# Song of Shattered Blades



## Arcturion (Aug 26, 2007)

*Song of Shattered Blades*

*Introduction*

This D&D campaign started out around 1997-8 on AOL and AIM as a chat room and message board based game using AD&D 2nd Edition rules set in a homebrew world called Paylen. In that time I was a relatively newbie GM and honed my storytelling and writing skills, meeting a great bunch of folks over the Internet to boot. The players came from all walks of life, house wives and working husbands, old crusty fogies who knew their way around the original 1st Edition OD&D rules, and young folks still trying to find their way in the world (I’d include myself in this latter category). It was great fun playing the game over the years and, though not without its share of drama and heartache, they were good times. When 3rd Edition rolled around, we were excited to convert to the new system and played 3.0 for a while.

Eventually it came to a point where we all had to take time off to go our separate ways and the campaign went into limbo indefinitely during 2000-1 in the middle of a particularly long adventure arc involving a ruined volcanic city. I myself went to school before joining the US military, and for a while gaming was a luxury I could ill afford since I just didn’t have the time. After talking about it for a few years, now one of the original players from way back (and a good friend of mine) and I have decided to revive the game in 2007, continuing where we left off, only this time we decided to focus more intimately on a smaller number of characters with a split-style of political and intrigue-heavy storytelling using 3.5 rules (and the Unearthed Arcana gestalt variant), and less on globe-hopping antics and MacGuffin-seeking adventure hooks as we’ve done in the past.

In a way, it was going back to the roots of the game and made us remember why we played in the first place. With 4E just around the corner, I’ve come to realize that time sure does go fast (whether or not you’re having fun though I’d prefer to be than not, heh), and us young folks aren’t as spry as we used to be, advancing in our respective careers and/or getting married and raising a family. Still, we felt bad and more than a little nostalgic at having left the game of our youth when there was still so much left of the story to be told. For the time being, the campaign has returned in the form of play-by-post e-mails, at least until we ever get to a point where the game can resume a chat based or even a face-to-face tabletop format.

Eltera, daughter of House Trellust and a dark aelf warrior exiled from her native homeland of Nyctalinth, is the story’s main protagonist. And though she may have more than a passing resemblance to a certain dual sword-wielding hero, her story is a bit different as she tries to piece together the fragmented memories of her shattered past and escape the inner demons that continue to pursue her even to this day. The flip side is a relatively new character, Fharis Aquilla, an Arcturion (sort of a warrior/mage trained to defeat casters and preserve the balance of magic in the world) and leader of the Quasi Lamna, or Shattered Blades, an adventuring turned mercenary company. His investigations into the intrigues of the Empire and the nobility within Drace and without will invariably lead him toward many dangers and plots that threaten the kingdom.

Events that happened before in the game will be explained either in the story’s narrative or with footnotes. I won’t fool anyone by saying we’re trying to write Shakespeare, but we try to have fun with all the various themes we have going and that’s all that matters. The campaign world also borrows a few themes from several sources, not the least of which being Eberron, Forgotten Realms, Greyhawk, Mystara, Terry Goodkind’s Sword of Truth novels, George R. R. Martin’s A Song of Ice and Fire series of books, and other odd bits and pieces that may or may not be recognizable to the reader. That said, a few real world cultures and nations are painted with very broad strokes in this story, but we’ve never claimed that we’re running a historical gaming sim, heh.

Without further introspection, I hope anyone who reads this enjoys the story and I’d be happy to answer any questions or comments they may have, thank you.

*Synopsis*

Below is a preliminary map of the Paylen continent. The game takes place in the northern kingdoms with a central focus on Mordrake, the vaunted high Kingdom of Dragons. Six years have passed since the B’astyian Empire invaded the weakened Republic of Veracia and crushed it beneath its iron heel. The Veracians themselves were as much to blame for their defeat as the Imperials, having given themselves over to hedonistic excess and wanton corruption many long years before the invasion. Nearly four score prior, the mad Veracian King Aermond the Usurper led the Republic on a self-righteous crusade against Numia, the Millennial Kingdom of the First Men (known as the Numina) far to the south, utterly destroying the ancient kingdom and casting Veracia into financial ruin and social upheaval.

When Aermond himself was brought a head lower by the people’s justice not long after, it had sown the seeds for the Republic’s inevitable downfall at the hands of the Empire. Today, there are whispers that the B’astyians mean to bring about a second War of the Veil as their Emperor Helbanion has lured the enigmatic Spirian Witches into his fold with the promise of crowning their sorcerer-queen, Suspiria, as his new Empress. This has the Dracians ever concerned for it seems to be an alliance wrought with contradictions. Long governed by a stern theocracy, the Iron Imperium has made no secret of its hatred of arcane magic while bringing to bear the full force of its military might using steam-driven monstrosities and screeching iron to lay waste to their enemies.

Still mourning his Queen Amestris Sethira who had perished thirteen years ago when the Exarchate of Ilvernus was destroyed by the supposed wrath of the gods, King Kelvin Tessius of Drace has begun to pursue the elusive dream of peace with the Hrundir, war-like barbarians who hail across the Abrisseen (Sea of Talons) from the cold and unforgiving realm of Haeslund. The northmen have ever been at odds with the civilized and law-bound Dracians as each side fought skirmishes to a bitter stalemate and launched coastal raids upon the other since time immemorial. Still, Tessius is of a mind calling for truce and a possible alliance with the proud Hrundir and their implacable Jarl lords. After all, should Mordrake fall to the Imperial war machine, where else would the B’astyians think to look upon for their next conquest?

However, the immortal sisters known as the Nornir would see that the fates of these warring nations take a different path of their own choosing. And all the while, a small band of guardians and keepers of the peace called the Arcturions stand at the ready, watching for any change in the tides of war. For many ages since Alhazarde’s Covenant was forged and the founding of Mordrake finally realized have members of their order stood vigilant against the threat of those who would bend the force called magic to their will and use it in the pursuit of dark ambitions. Her steps still haunted and steeped in blood, a lone exile from the lightless depths will have her part to play in this mummer’s farce, as both king and fool alike are mere puppets dancing upon strings held by forces yet unseen.


----------



## Arcturion (Aug 26, 2007)

*Dramatis Personnae*

*Dramatis Personae*

*PCs*

Eltera Trellust, (Svari dark aelf) fighter 2/swashbuckler 3/dervish 7 + scout 12 (gestalt), Nyctalinth exile, aunt of Vyruna, daughter of Saulekanis, mother of Ayaleska, slayer of Valsentres (as her sinister alter ego)
Fharis Aquilla, (Draconic Fire-Souled Hrundic, raised Dracian) hexblade 7/abjurant champion 5 + harbinger 10/sublime chord 2 (gestalt), Arcturion, ward of Altair Aquilla, twin brother of Sharis, apprentice to Xedrik

*Former PCs*

Angar Bloodtongue, fighter/rogue/assassin (half-Inmerish/half-orc), exile from the Blightlands, husband of Ryane Amberhawk, accompanied Elderdrake and Ryane westward to Ashaeron
Bel Daveril, fighter/wizard/arcane archer (Thalasian aelf), accompanied Nashiel southward to help liberate Veracia from Imperial occupation
Boethuis, fighter (half-Dracian/half-Thalasian aelf), accompanied Taterina to Tial’Sol to help fortify the city’s defenses against Imperial incursion
Caynan Tyrelius, artificer/fighter (Dracian), currently serves King Kelvin Tessius as his royal smith in Drace
Elderdrake Thistleknot, rogue/handler (Leluric), accompanied Angar and Ryane westward to Ashaeron
Ivar Wolfgarsson, barbarian/frenzied berserker (Hrundic), son of Bulwygar Wolfgarsson, is part of the Hersir envoys negotiating a peace in Drace with King Kelvin Tessius
Jace Therek, ranger/scout (Hultaan), accompanied Dusduana and Tanius westward to Inmerthyr
Marcus, fighter (Kyrian), betrothed to Rayella, sworn to protect the last Kyrian children and accompanied Rayella to a dragon’s lair somewhere in the Ashmorn Peaks
Nashiel d’Reaumont, fighter/wizard/spellgunner (Veracian), accompanied Bel Daveril southward to help liberate Veracia from Imperial occupation
Rayella, sorceress (Kyrian), betrothed to Marcus, sworn to protect the last Kyrian children and accompanied Marcus to a dragon’s lair somewhere in the Ashmorn Peaks
Ryane Amberhawk, rogue (Inmerish), wife of Angar Bloodtongue, is with child, accompanied Angar and Elderdrake westward to Ashaeron
Scrin, rogue (half-Mykosian/half-Thalasian aelf), chose to stay behind in Tial’Syn in the (misguided) hopes of winning the fair hand of Princess Rhiannon Anduhaal
Taterina, monk (half-Dracian/half-Thalasian aelf), accompanied Boethuis to Tial’Sol to help fortify the city’s defenses against Imperial incursion

*NPCs (Allies)*

Cohort
Grievyros, Fharis’s cohort and mount (unique half-dragonne/half-gold dragon), once served as cohort and paladin’s special mount to Ser Trevelleon Vantares​Thalanost
Elefeir Anduhaal, Queen of Thalanost (Thalasian aelf), mother of Prince Kalmerith and Princess Rhiannon Anduhaal, bestowed Amurisil upon Trevelleon before it passed to Eltera​Kalmerith Anduhaal, Prince of Thalanost (Thalasian aelf), son of Elefeir Anduhaal, older brother of Princess Rhiannon Anduhaal, Coronal of Tial’Syn’s armed forces​Rhiannon Anduhaal, Princess of Thalanost (Thalasian aelf), daughter of Elefeir Anduhaal, younger sister of Prince Kalmerith Anduhaal​The Arcturion Order
TBA​The Crew of the Argus
Hashad al-Ja’qar, first mate (Akunduin)​Orpheus, familiar to Rentiki (unique undead boa constrictor)​Rentiki, captain (Daoshan), master to Orpheus​Terwase, ship’s surgeon (true race unknown)​The Crew of the Black Ark (formerly the crew of the Zephyr)
Bellhopper, first mate (Minoi), son of Cloudbreaker, taken into custody by the Dracian Kingsguard, supposedly held at the Pentaculum for questioning​Cloudbreaker, captain (Minoi), father of Bellhopper, taken into custody by the Dracian Kingsguard, supposedly held at the Pentaculum for questioning​Pyroclast, demolitions expert (Minoi), taken into custody by the Dracian Kingsguard, supposedly held at the Pentaculum for questioning​Tourniquet, ship’s medic (Minoi), taken into custody by the Dracian Kingsguard, supposedly held at the Pentaculum for questioning​The Fane of Daeus
Portia Valens, High Septa of Ad Pirum (Dracian), younger sister of Lord Fellador Valens, formerly mentor to Fharis and Sharis Aquilla as well as Trevelleon Vantares​Trevelleon Vantares, Ser Knight and ex-paladin of Daeus (Veracian), former member of the Quasi Lamna, once wielded Amurisil and Anarquelion, helped Eltera escape from Ashaeron, whereabouts unknown​The Istari Lyceum (Arcanus Assylae led by High Istaros Xedrik Da'Marsellus)
Cirdet, Istaros (Dracian)​Julla Harone, wizard (Dracian), daughter of Lord-General Aelia Harone, apprentice to Xedrik​Marinon, stablehand (Dracian)​Tayan, Istaros (Dracian)​Xedrik Da’Marsellus, High Istaros (Dracian), mentor to Fharis Aquilla and Julla Harone​The Quasi Lamna (“The Shattered Blades,” adventuring/mercenary company under the command of Fharis Aquilla)
Acacius Lea (aka Grant), marshal (Dracian), lieutenant to Fharis, second in command of the Quasi Lamna, former commander of the Lamna Quas before it was disbanded​Nyssa, orphaned waif (Veracian), was once rescued by Eltera from the H’jenn-Ra, served Sharis Aquilla as her squire briefly, currently serves the Istari Lyceum as a maid​Rode, ranger/scout (Leluric), serves as the company’s outrider and tracker​The Three Paragons of Alhazarde (Found)
Amurisil the Dreamblade, the Merciful Moon (intelligent weapon of legacy moon blade), forged during the War of the Veil, once wielded by Trevelleon, currently wielded by Eltera​Anarquelion the Dawnblade, the Torch of Anar (intelligent weapon of legacy sun blade), forged during the War of the Veil, once wielded by Saulekanis and Trevelleon, currently wielded by Fharis​The Weirwood Circle
Dusduana, druid of Inmerthyr (Inmerish), is a loyal supporter of Tanius​Narine, bard/druid/fochlucan lyricist (fey sirine, masqueraded as a Tveshani gypsy for a while), is a skinchanger, is cursed with prophetic visions, has retreated into self-imposed isolation​Tanius Linumbral, the Moonshadow, Hierophant druid of Inmerthyr (half-Inmerish/half-Svari dark aelf), current leader of the Weirwood Circle, son of Drichol​Thorak-Nor
Astayanax, High Artificer of Thorak-Nor (Thorazuin dwarf), was once a thrall under the dragon Scypyros, was defeated and freed by the party at Ilvernus, last seen headed westward to Scythica​
*NPCs (Neutral)*

Patrician Nobles and Royals of Drace
Aelia Harone, Lord-General of House Harone (Dracian), Chief-Commander of the Dracian Army, father of Julla Harone​Altair Aquilla, Lord-Senator of House Aquilla (Dracian), stepfather of Fharis and Sharis Aquilla, widower of Lady Vivayne Lyrae​Appion Tuccius, Lord of House Tuccius (Dracian), husband of Inwe​Derimus Solis, Lord of House Solis (Dracian)​Fellador Valens, Lord of House Valens (Dracian), older brother of High Septa Portia Valens​Inwe Tuccius, Lady of House Tuccius (half-Dracian/half-Thalasian aelf), wife of Appion​Kelvin Tessius, His Grace the King of Mordrake (Dracian), the First of His Name, widower of Queen Amestris Sethira​The Aera (Dracian aerial forces)
Sharis Aquilla, Aera Knight-Commander (Hrundic, raised Dracian), ward of Lord-Senator Altair Aquilla, twin sister of Fharis Aquilla, former member of the Quasi Lamna​The Contari (Dracian cavalry forces)
Theos Riedrian, Contari Knight-Commander (Dracian), younger brother of Ios Riedrian​The Hersir (Nobles of Haeslund)
Bulwygar Wolfgarsson, Jarl and Lord of Sodergard (Hrundic), father of Ivar Wolfgarsson, has taken the wolf as his sigil, is served by the Nornir​Tuskegrin, Lord of Ostegard (Hrundic), has taken the boar as his sigil​Ursodrik, Lord of Vestegard (Hrundic), has taken the bear as his sigil​The Last Kyrian Children (Auriel survivors)
Gavrielle, eldest female of the Auriel survivors (Kyrian), wife of Stanivus​Stanivus, eldest male of the Auriel survivors (Kyrian), husband of Gavrielle​The Nornir (The Weird Sisters, servants of Jarl Bulwygar Wolfgarsson)
Skuld, of the Golden-Hair (appears Hrundic, true race unknown)​Urd, of the Raven-Hair (appears Hrundic, true race unknown)​Verdandi, of the Silver-Hair (appears Hrundic, true race unknown)​The Pentaculum (Drace’s island prison)
Zaxenia Kundalain, Dame Warden (Thorazuin dwarf), the Lady Ironhand, former member of the Arcturion Order​The Three Paragons of Alhazarde (Lost)
Morwinyon the Mournblade, the Morning/Mourning Twilight, forged during the War of the Veil, lost along with its first and only wielder, current whereabouts unknown​
*NPCs (Enemies)*

Haeslund
Fenrigar, sea reaver (Hrundic), the Scourge of the Abrisseen​Mount Furyon
Scypyros, the Ravager of Mordrake (unique dragon), Lord of Mount Furyon, forced Astayanax into servitude, was served by Exarch Lazaro as an ashen lich, current whereabouts unknown​The B’astyian Empire (The Iron Imperium)
Adielle, of the Hexen Eye (Spirian), loyal maidservant of Suspiria​Escrion, the Iron Doom (true race unknown), master to Tobias, last known whereabouts was following his defeat by the party in the Imperium’s underground railway​Helbanion, Emperor (B’astyian), betrothed to Suspiria​Nazgeroth Bloodtongue, Lord of the Blight (half-orc/half-ogre magi)​Suspiria, Witch-Queen of Suspar (true race unknown), betrothed to Emperor Helbanion​The Knight of Numia, the Emperor’s Fist (supposedly of the First Men, or Numina), defeated and slew the former Emperor’s Hand Targerus in single combat​The Ensiferum (“The Order of Sword Bearers,” Fane inquisitor arm)
Dismas, Ensiferas (Dracian)​Gestas, Ensiferos (Dracian)​Junthalos, Executor (Dracian), once served as the right hand of Exarch Lazaro Artimus prior to the fall of Ilvernus, distrusts the Arcturions and the Istari Lyceum​The H’jenn-Ra (exiled noble house of Nyctalinth led by Nychodamos)
Ayaleska, daughter of Eltera and Zarael (Svari dark aelf), appears to be highly telepathic and can manipulate Daelkyr creatures, other abilities unknown, is currently being sought after by her mother Eltera​Favian, House Wizard (Svari dark aelf), commands powerful spells, favors lightning magic, constantly seeks to supplant Zarael, was horribly burned by alchemist’s fire thanks to Eltera and the Minoi​Makaro, House Weaponsmaster (Svari dark aelf), commands great physical strength, is unmatched in his rage during battle, is immune to fire, was rendered mute after his throat was slashed by Eltera​Nychodamos, the Death’s Head (Svari dark aelf lich), Patron Father, is a skilled necromancer, was once defeated though not destroyed by Saulekanis since his phylactery was never found​Vyruna, House Assassin (Svari dark aelf), niece of Eltera, despises her aunt, is hopelessly in love with Zarael, envies Ayaleska as the daughter she should have had with Zarael, is an adept skinchanger​Zarael, House Heir (Svari dark aelf), father of Ayaleska, is apprentice and lieutenant to Nychodamos, appears to possess abilities related to the mind and body​The Weirwood Avengers (splinter faction of the Weirwood Circle)
Beriel, druid of Inmerthyr (Inmerish), was defeated by Tanius in his bid for the title of Hierophant and control of the Weirwood Circle, despises Eltera and all those of Svari blood including Tanius​
*NPCs (Deceased)*

Drace
Amestris Sethira, formerly Her Grace the Queen of Mordrake (Dracian), ex-wife of King Kelvin Tessius, died in the fiery holocaust that swept over the Exarchate of Ilvernus thirteen years ago​Ios Riedrian, former Contari Knight-Commander (Dracian), older brother of Theos Riedrian, slain in an attack by Scypyros​Vivayne Lyrae, Lady of House Aquilla (Dracian), wife of Lord-Senator Altair Aquilla, died of a mysterious illness nearly thirty years ago​Ilvernus
Lazaro Artimus, former Fane Exarch of Daeus (Dracian), Lord of Ilvernus (ashen lich), served by Junthalos, thrall under Scypyros, was defeated by the Quasi Lamna (presumed destroyed by Fharis)​Mount Auriel
Aphrael, (Kyrian) daughter of Daedalus, twin sister of Ashrael, died trying to stop Ashrael from destroying Mount Auriel during the Harrowing, her spiritual essence was drawn into the Black Ark​Ashrael, (Kyrian) son of Daedalus, twin brother of Aphrael, went mad with the power of the Daelkyr during the Harrowing, recently destroyed Auriel and nearly wiped out the Kyrians, presumed dead​Daedalus, (Kyrian) leader of Mount Auriel, father of the twins Aphrael and Ashrael, killed when Ashrael destroyed their homeland, managed to save the Kyrian children before he died​Nyctalinth
Saulekanis Trellust, former Weaponsmaster of House Trellust (Svari dark aelf), father of Eltera, once wielded Anarquelion, defeated but was unable to destroy Nychodamos, slain trying to save Eltera​The B’astyian Empire (The Iron Imperium)
Targerus, formerly the Emperor’s Hand (Aurak draconian), was defeated and humiliated by the party in B’astion (Aristahl) after they destroyed an Imperial dreadnaught, slain in a duel by the Knight of Numia​Tobias, former apprentice to Escrion the Iron Doom, was defeated and slain by the party during the liberation of Giarna​The H’jenn-Ra
Drichol, formerly of the H‘jenn-Ra (Svari dark aelf), father of Tanius, slain by Eltera (as her sinister alter ego) nearly a quarter century ago​Valsentres, former Fane Initiate of Daeus (Svari dark aelf), blinded and then slain by Eltera (as her sinister alter ego) in B’astion (Aristahl), presumed dead though his corpse was stolen by the H’jenn-Ra​The Weirwood Circle
Savrius, former Hierophant druid of Inmerthyr (Inmerish), ex-leader of the Weirwood Circle, slain by agents of the H’jenn-Ra (the true identity of the assassin remains unknown)​


----------



## Arcturion (Aug 26, 2007)

*Prologue: The Bonds That Tie*

*Prologue: The Bonds That Tie*

With each heartbeat, each breath taken of this still unfamiliar air, the once inviting blackness of twilight began to retreat, shrinking further and further away from the inevitably encroaching light of dawn. Here on the surface, the darkness of night was like a frightened beast tamed each morning by the accursed sun.

Pathetic.

How so unlike the Underealm the surface world was, Vyruna thought idly to herself. In the constant, unchanging shadow of the Underealm, there were no seasons. There was no such thing as weather. There was no sun, no moon, no stars. Sea and sky were things unknown to the dark elves, and mattered as much to them as the death cries of prey to a predator. In the Underealm, there was only darkness, and the unquestioned power of the Svari who ruled from their base of power in Nyctalinth.

Many decades had passed since she last stepped foot within her native homeland. Even after all these years living on the surface since her exile from Nyctalinth, Vyruna couldn't help but take note of the stark differences between the world above and the one below. She did not miss the misguided, small-mindedness of her people. To use a human expression, they were but helpless sheep clinging to the hem of Illotha's skirt while the petty goddess led them blind and dumb to the slaughter, all for her own amusement.

The Daelkyr had opened her eyes. The power they offered had set her free. Still, there was much work yet to be done. The surface was wholly infested with the lesser races; insipid humans and the accursed Thalasians. Their stink permeated the very air, inescapably offensive to Vyruna's acutely honed senses.

It was late autumn, at least according to how the inferior races reckoned time and the passage of seasons here on the surface. It wouldn't be long before this alien landscape became veiled in ice and snow as white as the Svari woman's long hair, and all hint of warmth driven from the world above to match her cold heart.

Despite the chill air, the Svari woman wore no clothes. She had long since discarded the need for such mundane trappings. Her entire body wholly infused with blessed corruption, Vyruna's flesh was instead covered with glistening black chitinous plates marked by an intricately complex web of what appeared to be veins across its surface, articulated and pulsing as if the form-fitting carapace possessed a mind and will of its own. The living armor served only to accentuate the curves of her lithe figure, combining both artful grace and terribly alien design into a beautiful yet otherworldly singular being.

She was armed with a large sword at her back, its blade opaque and transparent as if it was carved from crystalline ice. Hard and durable as any Svari adamantine weapon, it appeared to be an executioner's greatsword with a wide axe-like tip. Its blade was slightly curved and marked by teeth-like serrations at regular intervals where the crysteel was segmented into thirteen individual pieces held together into a single whole. A two-handed weapon, its sheer size dwarfed the Svari woman but she carried it with an air of confidence and familiarity that belied its seemingly unwieldy design.

Vyruna placed a lightly armored hand upon the gnarled trunk of a fir to brace her weight against it. The Underealm did not have trees, strange plant life that could not thrive without the light and warmth of the sun. The prospect of meeting the gaze of that burning, thrice-damned orb in the sky did not sit well with her. She did not fear the approach of the sun, far from it, but with everything else that was alien still to her in the world above, Vyruna regarded its mere presence with nothing but contempt each time she saw it.

The Svari woman stood at the edge of a great forest, mostly of fir and pine. Their evergreen leaves rustled in the chill wind, casting their strangely sharp scent into the air. Vyruna's senses missed nothing, and the stench of the surface world's native flora was almost overpowering to her.

Where there was a vast sea of green, healthy boughs despite the approach of winter, the immediate area where she stood was oddly brown and marked by twisted, barren limbs.

Her emerald green eyes narrowing with growing impatience, Vyruna cast a sidelong glance at her companion and fought back a sneer that threatened to overtake the corner of her lips. The young Svari girl to her right stood silently, watching the distant horizon with impassive pale blue eyes the hue of a cloudless sky.

A cold boreal gust picked up suddenly, blowing Vyruna's long, stark white hair across her face. Irritated at yet another intrinsically surface world phenomenon, the Svari woman quickly ran her fingers through wild tresses, tucking them behind a delicately pointed ear.

If the young dark aelf girl noticed the chill, she said not a word to affirm its existence since the current did not so much as touch her. Her long, straight hair, as stark white as the elder Svari's, was as still and motionless as death even in the face of a stiff breeze. The simple white, diaphanous gown the girl wore clung to her delicate frame like gossamer, equally undisturbed and unmoving despite the strong gust. It was as if the very air rejected the girl and slid aside to avoid her, deathly afraid to even touch someone whose very presence seemed so unnatural.

And unnatural was exactly what Vyruna thought of the little brat. Though the young Svari girl appeared not much older than any prepubescent child, she knew better. Like Vyruna, Ayaleska too knew the blessedly corrupting touch of the Daelkyr. Where they granted the older Svari great physical abilities, they did something entirely different to the girl. Vyruna did not care to speculate what that might be.

"This is a waste of time," the elder Svari woman finally spat in their native tongue, she being the first to break the long silence save for the moaning wind. "What are we still doing here?”

Wordless still, Ayaleska continued to stare off into the distant horizon, her icy blue gaze steady and impassive. Vyruna's flustered questions went unanswered, lost to the gale.

The older Svari growled and cursed under her breath. The brat was beyond intolerable. Why had Zarael sent them to this spot in the middle of nowhere, a worthless land ruled over by equally useless humans and their bloated dragon allies. The ignorant creatures of this insignificant speck of a nation were so certain in their own fleeting sense of power, blissfully unaware, seeing nothing, knowing nothing.

"There," Ayaleska's small voice echoed without emotion, ringing clearly yet empty over the howling wind.

Vyruna turned toward the direction of the girl's gaze, and saw two figures loping over the far hill at a fast run, their forms lost to darkness and shadow. Though she couldn't see them clearly yet even with her greatly enhanced vision, Vyruna knew what approached them. Daelkyr netherhounds. Admittedly, the foul creatures had their uses, but their constant slavering and disgustingly monstrous forms repulsed the older Svari.

Racing across the rocky plains were beasts that resembled great wolves or panthers, but any semblance to those animals ended there. Sleek fur and graceful muscle were replaced by black chitinous plates and bony sinew. Their frames seemed oddly elongated and horrifically misshapen, as if half finished by whatever mad necromancer had created them. Long draconic snouts ended in rows upon rows of cruelly jagged teeth the size of dagger blades set into bifurcated lower mandible jaws, allowing for a much more powerful bite and larger maw in which to entrap their prey. Gangly limbs ended in sickle-shaped talons, while two whip-like tentacles studded with horned barbs and spikes sprouted from hunched shoulders. Their tails were equally flexible and tipped with a scorpion-like stinger trailing behind the creatures as they ran at breakneck speed. Completely sightless, they had no eyes and needed none as their other senses were sharpened to a keen razor's edge; a gift of the Daelkyr corruption.

The netherhounds panted and yipped excitedly from the previous night's hunt as they slowed their pace and came to a halt before the two Svari. Their long, black tongues lolling between slavering jaws, the beasts encircled Ayaleska, each vying for space at the child's side like attention-starved pups seeking their master's approval. One of the unsettling creatures reached out with its lashing tongue, gingerly touching and wrapping itself around the girl's slender, outstretched right hand.

Unflinching, Ayaleska's reaction was neither one of disgust nor fear as vile drool covered her arm and dripped from her fingers. Vyruna noted that no expression at all passed over her stoic, emotionless face. Closing her eyes, the ebony-skinned child seemed lost in thought, as if silently communing with the netherhound.

"What are you doing?" Vyruna asked in a tone tinged with boredom and annoyance. "Enough of this. You have your pets back, we should leave now." The elder Svari's patience was wearing thin. They didn't have time to waste playing children's games. "Our part in this ridiculous farce is over," Vyruna continued tersely. "Favian and Makaro have already withdrawn, and the traitor's body delivered."

This whole mission was a fool's errand, Vyruna thought to herself. Why had they even bothered to waste time and effort to steal back the corpse of yet another traitor?

"We are all of us betrayers," was Ayaleska's unexpected reply, her blunt words devoid of any passion. The girl had not opened her eyes as she spoke, and continued to allow the Daelkyr netherhound to lick at her exposed hand. "Is it not so that our house was driven from the Svari homeland because we were branded traitors to our people? We are none of us special in that regard."

Taken aback, Vyruna glared at the impertinent child. She could not refute her words, and the fact they rang true and stung with the bitter memory of being exiled from Nyctalinth infuriated the older Svari.

Ayaleska ignored her and delved deeper into the netherhound's collective memories. It mattered not that the exact netherhound that confronted her mother was destroyed on board the Ark. The creatures shared a hive mind and were inextricably linked to one another as a result. What one hound experienced, they all did.

She could detect her mother's scent still lingering with the creature.

She was close, so very close. Soon, she would finally be able to return from whence she came.

Opening her pale blue eyes once more, Ayaleska was greeted by the netherhound's slavering visage. A gurgling sound issued forth from deep within the beast's throat, a sign of uncertainty when faced with not knowing its master's will. As hive mind creatures, they required constant mental prodding and reassurance from the master to see that they carried out their commands.

The thought of such a flawed design displeased her.

Wordlessly, Ayaleska reached out with her left hand to stroke the snout of the second Daelkyr netherhound at her side, the creature's breath forming clouds of mist in the chill twilight air. The child's eyes suddenly took on a bright ice-blue intensity as her bone-white hair and gossamer-like gown began to flutter, disturbed by an unseen wind.

The creatures' shrieking howls shattered the once pervading silence, echoing across the forest canopy and sending flocks of migrating birds and mystling dragonets into the air.

Convulsing in uncontrollable seizures with their tentacles and tails whipping about wildly, the netherhounds thrashed and screeched in agony, though anyone watching the terrible scene unfolding before them would not have been able to discern any outward cause of their horrific pain. In the midst of the cacophony stood Ayaleska, eerily calm, with her glowing eldritch eyes the only indication that the girl was even aware of the madness she had wrought.

Vyruna whirled toward the beasts, the hilt of her sword already in hand. Its crysteel blade flashed in the retreating gloom, inviting death if the Svari so chose. Despite the size of the weapon, Vyruna easily held it aloft with a single hand, which had grown in size and shape itself.

The elder Svari’a hand was now of monstrous proportions, ending in three cruel talons while her chitin-plated forearm thickened to that of an ogre's, complete with obscenely muscled sinew. Where her lower arm joined the elbow, two long wicked horns jutted out backward, lending the impression of a draconic aegis. This was the Daelkyr's gift to Vyruna, as she was capable of manipulating her own flesh at will to suit her needs. Few creatures were as skilled at skinchanging as she was.

"What in the hells do you think you're doing?!" she snarled, struggling to be heard over the din of the hounds' anguished cries. The Svari woman tightened the grip on her sword hilt, her entire body taut and ready to spring into action at a moment's notice. One of the creatures’ tentacles lashed out at her blindly, forcing her to duck into a practiced roll as the spikes stripped pieces of bark from the tree behind her. Vyruna came back up to her feet quickly, the executioner’s sword whistling through the air when she brought it to bear before her.

Rasping a death rattle, the two creatures gave a final shudder and crashed heavily to the ground, the one which had been licking Ayaleska's hand collapsing upon its haunches while the other fell prone on its side. Languidly, their tongues sprawled out of their gaping maws, soaking the earth with vile spittle.

A heavy stillness permeated the air, the beasts' cries abruptly silenced in death. Her eyes gradually dimming to their normal icy hue, Ayaleska's impassive gaze took in the slain netherhounds at her bare, delicate feet, their foul carcasses as inert and lifeless as stone.

"What have you done?" Vyruna demanded. Her voice was barely able to hold back the curses that threatened to rise up in her throat. "Do you think this a game? Zarael won't be pleased when he hears of this."

Petulant little brat. Children should know their place among their betters. Vyruna expected as much from the hells-damned spawn of a wretched traitor. The mere thought of that contemptible bitch's name nearly brought bile to her mouth. 'If you were my daughter . . .'

Vyruna did not have time to finish her unspoken threat as the bodies of the netherhounds began to shudder violently once more, caught in a spastic fit of thrashing brought on by a dramatic physical transformation. Their black chitinous hides faded into near-translucence, replaced by smooth, fine scales the color of virgin snow. Where hulking muscle and wicked spines once dominated, their monstrous forms gave way to sleek, serpentine grace.

Like phoenixes reborn anew from the ashes, the two creatures took to the air, defying gravity with an ease that birds would envy. At first glance, they resembled large snakes with decidedly draconic features in their fanged snouts and the single three-taloned claw that hung beneath their long, whip-like bodies. Ice blue eyes matching the Svari child's stared out from the serpents' hooded brows, slitted like a cat's and brimming with an otherworldly sentience where none existed before.

Without a word, Ayaleska raised her outstretched arm to one of the unearthly beautiful creatures just as the drool left on her ebony skin dissipated into mist to be carried away by the breeze. Screeching, the two serpents flew circles excitedly around their mistress, enraptured in their gravity-defying dance. One landed its claw gingerly on the girl's narrow shoulder while the other wrapped its sinuous body around her arm and settled its claw on her offered hand.

As one, the twin creatures turned and angrily hissed their disapproval of Vyruna, as if the elder Svari's mere presence itself was poisonous.

Faster than Vyruna could even hope to react, the serpent at the child's hand snaked forward with blinding speed, stopping with its bared fangs leveled only inches from the Svari woman's face.

Caught off guard, Vyruna blinked at the creature, and it took her a moment before realizing that she had been holding her breath. It was quick. Faster than liquid mercury. Faster than thought.

Turning to face the elder Svari, Ayaleska's piercing gaze seemed to cut straight through to the soul. 'Know this,' the child's hollow voice echoed unbidden within Vyruna's mind, a silent whisper as deadly as any assassin's blade. 'You are not my mother.'

Withdrawing through the air with a hiss, the seemingly weightless serpent coiled itself back up toward the girl's outstretched arm. Without another word, Ayaleska calmly turned on a delicate heel and walked deeper into the forest, accompanied by her new pets. Despite her bare feet, the child made no sound and left not a single trace of her passing as she made her way into the retreating shadows.

Speechless, Vyruna could only stare after Ayaleska, the Svari woman's eyes flashing a livid green with barely contained fury. The monstrous arm at her side shook with the tension of clutching the hilt of her executioner's sword so tightly, hardened muscle and sinew flexed and strained with the effort.

Letting out a vile oath, Vyruna swung her sword in a wide, downward diagonal arc, burying its crysteel blade deeply in the trunk of the same fir tree where she had moments ago been leaning against. A dull, satisfying thunk greeted the Svari's ears as the transparent metal bit greedily into wood, as if it was a living thing that longed to sate its hunger.

Forcing herself to take several deep breaths, Vyruna tried to calm the rage within her before pulling the sword out from its wooden prison. With the enhanced strength of her monstrous arm, it was a simple task as she tore the blade free with a quick, vicious motion, sending broken splinters and shards of tinder into the air. A large, gaping wound was left in the trunk to serve as a reminder of the Svari's momentary lapse of self-control.

Behind her, the sun finally crested the mountainous peaks far to the east, further dispelling the last vestiges of twilight.

Her time would come, the dark aelf vowed. When Zarael tired of the brat's petulant outbursts, he would discard her after she had served her purpose, whatever the hells that may be. Until then, Vyruna would bide her time.

Snapping her wrist, the Svari woman quickly replaced the executioner's sword against her back. The black chitin and corrupted skin reacted instantly, reshaping itself to form over the crysteel blade and firmly holding the weapon in place.

With a final curse uttered against the light of the rising sun behind her, Vyruna too walked and vanished into the deepening woods.

She promised herself that in the end, some would live to see many more sunrises than others.


----------



## Arcturion (Aug 26, 2007)

*1.0 Darksail Argosy*

*1.0 Darksail Argosy*

_A dark tiding they sing,
Its current at my shore.
A change upon the wind,
It sees me off to war._

–	Verse from an old merchant marine’s warchant

*Pryntar 24, Ceriday, 957 VR (Veracian Reckoning)**

Drace, capital of the Dragon Kingdom of Mordrake, the greatest realm of the north. It was a grand walled city of impossibly high, buttressed spires that seemed to rake the overcast sky, as if dozens of alabaster lances whose pennons had been set to wave at the very doorstep of the gods themselves. Arched catwalks and bridges connected numerous towers at dizzying heights, with a fall all but certain to spell doom for any who would be so unlucky as to tumble off from the city’s lofty web of intricately linked skyways. The day was cool, the wind biting with chill, and the paved cobblestone streets covered in many places with winter snow that was quickly turning to muddy slush with the approach of spring and the promised return of warmth.

And with it the unspoken but much whispered threat of war.

Though Eltera stood at one of many of Drace’s wide avenues, surrounded by throngs of people who were going about their daily lives, laughing and talking and haggling over the cost of cloth or spice, the dark aelf had never felt so alone as she did now. She found herself wandering aimlessly through the city’s port ward known as the Ebontine where the Aestas River emptied into the bay, the sight of the open sea’s vast azure expanse seeming to calm the edges of her troubled thoughts. The Underealm did not have oceans as the surface world did. The subterranean lakes and rivers of her sunless homeland held no promise of life-giving rain or weather of any kind, only the glassy obsidian surface of a dark abyss that reached down toward the blackest depths of the earth. How strange that she should be staring out at the sea’s churning currents now and wondering what changes the winds would bring.

The nightmare that was B’astion was all but a blurry haze to her, like trying to catch smoke with an outstretched hand and watching helplessly as its wispy tendrils slipped through her fingers. Eltera had discovered that the fortified city that now served the Imperium as a base from which it can launch strikes against its neighbors was once called Aristahl, the capital of the shattered Veracian Republic. In its drive to conquer other lands and erase the very identities of its fallen enemies, the Iron Throne had, in its infinite wisdom, renamed the captured city B’astion, as if it would grant any measure of solace to a people driven under the heel of an unseen tyrant. The name itself meant nothing to the dark aelf except that all she remembered of the place was blood and shadow. A face came to her mind’s eye then, unexpected and unbidden, that of Valsentres, the Svari’s face running with crimson rivulets from the bloodied, hollow orbits where his eyes should have been.

Where is your god now? Eltera’s own mocking voice intoned.

With a start, she blinked and the ruined visage of the slain cleric was gone as if he were never there. The sharp tang of the sea’s salt spray air met her senses, accompanied by the rhythmic splashing of waves and the ever present cawing chatter of tiny dragonets flying overhead. Their pearly scales shining a bright teal in the hazy morning sun, the noisy creatures always seemed to circle the ships berthed at Drace’s rocky shores, swarming the masts and scanning the decks and piers in search of an easy meal. Caravels and galleons of all sorts were docked at the Ebontine this day. Laborers and deckhands were scurrying about their business, hauling crates and barrels from ship to shore and back again in a chaotic swarm of activity that mirrored the hungry dragonets’ aerial dance.

Angar and Ryane had not so much as spoken to Eltera since those dark days in B’astion, and when she approached with the intention of offering some measure of regret or apology to the young Inmerish woman, now large with child, the overprotective half-orc had bared his fangs as well as his blades, snarling a warning to keep her distance. Eltera had not deigned to lay them any blame. What words could she have offered after the things she had done? They would have been hollow and fallen upon deaf ears. Accompanied by the incessantly chattering Leluric rogue Elderdrake, the two had left the city many days ago, booking passage with a merchant’s caravan headed toward Ashaeron and with hopes of raising their child in peace, away from any more blood and slaughter. Away from her.

The remnants of the small circle of her companions had left as well. Bel Daveril accompanied the human spellgunner Nashiel southward in a continued effort to free the former Veracian capital from its Imperial occupiers, or so the Thalasian archer claimed. Eltera had the feeling that Bel was not so much interested in the cause of liberation as she was in Nashiel’s supposed charms. Still, the two had much in common in that both were expert marksmen displaced from their respective homelands; he with the flintlock and she with the bow. The dark aelf had wished them good fortune on their journey. Newly betrothed, Rayella and Marcus had chosen to protect the last of the Kyrian children, and mentioned something about entering the service of a dragon. Eltera doubted that such a powerful creature, if it indeed existed, required the service of lesser beings, but had seen the two Kyrians fly off just as well in the dead of night so as to go unobserved. The fine suit of mail they had left her was their parting gift, and the dark aelf was grateful for it. The Hultaan beastman Jace went west toward the vast Inmerish wilderness. As a ranger, he was ill at ease in large cities and had offered Tanius his sword in service.

Tanius. The druid was gone, assuming the heavy responsibility of leading the members of his Weirwood Circle following the death of their Hierophant Savrius, and with hopes of rebuilding the groves deep within the verdant forests of Inmerthyr. With a pang, Eltera had learned that the H’jenn-Ra were to blame for the devastation wrought upon the druidic Vale and their Heart Tree. Though defeated in his bid for the title of Hierophant, the one called Beriel had denounced Eltera, laying at her feet as much of the blame for the deaths of his kinsmen and the ravaging of his homeland. With a heavy heart, Eltera had decided not to accompany Tanius on his journey back to Inmerthyr given the strong enmity toward her among Beriel’s supporters.

One day, I will return to you, Tanius had promised her with a ghost of a smile and a tender hand upon her cheek, before assuming the form of a hawk as black as midnight and taking wing westward. Eltera had understood that his calling as Hierophant, once won and accepted, could not be denied.

The only somewhat familiar face still left in Drace belonged to that of Ivar Wolfgarsson. The proud Hrundir barbarian was the son of a powerful Jarl chieftain across the Abrisseen to the north, or so he claimed, resuming his duties as ambassador to his people while in the city. Ever distrustful of Eltera and of all dark elves, or “Svartálfar” as he had called them in his native tongue, Ivar had spat on any notion of association with her, much less friendship, and it took all of Bel Daveril’s charms to calm the temperamental warrior. Hefting his warhammer, Ivar had parted ways at the first opportunity. Eltera found that she did not miss his company.

So what did that leave her now? Having assumed the role of a Daoshan woman, she spent her days wandering the Dracian capital with no real aim or destination in mind. Eltera had learned at least that the Daoshans were a seafaring culture of the human race far to the south, whose daring on the high seas were legend and whose skin tone was as dark as her own. This last fact alone had kept her own identity as a dark aelf from being discovered and helped deflect any questions concerning as to from where she hailed. Still, Eltera had worn the hood of her cloak over her head at all times lest her true race be unmasked for all to see. It was almost always then that blades were bared and blood was spilt, and for what?

With a heavy sigh, Eltera found she could not blame anyone for such a reaction. Her own hands were stained with the blood of innocents. She flexed her fingers, opening and closing them carefully. The cuts left by the black adamantine blade of the H’jenn-Ra’s cruel sickle had yet to close and heal completely. Instead, the angry wounds where the cursed weapon had pierced her flesh wept often during the night as she slept fitfully, her dreams haunted by the fleeting, ghostly faces of Valsentres, of her blinded father Saulekanis, of the girl child calling herself Ayaleska, and others she could not yet name. The dark aelf had paid the innkeep several times for stained sheets, offering muted apologies. The man, interested more in coin than ruined bedding, had balked at first but quickly changed his tune, making jests about breaking maidenhead. Eltera had not bothered to take note of his crude humor, lost in her own thoughts. Amurisil’s healing magic was of no aid. Even now the fresh bandages she had wrapped around her hands earlier in the morning were starting to bleed through at the palms with spots of red.

Eltera let her hand rest on the ivory hilt of the sword sheathed at her hip. Its cool touch was somehow soothing, almost reassuring. There will always be a dawn, Tanius was fond of saying. She idly wondered if the truth of his words would ever grace her with their meaning.

With a start, Eltera quickly regained her thoughts as well as her balance just when a body nearly pushed past from where she last stood. Turning easily on the balls of her feet, she saw that the one who had seemingly walked into her was a large, tall male human. Barrel-chested and blessed with a warrior’s frame, the man’s ebony skin was as dark as a moonless night. Approaching his middle years and more round in his abdomen than torso, his features were equally larger than life. The man’s nose was broad, his dark brown eyes lined and weathered with many years upon the windblown seas. His mouth was expressive, and when he smiled, as he did now, the white of his teeth shone bright and starkly against his black skin.

Though no longer young, he was still possessed of strength and vigor. A veritable rainbow of colors greeted her hazel eyes as the man’s clothing was garish as it was expensive in appearance. A black kerchief was tied around his otherwise bald pate, while numerous gold rings hung from his ears and clicked at his thick, calloused fingers. His feet bore black leather boots with shiny, polished buckles while the man’s billowy pantaloons were striped with vertical bands of white and blue in the popular style of sailors. A crimson vest of finely stitched cloth was worn over the man’s massive frame, open and unbuttoned despite the chill air. Over that, a broad leather bandolier crossed over his mighty torso, bearing numerous throwing knives. A necklace of long, curved bones hung from a leather thong around his bull neck, most likely from some exotic animal.

The wide, golden sash of fine silk wrapped around his stomach was also kept in place by a fine leather belt, to which a large cutlass with a filigreed handguard was sheathed in a dark scabbard at his left side. At the other, a strange contraption that Eltera recognized as a flintlock pistol was thrust through the sash. According to Nashiel, she recalled that the rare weapon’s volatile black powder was first created by the Shinorese, a culture of humans far to the south, and whose design was then copied and adapted by Minoi gnome traders, its use having spread in popularity among Veracian rakes, Daoshan corsairs, and Imperial soldiers alike. On that last front, the dark aelf could attest to its effectiveness, having experienced the painful sting of its roundball projectiles before.

“My, you have the reflexes of a cat!” the man’s deep baritone voice boomed, accompanied by thunderous laughter that shook his barrel-shaped midriff. His words were heavily inflected with a thick accent and sounded odd to Eltera’s aelfin ears. “Forgive me, where are my manners? I am Rentiki, Captain of the Argus, that fine vessel berthed yonder.” The Daoshan sailor, for there could be no doubt that he was one, bowed low and swept his muscled arm in a grandiose display of courtly greeting that seemed to clash with his gaudy sailor’s garb. Rising, he motioned with a bejeweled hand toward a large merchant’s caravel, its dark canvas sails neatly tied atop its twin masts, moored at one of many of the wooden piers that dotted the Ebontine. The only distinguishing trait the vessel had was its affixed figurehead, for it bore the image of some strange, regal bird whose plumed feathers were carved in elaborate relief against the wooden sides of the ship’s bow, marked by many spots that resembled eyes.

“I noted that you were admiring my ship and I must say, the lady has good taste,” Rentiki continued genially despite towering over the much shorter dark aelf. “I am also embarrassed to admit that my clumsy efforts at introduction do not do you justice, and as you plainly guessed, my bumping into you was no mere coincidence. Again, do forgive me! An old salty dog’s trick, you see. It is just that it is not often that mine eyes are greeted by the most welcomed sight of a Daoshan sister so far from the warm shores of our homeland. Imagine my surprise to find you here in Drace, of all places, dear lady! Might I ask you of your name and the pleasure of your company?”

The man’s words were spoken in a strange human dialect that she could not – should not – have possibly understood, Eltera noted, and yet, there it was. Oddly enough, she heard every foreign word clearly and immediately knew their meaning as if he were speaking the Common tongue to her keen senses. Abruptly, Eltera also realized with a start that her hood was slightly askew as a loosened tress of stark white, silvery hair brushed across her face, briefly exposed into view of Captain Rentiki.



*OOC:* * The IC date is equivalent to February 24th, Saturday.


----------



## Arcturion (Aug 28, 2007)

*Out Of Character*

I've come to realize that the back and forth nature of pbp/pbem games is somewhat jarring to read in a true story format as far as posting goes, but I'll try to make the most of it and edit entries to make them read a little easier. It's a time consuming process though (and time being something I have to carefully budget these days), so I can't make any promises aside from spelling and grammar checks for the time being, and editing out OOC bits here and there. Apologies and all that.


----------



## Arcturion (Aug 28, 2007)

*1.0 Darksail Argosy*

Eltera blinked away the tears in her eyes as the morbid imagine of Valsentres disappeared from her vision.  She wiped her delicate fingers across her cheek, expecting to find blood.  The Svari was almost disappointed to find only a tear.  Why she felt that way, she could not answer.

Her vision turned back to the sea and her thoughts meandered over her the few days.  There was no destination in her mind and no path set before her.  Her singular goal was simple – Ayaleska.  One name that, at the moment, was as elusive as a dream and yet as vivid as a nightmare.  When she thought of her daughter, she found herself overwhelmed with hope and dread.  Ayaleska seemed to embody all of her failures with everything she might pray . . .

Those thoughts quickly ceded and she contemplated that last word: Pray.  The one notion had recently been haunting her deeply as well.  She had stood outside The Fane of Daeus for nearly three candle-marks two nights before.  The guards had changed under her auspices as she contemplated going in and confessing her sins.  They were numerous and haunted her thoughts.  Many, including Valsentres and her father, had found solace in the arms.  That notion of prayer had haunted her recently and she could not elude it constantly being on her thoughts . . . almost like she was missing something.  

Eltera had not entered the Fane.  The possible consequences were too numerous for her to contemplate.  She had quietly left with no solace found.

Unconsciously, her hand dropped back to the cooling and soothing comfort of Amurisil. 

As trained and talented as Eltera was, her training often failed her when confronted with her own thoughts.  The bump could have easily sent her sprawling, if not swimming.  Instead, the Svari managed to spin lightly and come face-to-face with the burly, dark-skinned human.  He was large and colorful.  Even the black scarf over his black head seemed bright.  Perhaps it was his smile.

The Svari couldn't manage a smile as she turned back to the ship.  Her heart raced as the strand of snow white hair fell free.  It had taken her nearly half a candle-mark* to bound her hair so that it would not be seen and her efforts had been in failure.  Looking back to the ship, Eltera slipped her left hand up to her face and brushed the strand back beneath her hood as best as she could.  Hopefully no one else had noticed.

Whatever magic allowed her to understand Rentiki was slipped to the back of her mind.  She noted it well, but didn't have time to think about it under the moment.

Valsentres had a saying he spoke once, The gods work sometimes in mysterious ways.

Eltera returned the smile as she turned back to the much larger Daoshan, "Indeed.  It looks like a marvelous boat.  And I would never turn down a walk with a man as blessed as yourself with knowledge.  How else would you know that my name is Cat?"  



OOC: * A candle-mark is equal to an hour and is often how the folk of the various realms of Paylen reckon the passage of time outside their calendar.


----------



## Arcturion (Aug 28, 2007)

*1.0 Darksail Argosy*

Lifting a meaty hand to stroke his chin thoughtfully, Captain Rentiki regarded Eltera with an expression of utmost curiosity etched across his broad features. As the dark aelf tucked the errant strand of hair back against the voluminous folds of her hood, she could feel the man’s dark eyes searching her face. Rentiki didn’t exude any hint of menace, on the contrary, his demeanor and fashion sense spoke of a Captain that possessed a zeal for life bordering on excess and hedonism. Eltera didn’t know the man at all, but that was the impression he gave her. And if he noticed the strange color of her hair, he gave no indication.

At the mention of her alias, Rentiki threw back his head and gave a thunderous roar of laughter that shook his barrel-shaped belly and sent several dragonets that had been milling about the Argus’s masts shrieking their discontent into the air as they took wing. “Oh ho! Cat, she says!” he bellowed, white teeth gleaming brightly with his grin. Again, he continued to speak with the thick accent of what Eltera guessed was the Daoshan language, and still his words rang clear as day to her ears. “Oh, the gods smile upon this old salty dog! Aye, dear Cat, a fine name it is! And the Argus, she is no cat, as you can plainly see, but neither is she a mere boat, oh no! The finest caravel to have sailed the Seven Known Seas! Why, I’ve braved the tempests of Tephral, crossed swords with Shinorese pirates on the Zhenshan, dodged Mykosian myrmidons in the Meridian, ran cargo up and down the Solan to the Nine Hells and back in time for supper! All thanks to the Argus. There is no finer merchant mariner’s vessel as she!”

Eltera turned back toward the ship, and though the large craft seemed rather unremarkable aside from its dark canvas sails and elaborate figurehead, she supposed it was as fine a vessel as any she had seen. Still, her time upon the surface world was short by her own reckoning, and many of her old memories disjointed, so she could not recall being an accurate judge of any ship’s seaworthiness. Focusing her eyes, the dark aelf did notice that the wooden sides of the Argus, particularly toward the stern, were pockmarked with what appeared to be burns and several broken arrow shafts. It then occurred to her that the vessel had originally three masts, rather than the two she initially observed. The third mast was missing, Eltera realized, snapped off near the aft castle where it met the deck. Something of considerable force must have struck the mast and knocked it clean off, but what could have caused such damage, she couldn’t say.

Captain Rentiki must have noticed her gaze and balled his large fists against his broad waist, muscled arms akimbo. “Ah, yes, that. Tis only just a scratch, mind you!” he said amiably, though his tone betrayed a hint of annoyance in his voice and something else the dark aelf couldn’t quite place. “Ran into some Hrundir raiders on my way around the Cape of Solannus a few days back. Bad business, them. T’was Fenrigar’s vikers, sea wolves who prowl the Abrisseen in search of blood and booty. It’s all they live for, it seems. Barely got away with a dozen men lost to his wolves. Aye, bad business.”

It was then that among the deckhands and laborers who were unloading crates and barrels from the Argus onto wagons with pulleys and ropes, a gangly fellow started across the docks toward Rentiki and Eltera. His face was gaunt, and his olive-brown skin tanned tough as leather, though not quite as dark as the Captain’s. Oily black hair hung from his greased pate, while the scraggly moustache and beard that covered his crooked mouth lent his sour expression with even more leaden weight. Compared to Rentiki, the man wore roughspun sailor’s garb stained with pitch and sweat. Coming to a stop before them both, the gaunt man rolled up the sleeves of his soiled shirt and hooked his thumbs into the ragged belt at his waist before spitting a gob of tarleaf juice upon the wooden planks of the boardwalk at his feet. He regarded Eltera coldly for a moment with dark, hooded eyes before turning to face Rentiki.

“Pardon da’ Cap’n,” the man began tersely. Eltera could smell the rank odor of his stained clothes mixed with the sour stench of old grog and brine. “But da’ estimate fer da’ ship’s repairs jes’ dun come in. It ain’t cheap, all da’ more da’ sorrows, sir, cuz findin’ new men ta replace da’ ones we dun los’ won’t be neitha in dis pisshole port.” The dark aelf took note that the man spoke a different language, though this one she couldn’t place. And yet, she understood his words, if barely with his sailor’s slang.

“Ye gods, why bother me with details, Hashad? Just pay the shipwright and be done with it! We have a schedule to keep, man!” Captain Rentiki replied with exasperation, likewise in the same harsh-sounding language.

The one called Hashad chewed the tarleaf in his mouth for a moment, rolling the bitter weed across tongue and between teeth stained a dark brown before spitting at his feet again. His squinty gaze took in Eltera once more, this time looking the dark aelf up and down while lingering a bit too long upon her crotch and chest before flicking back to Rentiki. “Beggin’ da Cap’n’s pardon, but ain’t it a bit early ta be wenchin’ at dis ‘ere hour, sir?”

“A Captain does as he will,” was Rentiki’s brusque answer. “And mind your tone when in the presence of a lady.”

Hashad gave his Captain a crooked, tar-stained smile. “A lady,” he repeated idly, smacking his cracked lips as if testing the word. “O’course. I’ll see ta da shipwright ‘n if I can’t scrounge up some new men fer da crew, but Dracians be a ‘ard sell, dey are.” Turning upon a heel, the unkempt mariner spun and crossed the dock back toward the Argus.

“Do forgive Hashad,” Rentiki said apolegtically as he faced Eltera once more, switching back to the Daoshan language with ease. “His manners could do for some polishing, it seems. But you won’t find a better First Mate in all the Seven Known Seas.” The Captain shivered, his hands tugging at the hem of his colorful red vest, as if the scant garment could afford him any protection against the icy sting blowing off the waters from the north. “The gods take this winter chill! Cold as a Spirian witch’s teat, this damnable weather is! Pardon my language. But perhaps this night won’t be as bad, so warm is your company, dear Cat. I promised you a walk, and walk we shall.” With a flourish, Rentiki bowed low again and offered Eltera the crook of his arm.


----------



## Arcturion (Aug 28, 2007)

*1.0 Darksail Argosy*

Eltera unconsciously flexed her hands at the deckhand's approach.  His very walk spoke of a self-assurance coming close to being feared, especially as his eyes took on Eltera's form.  She shifted her hips, trying to get comfortable under the much lighter weight of a dagger at her right hip.  Accustomed to two longswords, it was a different feel.  A longsword was much preferred, especially when it came to blows.

His words again caught her in surprise as she understood the strange language.  And yet still, even as Rentiki spoke, she understood the same language.  Since her bonding with The Eye, she could feel a surge of power and ability in her body.  She had changed drastically and perhaps this was another way.  The other option was that it was some enchantment or magical items possessed by the crew of the Argus.  The latter option seemed the most likely.  Rentiki seemed to assume that she had just understood Daoshan and Hashad's own language.  Of course, it might have been likely that anyone of Daoshan decent would understand both tongues.

The Svari held her tongue as Hashad walked away.  Several scathing comments had crossed her mind and nearly crossed her tongue.  Instead, she opted for discretion.  It only took just another loose strand of hair for someone to realize she was instead a Svari and not a Daoshan lady.

At the offered hand, Eltera gracefully slid her own arm through.  His beefy forearm and hand dwarfed her own and she felt like her arm was swallowed.

"Your first mate might want to discover some mediocrity of manners before he loosens his tongue," she tried to sound polite, even if his words had irked her.  In truth, she was upset that she had to stay cloaked away and could not act.  While Hashad's words did not truly require a response, another situation might not be so easily avoided.

"What business takes the Captain of the Argus away from his ship?  I hope you came not this way for only a walk with myself."

She let his words of warmth and company slip by.  Eltera understood at what they might imply, but she had no intention of getting warm in that manner.


----------



## Arcturion (Aug 28, 2007)

*1.0 Darksail Argosy*

Accepting Eltera’s offered hand, Rentiki smiled broadly and gestured toward the western lane of the boardwalk, letting out another rumbling guffaw at the mention of his First Mate as they walked. “Aye, he can at that. You know, it wasn’t the first time his tongue had landed him in troubled waters. I found the man just off the Isle of Tysis and it seemed he had run afoul of some Mykosian myrmidons hired by a local lord there. Such disagreeable folk, they are. Apparently, Hashad said the wrong thing to one of his daughters, and was going to have his most delicates removed for the slight against her honor.” At this, Rentiki grinned and placed his free hand against his belly as it shook with remembered mirth.

“Well, I recognized a good sailor when I saw one, and offered to buy his freedom instead. Why let a salty dog’s skills go to waste, I thought? The price was rather steep, mind you, but fortunately the scruples of these particular myrmidons were for sale to the highest bidder. They had been ordered to bring back Hashad’s, how shall we say, parts as proof of their success, so what were they to offer as a substitute to placate their lord, they asked? At the time, I was dealing in the ivory and fur trade, something I dabble in from time to time still, and it just so happened I had some extra parts leftover from some rather exotic beasts that would do the trick.

“Ah, a thousand pardons,” Rentiki smiled apologetically, placing his free hand upon Eltera’s at his elbow and patting gently. “Forgive me, such talk is unseemly in the company of a lady, I know. But needless to say, Hashad has been in my debt ever since. Eh, your hand, dear Cat? Have you hurts there beneath these bandages?” The Captain’s tone had gone from jovially tongue-in-cheek as he finished his bawdy tale to one of seemingly genuine concern.

Trying not to wince from the pain at his touch upon her hand, Eltera gazed up at the large man’s face, averting her eyes for a brief moment as a quick thought formed in her mind to deflect the sudden question. “Oh, this? It’s nothing,” the dark aelf began absently. Strangely, she found herself speaking the Daoshan language as easily as if it was the most natural thing in the world. Had she been talking in the oddly consonant-heavy human tongue all this time without even realizing it? “A parry gone awry, is all it is. What, my dear Captain? You did not think the sword I wear at my side was just for show, did you?” Eltera did her best to sound convincing, using her free hand to pat Amurisil sheathed at her waist for emphasis. She flashed the man a lop-sided smile that bespoke of playfulness she did not truly feel. “In these uncertain times, a lady must learn to defend herself, after all, be it from unscrupulous pirates or lascivious first mates. The role of a damsel in distress does not suit me at all, I find.”

At this, Rentiki’s grin was broad indeed. “Well, it’s a good thing Hashad broke off as he did, lest your blade finish what those myrmidons began,” he laughed, sounding quite amused. “A fine blade it is, too, one quite fitting for a female warrior. My, you’re a rare breed, my dear Cat. I would surely like to test your skills at the sword, but I fear I was never much for dueling with steel as I am with words. Bad for business, you see. But the mere pleasure of your company is reason enough for a respite from counting coin and brokering agreements over levies. Tiresome work, that. These Dracians, they so love their taxes. It makes me wonder why I keep doing business here at all. And yet, the City of Spires has a certain charm, wouldn’t you agree?”

The Captain was well armed for a business man, Eltera noted, remembering the pistol tucked in its golden sash, the cutlass sheathed at his side, and the throwing knives over Rentiki’s barrel chest. As they walked, the dark aelf tried to listen in on the conversations of the people going about their daily lives around them. Her sharp ears picked up bits and pieces here and there, teamsters haranguing with longshoreman over the placement of goods into wagons driven by long-horned and scaly-hide aurochs, sailors swearing colorful oaths as they threw a game of bones while drunk on grog even in the early morning haze, and fishmongers extolling the virtues of the day’s catch as they curried the favor of potential customers. While some conversed in the Common tradespeak, most spoke in the halting language of the Dracians, a tongue she was not supposed to have known, and yet, she understood their words clear as day.

“But, as you say, dear Cat,” Rentiki replied, continuing to talk even as Eltera’s attention was focused on the idle chatter of passersby. “Ah, I just remembered. I have a surgeon on board the Argus, should you require it. He should still be there, as a matter of fact.” The Captain stopped, gesturing back toward his ship. “Perhaps he can tend to your hurts? Please, you can use my cabin.”


----------



## Arcturion (Aug 28, 2007)

*1.0 Darksail Argosy*

In no way did Eltera find that information concerning Hashad a surprise.  The man seemed to have an unkempt appearance that accentuate his coarse and crude mouth.  His whole demeanor said that he would belittle anything with breasts into his own desires.  The Svari offered a warning at the thought of the first mate, "You would do well to watch him better, else your purse may feel lighter yet again.  That tongue of his is not only trouble for himself, but costly trouble for you."

As the subject changed to Drace, Eltera gave a glance over the city as numerous towers pierced through the sky.  Even from the docks, there was no questioning its grace and splendor.  There was a certain awe as the city was literally alive with countless wyverns, dragonets, and all sorts of beasts taking to wing.  The mounts with certainty and the wild dragonets moved with playfulness.  Watching them was a relief to most anyone as she had seen countless people just stopping at times to watch the dragonets chase each other.

But, when she brought her gaze low she could see the haze of fear that settling over the city.  It was, at times, stifling, like a summer day.  People were afraid and as more refugees flooded the gate, the fear only intensified.  One person afraid of the Imperial army was one person that might get lost in a city, but a thousand people that were sleeping in alleys and beneath pelts in the streets was a depression.  The fear almost smelled like burnt steel.  Eltera tried to keep her tone light and mirthful, though the fear in the air still managed to pervade her words, "Indeed, it has a glory about it.  I hope this approaching war does little to dampen it."  

The fear in her words was not for her own sake, but rather for a city and a people.  

Changing talk to Rentiki's martial skills, Eltera offered a true smile.  She was uncertain if she believed him, looking at the multitude of weapons about his person.  Even if it wasn't true, there was something about Rentiki's very demeanor and personality that was mirthful and carefree, but controlled and measured.  It was a relief from her constant worry and doubt.  If he lied, he was not to hide the truth, but rather bashfulness on his part.

"I do not trust your words there.  I'll take my leave should you wish to fight me and I'd prefer that we find no trouble against which you can show me your prowess.  As you can see from my hands, I am not as proficient as I might hope but I'll still not be a damsel in distress," she held back a light laugh, but the mention of her hands did fade her smile.

The pain had been persistent through the constantly open wounds in her hand.  She had learnt to ignore it, but only to a point.  Rentiki's weight on her hand caused her to visibly shudder in pain and the Daoshan had noticed it.  Despite her attempts to brush it off, he persisted and she again tried to parry his efforts, "Trust me, it was my own fault that this wound haunts me. It was a lesson that needed to be learnt and sadly, the painful way.  I shall be fine.  My thanks though."

Perhaps the words were too harsh for a simple "mis-parry", but they were certainly true.  She had sinned and now she would pay penance for them.  It may have even been a lighter demand then she deserved and it scared Eltera to think what else the gods might demand of her.

Instead, she put a smile on her face and stepped along Rentiki's original path, urging them to continue, "Let us continue.  A day can only hold so much."


----------



## Arcturion (Aug 28, 2007)

*1.0 Darksail Argosy*

“Aye, fair enough, as you say, my dear Cat,” was Rentiki’s somewhat sullen reply at the dark aelf’s polite refusal of the offered expertise of his ship’s surgeon. He continued his way down the wharves of the Ebontine with Eltera walking beside the large man as they talked. Rentiki only laughed again at the mention of Hashad’s loose tongue and equally loose morals, though the Captain assured her that his First Mate’s attributes far outweighed his detriments. Eltera was skeptical but made it a point not to argue too much over Rentiki’s confidence in the ill-mannered sailor.

Idle chatter gave way to more probing questions directed her way from the ever garrulous Captain. “What kind of Daoshan name is Cat?” he asked, sounding quite curious.

“It is short for Cataya,” Eltera had answered smoothly.

“From what part of Daosha do you hail?” the Captain inquired next.

“I was born and raised in a dark place, before I was captured by slavers and taken far from my homeland,” she replied in disquieted tones. “I apologize, but on that I would rather not speak of anymore. Sometimes the past is better left unsaid, my dear Rentiki, I hope you understand.” It was the half-truth, she knew, but buried within the shades of gray she wove were painful memories of Nyctalinth, a city of shadows webbed with the lies and cruelty of her people.

“Of course, of course,” the large man had only said in somber reflection, nodding his head in sympathy. “Slavers; a disreputable lot they are. Never a shortage of them when there’s war about, sad to say.”

Such grim conversation seemed rather unsuited to a man of genial tastes as Rentiki, and Eltera breathed a silent sigh of relief when he steered their talk back to his first love, the sea. “Why are Dracians such reluctant sailors, you ask?” Rentiki repeated thoughtfully, scratching at the stubble covering his broad chin. “Why, I had not known you could understand the language of the Akunduin, my dear Cat. You are full of surprises! That ought to make Hashad keep his tongue firmly behind his teeth where it belongs!

“Well, surely you’ve heard the tales of Auriel. Naught but smoke and ruin lie where the mountain range once stood four moons ago, and rumors whisper of a Great Rift there that leads down into the womb of the world itself! Though, seems to me that the Great Navel is more apt a name, in that regard. You don’t wish to know what the rest of my crew calls it, oh ho!” the Captain roared with mirth at his own bawdy jest.

“If the stories are true, they say the mountain was struck down by the gods and then raised up into the heavens under cover of storm and cloud. For what reason, who but the gods alone can say? I hear the Aera tried to send some of their fliers to investigate these claims but to no avail. Fierce winds and mists as thick as blood shroud the Great Chasm, and the mountain itself, thunder rages ceaselessly all around it. Lost some of their wyverns and riders for their trouble, they did, when the gods sent their bolts to smite any who dare approach. St. Serriel’s Fire; now that I’ve seen when storms are on the horizon, with flames the strangest color of blue, green, and purple you’ve ever laid eyes on leaping up around the masts and sails of a ship. The shades of mariners lost at sea come to warn us of tempest and maelstrom, that is. This talk of lightning the hue of twilight doesn’t surprise me in the least. A Titan stirs within its bowels, I wager. Why else would the gods unleash their righteous fury upon the mountain?

“As to the Dracians’ fear to put out to sea, well, they say what remains of Auriel drifts over the Abrisseen now, sending a hail of fire and ash wherever it roams. You’ve seen my Argus. The mountain took one of her masts, that it did, when a ball of flame came crashing down from the sky upon us, as if dealing with Fenrigar’s reavers wasn’t bad enough. Mind you, seafarers all across the north ply the waters at their peril, but what choice do I have? Besides, dear Cat, I’ll not let a glorified hunk of rock stop me from sailing, cursed or no! Most Dracians won’t dare to venture out past The Twins* now with the threat of their ships being dashed to splinters, much less being harried and boarded by Hrundic vikers. Some will say I’ve lost my mind going against the will of the gods and their hells-spawned mountain, but the sea calls to me, that it does. I won’t stop now, or ever, until the fates see fit to send me down to meet my makers. And when I do, I’ll have a bawdy tale or two to tell them, I promise you that!”

Just as Rentiki had finished his story, several passersby ran past as a crowd started to gather across the boardwalk. Longshoremen, teamsters, deckhands, and shopkeepers alike came streaming over the docks in their curiosity.

“Eh, what’s this about?” Rentiki pondered himself, coming to an abrupt stop as the throng grew in size and anxious excitement tinged with the unmistakable scent of fear.

A few unruly gawkers shoved roughly past Eltera and the Captain, caring not a bit if they offended anyone while jockeying to secure the best vantage point upon the wharves. Something had appeared in the harbor waters of Ebontine Bay, sparking the sudden rush of humanity, though what, Eltera couldn’t say from where she stood and as short as she was compared to the relatively taller Dracians around her.

“This way, dear Cat!” Rentiki bellowed, grasping Eltera’s wrist more firmly, taking care not to touch the bandaged wound at her hand. “See here, make way! That’s my foot, you clumsy lout! Clear a path, I say, or you’ll be eating the leathers of my boot, you will!” Shouting in the Common tradespeak, the Captain roared and shouldered his way through the crowd with the dark aelf in tow. The man’s formidable stature was a blessing indeed as the pair pushed across the rank press of bodies, and abruptly found themselves at the front of the gathered throng.

Narrowing her eyes, Eltera strained to see what had caused all the commotion in the first place. The waters of the Ebontine were a murky swirl of blue and gray, its frothy waves swelling and carrying with them the icy sting of the north. A heavy mist hung over the chill air, thick white tendrils reaching out past the distant cliffs and craggy fingers of rock that ringed the expansive natural harbor. Weak and hazy, the light of the morning sun tried to penetrate the clouds cast overhead with mixed success. Across the bay were dozens of ships, the tar-coated hulls of barrel-bellied cogs were black against the sea while the colorful sails of merchant caravels strained against the strong wind blowing from the frozen reaches of Haeslund and Hulmoraan. Though vastly outnumbered by other types of vessels, scattered here and there were huge war galleys whose sheer size and numerous oars dwarfed that of any ship Eltera had ever seen before. Traditional Dracian dromonds rubbed shoulders with them all, their pennons waving in the anemic sun. Smaller skiffs and fishing boats rowed past in their haste not to strike or get hit by the larger vessels, attempting to get out of their way. Just as Eltera and Rentiki had cleared a path through the crowd, the vessels were trying to do the same as well, the dark aelf realized.

On the mist-shrouded horizon appeared three dots, barely visible against the water. They soon grew in size and clarity as they approached, bearing the distinctive sleek and slender shapes of drakkars, the longships of the northmen. Their white canvas sails bore the images of axes wreathed in thunder and lightning, their prows terrible to behold as the figureheads bore the likeness of fierce dragons, the very symbol of Mordrake used against its people to strike fear throughout the populace. Numerous round wooden shields banded with iron adorned the hulls, while the oars at the sides of each of the three vessels flicked back and forth in a rhythmic dance. The booming rumble of drums met Eltera’s ears, beating a cadence in time to the stroke of the oars. The drakkar at the center was nearly a half times larger than the other two that flanked it, marking it as a vessel bearing persons of some importance. Drace’s harbor quickly emptied on all sides, save for a few Dracian dromonds and war galleys to serve as escort under threat of arms, most daring not to steer in the path of the approaching seaborne dragons.

“Hrundir!” someone in the crowd shouted in Dracian. “The northmen are coming!”

“Barbarians!” bellowed another. “Savages!” roared others. “Raise the alarm! Summon the Aera! Where are the Istari when you need them? Blast them out of the water!”

All the while, Rentiki’s face darkened and appeared quite grim, very unlike his usually amiable self. “Aye, just what we needed. Wolves in dragon’s clothing.”


----------



## Arcturion (Aug 28, 2007)

*1.0 Darksail Argosy*

Eltera tried her best to enjoy the walk and the day.  It wasn't often that she could actually find some semblance of freedom to move openly through a city, even if under the guise of her hood.  Her hair was not free to the wind, but it was still a beautiful day and she tried her best to smile with it.  

Rentiki's company surprisingly helped.  While she was often questionable of new people, the Daoshan possessed a natural charm.  Perhaps it was wrong and perhaps he would backstab her at an appropriate opportunity . . . 

The Svari forced the thoughts away.  The memories of Nyctalinth and her Svari brethren often brought her back to thoughts and judgments she did not wish to revisit.  The surface world held no small amount of violence, lies, and evil, but it also possessed light and laughter.  And, sometimes, Eltera even managed to find a friend.  

She had not had someone to speak with since parting with Tanius and Dusduana.  Ivar had rebuked and belittled her, even if 'politely', at every chance he garnered.  Rentiki was not Tanius and she certainly would not yet share her truth, but someone who took a person at their word and did not pry into every detail and was a welcome acquaintance.  For seemingly no reason in relation to the talk of the moment, Eltera gave Rentiki's arm a friendly squeeze. The Svari smiled beneath her hood, though she did not know of Rentiki could see it.  She felt certain, though, that the man knew it was there.

Talk of her surprising understanding of Akunduin, whatever language that might be, forced her to silently curse herself.  This new ability was unnerving at best and mind numbing at worst.  Above everything, it would take some time to grow accustomed to it.  

The Svari again lied, trying to feign some mediocre of a painful memory, "I spent some time as a chamber girl.  I had a lice infested blanket by a fire, a brush, and a piss pot that needed cleaning.  The man to whom I was charged spoke that tongue.  I learnt some of it, including numerous derogatory terms for women."  Quickly, Eltera tried to bring some joy back into the conversation, giving him no time for a reply, "But that was then and this is now.  Today, I spend my time trying to save one life a day.  Usually it's my own, though."

Memories of Mt. Auriel were almost as painful as her homeland and they tasted even more bitter since she could only recall bits and pieces of her time there.  It was like trying to look at the sky while looking down at a shattered mirror that was spread over the floor.  Not only was the view broken but the clouds kept moving.  There was no continuity or true sense to her memories there, as if they belonged to someone else.  She was only certain that she had been there near when the catastrophe had occurred.

But she still forced herself to listen, hoping that something in Rentiki's words might open the dam that was blocking her memories.  As painful as it might be to know the truth, she felt certain it was worse than not knowing.  With knowledge, she might be able to make right some of her wrongs.

They continued to the crowd.  The throng of people along the dock was a sight of itself and Rentiki's bulk was a welcome advantage to her small stature.  The lithe Svari would have found a vantage point in another manner, but took the escort through the crowd.  She made certain to keep her free hand near her purse as she brushed along people.  Getting to their view, she was thankful her hood and hair had stayed in place.

The vessels cut through the water as anger howled from the crowd.  A shadow even passed over Rentiki's usually bright features.  As much as the crowd worried and her Daoshan escort frowned, Eltera felt curious beyond any stretch.  She could remember the Hrundi in some relation to Auriel.  There were a few names on the tip of her tongue that still eluded her, like trying to find scoop a drink of water with a fork

She spoke lightly, her voiced tinged with curiosity and hope, "Let us go see these new visitors.  Do you know where they might put to dock?  You will find another tale to tell the gods when you drink alongside them - you witness the first time the Hrundi stepped in Drace in peace."

The words of their first peaceful visit was a bluff.  She kew almost nothing of the Hrundi, but hoped it might prod him into action.  Basing her words against the crowd's reaction, there might be arms drawn yet.  Nonetheless, she wished to see these Hrundi being brought in under armed escort.


----------



## Arcturion (Aug 28, 2007)

*1.0 Darksail Argosy*

“Peace,” the Captain repeated, as if hearing the sound of it for the very first time. “My Hrundic is a bit rusty, but I don’t believe the northmen even have a word for peace in their language, not that they would know the meaning to begin with. They war with each other in as much as they do other peoples. The Hultaan, the Dracians, why I even heard they dared to raid against the Thorazuin and Thalasians in the dark days following the Harrowing, the dwarves for the secret of whorl-patterned steel and the elves for timber to build their longships so they could make war upon all the land.

“A Hrundic drakkar puts to anchor wherever it has a mind to, and any thought of protest almost always ends in bloodshed,” Rentiki observed with some distaste. “Vikers and reavers, the whole lot of them. Would that the gods see fit to drop the accursed mountain atop their sails!”

A bell began to toll in the distance, ringing a mournful dirge throughout the capital. Eltera strained her ears to see where it was coming from and spied a lone watchtower across the bay upon the western shores, its ramparts breaking through the veil of thick morning fog. Other bells in other towers took up the call, and soon it seemed that all of Drace was abuzz with the chime of warning at the Hrundir’s inevitable approach. The northmen are coming. The northmen are coming. The northmen are coming.

Wyverns appeared in the skies overhead, circling the harbor with dark wings that cast broad shadows upon the churning slate-gray waters. The scaled armor of their mounted riders glistened in the weak sunlight, while the lances they bore flashed with the promise of sharpened steel. A horn blew a thunderous note from the dragon-headed prow of the lead Hrundic longship, echoing across Dracian Bay. The sound was mirrored by a blast that came from behind the crowd of onlookers, startling the various cityfolk that had gathered to watch the arrival of the northmen.

“Make way for the Contari*!” barked a man’s gruff voice in the Dracian tongue. “Move aside and clear a path, lest you want to be trampled underfoot!” The mob began to shuffle toward either side as the bright tips of lances peeked over their heads. Rentiki pulled Eltera gently along with him, the dark aelf’s lithe form dwarfed by the large man’s bulk. She didn’t bother to resist and simply stepped lightly around to his right, partially hidden by a muscular arm and shoulder.

A triple column of two-legged dragon-like creatures strode into view, the long, wickedly curved claws at their feet clicking first against the cobblestones of the main thoroughfare and then the wooden planks of the boardwalk leading to the piers. Their slight, spindly arms also bore grasping talons, some sheathed in man-made steel claws to augment their shearing ability. Dark scales of mottled blue and black covered their thick hides, while the long, ridged horns atop their heads gave the creatures the appearance of regal crowns, albeit deadly ones capable of impaling a man clean through upon a goring charge. Tooled leather saddles were strapped to their backs from which grim men clad in banded mail and polished breastplates sat. Each mounted warrior bore a lance of ebony wood tipped with unforgiving steel braced against the stirrup in one lobster-gauntleted hand, the other bearing a large kite shields emblazoned with a crest of a two-headed gold dragon upon a field of the deepest purple, the colors of royalty. Pennons bearing the same sigil flew from the top of their spearheads. Plainly decorated but practical longswords were sheathed at their sides to serve as secondary weapons. Dark eyes scanned the crowd from underneath half-helms adorned with ivory dragon horn that seemed to match those of the soldiers’ mounts, the long tails of the draconic creatures swishing back and forth from behind them lazily. A few onlookers who didn’t manage to get out of the way in time were rewarded with a snapping of jaws as the drakes hissed their displeasure, sharp fangs bared in a snarl.

Armed with short swords sheathed at their right sides as well as spears and kite shields in hand, a small contingent of footmen followed the cavalry from close behind before fanning out toward either side. With a shouted command, they quickly formed lines between them and the crowd, locking their shields as one and bracing the butts of their spears upon the dock to create a formidable wall. Gasps and muttered oaths passed among the throng of curious spectators as they were pushed back and held at bay. Several of the footmen grasped thick chains that held the leather collars of smaller dragon-like creatures. Like the larger beasts, they walked upon two-legs though they could easily go upon all fours if need be. The size of large dogs, the smaller drakes had scales the color of dull jade and lacked horns. Instead, finned crests adorned the top of their heads and backs all the way to the tips of their long tails. The bright yellow frills opened and closed depending upon the mood of the creatures, flaring up to their full span when agitated to make them appear larger and more formidable than they actually were. Though small, their teeth and claws seemed no less sharp as they sniffed at the salt-heavy air and snapped at those that ventured too close. Curiously, the creatures chirped noisily amongst themselves, hinting at some pack mentality when they hunted. A cunning spark of intelligence glinted behind their yellow cat-like eyes, matching those of the larger two-legged drakes but was missing from most wyverns, which are generally considered dumb beasts by most of Mordrake’s populace, however fearsome they are.

Once the impressive host had stopped, Eltera counted at least fifty of the larger draconic creatures and mounted knights each, with twice altogether as many men on foot and a handful of the smaller drakes to keep the crowd from surging any closer toward the wharves ahead. Peering from behind Rentiki, she saw that a man as large as the ebon-skinned Captain rode at the head of the column alongside a woman. Widening her eyes, the dark aelf recognized the man as Ivar Wolfgarsson, the proud Hrundic warrior who had shown her nothing but disdain and open threats upon discovering her true nature. He was mounted atop a large destrier, the lone horse the color of black smoke. Whinnying and shaking its mane, his steed looked quite out of place and nervous amidst a pack of drakes that were all no doubt carnivores. A thick gray and white mottled wolf’s pelt was draped over the northman’s broad shoulders, while a fur-lined steel half-helm adorned his head. Bright flaxen locks peeked through from under the fur, framing a face chiseled seemingly from the ice and stone of his people’s homeland. Eyes the color of the gray overcast sky stared straight ahead, fixed upon the approaching longships, while his powerful frame was clad in a silvery mail shirt of fine mithral links complete with tough leather gloves and boots likewise trimmed with fur. Belted at the man’s side was his prized warhammer, its iron head tipped with a long, jagged spike. Holding the reins with a large, powerful hand, Ivar raised a horn to his lips with the other and again blew a long, rumbling note that reverberated across the sea.

The horn was answered by a like blast that thundered across the sky, sending swarms of dragonets shrieking into the air to mingle with the much larger wyverns in an aerial dance. Without a word, Ivar withdrew his leg from over the saddle and dismounted, landing heavily upon the wooden planks of the boardwalk. A Dracian soldier went to seize the reins of his horse, the animal stamping its hooves and nearly bucking in fright at his touch. The Hrundic warrior paid neither the destrier nor footman any heed, with one hand bracing the long bronze-capped horn at his side while the other coming to rest atop the handle of his warhammer.

Mounted atop one of the drakes, the woman that rode at Ivar’s side watched the powerful northmen with eyes the color that matched his own, her expression a barely controlled mask of warring emotions. Long hair of reddish-gold flame was drawn up and over her head in an elaborately braided weave, held in place with ivory combs and golden pins. She wore an elegant gown of fine blue satin trimmed with golden thread along its pleated hem while a fur-lined cloak was draped over her shoulders to help ward off the cold, held in place with a brooch wrought of gold in the shape of an entwining serpent. Handsome and statuesque rather than beautiful in the classic sense, the woman’s skin was also as pale as Ivar’s. It took only a single glance to know that she was no Dracian, but instead having the blood of the Hrundir flowing within her veins. Tall in the saddle and possessed of a warrior’s graceful familiarity as if born to ride, the woman’s features and bearing spoke of one who was used to being in command and brooked no nonsense. Despite her noble lady’s array, she appeared ill at ease with the extravagance of it all, as if more comfortable with mail and plate against her skin rather than silk and satin. Her left hand in particular appeared to grasp at the gown’s fabric at her side, as if instinctively searching for the hilt of a sword that should have been there but strangely wasn’t.

The lead male Dracian, a captain judging by the deep purple of his cape and complexity of his dragon-shaped helm, likewise dismounted, shooting Ivar an unmasked look of mistrust before moving toward the woman’s side. He appeared younger than a captain had any right to be though the way he carried himself spoke of experience that belied his years. The captain offered a gauntleted hand up to the woman, but she merely waved it away with no small measure of annoyance. Sliding easily from the saddle herself, the woman touched down upon the boardwalk upon slippered feet and moved to stand by Ivar’s right side, if grudgingly. Appearing slightly abashed but resigned, the young captain stood opposite of the large northman’s left, his own hand resting against the pommel of the longsword sheathed at his belt while giving Ivar cautious sidelong glances from the corner of his eyes. Eltera noted the woman, though not nearly matching Ivar’s considerable height, stood a few inches taller than many of the Dracian men around her, and was eye to eye with the young captain. Grim but composed, elder looking men with neatly trimmed beards and clad in ornate robes and flowing mantles draped over their left shoulders, in the popular Dracian style of aristocracy, moved to flank them, most likely royal advisors and councilors.

By now, the crowds on either side of the host had swelled to near bursting, drawing citizens from all corners of the Dracian capital. Nobles peered out from the curtains of palanquins and carriages, surrounded by their own armed entourages amidst commonfolk that included shopkeepers, laborers, artisans, dock workers, and even ragged beggars and refugees huddled together against the chill. These last stared hungrily with vacant eyes upon the gold finery and weapons of the assembled host and nobility alike. Such things could buy months’ worth of food and warm clothing. Only the fear of tasting that very same cold steel and being torn limb from limb by the drakes kept them from swarming as a mob.

The tolling of the alarm bells had receded from the watchtowers, though the soldiers gave neither inch nor quarter to anyone trying to pass through their lines. A few unruly onlookers received clouts to the head with mailed fists or the butt of spears if they pressed in too closely, and one unfortunately loud-mouthed longshoreman, stinking of grog, had his nose broken by the sudden bash of a kite shield when he made a crude remark upon the noble lady’s honor, having something to do with Hrundir and goats. The woman, to her credit, paid the drunkard no mind but instead kept her eyes transfixed upon the looming dragon-headed vessels.

Accompanied by the grunting shouts of hardened sailors working the oars and ropes, the beating of the Hrundic drums slowed in their cadence as the drakkars finally made their berth upon Drace’s shore. Looking closer upon the ships’ sails, she could see that each one bore a different animal sigil along with the common crossed axes wreathed in storm and lightning bolts. One of the smaller drakkars was marked with the head of a great boar, its fearsome tusks lowered in a charge. The other had the image of a dark brown grizzly bear, its fanged maw gaping wide in a bellowing challenge. The lead drakkar’s single mast and sails bore the crest of a grey wolf, its eyes holding profound mysteries in their liquid depths. As the sails were hoisted, the oars took over for the rest of the way toward the jetties. Dull splashes met Eltera’s ears when the longships dropped anchor into the bay’s waters, signaling a finality of their arrival.

Dock workers were called upon by several soldiers to move wooden planks into place upon the hulls of the longships. Unintelligible shouts rang out from the open rows of the drakkars, as they lacked definitive decks in the sense of caravels and galleys. The lead vessel had a wooden pavilion-like structure, held together by canvas and ropes, built over the middle, providing shelter to its esteemed occupants in the face of gale and rain. A hush had fallen over the crowd, with only the lapping of waves and the calls of dragonets mixed with the metallic sigh of steel being the only sounds to be heard. It was as if all of Drace was holding its collective breath with the arrival of the Hrundir.

Ivar’s chest seemed to swell up, his chin raised high for all to see. Given the northman’s muscular build and tall stature, it was hard to miss the look of arrogance and pride in his bold-faced expression. The young woman and captain had donned stone-faced masks for their expressions, appearing not to relish the moment nearly as much as Ivar did but willing to do what must be done for the good of the kingdom. A wizened maester at the woman’s side spoke in low tones to her though she appeared to be only half-listening. Eltera stood closest to her amidst the crowd beside Rentiki, and she managed to catch a few smattering of Dracian words from their conversation.

“. . . there, Lady Sharis. Jarl Wolfgarsson brings his hersir, his bannermen, the boar and the bear with him, so we must . . .”

Sharis. Eltera knew that name. It came to her suddenly. That was what the Aera knight-commander had called herself the day her wyvern had been driven mad and set to attack anything in its path, including the dark aelf, at the time. Eltera also recalled the woman’s brusque manner and acid tongue. The dark aelf had a hard time imagining that this woman, clothed as a lady of highborn nobility, was the same fierce warrior as from before. It had been nearly a year, after all, and despite sharing a common enemy with the H’jenn-Ra, Sharis had been no friend of hers in the end, taking wing and parting ways at the first opportunity. Still, she had stayed her sword hand enough not to run Eltera through with her blade upon sight then.

The dark aelf’s wounds upon her hands began to tingle slightly. The sensation was a mere annoyance at first, but the tingling soon gave way to an uncomfortable throbbing as she rubbed at the bandaged palms. Rentiki must have noticed Eltera’s discomfort for he bent down lower to her level and whispered in concerned tones, “Are you well, dear Cat? You seem troubled by something. Well, aside from what little comfort the arrival of northmen can afford, at any rate. What is wrong?”



OOC: * Contari means heavy lance or lancer.


----------



## Arcturion (Aug 28, 2007)

*1.0 Darksail Argosy*

The dark aelf watched the gathering parade in silence.  There was certainly no small number of soldiers and guards for the arrival of the Hrundic envoys. Despite the armed guards and hungry dragon-like creatures of every sort, the enegry of the crowd was near fevered with anger.  The day seemed more than a little heavy with the feeling of hate in the air.

There had been no small amount of whisperings about a possible alliance with the barbarians.  For every whisper of an alliance, two people had spit at the prospect, one damned the gods, and another would mention Drace being the next Ilvern for their sins.  Now, that possible alliance seemed like a true reality as the Hrundic vessels dropped anchor in Drace's port with no hostilities exchanged.

Eltera regarded the Dracian envoys.  Ivar was certainly no friend and was barely better than an enemy.  Only his sense of honor and Bel's words held his hammer from trying to open her skull.  There seemed no lack of advisors and perhaps even a few wizards within the heavy jumble behind the two towering bearers of the King.  

And the lady seemed familiar as well.  Her knowledge of and familiarity with Mordrake was poor, but she still found it difficult to place the face.  She was near to asking Rentiki if he had any knowledge of the lady when she managed to overhear the name.

Sharis . . .

Knowing the second emissary of Mordrake did little to endear her anymore to the entourage.  Both seemed to have barely restrained emotions about killing her, but that was generally the way with most in regards to her.  If it was not fear and hatred, it was anger and hatred.  She only lightly shook her head as she brushed a bandaged hand through her hair again, ensuring that strand of hair was still well tucked away.

Pulling her hand away, she rubbed at her bandages again before placing her delicate hand to Amurisil's hilt.  The touch of the blade felt cool and helped relieve the pain slightly, but it still troubled her.  She failed to hide it well enough to deter Rentiki's questions.

She attempted her best to again evade his promptings, working well to keep her voice low, "Nothing at all.  Just an itch in the bandages.  Wounds itch as they heal."  She purposefully turned her attention back to the Hrundir from both Drace and the north, hoping that Rentiki might do the same.


----------



## Arcturion (Aug 28, 2007)

*1.0 Darksail Argosy*

Rentiki raised a hand to his chin, idly scratching at the stubble growing there. “Aye, if you say so, dear Cat,” the Captain softly conceded, sounding rather unconvinced. Mirroring Eltera, he turned his attention back to the Dracian host and their Hrundic guests.

Gritting her teeth, the dark aelf tried to ignore the ache of the wounds at her bandaged hands. She felt as if the flesh there were being singed from some unseen flame, spreading out from the stigmata and putting to the torch the surrounding skin. She crossed her arms over her chest, her fingers balled into fists in an effort to dull the edge of her growing discomfort.

By now, the planks between the longships and the docks had been secured. As the first Hrundir warriors began to disembark, their fur-trimmed boots trod upon the wooden boardwalk with heavy steps. Their garb matched Ivar’s for the most part, with studded leather and chain shirts being favored over heavier armor. The majority bore axes at their belts and backs, both of the hand and long varieties, rather than warhammers. Many also had daggers and longswords sheathed in tooled leather scabbards, their ornate hilts contrasting with the relatively simple designs of their Dracian counterparts, while others held round wooden shields banded with iron. Unlike the soldiers of the Contari, the Hrundic half-helms bore no horns, dragon or otherwise, being lined with fur and adorned with nose guards. The well weathered faces of the northmen were fierce and grim, with most covered by thick, long braids and wild, shaggy beards the color of flax, wheat, and summer fox fur. Several of the combat hardened warriors proudly wore intricate tattoos inscribed in deep blue ink as well as the vicious scars of battle plain upon their faces, and more than a few had missing eyes, broad noses crooked from being broken at least once in their lifetimes, and ears adorned by rings that flashed in the weak morning light.

Eltera counted nearly a total of fifty and three hundred northmen, with half of them disembarked upon the wharves and the rest choosing to remain behind upon their drakkars. Each of the two smaller longships had a hundred oars and the lead drakkar nearly one and a half times as many, so it had not been hard to guess their numbers. Destriers were brought off the ships as well, though there were only enough horses for about a tenth of the total Hrundir present. The rest were content as footmen, as the horses no doubt took up a lot of space onboard a ship whose hold was best reserved for loot and plunder. The animals were as large and shaggy as their riders, and just as foul tempered it seemed as the drakes further back in the Contari columns began to hiss their displeasure, prompting the horses to stamp their hooves and bray wildly in response. Muttering oaths, the northmen fought to bring their mounts under control before having them form a line between their longships and the Dracian soldiers.

Finally, ringed by a retinue of at least six personal guards each, the leaders of each vessel came ashore to join their men-at-arms.

The chieftain of the drakkar that bore the sigil of the boar upon its sail was a broad-figured, squat man with a bristly black beard that poked out in all directions and bushy eyebrows that looked like hairy caterpillars to match. A tanned hide of like appearance rested upon his thickly muscled shoulders, while the tusked head of a fierce boar adorned the top of his steel half-helm. The northman’s rather ugly, pockmarked face was red and splotchy, as if from too much sun or drink, or perhaps both. A great iron mace with a multi-spiked head was slung across his back, creaking against the thick layers of his wine-stained hide armor. His expression was balefully dour and more than a little bleary-eyed as he shielded his face from the morning light with a thick, meaty hand covered with coarse black hair, the other clutching at a drinking horn that sloshed as he walked with a slight stumbling gait in his heavy steps.

“The Lord Tuskegrin of Ostegard, sworn Hersir of Haeslund!” yelled a Hrundic herald among the boar chieftain’s men, his accented words spoken in the Common tongue.

The chieftain of the longship that displayed the crest of the bear upon its lone sail was an impossibly tall, broad-shouldered man with a long beard woven into a neat row of braids, his dark brown hair equally trimmed and ordered. A thick furred bearskin flowed out from behind him, framing the huge two-handed greatsword sheathed at his back, its wire-wrapped hilt longer than a man’s forearm. The fanged maw of a grizzly’s head adorned the top of the northman’s half-helm, looking every bit as fierce in death as it did in life. His armor was that of brigandine, its layers of leather and lamellar as thick as he was powerfully muscled. Intricate knot-work of blue ink flowed across his face just underneath his dark eyes and over his cheeks and broad nose. Handsome if imposing, this chieftain’s expression seemed more at ease than the other as he smiled crookedly at some whispered jest made by one of his guardsmen.

“The Lord Ursodrik of Vestegard, sworn Hersir of Haeslund!” bellowed a different herald, this one from the bear chieftain’s entourage.

The chieftain of the vessel that flew the symbol of the grey wolf upon its white sail appeared similar to Ivar Wolfgarsson in his stature and bearing. However, his half-helm not only bore the head of a slain wolf, its gray and white mottled fur hide draped across his powerful shoulders, but was also crowned with large, curved horns of some great beast, a ram or possibly even a dragon. A steel-gray greataxe, the twin crossed symbols common among all three of the longships, was strapped across the northman’s back, while numerous throwing handaxes adorned his broad leather belt. The noble chieftain’s face was hewn in the same image of his son Ivar, his eyes the unyielding sky gray color that bespoke of storms upon the horizon. The northman wore no braids of any sort, nor did his hair appear very long at all if there was even any beneath his majestically horned half-helm to begin with. He also bore no beard save for long, white whiskers that framed his stone-chiseled features on either side of his strong jaw, the pale skin marred by four long scars that crossed diagonally from the top left side of his temple down to the bottom right of his chin. The hideous marks had long since healed, but carved their way over brow and nose and lips alike in a terrible, ruinous path.

“All hail Bulwygar Wolfgarrson of Sodergard, Slayer of the Jotunbrud, Jarl of the Seven Tribes!” three heralds boomed concurrently, one amidst the wolf chieftain’s retinue and the other two the same heralds who had spoken up before.

“And Konnungr of all Haeslund,” Ivar added with more than a touch of pride in his words as he bent down to one knee before his father, speaking in the Hrundic language, while Sharis and the young Contari captain remained where they stood, their expressions neutral.

At this, Bulwygar seemed to approve and gave a slight nod, raising a large, calloused hand to beckon his son to arise. The two men clasped each at other at the wrists in the traditional greeting of warriors before they embraced as father and son, the mail links of their chain shirt armors sighing as they shone brightly.

“To be King,” Bulwygar replied pensively in their native tongue after breaking away from their embrace, his voice as deep and gravelly as stone itself. “Were it to be true.”

“And so it shall be,” intoned a female voice in the same language, sounding supremely confident. Strangely, Eltera had not noted her presence among the men before but there stood behind Bulwygar a tall Hrundic female warrior clad in chainmail and a breastplate molded to fit every curve of her lithe form perfectly. Her long, raven-black hair was unbound and hung well past her waist, the dark tresses stirring not in the least despite the stiff breeze blowing off from the waters of the Ebontine. Her flawless, pale skin seemingly sculpted from the ice of her homeland, the woman’s eyes was a disconcertingly clear shade of blue. When she raked her steely gaze over the gathered host of Hrundir and Dracians alike, it appeared to strip away the flesh of mortal men to peer straight into the darkest corners of their desires. Eltera supposed that most humans would find the female warrior beautiful in a coldly haunting way. She bore no weapons at all upon her person, save for a round shield forged from some dull black metal strapped at her left forearm. Its inky surface reflected no light while its unfathomable depths appeared to greedily drink in the warmth of the sun itself. The sable-trimmed cloak around her slender shoulders was midnight in color as well, billowing out from behind.

“It is known,” echoed another female voice, this one belonging to a second Hrundic woman who was an exact mirror image of the first only her hair was the color of spun gold woven into twin elaborate braids that framed her face. She was likewise unarmed except for the round shield clutched in her hand, its metallic surface a shimmering gold polished to a mirror finish. The golden fur-trimmed cloak she wore was the color of the sun. Stepping past a guard, the shield maiden seemed to tower over the squat Lord Tuskegrin as she walked by him to stand at Bulwygar’s side.

“It is known,” answered yet another woman’s voice, this third one also an uncanny replica of the other two, though her hair shone like silver and was bound into a single braid that hung down her back. The shield she bore was brushed silver, and no less bright than her blonde sister’s while her white fur-trimmed cloak flashed silver as well. The woman edged past Lord Ursodrik and his men to stand opposite of Bulwygar with the other shield maidens.

The Lord Tuskegrin harrumphed slightly, muttering under his breath before taking a long pull from his drinking horn. Ale ran from the corners of his mouth to trickle down the thick, black bristles that was his beard. The Lord Ursodrik gave his fellow hersir a cursory sidelong glance, his expression one of bemusement, or so Eltera thought.

Rentiki’s breath seemed to catch in his throat as a murmur began to rise through the crowd on both sides of the boardwalk, a sound that tasted of anxiety and fear. “I didn’t think the rumors were true,” the Daoshan Captain whispered in disbelief in his own native tongue. “The Nornir.”

Eltera turned to look at Rentiki. “Nornir?” she asked curiously, taking note of the way the nervous tension hung in the air over the gathered throng of people. It suddenly occurred to the dark aelf that she was starting to grow dizzy and lightheaded, her vision blurring at the edges. She shook her head, trying to banish the ill sensation she was feeling.

“Witches,” the man replied softly in disquieted tones. “Immortals that appear every few centuries to guide the fates of mortal men whether they wish it or not. It is said that whomever they favor is destined to become King of All the North, and that all others shall bend the knee to the one so chosen. If the stories are to be believed, then the Dracians have much to worry. Why, I even heard . . .”

Rentiki stopped suddenly as he regarded Eltera with wide eyes. “Dear Cat, your hands . . .”

Alarmed, the dark aelf looked down at her hands and saw that the linen bandages were soaked through with dark red, her life’s blood weeping from the wounds down slick fingers onto the wooden planks at her feet. No one else in the crowd seemed to notice save for Rentiki, their rapt attention focused squarely on the northmen and the three sisters of the Nornir. The wounds burned and throbbed with remembered pain as if the H’jenn-Ra’s black sickle blade had once again pierced through her flesh as it did before the winter snows appeared.


----------



## Arcturion (Aug 28, 2007)

*1.0 Darksail Argosy*

Eltera grimaced as her jaw tightened in an effort to fight through the pain in her hands.  She had learnt to live with the occasional dullness of discomfort from the wicked wounds.  At most, she usually experienced a shock of pain at some odd moment.  Now, though, the pain was more than a minor annoyance, but boarding on agony as the fire ate at her skin.  She told herself that it was in her mind.

There was something in this moment though and she fought through the pain, attempting to brush it aside.  Beyond the Hrundi, she felt something oddly different and distinct about this moment.  This very crowd had been turned to a near feverish pitch to kill the barbarians, but was not quieted in awe and fear.  Her skin was almost tingling and she would not be denied it.  

Ignoring the pain as she balled her wrapped hands beneath her arms, she watched the parade of warriors and leaders.  They all seemed proud, standing tall with broad shoulders and chests.  Even the shortest of them was as tall as most of the Dracians present.  The scent of horses and furs mingled in the crisp salt air of the day.  The horses brayed in anxiety of the reptile beasts as the latter drooled in hunger.  The crowd hung in silence.

Three barbarian lords and three ladies of unearthly presence.  Rentiki called them witches and somehow the Svari felt that the word lacked the truth.  They cared only for the Hrundic King though.  Or perhaps it was Ivar they now turned their attentions toward.  They seemed to have come from the three different ships of the . . . 

Her head lulled slightly as stars began to flash across her vision, blurring the witches with the throngs of guards and Dracians.  Her head started to spin as she tried to balance herself.  Rentiki's warning brought her gaze to her blood-stained hands.  The Svari's tunic and cloak were stained with her life, she noted, as she watched for a moment in disbelief.  Blood flowed as freely as a fountain, staining her clothing and the wooden planks.

Eltera's gaze snapped back up to the gathered trio of women.  She ignored Bulwygar and Ivar, instead looking to the three ladies.  She closed her eyes, fighting back the feeling to pass out and the cool throb at her hip as Amurisil asked her to come to it for help.  Instead, the Svari fell into the gift of Green that Tanius had bestowed upon her.  She felt that green feeling of warmth and life flowing within her.  The Green contrasted with the cooling soothe of Amurisil, instead, promising something similar, but entirely different.

As she opened her eyes, her once hazel eyes were as green as the first leaf of spring as she looked to the trio.


----------



## Arcturion (Aug 28, 2007)

*1.0 Darksail Argosy*

Drawing upon the power of the greensight, Eltera’s thoughts drifted back momentarily to the white cloth headband that once belonged to her father, Saulekanis. The former weaponmaster of House Trellust was once among the greatest warriors in all of Nyctalinth, that is, until her mother the Matron Trellust unmasked what she considered Saul’s heresy against Illotha and gouged out his eyes herself with a white hot knife as punishment. The simple garment was all Eltera had left of her father, that and her memory of him when he willingly gave his life without hesitation to save hers in the lightless depths of the Underealm.

Before he had departed, Tanius spoke briefly of the greenseers, those with the gift of true vision and foresight obtained through waking dreams and spirits of the natural world. It was said that they could see truths hidden from the eyes of normal men and reveal all for what it truly is rather than how it was to be perceived. Eltera hoped that whatever small ability they could afford would help her see with clarity now.

Opening her eyes, the dark aelf saw the world as a hazy shade of swirling gray upon green as if all the colors and lines of reality were blurred together by some great, unseen wind. Her gaze drifted over the crowd, and she could almost see their palpable fear hanging in the air above the gathered mass. The soldiers of the Contari host revealed nothing and were as others saw them; mere mortal men armed with steel and expected to protect the realm which they served. The drakes they rode were descended from dragons, this was so, but compared to the true dragons of old they were relatively simple-minded and animalistic creatures, their dragonblood heavily diluted through the ages.

The proud Hrundir, including Ivar, were mortal as well, and no doubt were born, lived, and died as other men did. The greensight revealed nothing special of note when Eltera trained her eyes upon their battle hardened faces. The Lady Sharis was the same, as were the northmen’s horses.

She stopped as her gaze came upon the two Hersir Lords and their Jarl, Bulwygar. At Tuskegrin’s side stood a giant wild boar, its hulking shape unmistakable as it was covered with coarse, bristly hair the color of coal. Its ugly, reddish-pink face was swarthy and marked by warts both great and small, framing the wickedly curved tusks that jutted out from its lower jaw. The porcine animal’s form was hazy and indistinct, and nearly as transparent as a ghostly spirit would be. Turning to Ursodrik, Eltera saw that the chieftain was also accompanied by a dire-sized animal of his own, this one being a giant brown grizzly bear. The creature would have easily towered over every man present at the quays, including Ursodrik himself, were it to stand upon its hind legs. Its talons and fangs seemed capable of shearing flesh and bone if it wished, while its ursine face bore the same intricate tattoos of deep blue-inked knots of the Hersir it meant to represent. Like the boar that stood at Tuskegrin’s side, the bear’s form appeared almost ethereal and translucent, as if it was a mirage and wasn’t really there to begin with.

The Jarl Bulwygar Wolfgarsson was not alone in this for he too had the ghostly apparition of a dire animal by his side. This one was a giant wolf with grey and white mottled fur and eyes of the deepest amber-yellow. The lupine creature stood as large as any horse Eltera had ever seen, and its presence along with the other insubstantial animal spirits appeared to go unnoticed by everyone else, including the Hrundic lords themselves. Even now, various parts of several northmen’s bodies were inside and easily passed through the great incorporeal beasts where they stood, each creature watching the procession silently with vigilant eyes.

When Eltera turned her gaze toward the direction of the Nornir sisters, her eyes went wide. Where each woman currently stood was merely her silhouette, its shape black and inky as midnight and seeming to hungrily draw in what little surrounding light and warmth there was to be had. The depths of every Norn’s form were endless, and the dark aelf had the eerie sense of staring into some wide, bottomless void from which there was no escape. The only things about them that appeared solid and substantial were their shields, and even they had strange undulating shapes flittering about their metallic surfaces. The polished golden shield of the supposedly blonde-haired sister was adorned with the numerous forms of pulsating hearts reflected upon the metal, each terrible organ beating as if still alive. Even now, Eltera could see the gold veins pumping and throbbing in a sick, quivering mass. She half expected to hear them drumming a macabre cadence over the words of the gathered host. The brushed silver shield belonging to the silver-haired woman was equally disturbing for its surface bore the labyrinthine, organic mass of what appeared to be coral-like brains embossed into the metal, their tremulous shapes thrumming as if still capable of processing thought with some unseen, malevolent intelligence.

The dark ebony shield borne by the raven-haired Norn was the most horrifying of all. In its deep midnight-black surface were the misshapen forms of what appeared to be countless ghostly visages trapped within the dull metal, each straining against one another and screaming in silence as if trying to break free. The unnatural terror and agony were plain upon their wraithlike faces as their gnashing mouths gaped open, shrieking wordlessly and begging for release from their eternal torment.

As quickly as the unsettling images over the shields appeared in Eltera’s vision, they faded away, leaving naught but men and horses and drakes reflected upon their metallic surfaces.

Blinking, the dark aelf suddenly realized she had been holding her breath and it seemed to take all of her willpower to remind her lungs to continue their duty once again, as if her body refused to obey her unconscious thoughts. The sharp intake of air alerted Eltera to the fact that she was once again breathing, the sound drawing Rentiki’s attention for he gave her a troubled sidelong glance.

It was too crowded and the people around her stood too tightly packed for her to kneel down without brushing or pressing against someone else. It was just as well, Eltera thought. No doubt such an action would have drawn unwanted attention no matter how deft her movements were, considering the surrounding press of onlookers. With practiced ease, the dark aelf’s bandaged hand drifted down toward Amurisil’s silver wire-wrapped ivory hilt, the cool touch of it somehow reassuring in light of the disturbing things she had just witnessed. Slowly she loosened the sword in its scabbard and drew the blade several inches to clear it from the sheath. The silvery sheen of the ultra-hard eog from which the weapon was forged seemed to take on a life of its own. Carefully, Eltera moved her bloodied fingers down over the soothing metal and wordlessly beckoned Amurisil to work its healing magic over her wounds.

The dark aelf’s eyes never left the void-like silhouettes of the three Nornir, watching for any sign of movement or recognition of her divination on their part. Abruptly, Eltera gasped as her slick fingers curled around Amurisil’s blade tightly, the pain of her wounds shooting renewed fire through her hands and up into her arms to clutch at her heart in a vice-like grip. The sword at her side seemed to tremble and scream silently along with her as she lost her breath. Twisting where she stood, Eltera’s eyes grew wide and her mouth hung open in a soundless scream as sheer agony took hold of her entire being.

Vaguely she heard Rentiki’s shout of dismay as the world seemed to spin all around her. The dark aelf’s eyes swam and swirled like a maelstrom, the edges of her vision darkened by ever deepening shadows. It was then that Eltera took note of the three Nornir for something had stirred within their midnight forms. A single, large bulbous eye opened in the center of where the raven-haired woman’s face should have been, its baleful glare twisting this way and that over the crowd before it turned within the unseen socket to look squarely in her direction. That hideous black-pupiled, green-rimmed orb has unmistakably found me, Eltera realized too late, just as similar eyes appeared in the featureless visages of the other two Norn sisters, one rimmed with gold and the other silver. Before long, countless eyes both large and small had erupted all over the women’s shapeless silhouettes, each and every one staring straight at and through the dark aelf, it seemed, ripping away the layers of her armor, clothing, skin, flesh and bone, laying bare her heart, her mind, her soul.

Oaths filled the air around her, their echoes ringing hollow in her ears as the world gave way beneath her feet. Eltera felt like she had been falling for an eternity and with nothing waiting below at all save for a bottomless void. Those eyes, those terrible watchful eyes that saw everything. That saw her. The last thing she glimpsed before the darkness claimed her was Rentiki’s ebon-skinned face, worry and alarm etched across his normally jovial features, shouting for her to hang on when all she ever wanted to do at that moment in time was let go and be swallowed up by nothingness.


----------



## Arcturion (Aug 31, 2007)

*1.1 A Timely Welcome*

*1.1 A Timely Welcome*

This space is reserved for a future post. I had planned on each chapter alternating between the two characters, Eltera first, then Fharis, then Eltera again. Fharis's chapters are still in the editing phase, so apologies to all. Check back later for an update here.


----------



## Arcturion (Aug 31, 2007)

*1.1 A Timely Welcome*

This space is reserved for a future post. Check back later for an update here.


----------



## Arcturion (Aug 31, 2007)

*1.1 A Timely Welcome*

This space is reserved for a future post. Check back later for an update here.


----------



## Arcturion (Aug 31, 2007)

*1.1 A Timely Welcome*

This space is reserved for a future post. Check back later for an update here.


----------



## Arcturion (Aug 31, 2007)

*1.1 A Timely Welcome*

This space is reserved for a future post. Check back later for an update here.


----------



## Arcturion (Aug 31, 2007)

*1.1 A Timely Welcome*

This space is reserved for a future post. Check back later for an update here.


----------



## Arcturion (Aug 31, 2007)

*1.1 A Timely Welcome*

This space is reserved for a future post. Check back later for an update here.


----------



## Arcturion (Aug 31, 2007)

*1.1 A Timely Welcome*

This space is reserved for a future post. Check back later for an update here.


----------



## Arcturion (Aug 31, 2007)

*1.1 A Timely Welcome*

This space is reserved for a future post. Check back later for an update here.


----------



## Arcturion (Aug 31, 2007)

*1.1 A Timely Welcome*

This space is reserved for a future post. Check back later for an update here.


----------



## Arcturion (Aug 31, 2007)

*1.2 Hommes Optare*

*1.2 Hommes Optare*

_What is it that men wish for, a king asks,
Of a pauper, of a knight, and a sellsword.
Riches, says one. Titles, says another.
To be king, declares the last.
Such is the hubris of man._

–	King Qadrian Tessius of Drace, the First of His Name, an excerpt from the royal treatise Hommes Optare (“Men Wish”)

Shadows crept upon the edges of her vision, mocking her, it seemed. Dark gray upon black swirled and parted, forming into the wooden slats of the ceiling that hung above her face. Blinking the mist away from her eyes, Eltera heard the groaning creak of wood and the gentle crash of water in the near distance. She turned her head and found herself lying upon a wide featherbed mattress, her bare limbs twisted in the soft sheets. Breathing rhythmically, she noted that the fabric smelled faintly of Rentiki.

Slowly, the dark aelf sat up and could see that the bed was set into an alcove of the wide cabin she found herself in now, the dim light of several lanterns that hung about the room casting shadows that seemed to dance upon the wooden slats of the walls. The whole of it pitched and rolled slightly beneath her in time to unseen waves just outside the latticed windows across from where she sat, the motion making her feel somewhat ill and nauseous. Her people were not a seafaring race for there were no waves or oceans beneath the sunless depths of the earth.

It was night, she realized, judging by the darkness beyond the wavering glass and the weak moonlight spilling through it upon the floor. The warmth inside the ship’s cabin was almost cloying as was the sweet scent of burning incense that hung in the air, mingling with the unmistakable tang of sea-salt. Eltera saw a smokeless fire crackling in a stone hearth in the far corner of the room. Did ships have fireplaces, she wondered absently?

Her long white hair unbound and tussled from a restless sleep, the dark aelf was clothed in nothing but a simple white woolen shift, leaving her limbs naked. Her head ached and it was all she could do to keep the room from spinning in her vision. Gingerly, she flexed her hands and saw that the wounds there were freshly bandaged with no hint of blood to be seen upon the linen. With a start, Eltera twisted this way and that, scanning the room for Amurisil. Her heart leapt into her throat when she saw that the sword was indeed safe and sound, the blade sheathed in its tooled leather scabbard and lying upon the large wooden table at the center of the cabin.

The rest of her belongings were piled there as well, the silvery metal links of her chainmail armor glinting in the moonlight upon the chair where it had been hung. A brass basin of cool water stood upon the table amidst her kit, lapping against the edges as the ship rocked gently to and fro. A pitcher next to it was likewise filled, along with two empty opaque glasses. She was thirsty, and Eltera supposed that it had been hours if not days since she last drank or ate anything. The wind picked up and began to howl then, rattling the latticed glass of the windows with the insistence of a bothersome guest who had overstayed its welcome.

There was no one else to be seen in the cabin but straining her sharp ears, the dark aelf could hear voices just outside the wide oaken double doors of her room. They were rough sounds, of men bellowing some unknown sea chantey as they diced the night away. The words of their bawdy song were muffled and lost amidst the raucous laughter of the victors and the angry shouted hoots of the losers.

Gathering the blankets closer against her body to ward off some unseen chill, Eltera’s thoughts drifted back to the disturbing images she had witnessed and wondered what it all could mean.


----------



## Arcturion (Aug 31, 2007)

*1.2 Hommes Optare*

Sitting up quickly, Eltera found her breath and her senses slowly returning to her.  As she gradually realized her situation, she breathed a sigh of relief.  She was safe, unharmed, and with her possessions.  There was no doubt that Rentiki understood that she was not of Daoshan blood and Eltera could only shake her head.  Lying to other about her heritage always left the ache in her stomach, but she had no choice in the matter.  An open display of her heritage would have likely left blood split and not only her own.  

Her head still ached slightly, though from what she could not say.  The darkness of the greensight still haunted her mind and she did not wish to contemplate the truth of her vision from the Hrundic arrival.

Swinging her feet off the side of the bed, the Svari adjusted the bed sheets so that the linen fell over both her shoulders with the opening in the front.  Looking down to close the linen over her shift, she reached to adjust the white rose that now hung from a necklace of ivy.  Another gift from Tanius, it reminded her of the rose he had first given her during their stay in Thalanost.  He had compared her to the rose in both beauty and rarity.  She gently lifted the rose by the soft white petals, the pure white of the rose contrasting sharply with her ebony skin, and placed it over the fold of the sheets at her chest.

Eltera slipped to her feet and felt her balance on the gently swaying ship.  The nimble aelf had little trouble keeping her feet, however the very motion of the ship was discomforting and slightly sickening.  The sense of thirst and hunger may have contributed to the sense in her stomach.  Her throat felt parched and tasted of sea salt.  

With another cursory glance around the room, the Svari moved to the table.  Carefully, she poured a glass of the water.  Hearing the liquid move from pitcher to cup made her even more thirsty and she did not hesitate a moment before finishing the glass.  The taste of the fresh water helped her stomach and her head immensely.  It felt refreshing to find comfort in something as simple as a glass of water.  Solutions usually came much more difficult for Eltera, as trouble seemed to haunt her at every turn and each day she was constantly trying to hold onto her sanity.

And again, she had found herself in a time and place that tested her very mind as she stared into a dark abyss.  The "witches" were something wholly different and utterly lacking in any sense of humanity.  While not a pious being, there was nothing she saw in the creatures or their shields that made her feel any warmth or care like she did with Amurisil.  Even the blade had seemed to shiver and scream in terror as the eyes had turned upon them.

Setting the glass down, Eltera let he hands wander over to the blade.  Gently, even reverently, she pulled the holy blade a few inches from its leather sheath again and gave the weapon a careful check to ensure it was safe.  She felt safe in the cabin and gave the gemmed hilt a caring rub.  They had made it to yet another evening.

Slipping the blade back into its scabbard, Eltera turned back to the table and the basin of water.  The Svari freed her right hand from the folds of her makeshift cloak as she leaned over the bowl.  The brass was dull from years of use, but the water felt refreshing as she wiped it across her brow.  A second handful of the cool water met her face before she rubbed her hands through her hair.  The green vines intermingled through her fingers with her white skin and it took a conscious thought from Eltera to remind herself what she was feeling.  Tanius had taken her into the woods and asked her to swallow two nuts.  She thought it some queer druidic mocking at first, expecting to see several birds and squirrels turn into druids with raucous laughter.  Instead, several days later, she had found vines mingling with her hair and a flower hanging from her neck.

The gift had been a blessing from himself and the Circle.  By having it close, she likewise had a part of Tanius close by as well.  

Falling from her reverie, she found her right hand again lightly gripping the flower over her chest.  Letting the thoughts drift away with a sigh, Eltera moved over towards the wide glass window.  The panes of glass were set like diamonds in the metalwork and the edges of the window were decorated in a metallic display of sea creatures of various sorts.  The artwork was highlighted with paint and some colored glasswork.  Standing before the window, the Svari pulled the sheets tightly over her shoulder again as she looked out to the drifting sea.  After a moment, her eyes lifted skyward, trying to gauge the moon for the time of night and how long it might have been since the vision.

She stood by the window for some time longer, contemplating her next actions.  It seemed likely that Rentiki had no interest in keeping her a prisoner or prohibiting her movement in any way.  He would have taken whatever advantage he might wish while she had been unconscious.  She had truly been lucky by being in his company.  Fate, sometimes, had a curious way of finding her.

That left the witches.  Rentiki had referred to them at the Nornir.  She did not know where they had come from, but felt certain that their means of achieving their goal was far from kindly.  Their very beings were pure blackness that ate at the light and their shields seemed alive in horrific and painful displays of revulsion and pain.  While Eltera held no hatred for Ivar, she knew there was no love lost in the man for her.  Nonetheless, someone had to know the truth, even if he would not accept it or even hear it from her.

That meant she only had one realistic option.

The boat continued to lull and rock gently and Eltera was not certain if those were footsteps she heard approaching the door or not.


----------



## Arcturion (Aug 31, 2007)

*1.2 Hommes Optare*

Curling her fingers around Amurisil’s silver wire-wrapped ivory hilt, Eltera lifted the sword from its sheath and found the weight of it reassuring. The incredibly honed edge of its eog-forged blade shone a fierce silver in the dappled moonlight streaming through the uneven glass of the latticed windows. No blood was to be found at all upon the cool metal. The dark aelf heard the weapon’s disembodied voice whispering within her soul, it seemed, the experience of it soothing yet edged with doubt and something akin to fear, or so she thought. Backlash, she perceived the word soundlessly.

Eltera pondered its meaning, at first puzzled when Amurisil flashed a mental image to its wielder. Within her mind’s eye, she saw a holy aura of silver light, the ethereal glow of it softly illuminating the eog-forged blade while Amurisil began to channel its healing magic upon her wounds as she had seen it done many times before. Only in this instance, the normally pristine light faltered and shifted to a hideous shade of dark crimson that seemed to hunger for her blood instead, siphoning life rather than restoring it. As quickly as the dream-like vision appeared before her, it faded and Eltera once again found herself standing within the unfamiliar ship’s cabin.

Disquieted by what the sword had just shown her, the dark aelf replaced Amurisil back upon the table gently, appearing lost amidst a sea of troubled thought. Eltera took a moment to wash her face over the brass basin, letting the cool water wash over slightly feverish skin and allowing the disturbing memories of it all to sluice away as well. It was too hot in the room, she supposed.

After drying herself with a clean cloth left beside the basin, Eltera moved toward the latticed windows and tried to peer out the smoky, wavering glass. Outside she could make out the jagged shoreline of the Dracian harbor as it ringed its way into the shadowed distance. Eluna was a waxing, imperfect orb of pure white silver, appearing very much like a sleepy half-lidded eye as it hung in the darkened sky. It wouldn’t be long before it was full in a few nights’ time, though Eltera couldn’t say exactly how much time had passed since she fell into unconsciousness. Clouds shrouded much of the celestial heavens, and were too much of a match for the weak twinkling light of stars to shine through.

The alabaster towers and arching spires of the Dracian capital seemed to defy gravity itself, their windows lit by a myriad sea of hearth fires that burned brightly against the twilight. How eerily beautiful the cityscape was by night, she thought with idle wonder.

The ship was still anchored at the Ebontine, that much Eltera could see. Inky black waves crested below and splashed against the hull, foaming as they did. The gentle sound they made was somehow relaxing. Her quiet reverie was shattered when the coarse, muffled voices of the men outside the cabin’s doors broke into another vulgar song, this time accompanied by what sounded like rustic panpipes. Sailors were wont to throw themselves into their leisure as much as their work, Eltera surmised.

Leaving the windows, the dark aelf crossed over the rushes upon the wooden floor and took closer note of the cabin she now found herself in. Strange, eerie masks carved of dark wood hung upon one wall, their elongated faces painted garishly to resemble nothing so much as goblins, trolls, and exotic animals. Multicolored beads and plumed feathers adorned many of them, lending an even more alien appearance than normal. The tanned skins of various beasts were draped close by, bearing intricately striped patterns, some in orange and black, others in black and white. A few bore fashionable dark black spots against tawny yellow fur.

A ceramic globe was located in one corner, suspended within a gyroscopic frame of expertly carved mahogany. Its detailed surface was painted with land masses and oceans Eltera supposed were representative of the whole of the world, though she couldn’t make out the strange script that labeled each sea or nation upon it.

Lacking anything that resembled a flume much less a chimney, the cozy stone hearth in the opposite corner of the room did indeed house a small, crackling fire. Although the flames gave off light and warmth, the dark aelf noted that there was no smoke and no dangerous embers to spark a fire that could spread to the rest of the ship.

Continuing to scan the cabin, Eltera passed by a compact bookcase that stood off on the opposite wall, most of the tomes bound in leather and bearing titles written in equally mystifying languages. Those mundane few she could read were in Common and appeared to be nothing more than simple texts or baffling technical manuals pertaining to units of measure and weights of scale as they dealt with cargo. Though it appeared that she may be able to speak and understand any tongue she happens to hear, reading and writing is a different matter entirely.

A tidy writing desk lay against another corner near the bed’s alcove, an unlit lantern hanging over the somewhat cramped quarters. Despite the darkness present there, Eltera could make out various metal instruments that she guessed were integral to navigation and charting a ship’s course at sea. Having never claimed to be much of a sailor herself, she could not say what most of the tools were called by name nor each of its intended purpose exactly, though she did recognize a compass and a telescoping spyglass when she saw them. Scrolls were neatly bundled in the desk’s cubby holes, tagged and filed in order. Accompanied by feathered quill pens and stoppered bottles of ink, charts bearing stars and constellations were spread over the desk’s surface, along with a large map that bore the likeness of the vast northern reaches of the surface world as far as she knew it. The language written upon the unrolled parchment was unfamiliar, much to her disappointment.

Eltera noticed a necklace fashioned of ivory-white bones from some strange, exotic animal was piled over the map, the weight of it perhaps helping to keep the charts from being blown away by an errant breeze should the latched windows be open. Sharp, jagged ribs hung in a brilliant corona under the thong which in itself was made from the creature’s vertebrae. At the center of the macabre piece of jewelry was the beasty’s skull, its pitted snout baring long, wicked fangs that could have once held a potent venom. A snake, she guessed, and a fairly large one at that. Eltera realized that the necklace was the same one Rentiki had worn when she first saw him, though most of it had been hidden beneath the fabric of his colorful vest at the time.

Just as the dark aelf started to turn away from the desk, she heard a softly hollow clattering, as if of tiny bones. Whirling, Eltera’s breath caught in her throat as the necklace that had moments before been lying as dead and lifeless as the animal’s skeleton from which it was made began to stir on its own accord. Abruptly, the bones split apart from each other and veered off in all directions, taking to the air with surprising speed.

Startled, the dark aelf weaved and ducked about to evade the small projectiles, the blanket she had been clutching against her slender shoulders dropping to the floor in her haste to lay forgotten in a heap at her feet as Eltera threw up her arms to shield her face. The flying pieces of bone narrowly missed as she managed to avoid being hit, nimble as the dark aelf was. Still, her eyes widened all the same when the animated necklace, seemingly possessed of a mind of its own, reformed itself into the very likeness it once bore in life, that of a sinuous skeletal serpent that floated before her as light as a feather caught in the wind.

Staring at her with eyeless sockets as it coiled through the air, the creature bared its sharp fangs in a silent hiss, and seemed poised to strike at the first sign of movement on Eltera’s part. The dark aelf warrior froze, her breathing short and rapid as thoughts of action raced through her mind.


----------



## Arcturion (Aug 31, 2007)

*1.2 Hommes Optare*

The vision from Amurisil troubled Eltera immensely.  The ancient blade had always been a source of comfort and friendship for the normally isolated and lonely Svari.  Now, even the blade seemed to haunt her, even if the vision might be a warning to her.

And, even of that she could not be certain.  

Backlash.

The word contained a range of meanings, many of which the Svari did not believe intoned well for her.  Perhaps the witches had incurred some type of curse upon the blade?  Maybe the blade had not responded well to attempting to heal her while the greensight had possessed her?  Eltera hoped that the vision had been nothing more than a foresight of something she might never see.  Her greatest fear was that the witches had somehow changed the very nature of the blade and she had facilitated that through the greensight.

With a timid and near trembling hand, she set the sheathed blade back upon the table with a gentle hand.  She had sought comfort and solace in the blade to find a vision wholly unexpected and unwelcome.  However she might feel about it though, she would need answers.  The blade, while her greatest friend, had proved enigmatic in terms of its history, purpose, and even persona.  She felt intricately linked to it, however somewhat lost with it, as if she was uncertain of what the weapon wanted.

Eltera would need answers and her sources within Drace were lacking.

Turning back to the cabin, she admired the thought that Rentiki had shown through his structuring of the cabin.  It was fairly large and well-rounded with possessions to a point of not being cramped.  It was nautical and primal with a hint of the exotic in the masks.  Eltera admired them, even approaching one and running a dark finger along it's smooth exterior.  A dark mask with white stripes had caught her attention for obvious reasons.  

Checking the rest of the room and the books, she found herself somehow not disappointed that she could not read the strange languages.  She did not know where this 'gift' had arisen from or how it might otherwise affect her.  There was a bereft of available information concerning everything that was troubling Eltera lately.  Information concerning what had happened to her in Ilvern and with The Eye was equally as unavailable as information concerning Ayaleska.  

Her life, as usual, seemed troubled by more questions then she had answers.  It was something she would have to attempt to rectify through some means.

Turning from the desk, the rattling caught her attention.  She turned back, expecting to see the desk perhaps rocking from a lull in the ship or from some other movement.  Instead, she was met by a cascade of pieces of bone that whirled with unnatural life.  Turning back to retrieve Amurisil, she was instead greeted by a snake that had reformed and was now facing her with an open, silent, and vicious looking mouth that was highlight by its sharp fangs.

Holding her breath, the unsteady feeling in her stomach knotted more heavily.  Eltera did not move, instead watching the undead beast with all her attention.  Her options seemed limited at best.  The beast was between herself and her only obvious weapons.  The blanket, a possible defense, was a step behind her and on the floor.  Her only protection was the thin cotten shirt she wore, which gave her no confidence, but her speed and agility was her usual means to help herself.  The beast bore no eyes and any magical darkness she could shroud them within would likely be useless.  

With a low voice, she attempted to call out, "Rentiki  . . .”  With the word, she watched the undead snake with all her attention, keeping an eye on the door by the edge of her vision.


----------



## Arcturion (Aug 31, 2007)

*1.2 Hommes Optare*

Edging slowly backwards, Eltera’s gaze never left the skeletal creature before her. She felt the fabric of the fallen blanket at her feet and set her body lower in a half standing crouch, every muscle poised to spring into action. Calling out Rentiki’s name louder each time she spoke, the dark aelf could not be even sure if her voice would carry past the double wooden doors and the chorus of voices beyond them. She expected her words were Svarined out by the raucous sailors’ bawdy singing.

There was no other option left. When Eltera shouted the Daoshan Captain’s name a third time, the fleshless serpent chose that moment to lunge forth, baring its fangs. Quick as lightning, the dark aelf kicked back one bare foot and swept the blanket forward and up into her waiting hand, twisting her body to one side to easily avoid the skeletal snake’s midair strike. She reached forth with her other hand to grab at the opposite end of the blanket but was not fast enough to trap the creature within its folds. She felt rather than saw the serpent go limp as its body once again broke apart into a hundred little pieces of flying bone that escaped her makeshift net in all directions.

Whirling the sheet around her shoulders like a shroud, Eltera danced back a few steps toward the table and used the fabric to shield herself from the tiny myriad missiles from hitting any bare skin. Unharmed, the dark aelf snapped one corner of the blanket away from her just as the snake’s skeleton began to reform again, its ivory-white parts rattling softly. Whole once more, the creature spun lazily through the air, its ribs and spine arcing with an undulating motion.

Steeling herself, Eltera made sure that her fingers had grasped the blanket securely this time, recognizing the feint masked within her strange adversary’s deceptively slow movements. Without warning, the undead serpent dove at her again from the left side but the dark aelf was ready for it. She threw her arm up and over her head, twisting the sheet as well as her body just in time to snag the creature within the folds as it lunged past. Wasting no time in gathering up the opposite ends of the blanket, Eltera closed the improvised net around her opponent, snaring it completely.

Before the dark aelf could even allow herself a shout of triumph, the skeletal serpent hissed silently and strained against the fabric with a strength that took her by surprise. Eltera was nearly pulled off balance by the struggling creature but somehow managed to keep herself upright. Shuffling bare feet across the smooth wooden floorboards, she was helpless as the snake dragged her toward the center of the cabin. Not to be outdone, the dark aelf leapt up into the air and landed gracefully upon the surface of the table lest her stomach be driven into its rounded, well-carved edge.

The sound of heavy footsteps greeted her ears just before the double doors were thrown wide open, accompanied by a bewildered Rentiki as he strode into the room. “Cat, where are you? What’s going on in here?” the man bellowed, gaping momentarily at the chaotic scene before him.

From the corner of her eye, the Daoshan Captain looked exactly as Eltera last saw him, minus his bone necklace. Still struggling atop the table with the creature trapped with her blanket, she could spare the man no more than a quick glance. “Rentiki!” the dark aelf cried. “Do something!”

Thunderstruck, Rentiki blinked up at Eltera for what seemed like an eternity before throwing up a meaty hand and uttering strange words under his breath. The double doors groaned and abruptly slammed shut behind him, seemingly without any intervention on his part. “Orpheus!” the Captain’s voice rumbled. “Enough! Go back to sleep, you rascal!”

At that, the struggling within the folds of Eltera’s sheet stopped as the creature within suddenly went limp. Letting out a breath, the dark aelf lowered her aching arms and stared down from the table as a lifeless bone necklace tumbled out from the folds of her trap to land on the floor with a dull clatter. She still gripped the empty blanket in both hands when she turned around to face her would-be savior.

“I am truly sorry, Cat,” Rentiki began, sounding sheepish. “Orpheus tends to be rather forceful when he feels like playing.” The Captain shrugged his broad shoulders and balled his fists against the sides of his equally ample midsection. “I told him to merely keep watch over you as you slept but sometimes familiars have a mind of their own, you see.”

Catching her breath, Eltera could feel the man’s dark eyes playing over the lines of her body. She was suddenly aware that he was staring at the bare skin of her legs with open admiration and something else in his expression she couldn’t quite place, the woolen fabric of her shift leaving relatively little to the imagination.

“Well, it seems you’ve found me out, dear Cataya, if that truly is your real name,” the large Daoshan continued gently. “I must admit that the reason for keeping your secret hidden is just as good as mine, if not better. After all, one does what one must to survive. Still, a dark aelf who walks the surface world by day, that is truly something to behold! I scarcely believe it myself! Even so, I can understand and forgive your deception. I only hope you can find it within your heart to do the same for mine.”

With that, Rentiki’s left hand drifted toward the gold-plated grip of his flintlock pistol, the weapon stuffed into the sash around his barrel-shaped waist. Appearing all too calm, he drew the firearm and aimed its barrel straight at Eltera’s chest as he cocked the hammer back with a resounding click.


----------



## Arcturion (Aug 31, 2007)

*1.2 Hommes Optare*

As the blanket went limp, Eltera let out an audible sigh of relief.  The undead snake had been two handfuls of trouble that the Svari was glad to see gone.  Rentiki's command of the creature was a welcome ease, though it also prompted additional questions concerning the captain of the Argus.  He had been generally happy and welcoming, a very different twist from the few necromancers Eltera had known.

Turning back to face her savior. the question concerning his obvious necromantic tendencies fell from her lips.  Instead, she noticed his wandering eyes over her bare legs.  She made no attempt to cover them from his view, but noticed his eyes that seemed some lacking of their normal mirth.  They seemed strange on Rentiki's features.  Likewise, his mouth was far from its usual smile and general good will.

As the pistol was drawn, the Svari found herself crouching along the table as the weapon was aimed blatantly at her chest.  Eltera actually found herself surprised at the strange turn of events.  After the previous experience and finding herself awoken safely, she had certainly not expected Rentiki to betray her.  She thought back to that feeling of Fate and mentally kicked herself for such foolishness.

Crouching towards the table, Eltera slowly moved her hand towards Amurisil as she hoped to stay Rentiki's bullet for at least a few moments, "As I said, I find myself trying to save one life a day . . . usually my own.  I must say that I am surprised to see one trained in the dark arts of necromancy to be as open and jovial as yourself."

It shocked her beyond belief to understand that he was sorry, but was still aiming a weapon at her.  Nonetheless, he had saved her life in the crowd while she fell under the eyes of the witches.  She owed him the truth.  There was no amount of sorrow in her heart at the notion of having to fight the necromancer.  She found she did like him.  

Still slowly reaching for her blade, she kept her tone low and even gentle, "You asked me a question and, for saving my life, I do at least owe you the truth.  My name is Eltera Trellust, a dark aelf by birth.  You do have my apologies, but one must do what one must do, as you have said.  And if you feel these secrets are worth a fight, then so be it.  That said, I am willing to part ways here with no bloodshed and our secrets kept to hushed lips on our oaths  . . .”


----------



## Arcturion (Aug 31, 2007)

*1.2 Hommes Optare*

Seemingly unmoved by her words, Rentiki said nothing as he leveled the pistol’s sight, ready to fire.

Wasting no time, Eltera crouched low while her bare heel kicked the sheathed sword scant inches over the table’s surface so that the silver wire-wrapped hilt slid past and hovered over the edge. She stepped lightly on the leather-bound wooden scabbard to brace it with her weight and with her right hand the dark aelf made a grab for Amurisil and pulled the eog-forged blade free from its home. The metal rang in her ears as it slid out, glinting in the pale moonlight that spilled forth from the cabin’s windows.

As quick as she was on the draw, though, the Daoshan Captain was quicker. He adjusted his aim with the barrel trained unerringly upon Eltera despite her sudden movement and squeezed the ornately wrought trigger.

An empty click as the hammer fell was all that greeted them both, echoing hollowly across the room. There was no flash from the muzzle, no thunderous boom, nor burst of acrid smoke, only a dull spark from the flint as it struck.

The hilt of Amurisil gripped tightly in her hand, Eltera narrowed her eyes and merely stared at Rentiki when he withdrew the pistol’s barrel up to rest it upon his broad shoulder.

“Black powder,” the large man said with a mischievous grin. “Have I told you it’s extremely difficult to come by outside of the Empire these days?” The Daoshan spun the pistol lazily in his hand, letting the barrel dangle downward as he balanced it with one finger still in the trigger guard. With practiced ease, he flipped the ornate weapon in the air and grabbed it by the barrel. Eltera watched as the Captain studied it for a moment before he gave a shrug and casually tossed the flintlock pistol toward her with an overhand palm.

Catching it easily in her free hand, the dark aelf found the firearm heavy and somewhat unwieldy, the long barrel and grip gilded with golden filigree in the shape of graceful vines and roses.

“It’s more of a display piece than a field weapon,” Rentiki observed genially. “A work of art, really. Took it off some highborn B’astyian officer some years back who thought to board my Argus on suspicion of smuggling, imagine that. I tell you, if the man’s aim was as good as his ship I wouldn’t be standing here today speaking with you. It only had enough black powder for three shots in all that time since then, anyway. Keep it. I’ve no use for it any longer.

“Eltera,” the large man continued smoothly, as if testing the name on his tongue as he said it. “I rather preferred Cataya, to be perfectly honest. It brings to mind the sleek, powerful hunting cats of my homeland Daosha, stalking its prey like a black shadow. Still, Eltera is a good, strong name. But this being the first time I’ve ever met a dark aelf, I can’t really be sure of that, I suppose. I’ve precious little knowledge when it comes to the ways of your people, I must admit. But what I can be certain of is my pride in being a good judge of character. I like you, my dear Cat, liked you when I first laid eyes upon you back on the quays. Come, come. Please do step down from the table, if you will. Had I wanted to kill you or worse, I would have done it already while you slept, is that not so?

“So, you may be wondering, why the deception? I had to be sure,” Rentiki replied with a knowing smile. “You did not hesitate, that is good. In this bleak world of ours, hesitation will only cost you your life, yes? Besides, if there’s one thing I’ve learned during my time as Captain is that appearances can be deceiving.”

Tugging at the hem of his colorful vest with both hands, Rentiki stepped around toward the masks and furs displayed on the cabin’s wall, being somewhat careful about approaching too closely to Eltera. “Orpheus, here to me, you rascal,” he beckoned with one outstretched arm. The bone necklace that lay upon the floor rattled momentarily and then broke apart, its individual pieces swirling up into the air in a tiny macabre cyclone before assuming its skeletal serpentine shape. Like an obedient dog that was eager to please its master, the snake flew toward the Daoshan Captain and spun circles around him before settling upon its bony head upon one wide shoulder. The length of the creature’s vertebrae coiled around Rentiki’s arm, its ribs writhing like so many dozens of crawling legs while the Daoshan Captain scratched alongside its fleshless jaw rather affectionately.

“Necromancer,” the large man repeated with a touch of amusement in his broad features. “Now that’s something new. I’ve been called many things, my dear Cat, but never before have I been accused of necromancy.” Rentiki allowed himself a rumbling chuckle. “Truth be told, Orpheus wasn’t always as he is now. I raised him from the time he hatched from his egg and we’ve been inseparable ever since. Boa constrictors, fascinating creatures they are. Why, not even death stood between us! I won’t bore you with the details, but I struck up a bargain with a Shakali priestess I had been, uh, wooing at the time. And so Orpheus returned to me from the dead, though not quite in the way I had been expecting, as you can see. Needless to say, my romance with the lady shaman proved rather short lived. When one is threatened with a curse that makes his manhood shrivel and fall off like an old withered prune, tis best to cut the lines and cast off while the casting’s good, I say!” At this, Rentiki let out a booming laugh that shook his ample belly.

“But I assure you, dear Cat, a necromancer I am not,” Rentiki said confidently, flashing Eltera his white teeth. “Besides, my crew would never abide to follow a man who would dabble in the black arts so openly. Orpheus be a rare exception to the rule, of course, and is more of a good luck charm than anything else. All told, we sailors are a superstitious lot. Why, if my men knew that a dark aelf was aboard, they’d probably mutiny this very minute. Rest assured, the only other who knows your secret is my ship’s surgeon, and he can keep a secret as no other can, believe you me. You have Terwase to thank for saving your life, not I. In his time, the old medicine man’s delivered his fair share of babes kicking and screaming into this world, so he’s seen nothing he hasn’t already a hundred times before. Terwase cleaned and bandaged the wounds when I brought you aboard the Argus earlier in the day. If you must know, you’ve been asleep for many a candle-mark, muttering something about eyes always watching. We both feared you would never wake from your fevered dreams.”

The large man held up a meaty hand and waved it in front of him. As he did so, a beautiful segmented folding screen woven from reeds upon a light wooden frame slid out seemingly all by itself from behind some fur hides where it had been concealed. Accompanied by another quick snap of his wrist, the bookcase behind Eltera slid to one side to reveal a small wardrobe behind it. To the left of the mariner’s garb were a few women’s dresses cut from rich fabrics and styled in exotic patterns, each obviously much too small for a man of Rentiki’s considerable size. A small oak trunk lay at the floor of the hidden closet.

That was strange, Eltera thought. Her aelfin senses should have helped her detect any concealed doors or secret compartments within the room.

“Please,” the Captain motioned. “Sheathe your sword. Its blade is much too bright for this seadog’s eyes. Truly, I mean you no harm, so does Rentiki swear upon the ancient gods of hallowed Daosha. You are free to change as well, dear Cat, though I hope you choose one of the many fine dresses I have stored therein. Mail ill suits you, to my thinking. Silk is a much better match for your sable skin. As the evening is still young, it is also my ardent wish that you dine with me tonight. It will give us a chance to talk more at length, yes?”

Rentiki gave Eltera an amiable smile. At the mention of food, the dark aelf’s stomach growled. It had been too long since she last ate.


----------



## Arcturion (Aug 31, 2007)

*1.2 Hommes Optare*

As Rentiki's hand tightened, Eltera darted to the side like a snake.  Her movements may have well been too late, but still they served no purpose.  Where there should have been the pungent smell and stinging bite of metal upon her flesh, there was silence and surprise.  The Svari's face was written in a language of confusion and bewilderment.  She had lost all concern for being clad in naught but a scant shift standing atop a table before a man she barely knew.  

Even after his explanation and she found herself holding his pistol in her left hand, the Svari was still largely at a loss of words.  She had hardly expected such a reaction.  Part of Eltera was happy that her initial judgment of Rentiki appeared to still be deserved and part of her still wanted to finish the fight of his dramatic display.  She still found the words caught in her mouth as he prompted her from the table.  Unable to speak, she set the large and unwieldy pistol upon the wood before lithely hopping from the table.

Taking Amurisil's leather sheath in hand, she regarded the blade for a moment and noticed its ethereal splendor.  It was no longer a blade, as white and near transparent as it usually appeared.  Now it was wispy with dream-stuff and looked like it might be lost and forgotten if she blinked.  Eltera had not even realized that the blade had shifted state.  With a mental thought, Amurisil shifted back to its familiar form before she slid the weapon away.  

Again placing the sacred blade upon the table, the Svari reached down and pulled the white linen back around herself.  Adjusting the thin sheet tightly over her shoulders again, she finally managed to find some words.  Her voice was as pale as the moonlight outside, seemingly lost in what was a suddenly quiet room, "You will not be the first person I have fought, or nearly fought, and later befriended, so it ought not to be such a surprise.  I suppose I had tested you when I awoke here in safety and with my blade and other possessions.  Pardon me if I am still shocked, but I truly believed we were to exchange more than merely words."

As the snake reformed at Rentiki's commands, she regarded it more calmly then before but made certain to watch all of its movements.  The snake was large – far larger than any she had ever seen in the wild.  Even without scales or flesh, it possessed a menacing size.  It would certainly take her some time to feel more comfortable around the seemingly ill-tempered snake.

The captain continued to speak and Eltera found her breath again.  She was surprised to realize that the lack of gunshot had still managed to take her breath away.  His words were still calming and as she again realized she was safe here.  Any ill intentions would have happened to her while she lay in the bed, if not before then.  Indeed, those very notions had given her an impression of sanctuary within the Argus.

But his words of the "eyes" she had muttered again caught her off guard.  There was no doubting why those words had crossed her unconscious lips.  Those memories still brought an uncomfortable chill down her back as the word 'backlash' again haunted her thoughts.  They would prove, she was certain, to be more nightmares to haunt her dreams.

Rentiki did not allow her thoughts to linger too long.  A hushed grinding behind her swung her attention towards the bookcase that had moved and presented an abundance of stylish dresses and clothes to the Svari.  Again, she kicked herself for not seeing the secret compartment before, but she was not a god and was prone to miss some things.

Eltera managed a smile. "Somehow, I am not surprised that I am not the first woman to grace your cabin.  Did you greet all of them as you did me or did you put a little special thought into my warm welcome?"  Eltera meant no offense or harshness in her words, instead finding light laughter crossing her tone.  

"I think I would like dinner, please.  And, if I might, a few words with Terwase, that is how you say it, correct?  I might like to thank the man who saved my life."

And ask him some questions as well.


----------



## Arcturion (Aug 31, 2007)

*1.2 Hommes Optare*

As Eltera watched Rentiki stroke the undead serpent’s fleshless skull, she noted that its bones would often fluctuate in size. The creature seemed to be thin as the breadth of two fingers and the length of the man’s arm one moment, and then longer than he was tall and thick around as his bicep the next while it floated lazily through the air. “Please do forgive my theatrics, dear Cat. It was merely a jest, you see. I’ve often been told I should have become a thespian instead of a sailor,” the Captain answered with a touch of pride in his deep baritone voice. “Although I’ve always felt that my place is aboard the Argus with the sea rolling beneath my feet and the wind in my face rather than bandying about with a troupe of mummers. Still, one usually can’t tell the difference between them and my crew at first glance. As for the dresses, well, I do have a reputation to maintain, after all!” Rentiki chuckled at his own words before sobering a bit at the mention of Terwase.

“Ah yes,” the large Daoshan replied with some uncertainty. “I’ll have him tend to us tonight if that is your wish, though I’m afraid any conversation will be rather one-sided, for his part.” Before Eltera could question the meaning of Rentiki’s words, the Captain clapped his hands together. “Splendid! Well, dear Cat, I’ll leave you alone for a bit so you may change. Dinner shall be ready shortly,” he said before turning on his booted heels as if he meant to go. Reaching for the cabin doors, Rentiki paused abruptly and cleared his throat with a sidelong glance at the dark aelf over his broad shoulder. “You really do look a vision of loveliness in the pale moonlight.” Accompanied by Orpheus, the Daoshan Captain grinned and then exited the room, the intricately carved oaken doors closing softly behind him.

Alone once more, Eltera wasted no time changing into something more substantial than the simple woolen shift she had awoke in, using the beautiful folding screen in one of her rare moments of modesty. She found an elegant ivory brush among some gaudy jewelry in a drawer of the trunk that lay within the hidden wardrobe, and worked the tangles out of her silvery-white hair before tying it back into a simple but efficient knot. It had gotten much longer since she last cut it many moons ago.

The table was cleared by the time that a knock came at the door shortly thereafter, tentatively prompting the dark aelf to bid this new guest to enter. A short, wizened old man shuffled into the cabin, carrying a tray with two crystal glasses and a bottle of what she guessed was wine chilled in a bucket of ice. The ice itself was a surprise since it was rare to see it outside of cold regions or snow-capped mountains, and was more the province of aristocracy or mages with a taste for chilled food and drink. The man himself had long, frizzled gray hair tied back into a simple knot at his neck and a thin beard to match, while his complexion was the tanned color of sandy olive. Strange tattoos in crimson and yellow slashed harsh patterns over his temple and cheeks. He wore simple gray woolen robes and leather sandals. The weathered lines of his aged face spoke of a lifetime of plying the seas and undue hardship, though the expression in his cloudy, milk-white eyes appeared calm and almost blissfully serene. With hands whose skin was stretched tight like parchment over fingers still deft of movement despite his advanced years, he gave Eltera a short bow of acknowledgement and set the tray down upon the table.

“Terwase?” the dark aelf ventured, the name sounding awkward upon her lips as she said it.

The old man cracked a toothless smile and nodded again, saying nothing in reply. Before Eltera could get another word in edgewise, he held up a bony hand and gestured toward the door before motioning with his arms as if eating an imaginary bowl of soup. When the dark aelf nodded, Terwase grinned and shuffled back out of the room to retrieve the first course.

It wasn’t long before Rentiki returned and, complimenting the dark aelf yet again on her supposed beauty, held a chair out for Eltera in a gentlemanly display of etiquette. Orpheus chose to lounge about in the corner over the squat mantle of the cabin’s fireplace, content to absorb the warmth from the magical flames. Though undead, the creature apparently still thought it was a living snake, and cold-blooded reptiles were wont to sunbathe or bask in any source of heat close at hand. Rentiki took his own seat directly opposite Eltera across the table just as Terwase returned with the evening’s first course, a rich cream soup with chunks of potato served with generous heels of black rye bread. The sight of the steaming broth made the dark aelf’s stomach twist in hunger.

“You look exquisite as usual, dear Cat,” Rentiki was saying, though she barely heard him as she ate. The large Daoshan poured glasses of deep red wine for each of them. “And I’m sure you’ve met my ship’s surgeon, Terwase. He has other unique talents I’ve come to appreciate over the years as well. I suppose you may thank him for saving your life, but he won’t be able to return your gratitude, sadly. When he was but a boy, slavers cut out his tongue when he talked out of turn one too many times. If there’s one thing I’ve learned as a merchant is that it’s a foolish thing to damage the goods before they are delivered. I chanced a meeting with Terwase a few years back and he’s sailed with me ever since. So you see, dear Cat, your secret is safe with him, have no worry. Most of my men are released on shore leave enjoying all that Drace has to offer and what few that have remained aboard are just a skeleton crew while repairs to the ship’s mast are being completed. In the meantime, Hashad is out scouting for new recruits and securing supplies for our next voyage. We should be well underway within a fortnight at most.”

The Captain wolfed down his stew and made light conversation when Terwase brought in the next course, roasted capons browned to a light crisp and served with peas and mushrooms. Standing calm and silent as a statue, the old medicine man merely watched them eat with his skinny hands clasped in the folds of his wide sleeves. “No doubt you have many questions,” Rentiki observed shrewdly as he downed his wine with unabashed enthusiasm, and made to refill his glass. “Please, ask away and I shall do my best to deliver an answer. Of course, you realize I have my own questions to ask of you. This is my first time treating a dark aelf to supper and I mean to make the most of it, gods willing!” He laughed aloud and flashed a smile made all the warmer and brighter by the wine.


----------



## Arcturion (Aug 31, 2007)

*1.2 Hommes Optare*

Eltera had strongly debated about changing back into her normal garb.  Dresses and finery felt wholly unnatural, impeding her movement and seeming to cling to her figure in every way that clothing shouldn't.  She even felt inept while brushing out her hair.  Despite her reservations, she succumbed.  Perhaps it was some inner feeling of guilt or wanting to please Rentiki, but something forced her into taking time to force the knots and tangles from her snowy hair and finger through the myriad of dresses in the hidden closet.  She even found herself debating over which one she might wear.

In the end, she had chosen an emerald dress laced up the front in silver embroidery.  The front of the dark green material was embellished with some curious bird, though most bird types were unknown to the Svari.  The bodice did not fall too low, ending midway along her chest.  A chain of silver accented her hips, clasped at her right thigh with a loose stand of chain metal falling to her knee.  The dress extended to her ankles.  Eltera had chosen a pair of black slippers from one of the drawers beneath the dresses.  The only jewelry she chose was her own rings and beads that she usually accented her hair.

The outfit had even come with gloves, though she discarded those in favor of her bandaged hands.  Dressing herself, Eltera regarded the wrapped bandages over her palms.  They still tingled, which was better than the dull pain that sometimes accompanied the wounds.  She took care to try to tuck any frayed or uneven edges of the wrappings away from sight.

The Captain's enigmatic words only served to tighten the knot in her stomach at the prospect of meeting the healer.  Before Terwase had even entered, she had a sinking feeling that Rentiki's words carried the fact that he would be unable to properly convey information.  Through every fault of her own, she had experience with another mute and understood the hardship it might bring.  

The last words of the Daoshan captain similarly pushed Eltera back into a slightly defense mode.  He had cast eyes upon her figure when she had been clad in nothing but a simple shift.  Her time on the surface world had taught her that such was to be expected.  Rentiki had still plied her beauty upon her even upon his exit and she felt awkward under the lavish compliments.  Or perhaps she had in fact enjoyed them and that was why she had chosen Rentiki's dresses over her own leather and mail.

Whatever the reason, she had dressed for the Captain and now sat with a stiff back in the chair at his dinner table.  She pushed those thoughts out of her mind as she dined with the Captain.  It was too late to analyze her own motives, given her current position and the food she was readily supplying her growling stomach.  Hunger, as usual, proved the best spice, though the food itself tasted readily edible.  

There was no time wasted from Eltera as she devoured soup, bread, and capon alike.  Usually hesitant of wine, something her other self had once indulged in, she took the drink with gentle sips.  

Swallowing a bite of the roasted meat, she let her soft-soled slipper slide across Amurisil.  As Terwase had brought in the first items and again left, she had brought the sheathed blade to what she had correctly assumed was her side of the table and laid it on the floor and along her chair.  The rest of her possessions had been secreted in a half-empty drawer within the cabin.

Eltera rested her fork along the table, smiling at her zealous appetite and blushing at Rentiki's flow of compliments, "Thank you for the words.  You have been very generous to me in every way and I must thank you for that as well."  She smiled at him as well as Terwase for the cooking and serving he had offered them.

The dark aelf was careful to note how much wine the larger man was drinking.  Men had a tendency to hold a much larger amount, but she rarely liked what too much drink did to anyone – man or woman, including herself.

"I must admit, I am uncertain where I ought to start.  The day has certainly not turned the way I had foreseen, though that is hardly a rarity in itself.  When you put to wind again, where will you head?"



OOC: Certainly not her regular atmosphere, but she'll make the most of it.  Eltera will ask about the following:

 – She'll ask about Rentiki's homeland.  She'll need to know something about it if she wants to try to play herself off as a Daoshan.
 – She'll ask about Rentiki, how long he's been at sea and when he came across the ship.
 – She'll ask what he knows about the witches – everything he knows about them.
 – She'll ask what he knows about Drace and the current happenings with the Empire, since she might be spending some time in a war-besieged city.
 – She'll ask Terwase about her hands, especially if he had ever seen anything similar and what she might be able to do to properly heal them.


----------



## Arcturion (Aug 31, 2007)

*1.2 Hommes Optare*

“I was thinking of heading west, actually, past the Maw and into the Ambossmeer. I oft hear of many a great opportunity to make one’s fortune in the Free Holds of Inmerron. A lovely people, the Inmerish, though they drive a hard bargain as any of the Obsidian Islanders,” Rentiki answered blithely, waving the blade of his knife in the air before him as he spoke.

Inmerish. Eltera knew that they were a hardy and fiercely independent folk in the western lands. Though she had a rather incomplete picture, she did learn that the Dracians had once tried to subjugate the people there long ago to some varying degrees of success, but their hold on the realms beyond the Vale was always tentative at best. This fact continued to be a sore point between the two human cultures even to this day, though trade and the mutual language of coin are often enough to overcome such barriers. Tanius was half-Inmerish himself. His other half, she had come to find out however, was something else quite different.

The Captain stabbed at a piece of roasted flesh with the dagger’s steel tip and brought it to his mouth. Chewing thoughtfully before swallowing, Rentiki continued on with his usual enthusiasm. “Perhaps we’ll sail down south of the Corindas toward Wystara. I’ve never been there myself and it’s high time I changed that. Once I’ve had my fill there, who knows?” He shrugged at this last part. “Before I leave this world I want to at least say that Rentiki of Daosha, Captain of the Argus, successfully circumnavigated the entire continent of Paylen!

“Ah, Daosha,” the large man sighed with the memory. “It’s been too long since I last walked upon her shores and warmed my toes in the sand. A beautiful place, it is as vast and varied as all of Paylen, if not bigger. Imagine,if you will, a landscape of every climate and environ you can dream of, my dear Cat. Blistering desert, savannahs that rival the seas in their expanse, lush tropical jungles, and snowy mountains as tall as any the world has to offer. They call it the Shadow Continent, since it remains largely unexplored and unmapped. But in my own language, Daosha means, land come full circle. We are born there, and we eventually die there as well, no matter where the four winds may take us in life.

“And the people come in so many shapes and sizes you’d swear you were transported into another world. From giants that tower over any of Drace’s famed spires, to diminutive tribal pygmies that make the smallfolk here seem as giants themselves! There is war and strife in Daosha, yes, for what land can claim to be untouched by such ravages? But there is also great beauty to be had; ah, diamonds and gemstones that put the Thorazuin’s baubles to shame by comparison, and such spices and plants and all manner of exotic beasts too!” Rentiki began to rattle off each animal in turn, starting with the luxurious pelts he had displayed upon the cabin walls. He asked Eltera of her own homeland, and sat enraptured at every word that passed from her lips.

“I actually won the Argus in a game of bones, if you can believe it!” the Captain guffawed after stripping the last bit of flesh from his capon near the end of their meal. He waved the scraps away and absently thanked Terwase as the wizened old man took the plates, shuffling out of the room silent as ever. “The previous owner, an Akunduin spice trader – which is just a polite label for drug lord, by the by – was none too happy with the outcome, needless to say. Sent his entire army of eunuch warriors after me, he did! Barely escaped by the skin of my teeth! I’d say that was close to twenty years ago, give or take a year or two. My, how does the time fly!

“As to the Nornir,” Rentiki began after a long pause, his voice uncharacteristically hushed and almost reverent in its awe as he leaned forward in his chair. “There are whispers that they are immortal witches, sisters blessed with eternal youth and favored by all the gods, great and small. Others say they sprang full grown from the ice and fires of Haeslund, the land spawning the progeny of Titans when their blood rained down and soaked the earth during the Harrowing. Whichever tale is to be believed, you’d best remember one thing about the Sisters Norn. They are canny, unnatural creatures of the old ways, demanding their due tribute through bloody sacrifice and slaughter. Mortal men tremble in fear at the mere mention of their name and yet seek them out nonetheless, each willing to sell his very soul in exchange for the promise of conquest and the supposed throne that comes with it.

“An uneven trade, I’d wager. King of All the North; bah, as if such a thing exists! A man cannot eat titles, after all, however lofty they may be. In any case, the Nornir use and discard men as pawns in a game of thrones, their lives all but forfeit to pay the price for a chance at eternal glory. Madness, it is. All the more foolish the Hrundir be to trust in such devilry, but how does one rationalize anything barbarians are want to do? Every few generations the Nornir appear to champion the cause of this Jarl chieftain or that, sowing the seeds of war. I know little else about them aside from the names they choose to go by. The fair one with the honeyed locks is called Skuld, I believe. The bright silver sister dubs herself Verdandi. The raven-haired witch is their elder, methinks. Urd, mortal men have so named her. Tis best to watch out for that one in particular. She dines on the souls of the damned, or so I hear.”

It was then that Terwase returned, the ancient medicine man carrying with him a brass tray laden with ceramic bowls of colorful fruit, sweet breads, and fragrant cheeses.

“I’m afraid I don’t know too much about the capital’s goings-on at the moment seeing how we just made port within the last day,” Rentiki said as he bit into a green apple, wiping the juice from one corner of his mouth with the back of a meaty hand. “Any current news of the B’astyians’ movements is beyond my ken, as I try my best to steer clear of any Imperial entanglements. Though I oft heard whispers of a massive fleet gathering at the mouth of the Auridar, but this was weeks ago. Such an armada bodes ill for us all, if the rumors be true. And I must admit, the arrival of the northmen upon these very shores without so much as a drop of blood being spilt came as a shock even to me. Not once in my many years did I ever expect to see the Hrundir welcomed as emissaries rather than driven back as marauders. I do have contacts of, shall we say, questionable moral fiber within the city whose shoulders I could tap, though such information oft comes at a steep price. Tis just good business, you see.” The Captain grinned at Eltera meaningfully as his eyes drank in every curve of her form.

Shifting uncomfortably in her seat under the man’s gaze, Eltera swiftly changed the subject. At the question concerning her hands, Terwase produced both of his from the voluminous sleeves of his rough homespun clothing and gesticulated with several complex motions. The dark aelf watched each silent movement of his thin fingers carefully and thought it wasn’t so different from the sign language that her own people used in the lightless depths beneath the surface world. Still, even her mysterious gift at understanding the speech of other races proved to be of little help in deciphering the code that passed between the ship’s surgeon and Captain Rentiki, the latter whom seemed to comprehend the unspoken words perfectly.

“Terwase says he’s seen such wounds only once before in his considerable lifetime,” the Daoshan mariner declared gravely, translating the mute shaman’s hand talk even as he continued to make them. “Those hurts be a powerful curse, and one not easily broken. The blade that did the deed sang with all the hate and sorrow of the one you had wronged, or so old Terwase claims. Only by laying this revenant’s shade to rest may the curse be lifted. There be no other way short of a miracle or a wishful prayer, a boon granted by a god or one that can approach unequivocally to the powerful magic of a deity.”

Rentiki allowed a moment of silence to pass before he would speak up again, the only sounds being the crackling of the hearth fire and the soft rattle of Orpheus’s skeleton blending with the gentle rush of the waves outside the window. “Cat, speak truthfully. What did you see when you looked upon the Nornir? I saw your own expression clear as day, I did, saw the blood drain from your face as if all the joy of the world were devoured along with you. T’was foolish for trying to catch a glimpse of their true nature for it can only invite ruin.”


----------



## Arcturion (Aug 31, 2007)

*1.2 Hommes Optare*

As the conversation continued, Eltera found her stomach settling with the help of the food.  The rocking of the ship was still uneasy on her, but the meal had certainly aided in easing that sickness in her stomach.  The dinner was certainly a pleasure – far better than the meals she had enjoyed at the various areas around the city during her stay in Drace.  Other than being hastily prepared, the environment had been noisy and the company overbearing.  The hardwood cabin and flickering firelight was a welcome change.

She listened calmly to his words, watching his eyes.  Eltera preferred when he looked at her face rather than her body.  Each time his eyes drifted to her figure or neckline, she felt her skin tingle slightly in an unwelcome manner.  Her slippered foot idly rested on Amurisil's hilt in reassurance.  Her toe rolled between two individual wrappings on the grip, idly touching over the ancient leather.

Taking a delicate sip of her wine, she smiled at Rentiki's fantastic description of his homeland, "I only wish the place of my birth was as marvelous as yours.  For all of the amazement and breath-taking beauty of your homeland, mine is grim and miserable.  For each smile every single person of your realm as shared, there have been a hundred cries, tears, and shouts of anger, sadness, and despair.  There are no dreams in my homeland, only nightmares whether you are awake or asleep.  It is a land that is ruled by a cruel goddess that empowers her priestesses to lead their houses however their iron-will and cold-heart’s desire.  I was the daughter of such a mother.  The only way I did escape that fate was through the very will and love of my father.  He had always believed there to be a better way and saved me as from the whips and sins of the rest of my heritage as much as he could."

Eltera found herself attempting to hold back her own tears.  She had long ago accepted the pains of her homeland; rather she found at the memory of her father.  This was hardly the first time she had thought about him, but she rarely spoke of him.  The words seemed to take her back even more then her own memory possibly could.  It was both heart-wrenching and truly expansive to remember her father.

Keeping back the tears but under watery eyes, she continued, "Before he died, he had become a warrior of the God of Light from the surface world, having met a paladin of the same god.  However, before that, my mother had his eyes removed.  He travelled the Underealm blind, but seeing more than most anyone else.  That was how I had seen the nature of those witches."

Her words stopped there as she remembered that ugly scene before her.  It had been wholly horrendous and a curse, but that had hardly been the first time she had felt her sanity ripped away from her very being, only to be wrestled back by some miracle.  Now, though, she found herself hard pressed to explain that feeling.

She was uncertain how to begin speaking of them, but managed to stutter something out, "They were not human.  Of that you know, I am certain.  But to see their true nature was something wholly horrendous when compared to that I can see how most men would enjoy.  What I saw, instead, were figures that were not mere shades of their being but true corruption of the human form.  They were the same in shape, but there was no end to their void."

Her eyes were no longer on Rentiki, but rather staring past him and the wall behind the Captain and anything else in this world, "When they noticed me, they truly took note.  One massive eye opened on the one you named Urd where her head ought to be.  The eyes were dark and deep and rimmed in green.  Then one eye opened on each of the others, one lined in gold and the other in silver.  Then there opened eyes uncountable over their form.  I'd think there were as many eyes on their forms as there were stars in the sky.  Each turned to me and I felt myself falling from everything and into your arms."

With mention of Rentiki, her sight turned back to this world, looking to Rentiki, "I did not thank you for saving my life, so I offer my thanks.  I am certain that once you realized the truth of me, you had several other options open to you.  I am grateful for your trust in me."

Speaking to Rentiki, her mind drifted back to that empty feeling the Nornir had evoked in her.  A shattered scene passed her mind's eye that recalled that same feeling.  She saw herself from above her body.  It was her, but not her.  She could see another form that called to her and promised a return to himself, where she belong.  It was dark and without end and promised many things.  

After a few moments, Eltera also turned to Terwase, a polite smile across her ebon features, "And thank you again Terwase for saving me and for your words.  It certain opens up new demands upon me, though I think I already knew what had to be done.  My sins are great.  I did not wholly escape my home unscathed it would seem."

A revenant.  The word held a new meaning to her.  Without even prompting, she could see those bleeding eyes before her face again.  It had not been Valsentres wielding that sickle, but it had been fueled by his anger.  

Even now, at the mere thought, she could feel the wounds start to again open.  Calmly and trying to keep it secret, she shifted her hands into her lap, offering an empty smile, "Pardon me.  The day has been long, even though I slept most of it away.  I think I am only now beginning to understand some things.  I may have well invited my own ruin at seeing the truth of the witches.  It shall not be the first time and I am certain I cannot elude it forever.  So be it."

Her eyes had drifted down to her lap and her hands as she balled them into fists to try to help stem the flow.  Again, Eltera looked up to Rentiki.  She had debated about not asking the Captain for fear of his own safety.  Her past was never kind to her friends, but Rentiki was certainly capable of tending to himself, "In your travels, have you ever heard of the H'jenn-Ra?  Perhaps the name Ayaleska?"


----------



## Arcturion (Aug 31, 2007)

*1.2 Hommes Optare*

At Eltera’s words of gratitude, Rentiki merely waved them away with a hand as an expression of solemn understanding passed over his broad features, the green apple half eaten and forgotten. Terwase nodded wordlessly in his rather understated manner.

“Worry not, dear Cat,” Rentiki replied evenly. “Words are but a small thing. It is in deeds that men – and women – show their true nature, is it not?” The Captain leaned forward and clasped his hands together before him while propping the weight of his elbows upon the table, the many fanciful rings around his thick fingers clicking together with the casual movement. He appeared thoughtful as he considered the dark aelf’s questions. “H’jenn-Ra? I can’t say I’ve ever heard of that word in all my travels. As to this Ayaleska, a pretty name to be sure, but sadly it holds little import in my limited understanding. What are they to you, my dear Cat? Friends of yours?”

Eltera watched Rentiki's movements at her questions of the H'jenn-Ra and Ayaleska.  She fully understood that there was almost no likelihood that Rentiki would have known of them, however she had few other solid leads that might lead to her daughter or former lover.  There was no harm in asking and a set of ears with mouths whispering little seeds was always welcome.

She tried to offer a smile of nonchalance, though offering different words, "The matter is of some importance to me.  The H'jenn-Ra are old friends of mine, if you might say that, though I must offer that they are extremely dangerous.  In fact, they were the source of the grievous wounds on my hands, though their lasting nature is due to my own actions.  Nonetheless, should you ever inquire about them or encounter them, please do not under estimate them."

Her words fell silent for a few moments.  She wanted another drink of wine to steel her nerves, but settled only for a light lick of her suddenly dry lips.  Rentiki had saved her life and she had promised herself to be honest with him.  Perhaps she would live to regret such, but she hoped that was not the truth.

Ayaleska, however, was too important to ignore.  There were wholly no leads concerning her daughter's location or motives.  Despite her young age and assuming innocence, there was no small amount of cunning and intelligence hidden in those icy blue eyes.

After a moment of silence, she continued in a weaker voice, "Ayaleska is my daughter.  That is a wholly different matter, yet linked to the H'jenn-Ra.  If anything, I would like to know about her and I would see you well compensated for that information."  She made no mention of how she might offer as reimbursement, but gave no indications of anything more than the gold he had mentioned.

“I see,” the Captain replied, appearing solemn. “Blood be a harsh thing, I’ve come to discover for meself. Please feel free stay aboard the Argus for as long as you like as my guest until we set sail once more, or until you find what you seek. I do not know these names, tis true, though perhaps I can see if any of my contacts within Drace might have heard whispers to the contrary. Needless to say, however, such information oft does not come cheap. Anything worth knowing rarely does. The language my ‘friends’ speak is of coin and there’s little of that to be had what with the repairs to the Argus and hiring new sailors for my crew. My dealings within the capital may see that we earn a respectable bit of drachmas yet, though it will take a few days to unload the, uh, cargo.”

The . . . cargo . . . ?

The word and tone were not lost on her.  

Without warning, Rentiki reached forward across the table to clasp Eltera’s fingers and gave them a gentle squeeze in a surprisingly tender gesture, the size of the man’s hand eclipsing the dark aelf’s so as to make her seem a child and he a giant. “Once our business is concluded here in the city, it is my ardent wish that you might accompany us,” he began earnestly, a hopeful smile upon his lips. “Traveling the Seven Known Seas upon the Argus, seeing all the wonders that this world has to offer and beyond, does that not sound a life worth living? Let me take you away from all this bleak cold and talk of war and I can show you the many splendors of Daosha, land of my birth. Once you have graced your eyes upon her warm shores and feasted upon her bounty you will never be want for anything else, I promise you! All this worry with the Nornir and the bloody shadows of your past, why let them haunt your every step? Leave such troubles behind you, says I. Come sail away with me and we’ll create our own paradise together! What say you, dear Cat?”

Terwase stood as still as a statue not far off with his gaunt hands tucked in the sleeves of his homespun robe, the aged medicine man just as silent as well. Whatever thoughts or emotions he might have on all of this, Eltera couldn’t say for he hid them well. In the corner over the hearth’s mantle, Orpheus raised his serpentine skull lazily and regarded the events taking place with eyeless sockets. The undead constrictor would have nothing meaningful to add to this unexpected madness. Shifting her gaze back upon Rentiki’s face, she saw that the Daoshan’s sudden offer appeared genuinely heartfelt and his words rang with a sincerity and optimism fit more for a wide-eyed youth than an experienced ship’s Captain, though they barely knew one another and met only just this very morn.

It was then that the moment’s silence was broken by the rough sound of men’s laughter just beyond the cabin doors. It turned to leering hoots, the harsh voices drifting through clear enough to hear. “’Ere now, poppet! Give us a kiss, don’t be shy!” was one shout in the Dracian tongue, accompanied by more laughter. It didn’t sound like the catcalls were addressed toward Eltera, though.

Annoyed, Rentiki could only grin apologetically. “Ah, forgive me, dear Cat,” was the Captain’s reply, patting her fingers with his hand. “It seems the men are a bit unruly this night. They know that strangers are not to come aboard without my leave first. But the skeleton crew have sailed for many a week without the pleasure of a woman’s company, so some indiscretions are to be expected. A thousand pardons, I will take care of this matter quickly and return to you.” Rentiki stood up from his chair as if he meant to go.

Laughter abruptly gave way to shouts of dismay and surprised oaths as a man’s anguished scream pierced the night, startling the Daoshan Captain and Terwase. Orpheus gave an angry hiss from the corner just when a body fell shrieking past the cabin’s windows, followed by a loud splash as it hit the water below. “Attack! We’re under attack!” came a sailor’s panicked yell. ”Sound the–!” It was swiftly silenced with a strangled cry.

“What the devil?” Rentiki swore. “Orpheus, to me!” At his command, the skeletal snake flew from its perch and landed upon the Captain’s broad shoulder, curling around his left arm. “Cat, make ready! We may have need of that bright blade of yours!” Without another word, Rentiki turned and strode purposefully toward the double doors, Terwase shuffling right behind him.


----------



## Arcturion (Aug 31, 2007)

*1.2 Hommes Optare*

The world seemed to upend and collapse into chaos.  A gentle clasp of her hand and an offer that made her stomach twist quickly slipped away.  While she had no intention of accepting the offer, Eltera was not even able to begin to formulate a reply.  Instead, vulgar cries turned into bloody screams.

The knot in her stomach quickly slipped away.  Instead, she could feel the energy and power of the moment as blood was spilt outside the cabin.  Rentiki did not hesitate and neither did Eltera.  Placing a slippered foot on the far blade's end of the scabbard, her ebon hand pulled the holy weapon from its sheath with a muffled hiss.

The longsword in her right hand, Eltera quickly reached back to the top of the table and grabbed her dinner knife in her left hand as it still dripped with juices.  Two weapons, for her, were always better than one.  The knife had little true use when compared to the reach of the longer blade, but the comfort of a second weapon often meant a great deal.  

Where a polite and intellectual conversation left her feeling uneasy and almost scared, the sound of battle and touch of steel made her feel in control.  When blood was spilt and people were dying, the Svari felt comfortable beyond belief.  No matter how much she tried to escape battle and death, it seemed an inseparable part of her nature.

As Terwese and Rentiki moved to the door, Eltera slipped behind them like a swift shadow and summoned the strength and guidance of Amurisil.


----------



## Arcturion (Aug 31, 2007)

*1.2 Hommes Optare*

The dark aelf found that her dress was more form-fitting than she’d liked, the fabric of the skirt hampering her movement while she darted after the Captain and his mysterious ship’s surgeon just as they reached the doors. Caring not the least for courtesy and decency given the circumstances, Eltera paused long enough to wipe the blade of her proffered dinner knife free of gristle upon the rich green satin, leaving dark stains at her thigh before slipping the sharp tip through the top of the skirt with care and slicing downward. The fine material parted like water and tore open softly with a sigh as she cut a slit along the left side of her dress.

Rentiki glanced over his shoulder and flashed a grin of approval. “I never liked that color anyway,” was his only retort.

Satisfied that her mobility would no longer be hindered, Eltera followed the two men after the doors were thrown wide open and the trio emerged headlong into the pitch black night. A chill breeze greeted them all, Rentiki taking the lead with Terwase moving at his right and the dark aelf at his left. Before them stretched the main deck of the Argus, its planks as dark as the waves over the sides while the raised quarterdeck loomed just behind them, flanked by wooden steps at the gunwales. A fog had begun to form over the murky waters of the Ebontine, misty fingers curling around the ship. The pitch and roll of the deck made Eltera feel slightly queasy and she idly wondered if she could stand to keep down the food she had eaten just earlier.

Several sailors had formed a ragged ring around the center mast nearly 15 feet ahead, some armed with long knives whose steel blades glinted in the pale moonlight, others with blunt wooden belaying pins. Eltera counted no more than five of the grizzled mariners, and one of their number lay upon the deck clutching at the bloody stump where his right arm used to be.

“Mercy! Awino meant no offense!” pleaded one sailor in some foreign tongue that was unfamiliar to Eltera and yet she understood every word just the same. The man was scared out of his wits. “T’was just harmless touchin’, see!”

“Ta hells take Awino!” cried another, sounding just as panicked. “He be ta one dat did ye wrong! Take ‘im n’ spare us!”

As the terrified sailors backed away from the mast, the dark aelf was greeted by the sight of a woman clothed in the simple homespun garb of a peasant, the hem of her skirt and the woolen cloak around her shoulders still stained with mud from travel. The hood fallen from her head exposed long, white hair that was greasy and unwashed. When the woman turned to face Rentiki’s intrusion, the unkempt tresses framed a blood-spattered face that was no longer young and yet she would not have been painful to look upon were it not for the cracked, blackened skin, as if she was exposed to extreme cold and finally succumbed to frostbite, so discolored as it was. The dim firelight of a lantern that hung upon the mast overhead was reflected by the unnatural gleam in her golden eyes, casting dark shadows even as it banished the gloom of night. Eltera was reminded of cat’s eyes, though the expression the female bore seemed blank and devoid of any emotion or sentience. Clutched in her left hand was the mariner’s right arm torn from the socket, the severed limb bent limply at the elbow while a slick pool ran red at the woman’s feet.

A human, or once had been, that much Eltera was certain, and yet her uncanny resemblance to a Svari dark aelf was disconcerting all the same.

“What in ye god’s name,” Rentiki swore, shocked at the scene before them.

Terwase gaped as he hung back at the double doors, the speechless shaman’s gaunt, trembling hand reaching up toward his throat to clutch at a feathered talisman that had been previously hidden beneath his robes. With his other, he traced symbols of warding in the air before him, mouthing words to an unspoken prayer no one but he himself and his god could hear.

Gripping the silver wire-wrapped hilt of Amurisil even tighter, Eltera beckoned the sword to bestow its blessing upon herself and her newfound companions. As the eog-forged blade did so, a feeling of righteousness washed over them, bolstering their courage and raising spirits high. Accompanying this came another emotion, that of dread. Neither living, Amurisil whispered. Nor dead. Nothing, the last word echoed in Eltera’s mind. Though it possessed the ability to detect both the vitality of the living and foul aura of the undead, the sword could sense nothing from the creature. The one called Awino was near death, however, his wound threatening to cause him to bleed out. Orpheus itself registered as undead as well.

A second body fell over the side of the gunwales at the forecastle above and splashed heavily into the black waters of the Ebontine below. Narrowing her eyes, Eltera saw another figure ahead standing upon the raised deck at the ship’s bow nearly 30 feet away, separated by wooden steps that flanked the sides of the ship. This one was an old crone, her stark white hair the color of bone and her clothes mere tattered rags. The wrinkled skin of her aged face was likewise blackened and cracked, though contrasting with the other woman, the hag’s golden eyes burned with hateful malevolence. Leaping up onto the rail and peeling back lips stained crimson in a feral snarl, the crone spat out a bloody chunk of quivering flesh. It landed with a wet smack upon the deck near the center mast, further scattering the frightened men. Eltera realized that the hideous morsel had been the man’s throat torn out by the hag’s bare teeth.

“Nine Hells, Cap’n!” one sailor shouted with more conviction in his voice than the others, wielding a belaying pin like a club. “This be devilry, it is!”

“Orders, sir?!” yelled out another beside him, this one sounding less certain despite brandishing a naked blade in his fist. Shrieking, his face drained of all color at the sight of the hag looming above him.

“Orpheus!” Captain Rentiki bellowed instead. At this, the skeletal snake reared up and bared its teeth just as the lower jaw extended. Instead of striking at the nearest woman, Orpheus bit deeply into the bare skin of its master’s broad shoulder. Rentiki winced visibly in pain but gave no cry, the muscles of his own jaw clenched tightly. The vertebrae of the serpent’s spine aligned themselves down along the outer length of his left arm, its curved ribs encircling his flesh in an articulated sheath of bone. Eltera watched as the remainder of its body lashed at the air before Rentiki like a flensing scourge while a pale cerulean flame ignited along the inside of his familiar’s hollow core to cast a garish blue pallor around him. If the eldritch fire burned him at its slightest touch, the Daoshan Captain gave no indication, nor could Eltera feel any heat being given off from Orpheus as it attached itself to its master. “Stand back and flee!” Rentiki roared. “Take the wounded with you! We’ll handle this!” The crew did as they were commanded.

The one sailor that had cursed Awino threw down his knife like a craven, turned and ran toward the plank that led onto the Dracian quay just at Eltera’s left side. At this, the peasant woman dropped her bloody trophy upon the deck and lunged after him with a surprising grace that defied the rictis and shambling gait one would normally expect from the walking undead. With bare hands balled tightly into fists raised up high over her head, the woman brought them down heavily upon the back of the man’s skull with terrible force, shattering bone with a sickening crunch. Gasping audibly, the air was driven from his lungs as he fell forward face first, dead before he even hit the deck to lay sprawled at Eltera’s feet. Amurisil confirmed his death without a shadow of a doubt.

Standing up behind her latest victim, the woman regarded Rentiki and Eltera with vacant eyes of molten gold. The sudden violent movement and ferocity of her attack had cracked the tender, unfeeling skin at her face, and thin streams of what appeared to be blood at first glance instead glistened like rivulets of silver in the moonlight.


----------



## Arcturion (Oct 9, 2007)

*1.2 Hommes Optare*

Eltera stood in grim silence as the dead sailor continued to bleed out at her feet and the grim creature stood a few strides from her.  Her own angled features and dark skin were largely impassive as she watched the molten silver glisten along the figure's black and cracked face.

The dark aelf had seen a great number of beasts and creatures during her journies, however none had quite matched the dark duo before her.  Both had characteristics mysteriously similar to herself, but were obviously human in nature, though whether Dracian or not was too difficult to detect.  Amurisil was certain that they were neither living, dead, nor undead, which only served to heighten her senses.

A breeze blew across her face and carried to scent of the salted sea and death.  Her fumbling thoughts and unspoken words of Rentiki's offer were lost.  There was a sad and bleak serenity that settled across Eltera's mind.  The promise of a fight often allowed her to find some inner balance and even a morbid type of peace.  Tanius found it in nature while her father and Trevelleon had discovered it in prayer.  Instead, she only seemed to discover it with a drawn blade.

Her right index finger lightly circled the inner ring upon the sword's ricasso, as if idle contemplation of the crafted work.  The slipper on her feet had a delicate grip on the water sprayed deck.  Shifting her eyes from the creature ahead of her to the beast at the far end of the deck, she spoke up, "You will regret that you set foot upon this ship."

In truth, she hoped the words might spark some type of speech from the creatures.  Her newfound ability still puzzled her, however she hoped to delve deeper into it.  Eltera also found herself curious if their language might share any similarities to her native tongue, hoping that it might also reveal more about their bizarre nature.

She refused to wait any longer then was necessary though.  Within moments, dark aelf moved quickly, tumbling over the dead sailor and aiming Amurisil's luminous blade for the creature immediately ahead of her.


----------



## Arcturion (Oct 9, 2007)

*1.2 Hommes Optare*

The old crone sat hunched upon her perch at the forecastle’s rail, bare feet with long filthy nails curving over the wood like a beast's talons. Staring out under from hooded eyes burning with hatred, the hag bared crimson-stained teeth in an unintelligible hiss in response to Eltera's spoken threat. At this, Rentiki's remaining crew hauled their wounded comrade up from the blood-slicked deck and scrambled away past the abomination and the mariner’s body lying at the dark aelf's feet.

Hissing her rage, the crone leapt from the rail, launching herself high up over the heads of the men below and latching onto the ship's rigging. Twisting herself using all four limbs with the disquieting ease of some unnatural spider, the hag shifted her weight upon the thick hemp ropes as they creaked in protest before she sailed down from the mainmast to land upon the wharves to Eltera's left with a heavy thump. Lifting her face from the impact and raising spindly arms out toward either side with filthy hands ending in wickedly long claws, the old crone snarled as she barred any hope of escape by way of the plank, stopping short the fleeing men who yelped in their panicked distress.

The abomination shifted her seemingly vacant gaze toward the cornered sailors, her torn and silver-blistered visage devoid of any emotion. She stepped forward and raised a clenched fist over her shoulder as if she meant to strike at the nearest man, but the blow came to an abrupt end when her slender wrist became suddenly entwined in the skeletal remains of Orpheus. The undead constrictor’s bones had elongated as its whip-like body lashed through the air, snagging the woman’s limb with a loud rattling crack. Eldritch azure flames licked across the taut length of vertebrae and ribs, illuminating the night with a ghostly radiance.

“’Ere now!” Rentiki bellowed, a smile upon his lips and the blade of his cutlass naked in his right fist. Encircled by Orpheus’s frame, his left arm strained visibly with the effort of keeping the creature from smashing another of his crew’s skull into pulp. “If ye’re lookin’ for a dancin’ partner, then look no further!”

Turning toward this newest threat, the abomination braced the weight of her heels against the wooden deck and jerked her ensnared arm back forcefully. The large man was pulled off balance and nearly swept off his feet by the sudden movement but managed to remain upright.

“Aye, that’s it!” the Daoshan Captain roared with booming laughter in spite of being almost caught off guard by his adversary’s might. “I like my women the way I like my spirits; dark and strong! Now, Cat!”

Eltera needed no further urging as she flew over the corpse with the grace and speed of a gazelle as if it wasn’t there. Amurisil’s silvery eog-forged blade flashed with the brilliance of dappled moonlight and sang as it slashed through the chill wind, the proferred knife glinting in her other hand. She danced over the blood-washed deck with sure steps, never once breaking stride as the torn hem of her skirt trailed behind her. The sword arched over one slender shoulder and bit into the woman’s torso deeply, leaving a path of liquid silver in its wake. Twisting her arms up, over, under, and around, the dark aelf became a whirlwind of deadly, flashing blades. Amurisil whistled upon the backhand swing and sliced into the creature’s side before laying open the abdomen, spilling cold, black viscera upon the abomination’s feet.

A spray of freezing quicksilver splashed across Eltera’s exposed face and neck, chilling her to the bone as she spun past though she barely felt it at first, thoroughly lost in her lethal dance. The creature attempted to lash out at the dark aelf as she whirled toward her but was not quick enough. Eltera was not yet done when she drew the blade of her knife across the woman’s back while tumbling past, though the dark aelf’s hand was jarred painfully as the tiny weapon struck bone or some other hard, unyielding surface.

Whirling around with her back now facing the closed door of the ship’s forecastle, Eltera found herself standing ten feet away from her opponent and the mainmast at the opposite end of the Argus’s main deck. Breathing heavily, the dark aelf began to feel the first twinges of battle fatigue settle in. The skin where the liquid mercury that served as the creature’s blood had splashed her tingled and burned as cold as ice before giving way to a strange numbness. Amurisil appeared to whisper wordlessly at her side. Poison, it sighed, though Eltera could feel no such venom coursing through her veins, only the unnatural numbing sensation where the quicksilver had sprayed upon her face and neck. The front of her dress was likewise drenched in a silvery sheen. Looking down, the dark aelf saw that the blade of her knife was bent at an odd angle and was now worthless as a weapon. No blood stained its edge, mercurial or otherwise.

Her torso and abdomen slashed open and the dead, black innards laid bare to the chill Dracian twilight, the unnatural creature was still standing upon her feet in spite of ghastly wounds that would have dropped any normal living human. Perhaps once she counted herself among the latter, though those days were now gone. She turned to face Eltera, tears of silver streaming from unfocused, golden eyes. “Kill me,” she rasped in a strangely lilting human tongue as a rivulet of mercury shone from one corner of her mouth to trickle down her chin. “Kill me.”

Before Eltera could reply, she felt something clutching at the hem of her dress. Looking down, the dark aelf gaped at the sight of the mariner’s severed arm moving upon its own accord across the deck, its hand tearing blindly at the delicate fabric. The skin and flesh of the dismembered limb began to blacken and shrivel before her very eyes, its nails curving into cruel talons.

“Devilry!” cried one of the sailors before his voice was cut off unexpectedly. He had been the man begging for Awino’s life and the first to pluck up his wounded companion in an effort to save him from certain death. Awino’s remaining arm was draped over the other sailor’s neck while he was carried away, but was now curled around tight as a vice in a brawler’s headlock as he began to choke the life from the now struggling man. Straining, Awino’s olive skin darkened to the color of storm clouds heavy with rain as the blood spurting forth from where his right arm was attached previously bleached to white before turning silver altogether. An inhuman groan escaped Awino’s lips when he jerked upward violently, snapping his friend’s neck with an audible crack. The dead man crumpled to the deck in a heap.

The two remaining mariners shouted in horror at the scene unfolding before them while Rentiki swore a vile oath.


----------



## Arcturion (Oct 9, 2007)

*1.2 Hommes Optare*

Letting her feet come to rest and trying to catch the breath in her chest, the dark aelf stopped with several feet between herself and the peasant wretch.  Her face was splattered in silver blood and practically shone beneath the moonlight and Amurisil's magical sheen.  The skin beneath the mercurial blood was ice cold and the dark aelf had to resist the urge to wipe at her face.  Her blade warned her of its dangerous effects, but she had little choice but to face the threat.

The dinner knife in her left hand felt pathetically unbalanced suddenly.  It only took a brief glance at its heavily bent edge for Eltera to callously throw the weapon off to her left with no more thought.  The proffered weapon was wholly useless against the creatures' hardened skin.

Before the dark aelf could speak, she felt the grasping at the hem of her silver-stained dress.  The words in her throat were momentarily stuck in her throat as she quickly looked back up to Awino's body in its new life.

Within moments, they had lost another sailor and were faced by another enemy.  Eltera's hazel eyes immediately drifted to the two bodies still laying on the wooden planks with full expectations that they might just as quickly rise in a horrid new guise.  For the moment, however, they seemed to remain dead.

"Beware the silver blood!  It is poison," Eltera cried as she attempted to move from the fumbling claw at her feet, raising her blade for another strike.

Her eyes shifted back to the wench as she fully slipped her finger into Amurisil's hilt ring, answering the abomination’s suicidal plea, "As for you, I'm working on it . . ."


----------



## Arcturion (Oct 9, 2007)

*1.2 Hommes Optare*

The lead sailor upon the plank stared at the old crone before him, his eyes wide with fear and a strange kind of madness. Raising his belaying pin high over his head, the man let out a shrill war cry that sounded half-crazed to Eltera’s keen ears. The Argus’s crew members were skilled seamen but not true battle-hardened warriors, she thought bitterly. The sailor charged the hag and took a wild swing, smashing the makeshift weapon against the side of her temple. Wood met blackened flesh with a dull crack, jerking the crone’s head to one side violently. If it had been any other human, the blow would have dropped the elderly woman to the boardwalk at her feet, but she merely staggered back a step and slowly turned back to face her assailant.

Nearly shouting in triumph, the mariner’s words caught in his throat with a hideous gurgle when a clawed hand exploded out his back, spraying the man behind him in a shower of gore. The belaying pin dropped from nerveless fingers to the weathered planks of the quay as the slain sailor’s body trembled in convulsive spasms. He slid off from the crone’s arm and fell lifelessly into the black waters below the pier with a loud splash, yet another soul swallowed by the Ebontine. Snarling, the crone paid no heed to the blood and bits of entrails that covered her spindly arm up to the shoulder, and began to advance purposefully up the plank and aboard the Argus.

The last remaining mariner yelled for the mercy of all the gods above and below as he edged backward, mumbled prayers upon quivering lips. He stumbled over the body of his fallen crewmate behind him and fell to the deck, dropping his knife in the process as he helplessly watched his doom creep ever closer.

“They bleed silver, you say?” Rentiki shouted back at Eltera’s warning. “Well, let’s see if they sh*t gold too for all the trouble they’ve caused us!” With that, the Captain’s deep baritone was raised in rousing, bawdy song.

_I once knew a girl so fair, yo ho!
With honeyed gold amidst her hair!
Eager eyes and rosy nose, yo ho!
A smile too and down she goes!_

At that, the cerulean flames that trailed along the length of Orpheus flared brightly, ghostly fires licking over the undead serpent’s rib cage as they burst forth from Rentiki’s arm toward the end of the snake’s tail. The eldritch conflagration flashed at the creature’s ensnared wrist before spreading to engulf her entire body.

Eltera narrowed her eyes against the sudden brightness though she had been exposed to the light of the surface world long enough not to be dazzled by such displays. The dark aelf felt no heat from the eerie blue flames as they consumed the inhuman wretch, only an aura of numbing chill that cut to the bone like a knife.

Straining, the woman screamed neither in pain nor surprise at the icy blaze that surrounded her. Instead, a crackling sound reverberated through the air when her hand snapped off at the wrist, sending Orpheus snaking away and Rentiki stumbling backward with a curse as he was thrown off balance. The fallen hand struck the deck and shattered into a dozen pieces as if it had been made of brittle glass. Without missing a beat, the abomination swept her freed arm down in a wide diagonal arc, hurling from her broken wrist a thick trail of liquid quicksilver through the air toward Eltera.

The dark aelf twisted her body and ducked into a crouch before diving to the planks of the maindeck. Moving nimbly, she bounded back up to her feet from the evasive roll just as the mercury sailed over her head and spattered against the wall and forecastle door behind her. Much to Eltera’s surprise, the silvery blood crystallized the instant it struck the wood, splintering the surface with an audible crack as the metallic ice expanded in a split second. Heavy footsteps echoed from behind the door, accompanied by shouts of alarm.

“Cap’n!” came a male voice, muffled within the confines of the forecastle. “Wus goin’ on out dere?” The door rattled as the man behind it attempted to push it open. “’Ey! Wus wit da door? Dis a trick?” The unseen mariner began pounding with what sounded like his fists at first before tentatively throwing the weight behind his shoulder against the wood. The top hinge was coated in frozen mercury, the black iron held fast against the frame by hardened, crystalline silver.

Turning back around, Eltera was prepared to launch herself at their inhuman foes once more when she felt something grasp around her left ankle in an iron grip.  Peering down, she saw Awino’s severed, blackened arm digging its clawed fingers into the exposed flesh. With a grunt uttered through gritted teeth, the dark aelf quickly reversed her grip on Amurisil and slashed upward with a deft flick of her wrist as Saulekanis had taught her to do countless times before, sending the dismembered arm rolling away toward the rail before it disappeared over the side of the ship. Sliced cleaning through the wrist, the icy cold fingers remained curled about her ankle and refused to let go.

Momentarily distracted by the recalcitrant hand, Eltera narrowly escaped an overhead crushing blow from Awino’s other fist. She had brought Amurisil up at the last possible second to parry the sailor’s sudden attack after he shambled toward her. Unlike the peasant wench and the old crone, Awino’s movements were stiff and awkward, his gait clumsy and wholly lacking in grace. That fact didn’t diminish his frightening strength, however. Eltera winced at the sheer brute force of the glancing blow as it rang against the blade and sent a jolt of tingling pain down her arm, and it was little wonder that Awino had snapped his friend’s neck with such ease. The mariner regarded her with dead milky-white eyes tinged with blue as he rumbled a deep groan from his throat that reminded Eltera of creaking wood.

Undead, the moon blade sang. Wasting no time to mince words with a dead man, the dark aelf sprang past Awino, swinging Amurisil while still holding the longsword in a reverse grip. The eog-forged blade sighed as its silver edge slid almost effortlessly through the sailor’s neck, parting the head from his shoulders. It sailed over the rail to join Awino’s mangled arm in the churning depths of the Ebontine while the force of the blow knocked the headless corpse over the side as well. The one-armed, decapitated mariner – still moving despite being beheaded – fell and vanished in a blink of an eye, two dull splashes marking Awino’s full entry into the water, minus his hand still latched upon Eltera’s lower leg.

One enemy vanquished as quickly as he appeared, Eltera focused her attacks upon the once-human, Svari-like mockery that stood before her. Approaching the abomination still wreathed in azure flames, the dark aelf felt waves of intense cold emanating from her. Gasping, Eltera cried out in pain as the liquid mercury that had sprayed all over her earlier crystallized the instant she closed with the creature. A silvery rime of frost covered her skin and the front of her dress, chilling the core of her very being and numbing her senses. The dark aelf’s breath turned to freezing mist while her limbs felt slow and heavy like leaden weights. Following through with Amurisil, Eltera attempted to slash at her opponent though this time the stroke cut only air as the abomination reflexively threw up her remaining hand and knocked the sword aside, ruining the angle of descent. Reaching out with a fist, the creature once more attempted to lash out in retaliation as the dark aelf danced away but was, again, not quick enough.

Eltera realized with a start that her own movements were stiff and ungainly, her speed and mobility greatly hampered by the numbing cold. The chill only intensified with each passing moment and made every motion of her body seem strangely sluggish. She whirled and faced her ever persistent foe, having ended up where she once started and found herself standing next to Rentiki.

By this time, the Daoshan Captain recovered from his near fall, snapping Orpheus up behind one broad shoulder as if to unleash another wicked lash with his skeletal familiar. Without warning, a figure dropped down from the raised quarterdeck behind them both and landed upon Rentiki’s back, grappling the large man and interrupting his attack. This latest enemy clawed and raked exposed flesh with the ferocity of a rabid dog, teeth worrying Rentiki’s left shoulder back and forth savagely. Taken by surprise, the Daoshan Captain roared in agony at the sheer brazenness of this new threat and reared backward in an attempt to slam his foe against the inside of his cabin’s door frame, once, twice, and then a third time for good measure.

Stumbling, Terwase fell backward inside the cabin and landed upon his rear, an expression of stunned horror dawning over his aged features. The old shaman abruptly turned and scrambled away, the folds of his roughspun robe tripping him up in his haste to flee.

Eltera’s eyes widened when she saw rivulets of crimson mix with threads of quicksilver that ran down the front of Rentiki’s chest from his shredded left collar, staining the man’s colorful vest and sailor’s garb with his life’s blood. The Captain’s ornate steel sword dropped from his thick fingers, the curved cutlass clattering to lay forgotten on the floor while the cerulean fires, which had burned so brightly just moments earlier, were quickly doused. The bones of Orpheus cascaded from its master’s arm and scattered all over the deck as the powerful Daoshan, once proud and indomitable, staggered and then sank heavily to his knees. An odd look of serenity passed over Rentiki’s face, replacing the fury and pain that were once there.

“Lost,” he rasped with a ghost of a wry smile, his voice barely an audible whisper. “Lost this game of bones, I did.” The large man toppled over ponderously like a tree hewn for timber, collapsing to the deck face first.

The small figure stood up on top of Rentiki’s broad back and Eltera was greeted by the sight of a young human child, the girl not much older in age and appearance to her own Ayaleska, or so she guessed. The tusseled mat of hair atop her head was the color of ivory, bleached bone white similar to that of many a dark aelf. Her skin was likewise blackened as if exposed to extreme cold though it was smooth and unbroken instead of cracked and weeping poisonous mercury. Clothed in the rags of a street urchin, the child’s eyes that stared back shone gold in the pale moonlight, while her teeth flashed with an impish grin that glistened red over silver as her tongue flicked out over the tips of pointed canine fangs. Giggling, the girl took a moment to wipe the blood and quicksilver that dribbled down her chin, regarding the slickness that covered her tiny fingers with a queer, morbid fascination.


----------



## Arcturion (Oct 9, 2007)

*1.2 Hommes Optare*

Eltera breathed heavily, feeling her chest start to burn for air while her limbs felt heavier with each beat of her heart.  Her body had always been ready to react and as quick as a loosed arrow to any situation.  Now, beneath the icy aura from that hoar-frosted wretch, the dark aelf was barely able to walk more then a few strides.  With each moment, she could feel the ice racing through her veins.

With a passing glance, she looked down to the macabre bracelet on her leg.  It clung tightly around her leg as the unnatural claws dug into her skin.  The sight was half hidden behind the remains of her ruined satin dress.

To her side, Rentiki was collapsed heavily on the plank in a growing pool of his own blood.  Only just hours before he had saved her life from the crowd and now he was near death while she stood just at his side.  Her stomach clenched tightly in a painful twist.  The pain was far more wretching the hand around her ankle or the icy quicksilver across her face.  To see a friend die was aching.

And now, there was another guest crouched only a few feet from her.  The peasant woman was hardly injured and Eltera was directly in the middle of the group with only one of Rentiki's crewmates still alive.

Well, the others might be 'alive' again in just a moment . . .

The thought was sobering.

Eltera called out loudly, trying to warn those sailors on the other side of the door. "Do not come out the door!!  Flee the ship some other way!!"

Amurisil hung limply from her right hand.  The heavy weight seemed strange as the blade would otherwise be alive in a blaze of movement.  Instead, Eltera concentrated on her own innate abilities as she slowly crouched down and touched the planking at her feet.  Feeling the cold and wet plank, the dark aelf warrior summoned an area of darkness to shield herself and Rentiki's body from everyone else's vision.

As the expectant darkness engulfed her, Eltera took one last glance around the ship for a point to hide from the abominations' vision outside her immediate area.  Rentiki's cabin was immediately to her rear, hampering her movement ever further.


----------



## Arcturion (Oct 9, 2007)

*1.2 Hommes Optare*

The old crone gave a feral hiss as she fell upon the last surviving mariner, helpless as the man was lying prone over the bodies of his slain crewmates. He cried out in terror and tried to crawl away but the hag’s unnatural strength was much too great. She grasped the sailor from behind at both shoulders, digging into his flesh with sharp talons that glinted silver in the pale moonlight as he squealed like a stuck pig. Pulled backward and then flipped over bodily as if he weighed nothing, the hag bared her teeth in a snarl and planted her mouth over his in a hideous lover’s kiss.

The mariner’s shrieks came muffled and desperate then, his fists beating against the assailant futilely while his feet kicked the air with wild abandon. Eyes wide with fear and panic, blood began to pool out from the corner of the sailor’s lips, dark ribbons of crimson trailing against bronzed skin. The old crone jerked away violently as a spray of blood came up, the man’s tongue torn from his mouth and now gnashed between her teeth. Choking, the sailor could only writhe upon the deck helplessly and watch as the hag ate his tongue. It wasn’t long before the man ceased his struggling, drowned in his own blood.

The banging at the forecastle door grew more fiercely, the wood shuddering against the force of the unseen mariner’s kicks and shoulder-thrown blows. However, the crystallized mercury continued to hold fast against the door, its hinge frozen into the frame. Eltera admired the fact that his crewmate’s cries for help spurred the man into furious action but knew that there was precious little any normal mortal could do against such unnatural foes.

Shuffling toward the dark aelf, the peasant wench’s own movements seemed stiffer and slower than they had been. Wordlessly, the abomination struggled not to trip over the body of the sailor whose skull she herself had crushed just moments before, her torn abdomen trailing black viscera covered in a film of silvery hoarfrost. Each motion she made sounded like ice scraping against rock as flecks of frozen mercury flaked off from her broken body, accompanied by a cold mist that flowed from the gaping wounds. Shedding tears of quicksilver from lifeless golden eyes, the wench lunged at Eltera, her remaining hand flying toward the dark aelf’s neck. Icy fingers wrapped themselves over the naked flesh of her throat as she was slammed back against the cabin wall, the mere touch of them so cold as to burn and forcing a gasp from Eltera’s lips as it chilled her very blood.

“Kill me,” the abomination whispered, her hollow voice sounding as if it came from the depths of some frozen glacier. Her repeated words were spoken in the same strangely lilting human language from before, sounding almost musical to the dark aelf’s ears even while the breath was being squeezed from her lungs by the wench’s iron grip.

Her chattering teeth clenched against the cold, Eltera tried to push the wench’s arm away with her own free hand, without avail. Amurisil was about to fly up, the blade intent on taking away her assailant’s other hand when the dark aelf felt tiny clawed fingers dig into her sword arm painfully. Looking down, Eltera saw the young girl gripping her forearm, holding it fast with a frightening strength that belied her small stature. The child looked up long enough with seemingly guileless golden eyes to give the dark aelf an innocent smile, showing off blood-stained, silvery teeth when her mouth went impossibly wide with the intent of sinking her growing fangs into flesh.

Summoning the innate ability of her wicked kin, Eltera sought to gather the darkening night’s gloom around herself. Instead, a pale glow like faint moonlight began to suffuse her ebony skin, flickering with all the fragility of a candle’s flame before it grew in brightness and intensity. Wailing, the wench withdrew her hand from the dark aelf’s throat, leaving visible marks upon her neck where frozen fingers had tightened around it as a vice. Crying out, the child too was repelled back a step, shielding her face with small arms whose flesh began to hiss and sizzle at the light’s gentle touch. Eltera felt rather than saw Awino’s severed hand release her ankle and fall to the deck, the gruesome thing smoking palm up with twitching fingers as some dying bug roasting in the sun. Snarling, the old crone had thrown up her spindly arms as well, spewing incoherent curses toward the source of the radiance.

The pure silver light spread out nearly fifteen feet from where the dark aelf stood, causing the wench to stumble away backward. Rather than shield herself from the illumination like the other two abominations, she seemed to force herself to take it all in as her body trembled and trailed tendrils of putrid mist that rose from countless tears that had erupted all over her blackened skin. Liquid mercury wept freely from the terrible wounds while a strange crackling filled the air, the quicksilver crystallizing in the chill night wind. As quickly as the beautiful radiance had appeared, it began to recede before fading away altogether.

Her ebony skin still smoking, the girl lowered her seared hands and stared at Eltera with eyes that shone like molten gold before laughing again as a child would in play. She began to advance forward once more but was stopped when a metallic click sounded from within the cabin. Turning, the girl and dark aelf both saw Terwase standing not far off near the latticed windows, Rentiki’s flintlock pistol held in both of his gaunt hands. The aged shaman aimed the ornate weapon’s barrel toward the direction of the girl and, hesitating for only a split second, squeezed the trigger and fired. A loud bang rang out, accompanied by an acrid cloud of black smoke and a bright flash as the flint hammer struck sparks and ignited the powder. Terwase was thrown back a step by the pistol’s recoil just as the roundball projectile struck the girl through the left eye and exploded out the back of her head, hurling her bodily through the air.

Eltera gaze grew wide when the girl landed with a thud not far from where Rentiki lay upon the deck, her limbs strewn about like some forgotten ragdoll. She had fallen face up, her remaining eye staring unseeing into the sky while her other was a ghastly hollow ruin. Rivulets of quicksilver streamed from underneath her matted white hair to stain the maindeck in an ever growing pool that glistened in the pale moonlight. A queer expression of delighted surprise graced her youthful features as she lay still as death.

The flintlock pistol fell from Terwase’s shaking hands, clattering heavily to the floor just as he sank to his knees. Shocked horror over what he had just done was etched across his weathered face, wisps of smoke still trailing from the barrel of the fired weapon.

Eltera whirled when the wench, seeing the girl fall, began to wail anew as a mother crying out for her dead child, raising a trembling hand toward the small corpse, imploring. Every movement she made was stiff as ice, brittle pieces of her skin and flesh breaking off from her body like flakes of fallen snow.

The grieving abomination gave a final scream when suddenly she was thrown off her feet by some unseen hand, hurtling backward toward the forecastle with surprising velocity. Her body struck both the wall and door with violent force, shattering into a thousand pieces as if her flesh was wholly carved of ice statuary. Shards of frozen mercury exploded over the maindeck of the Argus and rained down over Eltera, forcing her to raise both her arms to shield her face from the flying debris. When she lowered them, she saw the abomination’s remains strewn all over the planks, each piece glittering like broken glass. A chunk of the woman’s face and eye still in its socket lay at her feet, frozen in time where a silvered tear had streamed down the cheek.

Eltera saw slight movement from the right corner of her eye and turned to look down. Gasping with heavy breaths and straining with the effort, Rentiki had his right arm outstretched before him as he lay on the deck. A sheen of sweat glistened over his bare skin despite the night’s chill, his left shoulder and collarbone still torn and bleeding where the child abomination had bitten and savaged his flesh. Shifting his weight upon his stomach, the Daoshan Captain lowered his hand and regarded Eltera with an expression that bespoke of exhaustion mixed with triumph.

Their moment of victory was shattered when the hag snarled her fury, baring her teeth while her golden eyes blazed with unmasked hatred. She took a step toward Eltera as if she meant to lunge at her but stopped in her tracks when shouts of alarm were raised in the distance, accompanied by myriad footsteps that echoed over the cobblestone streets. Whirling, the crone hissed one final time before turning and leaping over the deck toward the direction of the child. She flew past Eltera and the reach of her sword, landing next to the girl’s corpse. Without pausing, the hag snatched up the limp body in the crook of one arm and a piece of the wench’s shattered remains in the other before dashing across the maindeck with a startingly speed that matched the dark aelf’s own. Leaping the rail, she sailed away from the Argus and vanished into the thick white fog. There was no splash of water as one would expect from hitting the water, as if the abomination had been completely swallowed up by the night.

Even now, Eltera felt her frozen wounds beginning to close up and heal over themselves, bits of mercury flaking off from her skin as a rush of warmth emanated from Amurisil.

Rentiki rasped a single word when the last of the enemy had fled from sight, his voice hoarse and sounding almost rueful. “Rasavatam . . .”


----------



## Arcturion (Oct 9, 2007)

*1.2 Hommes Optare*

Watching the crone leap over the wooden rail with frightening agility and eerie silence, Eltera stood ready for another attack for several more moments as the fog closed where the crone had last been seen.  Her body ached as the painful coldness relented quickly to a numbing chill.  Her skin felt as if thorns were lightly poking at her as the warm rush from Amurisil coursed through her body and returned life to her form.

With her eyes scanning the decks as she took a slow step towards Rentiki's injured form, the dark aelf summoned the strength of Amurisil's abilities to look into the hidden.  The blade was linked to both immense healing powers and the ability of the dreamscape and things not known.  She focused that power from her weapon as she kept a vigilant eye for other attackers.

Eltera took no more time to check her surroundings then only a few brief moments.  Her breath, stuck in her throat moments before as she was pressed against the wall by hands of pure ice, was now coming back in labored gasps.  She had exerted herself in the battle and it was now starting to take its toll.  Her blades could easily become a deadly dance, but it was not without a price.

The dark aelf pushed the weariness away and knelt next to Rentiki's form with care to avoid any of the quicksilver blood that might have fallen from the girl's dead form.  The bite to Rentiki had cut deeply and was still pouring blood with each pump of the Captain's heart.  It was amazing that he was still alive and somehow it didn't surprise her.  The warmth from Amurisil began pulsating and the blade hummed lightly in her grasp, wishing for its purpose to be fulfilled against the open wounds.

Putting a gentle hand on Rentiki's good shoulder, she bade him to remain still while she rested the side of the ancient blade on the bone and blood of the opposite shoulder.  The whispered name of the goddess Eluna elicited an extra illumination from the blade as soft grey light further filled the translucent blade.  After a moment, Eltera again asked Amurisil to watch over Rentiki, even when the large, jolly, and somewhat indulgent Captain might be out of her sight.

After healing his wounds as fully as Amurisil might, she smiled back to him with a face still covered in silver, "Well, you certainly have a way with women.  Should I perhaps feel jealous?"

The calls for alarm and approaching footsteps grew louder as each second passed.  Eltera was still fatigued from the fight and doubted she could wholly outrun the group of guards if her ability to hide faltered.  The dark aelf gave a quick glance around before looking back to Terwase and the Captain's cabin, "If you do not mind, I'd like to go rest, perhaps secreted away in your wardrobe."  Eltera looked back to Rentiki with her next words, "For some reason, I doubt I would be the first to do so."


----------



## Arcturion (Oct 9, 2007)

*1.2 Hommes Optare*

As she gave the pool of mercury a wide berth and made her way toward the fallen Captain, Eltera could see nothing else amiss upon the maindeck of the Argus. Still slowed by the numbing cold, the dark aelf moved gingerly, avoiding the blood that stained the planks and bits of bone left from Orpheus. Rentiki’s wound was raw and angry, but physically appeared more serious than it actually was. The true danger, Eltera noted, was the poisonous quicksilver mixed with the blood.

Terwase’s initial shock seemed to be dispelled when his Captain’s well-being was brought forth into question. The old shaman fell forward on his hands and knees, scrambling past the empty pistol toward Rentiki, the horrors he had just witnessed momentarily forgotten in his haste to render aid. Together with the dark aelf, Terwase helped the injured Captain off his stomach and propped him up against the frame of the cabin door.

Rentiki winced visibly at the movement, but to his credit he gave no cry of pain. When he was finally settled, the Captain smiled weakly at the both of them, nodding his thanks. “Ah, if only ye can call them that, dear Cat,” Rentiki replied wryly, though his voice sounded a bit stronger than it had been before. “No need for jealousy. Virile even as I am, one woman at a time is all I can handle, let alone three. I also prefer my women warm and without ice in their veins and murder in their hearts. Still, ye rarely see the glimmer of goldlust so plainly in their eyes. That’s when it’s best to cast off, aye.”

Eltera could only shake her head at the man’s words. It was not lust for gold that shone in their eyes. It was blood, that much she was certain.

They all whirled when the forecastle door finally burst open, the metallic hoarfrost weakened when the wench had impacted against its surface. A squat man with a burly demeanor rushed out before stopping short at the chaotic scene before him, his boots crunching over the abomination’s frozen remains. The tattered clothes she had worn were caught and blown away by the wind, flying over the rails. “The Kingfisher save us!” he swore in the same harsh-sounding language Hashad had used, a butcher’s meat cleaver in his fist. “What in da Nine 'ells ‘appened ‘ere?” This middle-aged human wore roughspun sailor’s garb and a leather apron stained with gristle over his considerable paunchy girth. A fat and homely man with light brown skin, the cook, or so Eltera guessed, was toughened by scars from being repeatedly burnt by countless grease fires, though his black hair and moustache were strangely well kept and oiled despite his otherwise unkempt attire. His dark eyes took in the slaughter and corpses littered near the gangplank and he gave a vile curse.

A boy, perhaps entering his early teens, poked his head out from behind the plump cook. He was a skinny lad, with shaggy dark hair and skin baked to a healthy bronze by the sun. His clothing was equally unremarkable and typical among sailors. His eyes grew wide as saucers as he too saw the bodies of the three sailors left in the wake of this night’s carnage.

“Cap’n!” the fat man shouted from across the maindeck. Followed closely upon his heels by the lanky youth, he took off running toward Rentiki, stopping only a moment to shoot an accusatory glance at Eltera. “Wench, I’ll gut ye ‘ere n’ now if ye be da cause of dis mess!”

“Yarquen,” Rentiki said gently to the man before turning to the boy. “Izthakos, tis alright. She’s . . . a friend.” This seemed to placate the homely ship’s cook somewhat, but he still looked doubtful while the youth only gazed at Eltera with a mix of bewilderment and fear. Silent thus far, the boy Rentiki had named as Izthakos blushed crimson red when he noticed the sorry state of Eltera’s dress, averting his eyes.

The dark aelf nodded curtly at them both but didn’t bother to wait for a formal introduction when she laid Amurisil’s eog-forged blade upon Rentiki’s left shoulder, touching the cool metal to the wound with the utmost care. At this, Yarquen brandished his cleaver menacingly at Eltera, perhaps believing she would do his Captain harm but Terwase stopped him with a raised hand. The sword answered its wielder’s call as the mangled flesh began to mend and knit seemingly all by itself, the only outward sign of an intervening force being a faint silvery radiance emanating from the tip of the blade. Terwase seemed to give a toothless grin of approval while Izthakos’s eyes went wide at the sight of it, his mouth gaping open in wordless astonishment. Yarquen only harrumphed and muttered something underneath his breath. Within moments, the wound was gone and Rentiki’s broad shoulder whole once more beneath the sheen of blood and sweat.

The dark aelf was puzzled when she noticed Orpheus’s skull still attached to the flesh where the serpent had bitten into its master’s skin. At Amurisil’s touch, the skull fell away and clattered to the deck. Left in its absence was a strange tattoo in the form of a fiery brand upon Rentiki’s shoulder, rendered in dark blue ink where none existed before. Even now Eltera saw pieces of the snake’s skeleton skittering across the cabin, gathering around the Daoshan Captain to retake its familiar undead shape. Orpheus coiled itself up over Rentiki’s right side, eerily silent while the large man stroked the snake’s fleshless skull affectionately.

“Good to see ye again too,” the Captain answered before turning to Terwase. “Old friend, help me up to my feet. I’m afraid I don’t quite have my sea legs back yet.”

The aged shaman nodded and did as Rentiki bade him, helping to shoulder the Captain’s weight upon his own gaunt frame. Terwase used his free hand to make a series of complex gestures, again, none of which Eltera could understand though Rentiki seemed to easily enough. The big Daoshan had risen slowly and swayed slightly before leaning his back against the door frame. Eltera noted that despite his wound having healed over, something else was wrong with him still.

Rentiki spoke even though they already knew the answer. “Poison,” he spat with unveiled distaste at the pool of mercury near his feet. Amurisil confirmed the diagnosis as well.

“Cap’n, no!” Izthakos uttered aghast in the Common Tradespeak and seemed almost on the verge of tears but he trailed off when Yarquen laid a hand on the boy’s shoulder and shook his head solemnly.

Rentiki let out heavy breath before continuing. “Terwase says the mark I now bear will stay its effects for a while but eventually it will consume me.” Eltera could see the bluish veins standing out against Rentiki’s dark ebony skin where the girl child had savaged him. “A few days, no more, by his guess. Orpheus lent me a part of his spirit, he did, but his flame cannot burn away the venom nor keep it at bay forever. Terwase, he can prepare an antidote but it will take some time. Time I’m afraid we don’t quite have.” Wearily, Rentiki pointed with his chin toward the shouts of alarm and approaching footsteps echoing off in the near distance and then propped his head back against the wood of the cabin wall. He swallowed hard, sweat beading upon his face. “Yarquen, take Izthakos back down below decks and secure the cargo hold. Ye know what to do. Just follow the plan as we discussed. Let Hashad and the rest of the crew know what has happened when they return.”

“Aye, Cap’n,” the cook replied stoutly. “But just what sort o’ devilry did ‘appen ‘ere? Where are da other—”

“Terwase will explain later, if he can,” Rentiki said, cutting him off. “We’re all that’s left in this. There’s nothing we can do for the dead, and no time to delve into the details. Trust in me.”

Yarquen stiffened, recognizing an order when he hears one. “Ye kin count on me, Cap’n!”

“Good,” the large Daoshan replied and then turned to the youth. “Be brave. Now go, the both of ye!”

The boy bobbed his head earnestly.

“Aye, aye, Cap’n! Izthakos, on me heels!” Yarquen barked. With that, the cook and cabin boy turned and hurried off back down below decks.

“Rasavatam,” Rentiki said again when they were alone with Terwase and Orpheus to bear silent witness. The large man sounded almost wistful. “It is a Shakali word. It means—“

“The Way of Mercury,” Eltera answered before she even realized that she had spoken. There was no obvious explanation as to how or why she knew it, but upon hearing the once unfamiliar word again, she suddenly understood its meaning. 

“Aye,” the Daoshan Captain said, his voice all too calm and betraying no hint of surprise as he watched with idle wonder the growing number of torchlights streaming down the cobblestone avenue toward the docks. “That it does, Cat. Terwase dabbled in the art for a good many years, or so he tells me, learning from several mystics from his homeland. It is a form of alchemy, the practice of combining herbs, drugs, and prepared medicines. Quite a bit different from the traditions of alchemy found here in the realms of the north and yet they share many things in common as well. In rasavatam, admixtures of mercury are the basis with which to cure disease and prolong life, even going as far as to unlocking the secrets of immortality. Though these . . . things we’ve encountered this night, it has been taken to an extreme unheard of.”

Eltera turned and regarded Rentiki cautiously. “You said you knew of a Shakali woman, a priestess,” she observed pointedly. “Could she have sent those things after you?”

“No,” Rentiki answered at once rather adamantly, shaking his head. “True, she may have been vengeful, but this devilry is beyond even her ken. I don’t believe for a second that our falling out would drive her to such lengths simply to satisfy a jilted lover’s petty revenge. A woman scorned, yes, but to damn her own soul to play at necromancy so foul as to offend the gods themselves? I say I should be so flattered, but even I realize that I’m hardly worth the effort!” The Captain of the Argus laughed in spite of himself, causing him to choke slightly in a fit of sudden coughing. He took a moment to catch his breath, waving away Terwase’s concerned ministrations.

“Besides, what she did with Orpheus is nothing compared to those things we fought,” he continued somberly. “No, this is not her doing. When last I saw her, she had too much respect for the gods and the old ways. This, this is something else. Dark sorcery is afoot here. Ye look to me for the answer and yet I couldn’t help but note that their appearance mirrored yours, Cat.” Rentiki arched an eyebrow at the dark aelf. “Ebony skin, bone white hair, and all women, too. They slew my men and turned them into mere mockeries of themselves just as they were even darker reflections of your own people, but not quite so. In my broad experience and varied travels, I’ve seen many strange things. For one, the dead can walk and oft tell tales if so inclined, contrary to popular belief, but they did not move nor fight as those abominations did. I must wonder, Cat, whether they may have come for ye instead of me. Perhaps someone is trying to send ye a message. If so, I would repay them in kind. A good captain always settles his debts. Elsewise, the souls of the dead can never rest easy.

“But aye,” he abruptly changed the subject, the approach of myriad strangers ever closer. “Let’s make ye comfortable in the little time we have left to us, yes? It just won’t do to have a delicate flower such as ye wilting away in the city gaol.” Smiling, Rentiki gestured inside his cabin and, together with Terwase and Orpheus, strode out of the chill to lead Eltera back toward the wardrobe. The secreted cabinet appeared more cramped than it had before to the dark aelf’s eyes as she followed suit. Terwase went to help gather her things from the Captain’s lectern and writing desk, his spindly arms straining under the weight of the kit.

As Eltera checked the confines of the closet hidden behind the cabin’s bookcase, Rentiki grabbed her upper arm, though not ungently. “Sooner or later,” he began in hushed tones so only she could hear him, the expression upon his face ashen like the grave. “I may turn into one of those things as Awino did. Should the time come, swear that you’ll put an end to me before that happens. I would choose to die as Rentiki, Captain of the Argus and not as a mindless pawn in some necromancer’s twisted game.”


----------

