waiting for you...

"Come...quickly...I must go...I have waited too long for you...Hurry....hurreeee," the melody entreated you.

There was a beating in your ears...faster it grew...releasing your heart from the icy grip of pain. Your blood flowed freely...your feet danced to the beat...towards the sound of singing...

Her song spoke to each one; You must go...go...she waited only for you...and now she was leaving...don't let her go alone...follow...follow!

Meraoli waited but a heartbeat...none had ever resisted before...only the fit and strong will be "harvested"...the rest will be discarded to the wants of the waves.

Just one came...she was puzzled! No matter! You were hers! She swam joyfully over to you and wrapped you in her arms...and the dolphins jump and roll in the waves as you both disappeared beneath the indigo depths of your watery grave.

Meraoli


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The white jet foam of broken waves had scarcely stilled around him when he saw her. Sliding through the darkening sea as a memory from a long-held dream, she circled the ship in tangled webs of silver song. Her skin was ghostly pale with the luster of pearl and her untamed hair followed her sinuous form in silken waves of deepest green. Two limbs she had, but only two, and they were fair and lithe; but the gentle curves of her supple form ended in glistening scales. Her lips, full with promise, were parted in the song that pulled him ever closer; and he, blind and deaf to all but her, followed its call even as she swam gracefully towards him.

He'd heard tales of sirens. Living in a port city it was hard to avoid them. They filled the air of dock-side pubs, thick with smoke and sailors, and they tickled the ears of townsfolk and traders alike. They told of creatures, comely to behold, that lived beneath the azure seas ..... creatures that possessed the mingled forms of human and sea-kin ...... creatures that beckoned to men with nets of song and lured them to their sunken graves with dulcet strains of desire. He hadn't known whether to believe them. He'd seen many a strange thing, both in Stormpoint and beyond; but ale-filled sailors weren't known for either veracity or accuracy, and many a sea story was told with an unspoken nod and an unseen wink.

Now, however, he knew them to be true. Not that he thought about them. Not that he even remembered them. That part of his mind ..... that part of his life ..... was far away now, and it no longer belonged to him. There was neither past nor future for him now, but only the present ..... only the vision of the siren and the song she wove about him. He was close to her now, so very close, and at the touch of her arms he was rapt with unnamed bliss. They were together. They would always be together. Her arms wrapped closer about him and the feeling swelled, but there was another set of hands as well ..... a set of hands that was pulling him back. He struggled, unwilling ..... unable ..... to leave the side of the nereid. He had to be with her. There was no choice. There was no reasoning. There was only need, strong and unyielding need. And so he struggled mindlessly against the hands that sought to wrest him away, pulling against them, trying to pry them free, until a sharp blow to the back of his head turned the cool indigo waters into the numbing shades of night.

Brextyl


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Within the pandemonium that the siren's song had wrought, the dark form of the elven shoppekeeper grew seemingly darker. She'd hoped to slip quietly away from the city during the hush of night, unnoticed and unheralded. Such hope, however, had proven bootless. They'd scarce left the supposed safety of Stormpoint's harbor and already they'd fallen under attack not once, but twice. The first, a battle on land with blade and brawn, had been dispatched easily enough. She'd made certain that those in her company had sufficient skill to deal with such events. The second, however, was posing a considerably largely problem, for few of those aboard the ship had the ability to withstand a harvesting. She'd taken the precaution of protecting those she'd personally called, but she'd dared not extend such protections to the entire crew. Easy as it might be, it could leave too large a signature and be too easily discovered, leaving them open to even greater danger. Unprotected, the crew had thus fallen victim to the siren's call, and they flailed and fought with unrestrained desire to reach her.

There were several ways the shoppekeeper could stop them -- there were always ways -- but they held the same risk for discovery that had previously stayed her hand. She had therefore hoped that the Captain's quick thinking and the actions of those protected would be sufficient, and she watched them in detached silence for a few precious moments; but as more of the trance-enthralled crew fought their way free and raced toward the ship's railing, she realized that she would have to act. Secrecy she might need, but she needed a crew as well.

It was then that her luck finally turned.

As the siren's song enveloped the ship, so did a cloud of darkness, a deep veil of night called forth by the sea nymph. Within its shadows, Eowyn's face was unexpectedly lit with a small, fey smile. The oceanid had given her a cloak -- not purposefully -- but a cloak nonetheless. Beneath the siren's cloud-cast web, the shoppekeeper could hide a simple weave. None would notice it from afar. None would be any the wiser.

"Dormite."

The lone word fell from her lips in a velvet whisper, and its effects were instantaneous. Across the length and breadth of the ship, those who fought, those who had struggled to follow the call of the nereid to the watery depths fell silent and unmoving where they stood. Unharmed, they would awaken later, likely unaware of their actions. In the meantime, the shoppekeeper was pleased to see that the those who remained unaffected were taking advantage of their state to disentangled their crumpled forms and drag them to the cargo hold per the Captain's order.

It would do.

There remained, however, the siren; and as she'd been either bold or desperate enough to attack just outside Stormpoint's harbor, the shoppekeeper suspected that she might be inclined to follow the ship and cast another net of song over its crew. Eowyn knew few sirens, but what she knew of them led her to believe that the one who sang below was unburdened by any of the common tongues of the land. Finding herself once again forced to draw upon more of her nature than she wished, the seemingly-elven woman heaved an inward sigh before she reached out to the siren in an intangible thread of sense and thought.

Eowyn

"Pereat qui crastina curat!
Mors aurem vellens 'vivite' ait, 'venio!'"

Virgil, Copa 1. 37


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Joy flowed through Meraoli's piscean body-form as she dived down through the swirling foam with her precious prize! He was young and fit, the Mer-king would be pleased with her. She had noticed King Neptereis with his cold green eyes watching her on past Harvestings...but her thoughts had been too full of her missing babies and mate for so long now that she had not taken part in any of the Harvesting Rituals.

As she spiraled lazily down through silken sheets of sapphire, Meraoli wrapped her long, flowing tail round her captive's legs and holding his head with webbed hands, her long black nails dug into his neck. Her black mouth stretched open like a snake's, fastening round his facial openings and she began to suck his essence from his body.

Mucous from her mouth started to form a light film over his mouth and nose. Minute microbes would filter oxygen and food particles for his system until the process was complete. By then the gills in his neck would be fully operational.

He lay very still. Too still! She dug her nails harder into his neck when she couldn't find his essence, making the deep cuts bleed! His essence was hidden away somewhere!

Meraoli continued to suck as she tried to work out what was wrong! He should have become conscious as soon as the shock of the cold water had hit him. That was the best part...when The Chosen started to panic and struggle...their essence rushed out making it easier to collect.

Aaah! There it was...hiding in his sacred centre the Terrans called Heart. She started swaying to a merry melody that only she could hear as the Meridiae swelled in her mind. The Mer-folk OneSoulSong had joined her thoughts...were participating in her ecstasy as the essence started to flow. The first part of the Harvesting Ritual had begun.

Meraoli's body gently vibrated to the Meridiae...when her Chosen was suddenly ripped from her loving arms and sweet kiss of mer-life!

Anguish froze her body in its icy shock as she watched the terra- she race away with her Chosen One! It was a she...it had that she- smell! The sea-creatures also had that she-smell...but with the Terrans it was a sweetness Meraoli found distasteful. Cloying...choking!

Meraoli only knew Joy and Sorrow! A little water bubble formed in her eye. She caught it in the webbing between her fingers as it fell and floated gently in the water before her.

She had a little of his essence...not enough to mingle with her own. It would soon be lost to the Great Sea Spirit if she didn't save it.

Gently she sang, calling forth that part of the stolen mate that was disseminating within her. Bubbles formed in her mouth as she sang and she blew them onto the little one in her hand. The bubbles clustered round the little one and popped, making the little one grow with each pop! The bubble crystalised in her hand. Meraoli now held in her hand a small pear-shaped crystal where a milky substance flowed and swirled. Her sadness lessened and her song grew sweeter as she attached the sparkling jewel to the fine filaments of her dark green hair with sticky mucous. She had a part of him...she would find him wherever he went in the oceans. That part of him was hers...forever!

She would follow the ship and watch that no harm befell him while at sea. Meanwhile the mer-folk song had changed! The silent call in her mind was more urgent now! The sea-king called! The Harvesting had been a disaster! The Lorelei had been too near the harbour...a chance they had to take! Her enchantment had failed! Only a few more Terrans had succumbed to her song. What had gone so wrong? For the first time that she could remember, a strange new feeling crept upon Meraoli. It was more than a danger signal. It was FEAR!

The calling in her mind was insistent, near! NEAR! That was not the Sea-king calling! The noise hurt! Pain! It sounded much like the noises the Winged-ones make! Who could be making this call? Only one with the spirit of the sea could call to her mind.

Holding the sides of her head she tried to swim away from the call. Becoming disorientated, she thought the OverWorld Gateway was above her. She swam toward the bright white pearl up above sending out its light. No, it was below her now!

A huge, dark shadow loomed closer, above her. Where was she? She was going down now, down to her dark hallway...and home!

She was not going home! Meraoli did not hear the thud as she lost consciousness!

Meraoli


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Jaryssa hadn't stopped to think before she dove headlong into the water after Brextyl. She hadn't stopped to consider that it might be difficult to break the siren's hold on him. She had only seen him leap from the rail in a wide-eyed daze, and had followed on instinct, determined that he wouldn't fall victim to a watery death. The chill of the water as she'd broken through its jagged surface was startling, but fueled by adrenaline and fear of loss, she'd kept moving. She couldn't afford to do otherwise. She couldn't afford to lose him.

The sea dark sea had been further darkened by the siren's call, limiting Jaryssa's vision to a few water-blurred feet. Her eyes had stung with the salt, and she'd squinted back tears as she swam, following the sound the of the song and knowing it would lead to Brextyl. It hadn't taken long .......

.......... or maybe it had. Time, though pressing, hadn't clearly registered in Jaryssa's mind. Everything from the moment Brextyl had leapt from the ship until now seemed just one pounding second of time. But she saw him now. She just needed to reach him. She just needed to pull him back. Desperate hands reached for him, latching onto his shoulders with vice-like force. His own hands flailed in response, clawing and striking against her, wasting precious seconds of air that neither realized they needed. The siren held him fast with both song and strength, her own arm's wrapped about him like twin sea serpents, sinuous with venom. The strength, Jaryssa could fight, but the song she could not. It would call him and he would struggle against rescue as long as it rang within his ears. Understanding this, Jaryssa released her grip with one hand and pulled a small sap from a pocket at her waist.

It took only one blow to send Brextyl into the silence of unconscious sleep, and Jaryssa dropped the sap and wrapped one arm around his now still and sinking form, using the other to keep them from sinking further. Had she a free hand, she would have pulled the long dagger from her boot and plunged it shaft deep into the siren's throat, silencing the briny bitch once and for all. But she didn't have time. Already she could feel her body's need for air. They had to go ....... now.

Disoriented in the watery dark, Jaryssa let the pull of her lungs draw them to the surface. They burned raw with pain and growing emptiness as she swam, the pressure against their walls mounting with each pounding heartbeat. Bands of flesh, her own, were wrapping tight around them, pushing and pressing inward with blind insistence until she felt they would implode within her chest. She was growing dizzy and hot beneath the pressure and the pain, and her mind gave voice to the scream her lips held back.

Then, mercifully, her head broke the surface and she gasped, gulping down large breaths of salty air in panicked need. Brextyl too was breathing, but his still form was heavy in her grasp as she struggled to keep them both above the grip of the waves. Holding him tighter, she cried in relief, her tears mingling with the rivulets of sea water than ran down her face. But, lost in the water with the siren beneath, they were far from safe. She had to find the ship.

Her hair was plastered against her face and she clawed at it quickly to clear her view. Her brow and nose were bleeding, having been struck by Brextyl in his struggle against her, and she blinked back the blood and salt water that ran into her eyes as she cast them about. The day was still darkened by the siren's song, and it was only after several waves slammed over them, threatening to pull them back into the depths, that she was able make out the shadowy outline of the ship against the slate of sea and sky. But when she realized what she was seeing, it shone out like a salvific beacon of light and she swam for it with renewed vigor. Determination and need drove her so fully that she didn't notice that the siren had stopped singing, and didn't realize that gradual lightening around her was due to this new silence. She only knew that she had to get Brextyl back to the ship.

Her arms ached and her bloodied face stung as the waves hammered against them, but she never slowed until she reached the side of the vessel. Someone, thankfully, had thought to throw a wide meshed netting over the side for use as a ladder, and she gratefully made for it with a final burst of strength. She reached for it with her free arm, taking two tries before she managed to wrap her fingers about it. Chilled from the water and fear, her knuckles ached as she tightened them around the ropes, but her grip was strengthened by force of will and the leather wrapping of gloves. She thus began to pull both herself and Brextyl from of the water when a cold hand gripped her ankle and pulled against her.

Her eyes blazed as her head whipped downward, expecting to see the siren; but the hand that held her belonged to no mer-kin, but to a young man struggling to stay above the waves. The dagger-pain in her heart faded as she recognized him. She'd seen him aboard the ship, not as passenger, but as crew. He'd no doubt fallen victim to the siren as well, and, filled with hate for the creature, Jaryssa would be damned if she'd let the watery succubus have him.

Somehow, she managed to help him to the netting, and only then did he release his fearful grip upon her. Clinging to the ropes, he shivered and coughed as streams of water ran from his hair.

"Can you climb?" she shouted to be heard above the waves.

He nodded, wide-eyed and still shaking, then sputtered out, "Yes."

"Can you help me with him?" she inclined her head toward Brextyl's still unmoving form.

The sailor coughed and nodded again, this time with greater strength.

"Let's go then."

Sharing Brextyl's weight between them, the two began to climb. It was a long and arduous process, made more difficult by their relative struggles and the continued clash of the waves. Jaryssa was the first to reach the top, her sodden-gloved hand coming into view above the deck and grasping onto the edge of the rail. Moments later, it was joined by the hand of the sailor, and the two managed to pull both themselves and Brextyl onto the ship. The sailor collapsed upon the deck in weary exhaustion and relief, and Brextyl's form half slipped from his shoulder. Jaryssa carefully let him down the rest of the way, laying him on the wooden beams of the deck before brushing water hair and blood from her face. It was the first good look she'd had at him, and her breath caught in her throat as her eyes focused on the deep gashes in his neck.

"Healer!" she shouted when she found both her breath and her voice. "We need a healer!"

Jaryssa


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Isa, standing ready at the port bow, now saw what it was she thought she imagined. At the same time her eyes caught her target her bow string hummed that steady vibration that came from her "gift." Her elven eyes narrowed then closed, preparing for the impending release and knowing success of hitting her target sound. That sensation was one of pure satisfaction, her confidence in her accuracy and the assurance that her "gift" was indeed still present. However, at the exact moment she intended to take her shot, another sensation overwhelmed her with emotion. It was in the creature's melodious song which was emoting great loss. The song, most beautiful, was cutting her, bringing forth the thought of the one person she missed most in this world. Isa let her bow fall to her side, raised her head to the heavens and erupted into tears.

Just as quickly as the sadness enveloped her, the sound of absolute horror ripped her away and spared her the flood she was about to encounter. Before Isa had opportunity to react to the frantic "Brextyl!" cried from Brielle, she saw him simply climb overboard in to the open sea.

Other members of the crew were also making attempts to follow suit. Following the captains orders to put those being effected into the cargo hold, Isa began helping detain crew members, moving them towards the makeshift prison. The next sight that filled her eyes was of Brielle diving after "Brextyl."

Darkness began to cover the ship and the remaining affected crew stood motionless and Isa's current task was made easier. As soon as she heard the latch close on the cargo door, she sprinted to the railing, in hopes of seeing Brielle and assist her in her rescue attempt. Reaching the railing, Brielle surfaced not only with Jared ...... "Brextyl" but with William as well. The three made way to the rope net on the side of the ship. William was making his way to the top while Brielle carried Brextyl toward the same destination. While helping bring him aboard, Brielle called out the need for a healer. Others offered assistance, someone ran in pursuit of a healer and Isa took this opportunity to take leave of the situation so as not to encumber the efforts of more able-bodied persons on board.

Isa made her way back to the port bow, recovered her bow, and the emotions of the event took over. She sat and wept quietly, remembering the creature's feelings of loss, love and loneliness. Isa too was very lonely. She missed her so much that her very soul felt as if was going to shrivel. Cadence would be five in a few weeks and Mommy would be missing from her daughter's celebration once again. Isa told herself she was gone from her daughter's life because of a promise she made her, when in fact she reminded her so much of her father. She has his dark wavy hair, his deep soulful eyes, and to look at her made Isa's heart ache with unbearable pain. A promise made to a child is one no parent can break. Her promise to Cadence was to find her father. He doesn't know of her existence, but she was told of the love that created her and of her father's sense of duty to the man that meant so much to him. Isa made sure that Cadence knew that once she found her father he would know of her and she would give him her love. Isa had no expectations of the meeting she hoped would take place, but she fully intended to keep her promise.

That promise had now become a lot more complicated than anticipated. She had in fact found her daughter's father, but he was a different man. He made no recognition of her but they would have the entire journey to hopefully reconnect, at least for their daughter's sake.

Isabella Solestra


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Meraoli slowly became aware of a great din echoing in her head as she floated in a deep emerald patch of water, swaying gently in the swell of the ship.

Her head hurt, she thought, from the wailing and howling in her mind. Through it all there was a sad SoulSong weaving and winding through her thoughts. Would she never get rid of this ache, thudding at her chest.

As she broke the surface of the water and saw the giant shadowy figure looming over her...she realised her mistake!

Clearly, she could now hear the strange sharp commands mixed with shouts of delirium and unmistakably, the SoulSong of another...but this all paled in the light of her fatal mistake...for rising above her was the Sea Goddess! It was the Sea Goddess she had heard commanding her...not the sea-king. Those weird, cackling calls like the Winged Ones had been the Sea Goddess... a warning! Meraoli sunk back down under the waves, in deep despair.

The ship was under the protection of the Sea Goddess and she had dared to Harvest from Her. There was no doubt now that she would be outcast...forbidden to join in Harvestings or seeking the company of her own kind. There would be no joyful joining of mind and body in the Meridiae, the thanksgiving song of the mer-kind.

Still through her mourning moan, she was aware of the SoulSong of the other and a she listened, a warm glow entered her thoughts even through this crushing sadness of the other, so like her own.

She felt her own desperate longing start to well up, wanting to join with this other's SoulSong but the strange, glowing warmth in her thoughts persisted, startling another memory of loss...a more recent one.

Loss...she had lost...again! What had she lost? Too many noises...all crowding in her thoughts...and the Goddess waited above to mete out her punishment. What had she done?

Meraoli circled below the ship in a panic...only fragmented flashes of memories now came and were quickly gone. Rapidly she flipped her long green, undulating tail, trying to get further away from the ship but through the other's desolate song a sweet sound mingled with the glowing warmth, drawing her back.

She swam in hopeless circles...round and round...a victim of the cacophony of chaos in her mind, while a small, delicate pearl glowed and shimmered in the bobbing green strands of hair.

Meraoli


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Eowyn continued to reach towards the siren, letting the intangible line of thought and sense sink deeper into the waters, and all the while the siren sang ... calling to those who could still hear. Only a few had followed her call, abandoning their desire for breath and light for the more heady desire that filled their ears and clouded their minds. The rest had been stopped before they could take so rash an act, and either lay sleeping upon the deck or locked within the ship's cargo hold. Of those that had left the ship, plunging headlong into the deep, two were paramount in the shoppekeeper's mind. The first was the young man who'd adopted the moniker "Jaden." The second was his companion -- the one called "Brielle," who had leapt into the water after him. Such loyalty was rare, especially among their kind, and she doubted that either it or the woman's mysterious cry of "Brextyl" would go unnoticed.

Something else that might not go unnoticed was that fact that Jaden's/Brextyl's disappearance beneath the waves had roughly corresponded to a decided change in the siren's song -- from a timbre of desirous promise to one of blissful joy. To the shoppekeeper, it meant one thing. The siren had latched onto him. She'd claimed him as her own. It was something Eowyn couldn't allow, and a dark flare had risen within her eyes as she'd considered her response. Thankfully for all concerned, she hadn't had time to act before the song of the nereid changed once again.

Neither promise nor joy now flowed from her sea-stained lips ..... instead the siren's call now rippled with doleful loss and anguish. The former emotion was undoubtedly related to Brielle and Jaden's sudden resurfacing. The latter, however, puzzled the shoppekeeper. True, she'd known but few sirens, but she'd never heard of so deep an attachment forming so quickly. Something else was at work within the sea nymph, but whatever it was, it wasn't her current concern. The attack was over and it was time to move on.

The shoppekeeper was therefore preparing to draw back the thin line of thought she'd sent out when the siren's song abruptly ceased. Struck mute with a painful blow, the creature's eyes were now lidded over in throbbing darkness.

Eowyn had never intended to enter the siren's psyche. Rather, she had sought only to establish a connection .... indeed, her sending had been little more than a gentle knock at the door of the siren's mind. But with the nereid now unconscious, that door had swung open and wide and she'd fallen across the suddenly gaping threshold. She hurried to leave and pulled quickly back, but not before she'd seen two very clear and certain images. To the siren, they were likely separate or of only tangential relation, but to Eowyn they were as intertwined as the dual serpents of healing. Within the light of only her own mind again, the shoppekeeper's eyes flickered with the irony of the unintended analogy.

Two problems she had seen....one for her and one for the siren; and two possibilities had risen to fiery blaze within her thought....one for her and one for the siren. Perhaps fate was smiling upon them; and though she would have preferred certainty, she was willing to accept the opportunity it presented. As if in agreement, the bird perched upon her shoulder cawed once, then spread its wings and took to the air on an unspoken errand. The shoppekeeper, meanwhile, made part of her plan known.

~Captain, I think it would be wise to change our heading ten degrees west, and to release your men from the cargo hold. The siren may not be our largest problem.~

She realized belatedly that in her haste she'd failed to say the words aloud, but had instead "spoken" in a manner more direct than was her wont.

"My apologies. I sometimes forget." She smiled wanly before glancing towards the sleep-held forms that lay, still and silent, upon the mist-dampened boards of the deck. They too needed to be released; and in deference to captain, this time Eowyn did speak aloud.

"Evigilata."

The men roused with the fading of the word, neither tired nor stiff, but only puzzled. As one, they looked to their captain and drew some assurance from the nod she gave in return. Satisfied, if not entirely sure of the situation, they stood ready to receive her orders, unaware that a pale glimmer of thought had reawoken in the ocean beneath them.

It had come faster than the shoppekeeper had expected, but she'd already made her choice and needed no further time to prepare. Once again she heaved an inward sigh, and once again she sent out a slender line of silken thought to the siren below .... two images .... two difficulties .... two opportunities .... one offer.

Eowyn

"Pereat qui crastina curat!
Mors aurem vellens 'vivite' ait, 'venio!'"

Virgil, Copa 1. 37


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Meraoli had slowly meandered some depths down from the ship onto the coral atoll, and was enjoying the feel of the deep, green sea-grass curling round her sleek body. The thrill of the stinging grass through her body heightened her hunger and for some moments she was lost in the chase as she darted after little silvery shapes fleeing between the red and purple waving fronds of corals.

A dark, round shape scuttling into a deepening recess of a tunnel caught her eye and with a quick flick of her dragonet tail, she swiftly turned and followed. With a flurry of flashing tail she was quickly upon the young octopus and her sharp dagger-tipped teeth had pierced the thick skin.

Coming back out of the now inky dark tunnel, she was busy enjoying the tasty morsel that was one of its three hearts when the shock-wave hit her, flipping her onto her back. Meraoli twisted her lithe body round, regaining her balance when the shock-wave came again, more forceful this time. A roaring waterfall echoed inside her head, then subsided before beginning again!

Reluctantly releasing the ruined octopus with its remaining two hearts, Meraoli struggled through the turbulence towards the centre of the disturbace.

Her heartbeat quickened as she flashed through the water, her thoughts racing like fire. The Sea-goddess called to her once more! Surfacing near the Starstruck Siren, Meraoli's ebony hair floated round her pale face like the indigo cloud of the octopus she had just left behind...and waited below the ship's masthead, the Mermaid, her Sea-Goddess...to obey her command.

Meraoli was confused! She could not quite understand the singing, screeching noise. She was downcast...shamed! Not worthy...not worthy! Failed...again! Slowly she slipped away, sinking down to the darkness below where her world was being eaten away by the King crabs...masses of them. Half the coral atoll was bleached now. No more would she glide on the back of the manta ray, racing the nurse sharks through the grass.

As the sadness stole through her drifting body, the light in the little pearl in her hair dimmed and sang a sad song of its own.

Meraoli


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Silver leaned forward against the railing as things slowly seemed to calm down. The Lady Captain rubbed her eyes, pinching her fingers at the bridge of her nose. Just what exactly was she getting herself into? She repressed a grin at the thought of past adventures, but those had at least waited until they were out of port!

Releasing the pressure on her nose she looked out to sea before scanning her ship again. Not too much damage, if any, to the ship, which she was thankful for. The moans and calling of the crew had lowered to mere groans that leaked out every now and then from the cargo hold. Something below was looking for a feast, and she was glad her crew did not succumb; afterall , without them they'd have to dock before ever sailing.

Silver looked to Eowyn, her lips parting to speak as her mind filled with words.

~Captain, I think it would be wise to change our heading ten degrees west, and to release your men from the cargo hold. The siren may not be our largest problem.~

Blinking, it began to register that Eowyn had not spoken aloud. The Lady Captain grinned slowly and nodded to Eowyn's words. "It's quite all right." Truth be told at dire times, the Shoppekeeper was not the only one who could speak without uttering any spoken words. The Captain would remember that for later.

Silver turned on a booted heel and moved towards the cargo hold. She bent down and heaved the door open. Slowly, the men began to climb out some dazed, some rubbing their heads. She grabbed the navigator and nodded towards the open water. "Ten degrees west. We might be encountering some problems."

The latter phrase was spoken loud enough for the crew to hear, and grunting in understanding (or was it loathing?) they began to move back to their positions.

Silver looked at Eowyn and nodded, crossing her arms loosely as she looked out to the darkened waters. Something, or someone was floating near her ship, she could feel it. Something, or someone, was waiting for them in the darkness.

Which would prove more a threat? The Captain sighed and slowly scanned the waters in attempt to figure it out.

Silver


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Dejected and desolate, Meraoli swam down into the blackness below as far away from the ship a she could.

Her thoughts in turmoil, her body automatically made for the lagoon that she had made her secret lair.

The ship disappeared from the horizon as she absently trailed her hand along the seagrass of the barrier reef, unmindful of the buzz that the stinging grasses normally made. Unmindful of a more unusual event; that of the horseshoe crabs as they made a long winding chain below her as they swam towards a nearby coral island to spawn. Not even the excited chattering of Chuk, the mer-folks messenger dolphin, registered in her thoughts...until a sharp pain in her hand made her gasp and...looking around to see what had caused the stabbing pain...saw with shock that the bleaching of the reef had extended to most of this reef and would soon reach her precious lagoon.

With increasing horror, she saw them! The menace of the corals.

What had brought them here...in such numbers? Bubbles silently spiralled from her open mouth as she realised the truth. The magic...the magic music that she had heard coming from the ship had done something to the sea around it. Everything was blooming...out of season. The spawning corals had attracting large numbers of the Crown-of-thorns...the deadly spiked starfish that would ruin the beauty of her lair...

With growing horror she looked at her hand...now twice the normal size and pulsating with pain...a red line growing up her arm as the poison travelled to her heart.

A fire raged in her head as the pain overtook her body and strange thoughts echoed in her mind as she floated, senseless.

She could hear someone...calling...but it sounded so faint...so far away...

As the pain raged through her body, the felt the Fire god was trying to claim her for his own. He was in her thoughts, taking her essence. Her last thought was of the Sea goddess with arms outstretched towards her, standing on the ship. The Ocean Spirit...the Sea goddess...would save her from the Fire demon. She was sure of it. She was forgiven...but why was the goddesss on the ship? Her thoughts faded as the firey pain grew and the Fire demon took hold once more.

Meraoli


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As the Captain saw to her men, and they to her orders, the shoppekeeper's gaze turned towards the injured Jaden and his wild-eyed companion Brielle. Both still lay on the deck where the water pooled around them, falling in steady streams from their clothing and hair. Jaden lay pallid and unmoving, while Brielle leaned over him, breathing hard and trying to stem the tide of blood and brine that flowed from the jagged gashes on either side of his neck. Marcus, the shoppekeeper was pleased to see, had responded to Brielle's call for a healer, and was trying to pull the woman's hands aside to reach the wounds. Seeming at last to realize that he was there to help, Brielle pulled back one of her hands and drew it across her own forehead to brush back the tangled mass of dripping hair, leaving a smear of blood across her brow.

Marcus moved quickly, pressing a layer of crushed milfoil against the tears and wrapping them with a strip of cloth torn from his coat. With the wounds bound, Marcus slipped his arm beneath Jaden's back and began to lift him from the deck. Brielle moved to help him in the span of a heartbeat, and soon the two were moving him to the make-shift infirmary below decks.

~How is he?~ the shoppekeeper asked in unspoken tones.

~He'll make it.~ Marcus answered, knowing she could hear, even if not understanding how. ~But I'd wager he'll carry some impressive scars to his grave.~

A pang of regret found purchase in the pit of her stomach, fearing that those scars might be more than purely physical.

~Make sure he finds and wears his amulet. Tie it around his neck if you must. And for pity's sake, return the man's dagger. I know what you wanted to tell me.~

She heard him grunt by way of response, and she let his mind go. She'd meant to ask him to check on the bard as well, but she'd been too preoccupied with his use of milfoil, wondering where he'd learned to use it .... wondering if he even knew .... wondering whether she'd made a mistake. There were so many imponderables surrounding both her decision and his fate .... too many to now rethink .... and doubt often crept in on cat feet to unravel any skein of certainty she'd managed to create. This time, however, fortune spared her from doubt's agile claws, chasing the protean beast away with a distant yet familiar caw.

Lifting her eyes to the grey-lit sky, the shoppekeeper saw the small black form that was her avian companion grow rapidly larger as it winged its way back towards the Starstruck Siren. Behind it, she noticed Isa's goshawk following a similar arc, and one of her eyebrows raised involuntarily at the notion that her dark-winged friend might have taken another into his confidence. It certainly wasn't like him, and given the situation, it likely wasn't wise. Ravens and hawks weren't known to fly in tandem, and should they be spotted thus, they'd certainly spark suspicion.

The raven slowed its approach as it neared the ship, bringing itself into an upward sweep and finally landing on the railing beside its mistress. If it was aware of her curiosity in regard to the hawk, it gave no indication. Instead, it merely shook the salt-mist from his feathers with an air of distaste, then set into a series of caws and clicks.

The performance drew a minor amount of attention from those nearby, but most tried to ignore it, deciding it wise not to interfere. The Captain, however, tired of being kept in the dark and suspecting that the shoppekeeper's bird was more than a mere pet, moved quickly to join the two, hoping that something about their current venture might finally be revealed. Her hope and haste were such that she arrived in time to hear the full exchange between the elf and the avian.

"Are you certain?" the shoppekeeper asked when the bird gave a final caw, punctuated by an emphatic hop.

The bird cawed once, clearly indignant at the question.

"What kind?"

An ugly squawk preceded another serious of clicks and caws.

"No, no," the shoppekeeper interrupted, trying to ignore the bird's tone without entirely succeeding. "What kind of ..."

She wasn't able to finish before the ebony-plumed messenger cawed once more.

If the shoppekeeper had been dark-browed before, she was rendered nearly pitch by the bird's final note, and it was only after she took a deep breath of brine-filled air that she continued.

"Find Lolindir and ask her to join us. Then find Sylvin. Ask her to have a ... 'discussion' ... with our friend incarcerated below and see if she can learn anything useful."

Another quick caw preceded the bird's nimble launch into the air.

Eowyn took advantage of the new attention it had garnered to beckon Isa to join her and the Captain.

Isa had largely kept to herself since the ship had lifted anchor, speaking only when necessary or when addressed, but had appeared keen-eyed and excited by the prospect of the journey ahead. Since the encounter with the siren, however, her eyes had lost their luster. Instead, as she stood now beside the other two women at the rail, her eyes were red, her face was flush, and the hands that clenched the shaft of her bow were tight, pale-skinned knots. To one who knew her only in passing, she was visibly distressed. To Eowyn, she was understandably so. No one commented, and the only greeting Isa gave was one of simple acknowledgement and ready.

"Yes?"

"There are two sloops concealed within the smuggler's cove ahead,"the shoppekeeper began in a clipped, even tone. "I'd thought that we'd be able to easily outdistance them, but it seems that they're armed with Rivenland cannon."

Rivenland, all that remained of the former Princedom of Darkendale, was more a cesspool than it was a town. Replete with every form of vice and villainy, its stain was such that even the fey forest of Tanglewood had spewed it out rather than claiming it with the rest of Darkendale. Evils of every twisted sort spread like pestilence within its writhing borders, and the very air within was laden with the befouled stench of corruption and bane. It offered nothing in the way of culture, and little in the way of trade. What it excelled at, however, in addition to festering like a gangrenous limb, was the production of large weaponry. Its cannon, though slow loading, boasted unsurpassed accuracy and had a range half again as far as those made in other any known land. The fact that the two ships concealed within the cove were armed with them made it clear that someone was determined to bring a permanent and premature end to the shoppekeeper's expedition. The putatively-elven patron was equally determined not to let that happen.

"Isa's sight and aim may be of use, Captain. Lolindir's as well. And hopefully Sylvin can learn something advantageous from our 'guest' below."

The shoppekeeper paused, pursing her lips in thought as a glint of an idea sparked.

"Your Mr. Rigsword looks as if he too might be gifted in the art of persuasion. Perhaps he ...."

The rest of her words were lost in the sudden explosive rip of cannon fire off the port bow. They had been spotted, and the attack had begun.

Eowyn

"Pereat qui crastina curat!
Mors aurem vellens 'vivite' ait, 'venio!'"

Virgil, Copa 1. 37



Continue to Part Three





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