3rd Place: Sumnner v. Inkfinger

[Max Dirks]

The battle will begin Saturday November 28 at 12 AM CST. Good luck!

[Inkfinger]

The world was fog, mist and gray, as if a raincloud had swallowed the sea. Cael Strandssen sat hunched on a coil of coarse rope that almost reached his waist, running his stained fingers down the damp page of his journal. The moisture in the air was making the ink spread in blotches, transforming the neat print within to something that looked like a child’s untidy scrawl.

This isn’t helping, Caelric.

That sneaking suspicion was right, and he knew it. His mind was a riot of thoughts, and not even his pen could pin them in order. Things were simply happening too fast. Two weeks ago, he’d been in Fallien, and he’d been prepared to stay there as long as he could manage. He liked it there. The only people who tried to kill him tried to kill everybody – there was nothing personal about it; no one looking for him and him alone.

That had changed when he met Areesha Gallowsgate the second time.

Areesha Gallowsgate was the first Tradespeak speaking being he’d run into on Fallien - and she was a slaver, with a hand in at least ten other crooked card games at the same time, somewhat of a master manipulator…

And you just thought she was being friendly!

He’d thought that right up until she’d told him what she did for a living and proposed a deal. She had proposed that he go home and fight for the League of Salvic States in the ongoing civil war.

He had proposed, in turn, that she was an idiot. He’d only just managed to get out of that civil war, and that had cost him well over two months of his life – time lost to a subterranean prison, and a ruthless sadist of a guard. It was that very guard that had drawn him back into the conflict – that guard, and the lies that Areesha was willing to tell, lies about treachery and seduction…

She'd won the argument, hands down.

His pen tip snagged, tearing through the paper and staining the next page a royal blue. Cael stared at the ruined pages for a moment before cursing under his breath. He slammed the notebook shut with more force than necessary, shoving it in the open mouth of his rucksack.

Admit it, his mind continued as he stared out at the mist. The sun was starting to set. The clouds were thinning on the horizon, and the sun’s light suffused the mist with a pinkish glow, tinting the waves’ crests gold. It was almost ethereal, almost like something out of a dream, and it didn’t fit his current train of thought. You’re just scared.

It was right again. His time since he and Areesha had left Fallien had been a whirlwind of fighting and thievery: a chance encounter with an old friend Vespasian here, a fight with a woman he had thought to be a dream there…he’d failed in the last fight, trapped even as he’d trapped his opponent. He’d considered it a tie, though he would have been content to lose to an old friend.

Areesha would not be so content, and he knew it.

So he’d simply left on his own: dug the necessary coinage from his funds, and purchased a ticket on a small boat heading for the coasts of home. He only hoped that Areesha would listen to reason when she caught up – mostly because there was no doubt that she would, eventually, catch up.

She’d better listen to reason. Otherwise, you are going to become rather intimately acquainted with a large number of people you do not wish to know…

Cael shivered at the thought, leaning his elbows against the rail. The creaking of the rigging and the constant fabric ripple of unfurled sails warred with the constant languid lapping of the waves in his ears. The air smelled of salt and thunder, though it was the wrong season for storms. It was all familiar – he’d grown up in a fishing village. The sea hadn’t been the life for him, but it was still his roots…

They still hold sound, for all you’ve tried to cut yourself free of them.

The abrupt rumble of thunder drew him from the jungle of his thoughts with a deep scowl. There shouldn’t be thunder. The air had gone colder as he sat, gathering in his sinuses and bones with a pressure that made them ache, but he couldn’t make himself stand. He couldn’t bear to think of spending the trip below decks – he still hadn’t had his fill of the sky.

“Sir?” the voice materializing out of the mist was young and uncertain. Cael blinked, sitting up straighter to peer at the speaker. It was one of the ship’s boys, a lad who couldn’t have been over sixteen. He held his cap in his hands, wringing it like a washcloth, as he spoke. “Will you be comin’ below decks, then?”

“No, thank you,” Cael returned, looking back over the water, part of his mind still trying to wrap around ‘sir’. He’d never been a sir. “I like it out here. We haven’t hit cold water yet…” One of the clouds on the horizon flickered ominously, challenging his decision.

“Yessir, it’s only just…” The young sailor glanced over his shoulder helplessly before leaning closer, his voice a hiss. “There’s a ship, sir. The captain thinks you ought to come inside.”

A ship. Another ship? This wasn’t a trade route. This wasn’t an anything route, usually. The odds of simply coming across another ship…

Cael stood, slowly, one hand hooking through his pack’s strap. He heaved it over his back, retrieving his naginata from behind the coil of rope as soon as he had his pack balanced. He finally heard the thunder from that far off cloud. It sounded louder than it should have; given the time it had taken to arrive. …weather-working? “I trust I’m not to say anything to the other passengers?”

“Right, sir, if you would, sir.” The sailor replaced his crushed and wrinkled hat, then, peering over his shoulder again. “I wasn’t supposed to tell you, even, but…” He shrugged once, helplessly. “You might want to get a move on, sir.”

Cael obeyed, feeling a cold fear that had nothing to do with Areesha and everything to do with pirates and corsairs form in the pit of his stomach. He all-but leapt down the rough-hewn stairs to the hold, feeling the first drops of what promised to be a driving rain smack against his shoulders. The ship chose the moment he was midair to yaw starboard, violently. The floor beneath his feet no longer level, he skidded head over heels through a pile of airborne maps to land smack on top of another passenger.

“Oh, sainted Sway,” he sputtered, scrambling to untangle himself through the litany of apologies threatening to spill forth. “I am so sorry; I wasn’t expecting them to move the floor like that…”

[Sumnner]

The alley was a dark, foul smelling place, littered with human waste, natural and otherwise. Crates, most long since rotted beyond any usefulness, were stacked nearly too the roofs of the surrounding buildings, many of their contents precariously hanging from the shattered boards. Barrels and sacks littered the pathway as well, but these were in marginally better condition, as they were more often used than the crates. Dark forms sat slouched or standing against the walls in out of the way places, around corners or crammed into tiny niches, dirty faces looking out solemnly at whomever dared to pass through the diseased warrens. One such passerby, a well dressed lad in his prime, stepped quickly into and out of the midst before most could even think to look up. Not exactly running, the youth still gave off the appearance of having to be some place else, and in a hurry too. Most individuals merely grunted as the youth past, but a few tried reaching out to him, either begging for loose coin, or for other, more malicious reasons. In every instance however, the youth simply grunted and hurried on faster, if it was at all possible without running.

The end of the alley was nearing its run when a figured dared step into the path of the youth and stop him short of getting themselves run over. A hard, calloused hand reached out to grasp a hold of the youths shirt as he skidded to a halt on the slippery mud, and a crooked smile formed on the figures lips as his fist clenched into a ball. The youth had barely a moment to catch his breath before the fist slammed hard into his face and he instantly slumped in the others grasp, knocked clean out with one swift blow. The figure chuckled, then hauled the youth and his black case over his shoulder before trudging away into the swirl of the passing crowd.

No one looked at the pair twice...

*~~*

He awoke to another headache, although this one he had a good idea as to the cause. His jaw was throbbing wildly as he sat up, causing tears to build around his eyes and he glanced around him as he rubbed his face slowly. He was still slightly disoriented from the blow he had received in the alleyway, and still a little shocked that it had even happened but at least he hadn't awoken in a completely foreign place. He had momentarily regained consciousness earlier, long enough to know that he was on a ship and that they were probably putting to sea soon. He took a moment to feel the sway of the ship around him and quickly came to the conclusion that they were indeed no longer ported. He grunted sourly and swung his feet off the cot he had been laid down on, noticing for the first time that he had been stripped of his shoes and both shirts. Another sour grunt escaped his lips and he wrapped his head in his hands as he rested his elbows on his knees.

It was just one disaster after another with him these days. First he wakes up in a completely foreign place, with no recollection of his past, or even his own name. Then he gets caught up in a series of wild, strange and often deadly squabbles with other people he hardly knows. Now, of all things, he has been knocked unconscious and kidnapped, probably to be taken to someplace beyond even his wildest imaginings. He groaned softly into his palms and wiped them down his face, dragging the soft flesh beneath his eyes downward as he widened his eyes as far as they could. "Fuck," he mumbled softly as he slumped sideways onto the cot, closing his eyes. After a moment he lifted his feet up off the floor and laid them down on the cot, flipping and arm up over his closed eyes as he did so.

He lay there for a few minutes, trying to calm his racing thoughts, more often simply forgetting he had ever thought them than anything else, unmoving until a loud knock at the door roused him from his doze. The door pushed open without him raising a call to enter, not that he would have expected them, whoever they were, to listen seeing as they had kidnapped him, and admitted a tallish fellow with long black hair framing a hard faced crisscrossed with more scars than he cared to count. In his thick hands rested a dark bundle and he could see a few slender metal objects protruding from various points in the bundle but couldn't get much more out of it as the man threw it at the floor next to him.

"Get dressed," he said gruffly in a deep, booming voice. "In case you hadn't noticed, you're on a ship and you've been conscripted as one of the crew. You'll be expected to work, and work hard and perhaps one day you'll earn a proper place on this ship." He then turned to leave but before he fully exited the room, he paused and looked back. "Just remember, try anything and there will be twenty men there to see you don't before you can say your mothers maiden name, and none will be too gentle about it." He smiled wickedly, and then slammed the door shut behind him.

It was all he could do not to stare like an idiot at the door as it slammed shut. Conscripted? Crew? What in the hell? He leaned over the side of the cot and pushed a finger through the bundle on the floor and blinked in surprise as a sword and two long daggers tumbled from the cloth to clatter loudly against the floorboards. Holy. Shit. A long moment passed before a loud banging on the door, followed by shouting caused him to jump up from the cot. "Hurry up in there worm, or do I have to come in there and teach you how to dress quickly?" That sent him scampering into the loose clothing as quickly as he could.

His pants he was apparently supposed to keep, as there wasn't a pair in the bundle but the shirt was of loose white linen that laced up to the neck from halfway down his chest and the boots were a little tight but they also felt as though they would eventually stretch out a bit. It took him a moment to identify the dark stains splattered all across their front and when he did he felt his stomach turn. Blood apparently made him a bit queasy, even if it was obviously quite old. The sword and daggers fit easily behind a long gold sash that tied around his waist and the outfit was completed by a rather ostentatious three pointed hat with a long black feather protruding from its rim. I must look like a pirate, he thought wryly to himself as he clamped the hat down hard on his head. It fit, but only just barely.

Settling the boots onto his feet as he stamped toward the door, he grasped the handle and swung it open to find himself staring straight into the face of a different man, but all same, quite as menacing as the first. "Follow me," was all he said before turning away and tramping up the short hall to a set of small stairs that shone with light from a large, square cut hole in the ceiling. There was no other choice but to follow, and he did, but not after silently swinging the door shut behind him. Once he climbed up the stairs though, he found himself suddenly wondering if he didn't just look like a pirate.

The ship was a largish vessel, at least to his untrained eye it looked largish, with three tall masts, each topped with a half barrel looking basket, and large bleach white sails hanging from long crossbeams just below the barrel baskets. He had only a moment to gaze around him in dumbfounded wonder when someone shouted at him to move and nearly put him on his ass as they bowled over him anyway. The bowler, a heavy set man with arms nearly as thick as any other mans legs, was followed by a small group of equally large men and they were all heading toward the left side railing, long ropes and three pronged, hook like devices grasped in their hands.

It was at that point that he finally caught sight of the other ship, dangerously close to the one he was on. Then someone shouted and the two ships crunched together wickedly. He would have lost his footing for sure if he hadn't been sprawled on his ass the way he was, but all the same, he couldn't help but roll over onto his stomach.

He didn't have much time to orient himself after that though, as at that particular moment in time, hells gates decided that it was as good a time as any and the demons of the Devil spilled forth and wreaked havoc on the world he had been so unfortunate to wake up in.

[Inkfinger]

The unfortunate soul Cael had landed on was a little old woman. She smacked him upside the head with her handbag before he could help her up, mumbling things at him in a language he didn’t recognize. He backpedaled, swiftly, his hands up as in surrender. She shook her bag at him one more time before she creaked her way upright and trundled back towards the passenger berths, shoes shuffling against the floor’s polished wood.

Cael rubbed the side of his head and followed, at a respectable distance: one that made it unlikely he’d get hit again. He veered off long before he would have reached her quarters anyways. His quarters were off down a dank hallway, in a small room almost like a closet. It only had enough space for a narrow bed. He shoved his pack under it, and pulled his naginata out of the corner he’d wedged it in.

The sailor might not have wanted him above decks, but hells if he was going to stay down. He could hear the shouts from above as he jogged back towards the stairs, orders and queries underplayed with audible panic. He was halfway up the polished stairs when something smashed, horribly loud. He looked over his shoulder, against his better judgment.

There was another ship’s bow driving through the wall. Cael let out an undignified scream of panic as his mind shut down, rebooting in something less analytic and more based on simply surviving. His legs screamed as he vaulted the stairs, barely making it to the deck before they disappeared, transformed into a pile of splintered boards and discarded nails.

He would have lain on the deck, panting for breath, except the deck was a scene of chaos. Men were leaping from the ship that had struck them; wild men with swords and red sashes, all howling like animals. Cael caught a sword-blade on the blade of his naginata and reacted accordingly, using the polearm to shove his attacker far enough away that he could slash the blade across his stomach.

He tried to ignore the way the pirate screeched, tried to justify it behind a layer of he was trying to kill you, but it didn’t quite work. If it hadn’t been for the rest of the men behind the one who had attacked him, he probably would have simply made it to the side and been sick. His stomach roiled enough as it was at the sight of fresh crimson spreading on the rain-slick wood.

His body didn’t give his mind time to focus on it. His body was already leaping towards the rest of the pirates, ruby-stained blade slashing out towards a prone man without him really thinking anything other than easier target.

On one level, that realization was terrifying. On the other, it was instinct.

[Sumnner]

"At 'em boys!" Somewhere, over the din of crunching wood, grating steel and blood curdling shouts of raging lunatics, a woman's voice rang clear, issuing commands. He had just managed to push himself to his hands and knees when the voice rang out loud again, this time much closer to him. "O'er the side 'efore she sinks damn you! Callai, ge' tho'e doors open, make ready to be tak'n on prisoners!" He had only just enough time to glance over his shoulder before a long, spindly hand grasped a hold of his shirt and yanked him to his feet. He whipped his head around to find his assailant and found himself face to face with a wicked looking woman, leathery skin and creases abundant on her no to soft face, her eyes glaring and her mouth peeled back in a snarl.

"Ye be the fresh meat," she hissed in that almost whinny voice of hers. "Ge' yerself o'er the side and see 'bout gettin' me some fresh apples!" His mouth opened, wanting to protest, wanting to cry out that this all had been some terrible mistake, that he had never wanted this, that this wasn't who he was, but no words came out as he found himself being pitched toward the side of the ship by the surprisingly strong woman. He had nothing for it but to scramble to catch the other side or fall into the roiling blue and white swells between the two ships. He caught the far side with his stomach, succeeding in wrapping himself around it like a prize bow around an equally prized gift and he slide unceremoniously off the rail to lay twisted on the floor beneath.

He lay still for a moment, only vaguely aware of the pandemonium erupting all around him as the people of the ship he had just been on stormed the ship he had be so violently thrown upon. After a short moment he rolled to his stomach and looked up, just in time to see a spear like weapon being lowered in his general direction and slither to the side to avoid it. It thunked loudly into the hard wood of the floor beneath him and he kicked at almost instinctively, frantically backpedaling with his other leg while reaching for one of the three blades tucked behind his sash.

In the back of his mind, screaming for his attention but largely going unnoticed, a voice cried out that he hadn't the slightest idea as to what he was doing.

[Inkfinger]

The naginata’s blade slammed into the soaked deck and stuck fast for a second, the red-tinged blade gleaming in a sudden white-hot flash of lightning. His heavy coat clung to his back and thighs like a second skin; his hair dripped in his eyes, and he could feel his chest tightening against the heat-leeching rain.

The pirate sprawled on the deck looked about as wet, miserable and out-of-place as Cael felt. The kill-or-be-killed instinct hesitated long enough for his conscience to squawk back through, panicked but loud.

What the hells are you doing? He didn’t attack you, and he’s still a human being!

The mercy in that tone was jarred by the pirate’s foot kicking out against the flat of the naginata’s blade. The weapon had once been almost as solid as a bar of steel, but the shaft had snapped in an earlier brawl; he’d had it repaired, but he could still see the scores where his opponent had slashed. It never felt as strong anymore. He held his breath, but it didn’t break. It stuck for a moment longer, and slid free, just in time to counter the pirate’s incoming dagger swipe with a clang that reverberated through his hands.

He shoved the blade upward, forcing the long dagger off as he jumped back, backpedaling to regain his range. The naginata was supposed to be a mid-ranged weapon, and if the pirate got too close he’d have a devil of a time actually defending himself with it.

The melee of humanity around them wasn’t helping matters in the slightest. If he backed up too far, he’d tumble down the stairs into that pit of destroyed boards that used to be the stairs. If he went too far to the left, he’d wind up right in the battle proper. He could hear the captain’s voice shouting orders, the clash of steel and the panting of the fighters, punctuated now and again by desperate screams that reminded him all too much of the pirate he’d killed seconds ago.

You wouldn't stand a chance in that mess. Those bastards actually know what they're doing.

His stomach roiled again, and he only forced the bile down with the realization that if he threw up he would probably also die. He squared his shoulders and slashed the blade out again without really aiming. He spoke, though the words were more out of reflex than out of the belief that the pirate would actually listen.

“I don’t suppose there’s any chance I could convince you t’ look the other way while I made for the lifeboat?”

[Sumnner]

The clash of steel and screams of the dying filled his ears as he stood on shaky legs, squaring himself off with the man who had stabbed at him. He couldn't place why he had swung at the man, citing instinct was the logical choice, but he had rarely had to resort to such baser human methods before. His breath was coming in short, breathy rasps as he stared at the other man, who looked perhaps as equally scared as he felt. All the same, his eyes were filled with as much desire to survive, by any means possible, as he knew his owns eyes were. As such, it came as a complete surprise, surrounded by chaos and death as they were, when the man posed a question to his opponent.

Surprise lasted only a moment however, as a sharp command from the evil looking woman surfaced in his mind and he found himself only able to nod and flip his blade against his forearm, a sign of consent to the request. "You might want to hurry," was all he said before he turned and dropped himself down the nearest hole in the floor.

He was immediately swallowed by a gray darkness, pierced only occasionally by stabbing rays of light peaking from between shattered wall boards that cast an eerie feel to the area. It took a moment for his eyes to adjust and once they had, he found that he was standing in a cabin similar to the one that he had himself awoken in what seemed only a few short moments earlier. He only remained motionless for a moment though, before giving himself a shake and making for the door. It hung haphazardly from its hinges, having been dislodged during the collision, and he pulled it to the side after a moment of difficulty. The outside hall was deserted, except for the dark forms of motionless bodies, appearing to be caught up in deep slumber but a quick study of the darker pools beneath them said otherwise. Holding back an urge to gag, he quickly stepped over the bodies and proceeded deeper into the gloom.

The voice in the back of his mind still screamed that this wasn't right.

[Inkfinger]

Cael had been prepared for a new lunge, ready for the pirate to deny his half-desperate request and attack him instead. The easy agreement startled him, and he stood stunned for a moment; staring after the pirate’s back as the young man disappeared below decks.

Remember, Cael. Don’t ever judge a book by its cover.

Once the young man was gone, there was nothing between the scribe and the ladder up to the helm. If he could get up on the next deck, he’d have a clear walk to the lifeboat. Cael’s lips quirked in a grim smile as he grabbed the rungs and hoisted himself up. And I’m not about to pass that up.

He spent the entire time on that deck crouched, making his awkward way across the listing deck. Each second that ticked by was filled with the fear that someone would look up and see him; with every fresh shout he flinched, expecting to feel hot steel pierce his flesh. It was slow going, but he needn’t have worried. He made his way across easily. The combatants below were far more involved in their own life-or-death battles.

Areesha will probably think this is the funniest thing ever, he thought sourly as he hopped down on the other side, a mere dozen feet from the lifeboat. She’d probably say I deserved it for running out on her.

The pirates had already passed this way. He tried to avoid stepping in the puddles of mingled rainwater and blood that stained the once clean woodwork, but the closer he got to the lifeboats, the more fluid there was. It was as if a mad artist had opened an artery and used it to paint the honey-gold wood a foul crimson.

You’re letting your imagination run away with you. He was forced to admit that that was the truth, but it was all too easy to let it happen here, surrounded by the screams and the stench of terror-sweat and death. He reached out to take the oar from the side of the lifeboat, but recoiled before his fingers could touch it. The shallow vessel was half full of dark, viscous blood: thick as syrup and barely diluted by the rain. It didn’t even ripple under the drops.

Cael’s eyes narrowed at the unnatural sight. The sizzling crack of nearby lightning, simultaneous with the echoing boom of the thunder drew his mind back to what he had thought earlier. There was some sort of magic in the storm, and whatever it was had to have something to do with that lifeboat full of blood.

The thoughts of escape had vanished the moment he saw the pool. Pirates were one thing – blood and weather magic mixed meant that, quite possibly, the only people meant to survive this would be the pirates themselves. They wouldn’t be trying to take slaves…and they wouldn’t look kindly on someone who had let a victim go.

He returned the way he’d come, quicker this time, less fearful of being noticed. Within seconds, he was staring down the hole his unknown benefactor had slid down. Look, he scolded himself, if you going to be noble at least be brave about it. In some back portion of his brain, he knew it wasn’t nobility. It was fear – a deep, instinctive terror of that ripple-less pool of blood. He took a deep breath, and dropped through the hole in the floor.

He landed hard, his bad knee giving out and sending him into what would have been a messy faceplant if he hadn’t thrown his hands up in time. He bit back a yowl of pain, and climbed to his feet just in time to see a figure in a still-mostly-clean white shirt disappear ‘round the corner. He jogged to catch up, making sure to let his steps ring loud against the floor so he wouldn’t startle the other man.

“Change of plans,” he panted out the moment he was close enough to be heard. This is stupid, his mind yowled in counterpoint to his speech, Watch him be loyal and him letting you go be a fluke! He’s gonna stab your eyes out if that’s the case… Something, however, about the younger man made him think his instincts were right. The supposed pirate looked physically ill... “You can come with if you want, but we gotta find the Mage first, otherwise no-one’s going to survive this except him and whoever's in charge from...your side."

[Sumnner]

The corridor was surprisingly short, ending before he had taken more than half a dozen steps in a t-junction that extended a few paces left, and a bit more right, with doors at either end. He spared a quick glance over his shoulder down the other end, but a gut feeling told him he'd find much the same at the other end, so he busied himself with the closed door to his right.

It was locked and a few futile attempts at breaking it down proved that something was blocking it from the other side as well. There wasn't any getting in that door, so he made his way to the left and found it, unsurprisingly, locked as well. This time however, his attempts at breaking it down, yielded more results and after a few well placed kicks, the door snapped free of its locks and swung open violently. The crash was enough to rattle the walls a bit and he paused, listening for anyone beyond who might have been alerted from the crash and come running to investigate. When no one came, he satisfied himself with a small smirk and began to walk through the open doorway but was caught short by a voice behind him.

He paused momentarily, glancing over his shoulder, one hand clutching the door frame while the other tightened around on of the three hilts but could only shake his head. "Sorry," he said, his voice pained slightly. "I can't help you, not right now." His eye twitched violently and he grunted as a knot twisted violently in his gut, momentarily causing him to stumble. He caught himself hard against the door frame, his eyes squeezed shut and his breathing short and raspy. The voice, screaming in the back of his mind, broke free from its bonds and roared to life in his consciousness.

"What am I doing? What the hell is going on? We aren't supposed to be here! What is happening to me!?"

The roar was muted to a distant buzz almost instantly, as if wrapped in a thick blanket and as soon as the noise in his head quieted, so did the pain in his stomach. He inhaled deeply, straightening as he did, and wiped a hand across his mouth. It came away red but he paid it little heed, instead he turned his gaze to the individual he had seen up above. "You may follow if you wish, but I make no promises for your safety."

Then he turned and proceeded deeper into the gloom of the room beyond, eyes searching and his hands already reaching out to push aside crates and barrels, the contents of each spilling onto the floor haphazardly where the bindings broke. In the back of his mind, the voice struggled violently to break bindings of its own, writhing violently even as it was brutally pushed aside.

*~~*

Back on the pirate vessel, things were progressing rather nicely for the captain and her crew. She'd worn a small smile for most of the day, soon after catching sight of the vessel they were now pillaging in fact, and she saw no reason to wipe it from her face just yet. Her crew reacted quite nicely to her smile, and right now she thought that perhaps they best deserved it, for all the hard work they were doing. And for all the loot they would be gathering, for this was no ordinary ferry they were raiding. No, this was a special ferry, with special prizes. All they needed do was find them, as they were hidden quite cleverly deep within the bowels of the ship. Her smile grew and her hands tightened on the railing as she leaned a little bit more forward, eyes tightening in anticipation.

Soon now, soon her newest pet, that strange musician that her first mate had picked up a few nights ago and drugged with a special compulsion potion soon after, would find the 'apples' she had asked for, and with them, the first clues to finding the prize she sought. Her nails began chipping at the wood and her smile grew further.

She fought down the urge to cackle, but oh how much she wanted to. Oh how she wanted to.

[Inkfinger]

There was something eerie about the pirate now, something that hadn't been there - or if it that had been there it had been hidden - the first time he'd talked to him. There was a distance in his eyes, and in his voice, and a thin stream of crimson dripping from the side of his mouth. The blood stood out against his pale skin, reminding Cael of the horrific puddles above them and down the hall...

Something's not right here.

"Hey," he retorted, voice lighter than he would have thought possible, given the circumstances. "It's not like anyone is making promises about that right now. It's safer down here any.." There was a crash from within, and the splashing chime of glass smashing against the rough floor. "...ways," he finished with a sigh, sliding through the door.

He had planned to shut it, but it only took him a fraction of a second to notice that wouldn't work. The latch had been half torn off and hung now by a single nail. It wouldn't be holding anything closed in its current state. He shoved the door as close to shut as he could get it, leaning it against the wall. There was still a visible crack between door-jam and the door itself, and he winced.

He wanted in here bad. Real bad... he thought, uneasily, keeping his eyes on the stranger's back, and his distance the best he could. The man acted as if he was possessed, tearing through crate after crate, box box. He was looking for something specific, tossing the contents of each container he destroyed to the glass-strewn floor. His movements were jerky and halting, like a puppet with half the strings cut.

Something's not right here at all.

But, right or not, Cael wouldn't be getting off this boat by himself, that much was certain. He might as well stick with his potential ally. He reached out to open one of the crates the pirate hadn't reached yet, talking just loud enough to be heard over the splintering wood and the thunder of rain and footsteps above their heads. "Are you looking for something specific, or did you just not like the way the hold looked...?"

And what happens when you find whatever it is?