Perennial Jeopardy

[Fez_The_Kid]

Bitter ale trembled, its silver container failing to keep it from spilling over tipsy mercenaries and ligneous flooring. Scores of travelers had gathered off to one side of the room, where cards spread out on softwood tabletops, the clatter of coin sounding every dozen minutes or more. A serving was intercepted, the hand purloining the food like a venomous serpent striking for the kill. When it arrived at its table an angry fist, the served, struck the table-top. Its owner protested bitterly at the barmaid, his puckered face looking round for a missing executive. The man rose, rushing toward the dame and threatening to cuff her off her feet.

Before his hand had made contact with the dame, a stouter man intercepted the . Both pursed their lips in a contesting bout, as if it was a challenge of whom looked more irate.

"What’s happening here?" a gravelly voice demanded, its fountainhead vague in the crowd of onlookers. People seemed to turn and eye someone squat and slow-moving as he made way. "Problem gentlemen?" The voice came out once again, this time the source--a dwarf--bewhiskered and low between the looker-ons.

"This halfwit brought me an empty order!" He pointed to the barmaid, who opened her mouth to say something, then shut it again.

“Watch your mouth,” the stout one said, a cadence of warning present in his voice.

"Calm your horses, everyone." His accent strong, the seemed owner gestured for the barmaid to leave, then faced the two with a scowl. "If anyone intends to begin a fight, do it outside. Try something cheesy and I’ll have the guards making you look for your hands on the ground."

He glared at the disappointed horde once more, then, "Am I understood?" Soon the crowd broke in mumbles, people returning to their wonted activities. Each of the potential fighters bore a stiff frown at their tables, their piercing gazes unwavering from the other.

Through the tall, scattered figures that moved about a chap approached, his amber eyes glinting with purpose under the candlelight.

"How can I assist you?" the dwarf asked.

Eyes fell on the man with some weight, but he did not bend. The dwarf studied the man’s dark overcoat like an untold revelation. "Aetherius. I heard that--"

"Not here." The bearded dwarf turned, gesturing for the man to follow. Walking after the tavern’s owner eyes followed him slowly, before they both disappeared across the threshold.

Upon entering into the back room, the man wrinkled his nose as he whiffed a faint bouquet of lilac and gooseberries. Marble flooring stretched out before him, creating a repeated, inverted duplicate of the room. Tapers hung low from the ceiling, casting an orange, snug ambience in the the tavern bureau. Outside, the setting sun eyed him as its shape slowly retreated behind the horizon. Gold, perhaps fake gold effigies lined the incised wall like sentries guarding a royal chateau.

One wielded a brand, its crooked cross-guard completing the twisted shape of a readied bow. Aetherius... Carved in the blade was a pattern any swordsman would kill for, the corneous figure of a high dragon.

[Fez_The_Kid]

The dwarf grunted. The man glanced back, almost forgetting he had company. "What do they call you? Do you have any idea of that thing’s worth?”

"Anubis." He thought for a moment, then, "And yes."

"Ah." The dwarf smirked. "Alright, then, I suppose you want me to tell you its location," he commented. After a brief pause, he brought out a scroll from a drawer, revealing it to be a world map slightly corroded by time. He muttered something about maps, heaved a sigh and said, "First off, you need to find someone willing to sail the waters off the mainland--to reach this.” The dwarf pointed to a land faraway from Salvar, outlined at the bottom right of the map.

"Dheathain?" Anubis asked, both brows raised.

"What did you expect? This is not some sword you're seeking whatsoever; other young folk before you have come seeking information about it. None hitherto were heard of again. Aetherius is responsible of many, many lost lives--be it those who died by its blade or breathed their last in their, I dare say, futile efforts to acquire it."

"What makes you so sure that they actually got on-board a ship and went off in search for it like some binge drinker?" questioned Anubis.

"Because," the dwarf said, fingering his mighty long beard, "that's what cocksure dunces do."

"You're wrong. If they did actually set off in a voyage across and lost their lives, they died doing what they held dear." Anubis furrowed a brow, gazes locked with the bewhiskered, low face that judged him.

“Which is?”

“Escapades. Those people had the backbone to set off, risking their lives for what they love. What they wanted to do with an age-old sword is none of my concern. Just you wait. When I have it on my belt, I'll come-- I'll come and prove to you that I'm a man of my word," he smirked.

"So you say. In any case, Anubis, Captain Oxen -- orc -- is your man. He may or may not be about this tall," the dwarf smiled sheepishly, pointing to the ceiling. When he noted Anubis' reaction, the dwarf's smile faded quickly. "Right. Also, try not to cross the drakari as you can."

"I heard of them. Where I can find this... Oxon?" he slurred.

"Oxen," the anonymous dwarf corrected, fumbling through his coat to reveal a bronze necklet. His gaze twinkled over it as if regarding his betrothed. "You'll find him at the docks, most likely fishing for compliments from his sailors."

"You've a trite sense of humor, don't you," he paused, "Mr. uhh..."

"Thratmarlun Onyxthane," the dwarf completed.

[Fez_The_Kid]

Anubis' eyes widened, then nodded, quickly managing to secrete any form of what the dwarf might call derogatory. "Let's get to the point, if you don't mind."

"Sure thing," he said. "As for the location, I heard it is hidden in some ancient forest further inland. You'll have to ask the locals for a more accurate... eh, location."

"Anything else I need to know?" he asked.

"Just be careful, mate. The waters off Dheathain are dangerous, its lands even more," he warned. "And to be completely frank, I’m not confident you’re making it out of there alive. With that said, I hope we meet again Anubis.”

"Feeling’s mutual. Thank you." He bowed. Turning, the Salvarian legged it out the door he'd entered through.

Anubis wasn’t as reassured as he had been then.

Upon sailing into the ocean, he was putting his life at risk, something he had not particularly reflected on before. Dheathain... huh. But, do I really have a choice?

Sighing, he stepped out of the dwarf-owned tavern, his soles meeting the rugged cobblestone walkways again.The sun had receded from view, robbing the sky of its color as it gave way to twilight time. Captain Oxen… he told himself.

Anubis was not all too fond of facing the seafarer. Though a large-scale view, orcs came across as malevolent, and with one standing as a captain, he could only envision the untamed discourtesy of his sailors. Stepping over the harbor’s platform, the man of Skavia made his way through the docks, eyes rummaging through the group of vessels that had been moored.

Seawater brushed against his soles, sprouting out through the docks and wetting the timber planks in the process. The distinct smell of the sea filled his nostrils once his eyes caught an individual - the only present soul other than him at the time. Stout, and significantly bigger than Anubis, a figure leaned over at the starboard, smoking a pipe as it watched the pitchy water skim the hull of the ship.

"Captain Oxen?" Anubis called, leaning sideways to get a better view of the figure. It made no response, still absorbed in its brier. He furrowed a brow.Perhaps the wrong ship, he pondered. Better go find someone else willing to talk. Anubis made for the harbor walkway again.

"Who’s asking?" a bass voice came, the deepest range a humanoid is capable of.

Anubis spun and leveled the figure a stare, two fierce eyes meeting his own, glowing in contrast to the growing dark. "I heard you sail to Dheathain," he said, tone bland.

"Did you?" the figure questioned, the words coming out vague as the brier occupied its mouth. "And who told you such?"

Anubis failed to answer, not because of his memory. He sighed, Damned dwarves and their hieroglyphic names.

"Don’t tell me it’s that fool, Onyxthane."

There was no response. Anubis ignited a match, and once it saw his expression the figure gave a bass titter. It murmured something, then said, "You want to sail to Dheathain, then."

"Aye."

"Fine. But let me tell you: it won't be easy," it warned. “It usually takes about thirty days if not more to see land."

"You're pulling my leg," he said. “Right?”

He, for it was Oxen, shook his head, the pipe’s smoke rolling into his fanged mouth. "Only telling the truth," he added, his tone serious. "If that wasn't enough, it’s going to cost you a fortune; two pouches of gold for food, the voyage, and a berth to sleep on."

Tirel appeared beside them, torches lighting up the seaport like a beacon in the gloom. "I'm aware." Anubis watched as people passed by on the harbor walkway, behind them rising edifices of the city center, man-made towers thrust into the night sky.

"What will it be?" The captain gazed at the swordsman, eyes full of intent.

Anubis glanced back at the orc. "I'll come," was his hesitating answer. What other choice do I have? This damn better be worth the trouble... The swordsman's attention turned to the blackening horizon, visioning a journey that will leave its mark on his body and soul.

"Then go prepare your things." The orc moved from the hull, plucking the brier from his fanged mouth. "We sail come morn'."

[Fez_The_Kid]

Day 2

Tirel left me like my own mother. It's as if a sword had hit home, its blade puncturing straight through my heart. With every pass the wound deepens. As soon as its harbor was reduced... reduced to a mere speck in the distance, the pain started to snowball. Hell, even my sword has learned telepathy - when I look at it, it talks, pesters me in the back of my mind; its unmoving approach just makes everything all the worse: it would whisper: “Is it worth it?”

This cheap, iron-crafted excuse of a weapon may have some merit... Am I going to risk my life for wielding an ancient handiwork? But if that’s not what I'm going to risk my life for, then what is life? In my early days, when I held my first sword, it was like a linkage had formed. I'll need a damn good blade if I'm ever going to make a difference in this... world.

I'm already wagering my life by getting on this Thayne-damned ship, anyway... Gods know the only possible outcome is death. Ahh, Burkhart, If only you could be my side... Just you watch, I’ll make you damn proud.

The written word, in the form of diurnal records of his life, the skill of marking coherent words on paper, of composing text--it kept him sane, able to still experience and ruminate on this queer existence called 'life.'

The Salvarian sighed as he guided the cover of his journal closed, depositing the quill in its pouch before securing it in his almost-void inkwell. He ran a quivering hand through his hair, his gold-eyed gaze unwavering from the table-top. Wooden bulkheads creaked as vitreous trinkets rocked; above rough seas, the entire structure took the waves as a perennial bump. His ink receptacle would jump at the contact of each crest, threatening to drop off the escritoire and waste the last of his inkwells.

The bedchamber could fit only the writing table as well as a laughably tall berth. When his bedtime transpired, he’d have to scramble over the framework, an impediment he would have to persuade himself to tolerate for a spell. The other chambers had been occupied, and he suspected they were crafted no different than his own. Seawater's odor was prominent now more than ever, to the point where he started to question if he could get a sniff of aught else. Whitecaps skimmed the hull like a white noise in the background, the sound that would never part him for another thirty days. Though not the first time to get on a ship, it was his first time to get on one for thirty consecutive days, to arrive someplace where death lurked around every corner.

His first destination wasn’t so fear-provoking, according to Oxen’s words. Talmhaidth was the only city to allow the humans' owning of property, and to Anubis it was a comfort, knowing he could recuperate under the roofs of the Dheathanian seaport. The cause behind Autherius’ placement in Dheathain, he recalled, was it belonged to an ancient general, a significant member of the Wind Caste: Tulvir, or the so called Champion of the Skies. He’d heard that the Drakari were the result after the crossbreeding of a dragon and a human, a visualization that he swore he’d never thoroughly imagine how it came to.

Dheathain was the birthplace of dragons, a continent that harbored the nativity of a primeval race, one with powers that rivaled the demigods'. He would have to keep vigilant, could use a hand to assist him while he treaded the death-marked lands. Behind this though, was a silver lining: He still had significant time to prepare, and time had ever been an invaluable commodity to the young Salvarian.

Anubis flashed a glance through his window, instinctively shielding his eyes with the flat of his hand as sunlight struck him harsh. The sun had reached its zenith, hanging in the heavens like an electrified orange. There was nothing but an expanse of water, rolling across in variable tides. That distinct odor never parted it. Some exploration, he considered, and conversing with the captain would likely assist him in his battle against homesickness.

He pushed onto the chair. The seat creaked, defying him as it protested against its new position. Having his senses jarred, the youth made way out of his room, then paused as an aroma tugged at his nose. Venison...? Chicken? Huh, beef. Maybe the cook isn’t good at just cooking. His footfall sounded across the whole lower deck. He had only the company of the air and a few barrels likely brimming with ale. The sizzle of cow meat grew clear as the kitchen’s entrance stood cavernous in front of him, the assembled steam inside copying that of some laboratory experiment in the outskirts of Alerar.

When he realized his imbecility, the swordsman bore a sheepish smirk, taking the brief stairway to the upper deck. He then took note of a few idle sailors that eyed him as he stepped from underneath the floor. As he passed by the three, he paused at one’s addressing of him: “You there.”

[Fez_The_Kid]

Anubis stopped, slowly glancing at the one in question.

“Where do you think you’re going?” he demanded, his sharp features staring deep into the swordsman’s. Anubis turned to fully face the seaman, standing between two others. The sailor was gaunt, deep ridges forming a shadow over his eyes, face haggard and young. A fawn shirt hung loosely over his spare frame, tucked into a black sash that spun about his waist. His trousers, smudgy and gnawed at by time ended at the beginning of his leather boots. At his side, clung to a leather belt, a dagger hid in its scabbard, the hilt protruding out of his side like an extra limb. Better not use that, Anubis thought, for your own sake, fool.

“The silent type, he is,” the second one noted, face looking as if about to spit.

“Maybe he needs a beatin’ to speak up,” the third did.

Anubis stepped closer in defiance. “My time is limited,” he snarled, face puckered under the glaring sun, "I recommend you make better use of it."

"Oi oi oi! beware, one and all, we got ourselves a bad-arse over here." The second one's face split as he wore a sarcastic grin, the hardships of sailing surfacing in the form of his tooth-missing grin. When the Salvarian glared at him, the grin vanished like a wiped-off smudge. He slightly craned back, as if trying to look away, yet in vain.

Anubis' gaze returned to the first. "Where I go is none of your concern, friend." He locked his hands, knuckles cracking as he eyed the leather-wrapped dagger.

"Oh, it is well my concern," the sailor rebuffed, stepping close as he lay a hand over his waist. Anubis almost recoiled, and when the dagger-owner noticed it he laughed out loud, glanced back at the two and nodded, returning to level the Salvarian a smug smirk - one that behind it hid something rife with sadism.

"A piece of advice, matey: don't try and be brave, your life is surely more important than that." The two sailors stepped forward. "You should be cautious with your smack talk, 'friend;' I've every right to demand where an outsider is going on my ship."

“Your ship?” a new voice said. They all glanced to see Oxen standing a few feet away, arms crossed and leaning over the main mast.

"Sorry, Captain, didn't see ya there." The sailor's voice softened, "Come one, boys, we'd better see ourselves downstairs." The three mumbled curses as they ambled off in one line. The one with the dagger leveled Anubis a final glare then vanished down into the lower deck.

[Fez_The_Kid]

“Sorry about that."

“No harm taken,” he replied.

"They are bitter people, but once you live with them a third of your life, there’s nothing to not get used to..." The mammoth tailpiece of a whale appeared beside the starboard, its shadow looming over them before plunging back into the seabed. "Well, at least there's that," Oxen remarked, his fangs showing as he grinned.

After a long pause, Anubis glanced back at him. “Been looking for you.”

“Yeah, I need to talk to you as well. Come,” he said, turning and pointing at a door situated underneath the highest deck. “We’d better talk inside.”

That’s where the cabin is?.. maybe I was too sassy with the cook, Anubis sighed. I think I owe the man an apology.

Writing papers lay in masses close to the hundreds, standing immense and obscuring the tabletop from their view; documents situated over each other in columns: some were records, others contracts awaiting Oxen's signature. Inkwells numbered more than ten, set in orderly rows on a shelf beside the worktable--Anubis doubted he could include one in his belongings. For an orc skipper, the captain implied the gent in him, if not sounded like one.

"Slept well?" The orc sighed as he regarded his congested work-table.

"No," was the swordsman’s blunt answer. "Waters haven’t been kind to me last night."

"Well, get used to it then," the captain said, occupying his seat at the worktable.

Ass, Anubis thought. "Thirty days, huh?" he asked, pulling his eyes from the captain to a pendant world map, almost stretching for as long as the wall’s extent.

"Twenty-nine, now," he responded after a moment, "you wanted to ask something?"

"Yes." There was a pause. Anubis was about to speak before the captain cut him off.

"The chap who almost started a quarrel with you," the orc said, almost in an absolving manner, "he’s a good kid." Anubis’ head spun, face expressionless. "He’s been on-board for what? twenty years now. That isn’t very far from his age; probably around yours, I reckon. On the whole, he can seem the arse, but if you earn his trust, you’ll have built a relationship that you won’t find much elsewhere."

"What’s his name?" the young Salvarian questioned.

"Jorund."

The swordsman returned to the map, eyes fixed on the large island three thumbs off the mainland. It smoldered under his gaze with a quality that spoke of hazards. And the smoldering, he considered, held a grim finality. He recognized it more with each pass, the same voice never ceasing to plague his mind. It spoke of Dheathain. Twenty-nine days… twenty-nine and death will be stalking, creeping... watching.

There was no going back now.

[Fez_The_Kid]

"Adopted him?"

The captain nodded. "Lost his parents," the orc paused, "to the waters off of an island’s coast." Anubis turned and stared. The reference behind the orc’s attenuated eyes was explicit, ‘island’ chiming in the Salvarian's mind like a bell. "Ironic, huh?"

"More like suicidal."

"You’re the one who approached me for the voyage across, kid." Anubis remained silent. "I’ve sailed these waters long enough that I couldn’t care less about the dangers. Let the damned pirates come, we’ll teach them to keep their filthy hands at their sides."

"And if we’re outnumbered?"

"So be it." The words reached his ears like a bash. The swordsman furrowed a brow, the sound of liquid served behind the desktop failing to capture his attention. The oceangoing vessel he now occupied would be the target of numerous pirate watercrafts. The sensation was substantial now more than ever--now it had an identity, bedeviling his own sanity-- dread. The warning bell of an approaching ship was never a far cry from reality, much so that his sword would snarl in its scabbard at the hollers of a couple seamen on the upper deck, only to return to its sheath once he realized it was only a fray, occasional - its commencement punctuated by hoarse shouts and drunken calls.

Pirates aside, the usual scuffle between sailors commonly involved the employment of weapons; the dagger was slung across Jorund’s waist like a warning message, and Anubis understood that the sailor’s using it would be the sensible answer to a grave adversary such as himself. He muttered, Why'd the give a damn about my life? My body would be simply chucked overboard. They'd continue the journey across as if nothing had happened-- Bastards.

"Fancy a drink?" the voice sounded and shattered his thoughts.

"What?" he glanced at the orc, who shook a cheap beer bottle mantled in a leather wrap.

He shrugged, "Sure, why not." Anubis approached the guest chair, meeting the seat with a grunt.

"Ah, yes," he said, revealing two cups. "Sorry about cutting you off earlier," he apologized. There was a pause. The silence broke as alcohol filled the containers to the brim. The beer’s reflection was blinding, appearing almost blank under the fading sunlight. When he viewed it from a different angle, its true form appeared: a bleached base taking on a tint of gold. As he brought it to his mouth, its scent smelled pungent and left a bitter taste in the back of his mouth. He took a sip. "You wanted to say something?"

"Yeah." His eyes unwavered from the demitasse, he collected his thoughts in a moment of silence. "Talmahaidth."

"What of it?" the orc questioned, corking the beer bottle before depositing it underneath him.

"Will I really feel welcome there?" he demanded, his penetrating gaze now narrowed on the captain, "trouble is the last thing I need when I've arrived." The orc made no response, their gazes locked as Anubis glared at him in the eye. Oxen soon broke it, regarding his drink without a word. "I need an answer, Captain."

[Fez_The_Kid]

The captain's answer finally appeared: "Don’t worry, kid; you’ll be fine. Like every other city, humans are found there more than anything else, I'd suppose. Same can’t be said for the rest of the country, though." Oxen rose, moving over to the map without any glances in the Salvarian's direction. "So, why would someone like you wish to sail to Dheathain?"

Anubis downed his drink in one swallow, roughly setting it over an empty spot between the sheets. "Can't tell. Sorry."

Oxen snorted, never uttering a word till he saw the Salvarian go for the door. "Wait. If Jorund decides to pick a fight with you, make sure to give ‘im a thrashin’ he’ll never forget."

The young Salvarian nodded faintly, opened the door, then stepped out of the office. Orange sunlight had streamed in briefly, then was shut out once more. The orc-captain turned and approached the room's only window, ring-shaped and almost too high for a being of his height. He sighed, gathering his hands behind the back. The ocean stretched out for as far as he could see, in the faint distance the vague shape of a vessel sailed their way, a black flag waving about its mainmast like a bared tooth. Their worldly death sentence was approaching.

He passed a rubbing hand over his eyes and stared again. Nothing. The orc-captain let out a sigh.

"Going mad now are you, Oxen?"
Day 28

Something watery across his brow awoke Anubis. He opened his eyes to his bedchamber's ceiling as rain streaked unbidden through the window. Blinking, he turned to see himself almost submerged in water, rain plummeting into the flood and threatening to drown him as he slumbered. He sat up, face bone white, shaking like the rattling tail of a pit viper. When his conscious fully returned he spun to see his journal opened, buoyant over the rising deluge. He straightened and winced, pain throbbing in his bones like the earth under a clash of nefarious sorcery. Gathering his footing on the swaying vessel was as difficult as walking on a lake's surface.

He looked through his window, after wading across, to see a natural performance.

Lightning streaks danced to the booms of thunder, irradiating the sky in a deep blue essence. The storm struck like the wrath of a god, as if sending a herald, one that was of consequences ensuing their blunder of sailing these Thayne-cursed waters. Kaniere would jerk every few heartbeats, raging waves--with heights reaching a dozen or so feet--curling underneath. And like a mangonel, it catapulted him off balance.

Water shedding from his garments, he recouped his journal. A spear pierced his heart as he watched what remained of the words run in sable drops across waterlogged sheets. Only illegible botches remained in the storm's wake. Each drop that left paper was a twinging twist of the spearhead, finding new ways to augment the pain. Worry about it later, he told himself. I need to find Oxen. Leaving his waste of book over the desktop, Anubis swayed outside his room, puffing as each step was a tussle against the seawater overflow. He inched toward the kitchen and found it empty. Shit. Orlop must have flooded… Captain has to be at the upper deck.

[Fez_The_Kid]

The brief stairway to the upper deck blared under merciless rain, and the scuppers struggled to control the sudden influx of rainwater. Anubis saw almost nothing, yet through the crypt-like gloom and rain he watched Oxen fidget in his spot, waving off sailors and growling curses in their wake.

Anubis hurtled to the bow, somehow able to make out the large figure of the orc. “Captain!”

“Anubis! Why’d you come up here?” the orc yelled, his voice almost inaudible under the storm's shrieks.

“Ought to find you after nearly drowning in my sleep!” he yelled, squinting his eyes as bitter rain continued to descend upon them. “Whole berth is flooded by now!" Anubis heard a growing boom and turned, eyes spreading as he saw a wave almost the height of the foremast sweep in.

The impact arrived like an explosion, hurling their bodies a few paces back before landing them on the starboard with a thud, a hairbreadth away from taking a tumble into the seas. Anubis groaned, a briny taste lurking in the back of his mouth. He heard the orc ask if everyone was sound. “Anubis!-- how you holding up?”

He nodded his response, grimacing.

“You don’t look so good. Can you stand?” The orc had risen, now leaned beside the Salvarian.

“Yeah,” he said. “Help me up.” He moaned as the captain--with one hand--pulled him to his feet.

Oxen lay a rough hand over the swordsman's shoulder, “I suppose we can use a hand in pushing through this ordeal," he commented, almost ruing the choice he'd just taken; "since the lower decks are flooded.”

Anubis squinted, skin sodden and wrinkled. “How can I help?”

“We need those ropes secured,” was the blunt response.

“Alright,” Anubis turned, but paused as Oxen's grip tightened on him.

"Stay vigilant, kid."

Anubis nodded, rushed over to the mizzenmast’s stay. It felt stiff, and when he pulled, smelled musty between his palms. A heave gave way as he fastened it into loops.

“The foremast stay’s unsecured!” a sailor warned. “Someone get on with it--right now!”

"We need all the help we have here!" another bellowed from the mainmast.

Their pressing calls ignited something in him as he pushed onto the slippery planks, hasting towards the rope in question, flitting wildly like the waves it lay above. On his fifth stride he misplaced a foot and tumbled, sliding forth on the deck till the foremast's base met him with a blow that forced the air out of his lungs.

The swordsman recovered from the concussion within seconds, adrenaline running raw in his veins. He managed to regain his footing, and, if ever slightly, ignore the pain that had begun to throb in his abdomen. As he held onto the stay, he heard Oxen exclaim behind him-- “We need more speed! Loose the sails! Anubis - on with the foremast! Tock - to the main mast with you!”

[Fez_The_Kid]

“Aye, aye!” was the sailor’s ready answer.

Anubis glanced at the foremast… Loosed…? He soon recognized the true meaning behind the captain's rushed command. “You want me to climb the Thayne-damned mast!” Anubis hollered.

“Right now!”

“This is no time for--

“Grow a damned backbone!” Oxen snapped.

The swordsman’s mouth stayed agape. When he was powerless to speak he closed it shut, face expressionless. He’d tried to protest, but alas, the orc-captain had had a good point. Once he turned and regarded the mast's sail, his heart became a racing apparatus in his chest; Anubis gripped the foremast’s rigging, raising a reluctant foot and placing it between the squares that each interwoven rope formed. He repeated the motion, putting him a few feet up and over.

Ascending up Anubis found himself a goodly distance from the deck, and even more from the rough seas below. He looked up, was blinded as a streak of lightning walloped down from the heavens, threatening to set him aflame and send the mast supporting him to ruin. The Salvarian’s grip released on the stay, pushing himself off the collapsing foremast. His mistake cost him once he realized he was never going to land on the ship.

The waves quickly came up to meet him, then he remembered nothing more.

Anubis underwent a descent that prolonged itself with every pass. Of considerable power a force dragged him down into the depression; his struggle to progress aloft only ingested his otherwise modest amount of energy. They, the force and he, both knew he was losing, perishing in his vain effort to combat its ever-growing might. He felt a raw bash on his body, wavering under its freezing touch. Something wasn’t right. A mass of bristle ends uncovered his eyes as he heaved a gasp--of water. Oh, fuck!

His eyesight enfeebled Anubis looked round, incognizant of his whereabouts as he listened to his own stifled shrieks undersea. When he finally perceived his situation, and when memories sprouted in his head faster than a single heartbeat the Salvarian looked up. Light!

Anubis surfaced with lungs that screamed for air, and his gasps seemed to no avail. Then as he heaved again his system stabilized, to suddenly sense his stomach turn on itself. Water quickly racing up his chest, bile sprang unbidden from his mouth, a sensation obnoxious to his taste buds, yet quite heavenly to his lungs.

The Salvarian heaved, choked, coughing so sharply that he began to question if he’d had swallowed glass. When he steadied, a white speck appeared in the gloom. It grew to a brief vista, and then quickly shrunk back to naught. A few moments later it appeared anew, suddenly uncovering his eyes to a sight that made him wish if he had remained sightless.

Frothing whitecaps silently rolled about him, pushing aside cinder and splintered woodwork in their wake. To his left a dozen bodies lay still. A stout one, floating on its fore, captured his attention with a sore realization. Something behind his eyes then came to ruin.

It was Oxen.