Round 1: Team C

[Mordelain]

Throughout their journey, Mordelain had all but ignored Philomel’s crew. Now she realised how much of a mistake that was. She followed the trio as they departed the merchants, gilded waistcoats and uppity frowns and all. Finding a place to call home had lifted her spirits, but Fallien had a way of making even the world faring folk isolated and withdrawn. There was still time to get to know her companions, and to what ends they could help one another after their task was done.

“That’s quite the gift you have there,” she said softly, appearing at Harmony’s side, arms swinging, feet tromping.

The Fae smiled, eyes set ahead to avoid tarnishing her silk and scintillating looks with an awkward collision with a branch.

“Says the one who worked out our little ploy with eyes alone.”

The il’Jhain had to smile. She had been silent, true, but the desert dweller in her kept her senses finely tuned to every going on. Anyone who spent half their day traversing the bazaars of Irakkam had to learn how to spot a pickpocket or a kukri a mile off. Their lives depended on it in her home, and it depended on it now.

“<We all need to tackle the real problem.>” Her mind returned to the matter of linguistics, and how they might learn to communicate with someone whose language shared no similarities with any of theirs.

“<I think I can help there,>” Vincent chimed in.

The group grew closer to the clearing, so much that the sound of birds and bees dulled and the bustle of men and women who had no idea what was happening drifted through the trees.

“Well, I hope so, Professor,” Mordelain said with a smirk. “We academics have a reputation to uphold.” Another mental note amongst many, ask Vincent Cain what exactly his expertise was, and why he seemed to think anybody cared.

“I...anyway,” he shuffled and huffed to catch up, and came between Harmony and Mordelain, a swaddle of cloth and disappointment. “Get close to the cat creatures and observe their behaviour. Start with simple words, names, places, the like.”

“They’re not children,” Harmony rolled her eyes.

“It is a good idea,” Phi interjected.

In a line of mismatched ideals and hidden agendas, the party came to the edge of the camp and stood, like surprised statues, to survey the scene. The map came to life, and Harmony checked the details she had memorised with the reality before her. People from all walks of life had arrived, invited or otherwise, to get to the bottom of Althanas’ newest mystery. The great tent at the centre of the clearing was obviously important, although wherever or not the refugees cared for the gilded silk, nobody could say.

“Start from the bottom up,” the faun continued, when everything had sunken in.

“Precisely. Thank you!” Vincent, fatigued and flustered, snapped his hands summoning the aforementioned documentation from a small c. He waved it triumphantly in Mordelain’s face. “If you have any ideas, ‘professor’, you’ve time to think of them whilst I tend to business.” Vincent moved ahead, to the gate house and small crowd of people witnessing the wonders of Coronian bureaucracy.

A ramshackle fence surrounded some of the camp. There were clear shortages of wood and nails, and where the fence failed, suspiciously lax guards plugged the holes. Mordelain folded her arms across her chest.

“I should probably tell him I’m a professor of history and ancient languages at Fallien University…” she said aloud, just so Harmony could share the irony.

“Do we just wait?” Juli took a furtive step forwards, her size and beauty matching Gideon’s brawn and bluntness. “It must look awfully odd, us all stood here like the usual suspects.”

“Let him do his thing...once we’re inside I will show him a thing or two about cunning linguists.”

Harmony, unable to hide her snigger a second time, broke into inappropriate laughter. Mordelain watched their earnest bookworm put his plan into action, a bemused expression on her face, and the smell of campfires, roasting rabbits, and urine singing her nasal hairs.

[Knightly]

“What are you doing!?” Pester exclaimed surprised gripping Gideon's head as he tucked himself between her legs lifting her into his shoulders.

These two worker bees had been steadily at it, setting up some kind of little encampment. The pair seemed to work well together, she pointed and Gideon lifted. Ever since the others took off the pair of companions shared more than one awkward moment.

Gideon knew how to appreciate a fine woman when he saw one. Pester, despite her rough and rugged appearance, has a soft face. She wore her long dark hair in a tight braid cascading down her back with short bangs covering her forehead. She was short but not stocky, keeping her feminine curves and muscle tone. She wore a two piece mariner's garb with iron plating held together by leather straps. On her back she wore a large Fallian style bow and a quiver filled with an array of ammunition. She was truly a woman worth appreciating indeed.

“How else are you gonna get up there, now tie off the line.” He said trying to balance the off-guard Fallien. She grinned pulling Gideon’s hair with one hand and reaching high above her with the other, attempting to wrap a cord around the trunk of a large conifer. “That's right lass, just loop it through the gap between the branches.”

“Who are you calling Lass? If I wasn't up here I'd sock ya one!” She yelled kicking her heels into the knight's back fat. He winced smiling, she was cute when she was flustered. Finally after a moment struggling with the intimidating tree Pester latched the tether in a makeshift knot pulling the tarp tight above them. “Thank Drys.” She said patting the knight on the shoulder to let her down.

“Perfect.” He said obliging Pester. “Now all we have to do is move some brush around to camouflage us from the shore line.” He watched her as she pushed off the pine needles off her sleeves and pant legs. He reached over pulling the the stray needle from her braid.

“Alright, I'll start over there.” She said pointing off into the distance. “I saw a tree on the ground, it will be easy to clip a few twigs off.”

“That's fine, I'll head down to the beach, figure out just how viable we are.” Gideon retorted turning face and heading down the woodland trail. The forty or so metres between the treeline and their makeshift camp proved to be more than adequate cover. If it weren't for the small path they created dragging their boat ashore any invaders would be none the wiser to them.

As the knight errant broke through the tree line onto the white sands of the Bay he noticed something. The Feisty Fox was moving, out and along the shore line towards the south. He was puzzled for a moment, waving his hands about trying to signal that large vessel they traveled here on. It was no luck, they couldn't see him.

“Where are you going?” He yelled at the top of his voice. “We're still here! Don't leave us behind!” He continued trying to do something, anything to signal the ship. Then as if from nowhere Gideon saw them - the three frigates coming in that had been anchored at the north of the island. Through the fog of the sea he couldn't make out what colors they flew, but if Philomel's crew were fleeing then it couldn't be good. Quickly Gideon took off for Pester and the camp. He ran as fast as his feet could carry him, ignoring the cuts and scrapes he accumulated from the trick foliage. “Pester, three ships on the horizon!”

“Are they friendly?” She yelled back dropping her bundle of sticks and leaves rushing to Gideon.

“I don't know, The Feisty Fox shipped out of the bay to the south, I don't think they were spotted through the fog rolling in.” He answered back. He stood face to face with his lady pirate friend, wondering if they needed to inform the captain or stay put and observe the oncoming vessels more closely first.

“Should we go tell the Captain?” She questioned crossing her arms and tapping her foot impatiently.

“Not yet, we are hidden well enough from the bay, let's keep our eyes on the ships before we start running for help.” He said putting on hand on her shoulder, neglecting to inform her of his continued connection to the others. He would protect her if things went sour, but they needed to stay and complete their job.

[Cards of Fate]

Underwhelmed would be an overstatement for Vincent. He was expecting something... more. The “camp” consisted of a smattering tent groupings, each belonging to some random faction or the other, each bearing some sort of emblem or insignia denoting whom they owed allegiance to. They all seemed to be built around some sort of “quarantine,” a ramshackle wall crafted from crudely lashed logs and mud cement. Compared to the initial base camp for the cleansing of the Red Forest, this was almost embarrassing.

<How could a country on the edge of death manage more of a presence that a thriving nation?> Vincent mused to himself and the trio that were sharing his mental communications. He glanced around looking for the largest, most...official looking tent, hoping to find whoever was in charge. He frowned a bit, chewing his lower lip. For all the pomp and circumstance involved in calling for help, very few people seemed to have come to do so.

In fact it looked like only four large “groups” had even bothered to show up.

By the “gate” to the quarantined area seemed to be some sort of “main” tent. At one point its canvass could have been considered white, but it appeared years of dirt and neglect had stained it this strange off yellow color. Two portly looking guards seemed to be posted at its entrance, both busily sweating off the extra pounds under all of that dull iron armor they were wearing. They eyed Vincent up wearily as he approached, leaving the others to their own business, doubting they even had the energy to draw their blades if they wanted to.

“Afternoon.” He greeted looking between the two of them. “My party and I heard that the mysterious cat people were being held here?” The two men raised eyebrows and turned to look at each other, unsure of who this strange young man was, or why he was even talking to them. “I was hoping to find whoever was in charge of this whole show, introduce myself, and perhaps persuade them to give me some face time with them?” The men raised eyebrows and gestured into the tent. Vince peered into the shadows, frowning for a moment, before stepping in.

The tent was relatively dark, with no light pouring in aside from the entrance. Several rough chairs had been lashed together with rope and canvas for a makeshift place to sit around an equally rickety looking table. At the far end was possibly the largest man Vincent had ever seen. A jiggling mountain of fat and flesh sat precariously on its stool, leaving the scholar puzzled to why it was even able to support such a massive man. Robes of various shades of blue and violet sifan silk seemed to be draped over the man, rather than tailored to fit such a...robust form. His face seemed to be buried under roll after roll of fat, leaving any who gazed upon his to wonder where his head truly was.

“Good aftah-noon.” The form seemed to gurgle as it surprisingly rose from its chair. “It is good to see you agayne mistah Cayun.” Vincent’s eyebrow raised as before him stood the very familiar form of Lord Augustillius Von Gort, a rather wealthy merchant who held “lordship” in several countries just from his sheer fortune alone. The last time he’d seen him was at some boring meeting negotiating tariffs in and out of Beinost, the man being lost in his fifth barrel or so of wine.

“Gort.” Vince quipped as his lips pursed. “How in the fucking world did you manage to get all the way out here?” He asked as both his eyebrows raised. “Please don’t tell me some poor fuckers had to carry you…” he turned back to the portly guards and then back to the nobleman. This was me with a throaty laugh as the mountain of fat enjoyed a moment of mirth before responding.

“Of course not mistah Cayun. Walking is for the poor! I had a portahl opened for me.” The lord waddled over and extended a hand to Vincent. “But enough pleasantries, what is one of my most lucrahtive trading pahtnahs doing out in this mess?” Vincent took the man’s sweaty hand and gave it a firm shake, ignoring the putrid smell of rancid body odor washing over him like waves.

“You know me Gort, always looking for something to with my time and energy. Be it killing ancient evils, working on rebuilding dying nations, or taking a bit of a detour to see a new race being discovered…” The two laughed and the fat man motioned with a jiggle of his arm for Vince to sit down. The scholar did as he was bade, his seat creaking slightly under his own weight. Augustillius waddled back to his own seat and plopped down lazily, with the makeshift stool not making so much as a groan to Vincent’s suprise.

“Yessss, always the philanthropist.” the merchant mused. “I’d heard they were catlike, so I was hoping to find some cute new servauhnts for my mansion. Unfortunately they are a little to furry for my tastes…” he turned back to Vincent and sighed. “Now, becahse of my position of powah, I’ve been placed in chahge of keeping the peauhce.” Vincent raised an eyebrow and chuckled.

“The only thing you can keep is-”

“My weight. Yes, Mistuh Cayun. The jokes about my size are funny.” Gort interjected. “Let’s skip the bantah and cut to the point. What do you want?”

“Can me and my friends get into the camp with the cats?” Vincent asked folding both of his hands in his lap.

“Certainly Mistuh Cayun. Anything for a friend.” Gort paused for a bit before letting out a throaty chuckle. “I just would like on favor in return…” Vince let out a small groan. Gort never did anything for free.

“Yes?” Vincent asked as he stood up.

“About that portrait I told you was missing…” the man gurgled.

“Of the clown?”

“Of my ancestor!”

“Consider it found.”

“Thank you.”

[Philomel]

As Philomel watched the two groups - her own girls plus Mordelain and Vince progressing off on his own to talk to … someone who he apparently had easy access to, she found herself thinking. Her lips pursed like a pair of marvellous rose petals, quiet and thoughtful as he hand rested on the sword. People passed her, eyeing her with curiosity and sometimes alarm, but those latter glances she gave just a curt nod to. Today after all was a day to be patient and let time progress, to play the devil's advocate and the diplomat. Let Cain play his game, let Harmony find her use and her girls work their magic.

Delicately she made her own enquiries, just of those passing by who would allow her some time. Veridian himself wandered off on his own casual quest. Usually these ventures did end up useful and so Philomel did not question him. After a while she found out more about the cat folk: apparently they spoke a language that no one could yet find a language family for. They were all various colours, ginger, grey and tabby. Also they were dressed poorly, their scraps of cloth barely covering their bi-pedal forms and every single one of them, it was said, from the oldest to the youngest, had on their upper arms burnt a symbol. A strange mark savagely burnt through fur and flesh, that some tried to hide but it was simply too large and too cruel to not notice.

A symbol no one could decipher.

The faun collected this information, storing it into her memory and not communicating it to the mental linkage that bonded them all. Just as others were working on their own projects, she had hers and would tell them when she was ready. Finally Harmony, Mordelain and the other two girls were turning back and coming over, and thus Philomel stepped in. With a smile on her face she opened her mouth to begin telling them orally when Cain also joined them. In the entrance to the tent he had come out of a portly gentleman was wheezing with a strange look in his eyes.

Tilting her head Philomel paused before connecting to all of them, or those who could hear at least, through their minds, and splurging all of her information.

< “They have a symbol,”> she said, <“On their shoulders. Literally … scalded into them. Something they did not volunteer for, I suspect.”>

There was a moment of silence.

<“Your friend memorised the map of the island,”> Mordelain said, gesturing to Harmony. The elf, unable to hear all this, just looked alarmed.

<“That's good, and I've found us a way in,”> Cain finished, with a charming smile.

Philomel just blinked. <“So we've all been busy?”>

Mordelain nodded, <“It would seem that way. Now we just need to head-”>

<“Philomel!”> Came a desperate cry, snd at once the faun knew it was her darling. <“Philomel, I have found the people. I have found a secret entrance and the people… I can see them. They are - they …”>

<“Yes?”>

<“I think they are in grave danger.”>

There was silence in the group. Somewhere, on the shore, Gideon was watching ships sail closer, and stared with the same silence as things grew heavy. Veridian was out of sight, but it was clear by the way he spoke that he had found a gap, a loose chink through the quarantine armour that surrounded the cat folk.

Philomel looked from person to person, woman to woman, and over again to where Cain stood, his cane at a jaunty angle. He leant on it in such a fashion that seemed to shout 'I am awesome ...'

<“They … they … I found an earth spirit. A friend of theirs, a young civet."> Veridian's voice continued, <"He says that they are … well. Slaves! On the run …”>

Philomel breathed in. Slaves. The burnt sigil on their arms. It had to be connected - a sign of ownership, perhaps. ANd if they were on the run - well. It only put them in greater danger and those involved here. But why were they here, what had happened that they had ended up in a place where no one knew them, no one had ever heard of them. What was going on?!

Anxiety flooded her system as she bit her lip and tried to think. Veridian at least had broke something here. There was a type of language that all earth-spirits understood between each other, and this meant that the group of privateers - the Prostitute Pirate, the Pode-slayer, the Planeswalker and Gideon - could gain an upper hand. A chance in this ... adventure, job, whatever you wanted to call it, to be useful. To actually make a difference and get first claim on the catfolk. It would cause an end to all the communication issues and all of the problems arising. At least it would begin the task of trying to discuss how and why and what ...

Well. 'What' was answered. And 'why'. And the 'who' of the presence of the other ships - more than likely their previous owners. They were slaves, on the run. Now kept in a sort of ugly encampment, as if they were animals to be oggled at. Philomel felt a stab in her chest as she realised that that was how fauns must have appeared once. Foreign sounding, exotic. Animal-like ... Maybe it was what had led these beings to be slaves. Their strangeness and uniqueness.

Glancing back to her companions she felt their moment of pause.

A pause as the ships came close to shore. A pause as the Feisty Fox moved. A pause as the fog rolled thick and ominous.

Silence descended. Eyes widened …

And in the distance a boom resounded.

A great, long, dooming boom that told that this had only just begun.

[Mordelain]

Mordelain’s heart pounded in its cage, vibrating through her muscles and sinew and bones. The thought of anyone suffering the bonds of slavery still struck a nerve. The camp came alive as tired scholars and furtive merchants looked to the skies and the treeline in search of the noise’s source. It echoed, as though the clouds shook in fear, and somehow, everyone amongst Philomel’s party came to the same conclusion.

“Was that cannon fire?” she asked aloud, so that the crew of the Gilded Lily could hear.

Harmony moved her hand to the hilt of a dagger, one of many. Her earlier humour faded, in favour of a sudden and prickly alertness. To the east, the ramshackle garrison ran back and forth between armour stand and weapon rack in preparation for the worst.

“I’d bet my favourite barnacle on it.” The half-elf turned to face the coast.

“I am going to go out on a limb and say they’re likely these creature’s ‘owners’. <Philomel?>” The il’Jhain drew on the Void, and from nothing conjured her partisan into her right hand.

“<If there’s an earth spirit amongst them I can maybe use it to communicate with them. Get to the bottom of this.>” The youthful zeal often surrounding the faun turned into the charismatic drive that kept her crew loyal, and her ship afloat.

Behind the wall, the cats gathered carefully about the meeting tent mewed and huddled together in whatever hierarchy they followed. Though the Coronians surrounding them were thrown into disarray and confusion, Mordelain could smell fear in the air. Whatever the noise was, they knew its source - the slaves knew they were in danger.

“<If they’re in danger, I will escort them to safety.>”

“<Good id-.>” Mordelain was cut short by Harmony, who stepped between faun and Fallieni.

“What the hell is going on?” she shouted.

Vincent turned to the different panicked groups in the camp, his shrewd intellect putting things together.

“I don’t think we’re alone in realising we, and they are in danger. <Gideon, come in?>”

“Harmony,” Mordelain approached the half-elf, hand outstretched, partisan held high. It’s spidersilk grip felt cool to the touch, and the connection to the Void steeled her senses for the journey that was to come. “Take my hand and try not to throw up over my clothes.”

Rightfully so, Harmony looked at Mordelain’s hand, and then to her captain. When Philomel nodded her consent, she took the il’Jhain’s hand and braced herself.

“I hope you know what you’re doing…”

If she did, Mordelain would have known full well that what Harmony was about to experience would stay with her for the rest of her life. She tried to smile reassuringly, but it turned into a goofy grin that only tightened the knot in Harmony’s stomach.

“<We’ll help the others. Hurry!>” were her parting words.

The Void swallowed the duo whole. One second they stood amidst the burgeoning chaos of worlds colliding, and then in the next they were floating in an infinite, unfathomable expanse. Harmony and Mordelain, limbs splayed, hair floating as though underwater, found themselves confronted with images as large as cities depicting fragments of nine planets and millions of years of their history.

What. The… Harmony thought.

The Void swallowed her words and her will to fight against the immeasurable urge to throw up. At the same time, the nausea clashed against a world shattering beauty. She traced the shape of cities in one image, and roiling deserts as dry as a sun’s heart in another. Wherever she looked she became mesmerised by promises of other worlds. Mordelain watched her, remembering how she had felt the first time she planes walked, far too long ago.

Just like that, they were back on the beach where the Feisty Fox lifeboat let them loose. The move from nothing to warm soft sand hit Harmony like a hammer to the skull. Mordelain, well versed in the sense of inertia touching the Tap brought to mortals took several wide strides away from her companion to let nature take it’s course.

“That was…”

Barf.

“Am.”

Barf.

“Azing.”

Barf.

“At least you didn’t get my shoes…”

With no time to spare, Mordelain took her weapon into the confidence of two hands and turned to the coast. They appeared on the treeline, two hundred feet from where Gideon and Pester appeared to have erected a makeshift camp. She could see the beefcake and the sailor rushing back and forth between the tarp and the prongs of wood they tied together for cover.

“What the hell is going on?” she asked aloud.

Harmony, content she was empty, pushed herself upright and wobbled to Mordelain’s side. Her breath smelt odiously of roast fish.

“I just lost ten pounds…that’s what.”

Had Mordelain time to laugh, she would have done so with gusto. Instead, she scanned the horizon and set her eyes on the ominous shape of ships that were indistinctly not the Feisty Fox approaching on the sun drenched horizon.

“I’ll apologise later. We have to get off the beach.” She didn’t leave Harmony time to respond, skittering away on nimble feet down the golden sand before the half-elf could put her sharp tongue to further use. Reluctantly, the half-fae gave chase, head spinning, mind torn apart by exposure to the very fabric of reality.

“Gideon!” she roared atop her lungs. “Pester! Get down!”

A whistling sound washed over the beach, the tell tale signs of the long drop of an artillery shot.

[Knightly]

“Despite what may come,” Gideon said practically dragging Pester by the arm. “You need to remember two things. The Feisty Fox headed to the southern side of the island.” The two taking cover in a nearby line of brush.

Gideon held Pester’s wrist tight, too tight…

“Ouch,” she winced. “You can loosen up ya know!” Pester finished pulling her hand free of Gideon's grasp. He looked back at her astonished, and then he saw it, the panic in her eyes.

“Everything gonna be fine, I'll protect y--”He was stopped short. The echoing bang of canon fired rattled Gideon's eardrum. “Piss…”

The three frigates in the bay had done what Gideon feared most, they opened fire.

“Stay down.” Gideon said ushering Pester to remain behind the draping foliage. She untethered her bow off her hip, and quickly reached for an arrow. There was no doubt Pester wasn't a stranger to danger. “Whatever happened, stay close to me.”

The young knight turned his eyes to the sky, scanning strenuously to find any incoming projectile. Through the sea fog he could see a faint object with a dim orange glow. It was going to be close but they were safe, the artillery was gonna land just north of them. From the looks of things whoever was offshore didn't see them, yet.

Then from out of the corner of Gideon's eyes he noticed his two comrades, Harmony and Mordelain, sprinting up the wooded path from the shore. He was shocked to see them, where had they just come from? No matter the case he could see the Planeswalker shouting something. He couldn't hear her over the looming whistle of incoming canon fire.

“Get down!” He yelled frantically waving his hands wildly over his head. “ Get down, get down!”

Just then the sound of a hundred thunderclaps exploded behind the young knight. The cannonball landed detonating and erupting into a marvelously large fireball. At the height of the explosion Gideon could see a ring of flames clearly over the canopy. The forest was quickly consumed in the smell of smoke as the underbrush began to catch and burn.

“Holy Crap!” Pester yelled leaning into the tree next to her.

The shock wave from the explosion wasn't unbearable but was present nonetheless. This didn't stop Mordelain or Harmony as they two were swiftly at their side. Panting and out of breath they watched too as forest began to ignite. There wasn't much else they could to, this was clearly out of normal.

“Enchanted Cannonballs.” Harmony said breaking out of her manic panting. “Gotta be…”

“These must be the Slavers the Cats are running from,” the Plainswalker said huffing, whatever she was doing was clearly taking its toll on her. “We need to buy the Captain some time.”

“What can we do from here!?” Gideon barked ready to bite. Little did Mordelain know, she just gave him the greenlight to do what he came here to do. “I need to get on that ship.”

[Cards of Fate]

A myriad of things happened at once. The canonfire seemed to be worlds away, as if the ships weren’t aiming at all. His mind raced as he turned back to see Gort waddle from his tent, the mere effort of moving so “quickly” causing beads of sweat to form across his brow.

“What in the name of-” the mountain gurgled.

BOOM

Another shot rang out, followed by several more. Closer, but still almost a mile or so off. The scholar shook his head and scowled. What the hell were they doing? They’d have to be right on the shoreline to even get a shot remotely close enough, and even then the camp was completely hidden from sight. There was no way they could possibly land a hit. That’s when he saw the billowing clouds of black smoke.

<FUCK!> He spat over the mental comms. <What’s burning?> he asked as he turned to assess the chaos. Corone’s “best” were at their “finest” scrambling over each other chaotically. The whole camp seemed like an anthill that had just been stepped in, teeming with bodies writhing about with no rhyme or reason.

<They set the jungle on fire!> Gideon exclaimed.

<How!> Vincent exclaimed as he weaved his way through the crowd, his eyes locked on the jiggling mass of flesh that was Lord Gort as he tried to force his way to the quarantine gate.

<Their cannonballs have some form of enchantment.> Mordelain chimed in.

<They can’t see us, so they’re trying to smoke us out…> Vincent mused as he closed his eyes and blinked past a blockade of flesh and armor. <Equal parts clever, reckless, and horrifying.>

<I’ll try to slow the fire down!> Phi chimed in as she bounded off into the jungle, vanishing from view. <Get the refugees to safety!>

<On it!> Vince quipped. <I’ll just get Lord Gort to open a larger portal to evacuate all of the-> The scholar looked up to see the trembling mountain of flesh slipping into a shimmering portal of red, vanishing from sight. <Aaaaand he’s gone.> The scholar stopped for a moment, standing near the “gate” to the quarantine, the panicked mewling of the catfolk on the other side filling the air. <Suggestions?>

<I had the Fiesty Fox sail to the southern tip!> Philomel interjected. <We could get them all aboard and sail to safety.> Vince raised an eyebrow, he’d been on that ship already, if there were more than thirty of the catfolk it would be damn near impossible. <What other choice do we have?> The faun quipped.

Apparently she’d overheard that line of inquiry.

<On it.> Vince growled as he turned to the gate. <But let me tell you, I am not looking forward to herding cats through a jungle.>

[Philomel]

<”It'll be fine,”> she replied to the man with the cane. <“I'll get Veridian to stay with them, and through him they'll understand.”>

Focusing, she connected to her fox-formed companion who was busy showing himself through the gap in the quarantine fence to the cat folk. They were rather beautiful, from what she could see through his eyes, with enhanced features and kindly looks. The scars on their upper forearms were poisons where they should be innocent and unharmed.

They seemed stunned by his presence, although also frightened at the mad smokes rising around them. Some had already taken initiative and had torn down a segment in the wall, whispering to each other to grab what they could. Veridian was trying desperately to tell them, through the civet earth-spirit, that he could get them to safety before this all went to chaos. Before the sailors came and took them back on board to be their slaves once more.

“Please,” he tried to say to the crowd that both listened to him and panicked at the same time, “Please, listen to me, we can get you off this island, away from here. Me and my-”

Suddenly - flames rose with angry menace and licked over the side of the wall, near where Veridian was. Bright white, red and gold danced, sending heat and smoke over them, so that the smallest cats began to cough. Shrieks ran through their forms, and despite what the earth-spirits - both of them - pleaded, they began to run for the gap they had made.

<“Damn it - Philomel!”> He yelled out, so the others could hear also.

She got his connection and nodded. <“It's alright,”> she replied. <“Just get them to go to the southern shore, keep all dangers away from them. I'll send Delath with you.”>

As she spoke she felt the movement of the mightiest beast on this island move through the ground under. So far he had been travelling under rock and sea, sliding between magma and sand to get to where his mistress was. Large like a basilisk, fierce like a pack of wild hounds, the earth dragon Delath who she had helped to create came to her call. He roared low and deep, munching and twisting his way upwards through the soil to climb to her. So far he had been but redundant in this voyage, this adventure, gliding his way beneath the vast bedrock of the ocean, but now he was here. Now he came to her call.

Twisting around she fixed Cain with a stare. <“I'll take care of the fire, making sure it does not spread. Veridian is getting the cat folk to the shore and my dragon will guard them through the jungle. If you have any ability right now, I suggest you use it to make our passage safer.”>

He seemed to look at her a while, and then turned. There was a hazy shimmer in the atmosphere before he leapt through space likely to where the cats were running for cover. Taking in a long breath Philomel found herself with her last two remaining sailors. They were looking at her with raised eyebrows. She paused and pointed. “Go straight to the south shore. Get the ship ready. Prepare them for the intake of passengers.”

They looked to each other.

“Ehhh…”

“Just do it,” she ordered, “No matter how many there are, this is our only chance. Now run before this fire gets to you!”

Still a pause. Still hesitation.

“My La-”

“GO!” She yelled, “That is an order!”

At that, they scampered. Leaving Philomel in the camp alone. Without any others, the merchants having all gone. Of course she could still feel the others around her, the various beings that had come with her to this place, but it still felt lonely now. As the flames burst high and significant above her she took a long, low breath, and turned.

Then she ran. Fast and furious, across to the edge of the quarantine wall, using her superior speed to gather herself. Gathering in all she had she welcomed into her the spirit of Drys, her beloved goddess. Earth power surged into her, just as Delath began his climb to the earth's crust and Veridian began the run to corral the cat folk towards the south. She let it overcome her, building her up rapidly from faun, then to half-beast … then to a raging goat roaring through the trees.

Dusky brown, and many feet to the shoulder she thundered the earth with her hooves, bellowing out an animalistic bleat. Yes, she might scare the cat folk, but it could only serve to make their run faster. To make their escape faster. As the smoke licked around her.

She got to the point where she knew they had passed and suddenly froze to lift her mighty forehooves into the air. Horns raised above her, earth shifted and rose beautifully, like a fluttering cape. Just before she plummeted her form, slamming hooves into the ground. Under them the ground shook, the world trembled and a large gaping crack began to appear. As she rose up and did it again an earthquake began to rumble, made by her and her goddess, that quickly and surely made way for the crevice to widen. And deepen. And spread from east to west so the border between life and certain flaming death was cut off.

The flames rolled into the crack, pouring down into nothingness and they stopped their oncoming. As the devilish goat slammed hooves in again and again the path got safer, the flames stopped their profession, and the Feisty Fox moved more into position. People moved, dragons bit through trees and heroes sang of their good deeds as the victory began.

[Mordelain]

Mordelain scanned the horizon, head spinning, heart racing. The desire to run, as she had done too many times throughout her long life threatened to overwhelm her. The slaver’s ships closed, and plumes of smoke spiralled up from bustling decks.

“Hit me.”

Gideon blinked.

“Sorry?”

“Hit me, and hit me like you mean it.” She grabbed Harmony by the waist and embraced her tightly.

“What he said,” she replied, sort of resisting, but expecting something dramatic and vomit inducing to happen all the same.

“You want to get on the ship – I want to get there now, so hit me!”

The trio stared at one another awkwardly; the sun kissed beach bombarded with shrapnel a pathetic backdrop to such a trite squabble. The sincere, piercing glare the il’Jhain gave Gideon swayed him to action.

“Okay, but don’t say I di-” he swung with his fist.

A hair’s breadth before knuckles knocked the stars out of Mordelain, she and Harmony disappeared. Gideon swung around, bewildered. Once more, the soldier found himself in Pester’s company. He looked to the treeline, then the shore, and then the ships.

“How does she do that?” he mumbled. Pester hurried him out the way as the ominous sign of another shell descending to the shoreline broke the sudden silence.

Ten feet from where she vanished, Mordelain re-appeared. Had she the time to explain why her lower half was soaked, she would have lightened the mood with a witty anecdote about walking the plank. A cut on her cheek hinted at their arrival on the slaver’s ship not going entirely as stealthily as she had intended.

“You two, to me, quickly!”

Pester and Gideon bolted towards the Tama, and just before the beach around them erupted into pillars of sand and smouldering embers, they departed Althanas proper and found themselves silent, sullen, and spinning through the etherium.

“<We’re on board the slaver’s flagship, Philomel. We can keep them from landing for only so long….>”

An aeon passed. Gideon and Pester watched their home, and the homes of a thousand different long dead cultures stream passed in reverent awe. Mordelain tried her best to focus on their destination, to avoid dragging the duo through an ordeal that would task them too much for the coming conflict. When she was ready, and her heart beat at its normal rate she let the strings go and they all fell, screaming silently, into a vortex of white light and temporal storms.

The slaver vessel was sleek, well armed, and smelt of sweat, gunpowder, and gangrene. It rocked gently as the cannon fire reverberated through every plank, nail, and pirate. Harmony aimed an arrow with pinpoint accuracy at the neck of the largest hat she could see. She whispered a silent prayer that Mordelain made it back.

“Fire, fire, fire!” the captain roared in a half-alien dialect of bastardised Tradespeak and their native tongue. His grainy voice like a lash to the backs of the sailors, press ganged and otherwise that littered the deck.

Another volley shook the ship, yet Harmony’s arrow tip remained perfectly aligned. She leant to one side to compensate. When Mordelain, Gideon, and Pester appeared in the crow’s nest, their eyes dropped to the corpse at their feet.

“Started without us?” Gideon beamed a smile to the half-elf. She nodded gently. “What’s the plan?” He turned to Mordelain, who looked worse for wear, and offered her a shoulder to lean on.

“Stop. Stop them firing,” she wheezed. She leant on his shoulder, feeling somewhat sheepish for her myriad beefcake remarks over the course of the afternoon. “Give Philomel cover. <If you’re going for the ship, now’s your chance!>” she whispered to the others.

The sound of a sword finally let loose from its sheath cut through the tension. Pester turned to the shore, counting the plumes of smoke and rumbles that came from the direction of the camp alongside the sound of shells exploding in wood and would and water.

“On my mark,” the soldier said, stern but charismatic. “Now!”

An arrow loosened. A partisan re-appeared in ribbons of light. A knife spun, and in a flurry of back and forth and teleporting, the four would-be redeemers appeared about the central mast of the ship to start a riot.

[Knightly]

(Spoilers, I request two cannonballs enchanted to detonate upon impact like that of napalm as spoils.)

His time had come, yet all Gideon wanted to do was vomit what little he had in his stomach. Traveling with Mordelain seemed to be more a curse than a blessing, having far too many side effects on the user. It was hard, but the knight had to ignore the unfathomable emptiness of her dimension and remember what he was doing. He fought the visions he beared witness to furiously.

He remembered his family, something he wished he didn't.

The young knight took in a deep breath, filling every last inch of his lungs. As he slowly let the air escape his lips, the knight surveyed the ten or so slavers surrounding them. It took a moment for anyone to even realize that they had appeared aboard the ship, oblivious bastards hadn't the slightest a clue. They had to buy the Captains time, that meant stopping those cannons.

Gideon drew his blade from its leather sheath at his hip. It's opal blade glistened in the fleeting sunlight, a trademark of the Akashiman metalworkers whom he had met once or twice on his journey. Her name was Alessia, a gift from the knight errant's master. Alessia was enchanted to be able to cut through the hardest of metals. With it he would have all the power needed to dispatch of these troublesome.

“As much time as we can people!” He yelled as he leapt forward towards the closest enemy. With one mighty downward swipe of his blade the bulwark man loading the nearest broadside cannon lay dead. Bisected by Alessia who cleaved through the minimal armour of the mariner like a burning knife through butter. “Put them down!” He cried pressing forward.

“There's one!” Pester yelled as she set loose a barrage of arrow in rapid fire. They appeared and skewered two Slavers as they turned and attempted to draw their weapons. She was quick and deadly as she drew her bow string and set loose arrow after arrow.

Gideon had moved up and faced a group of four slavers, these men appeared to be of elvish decent. They had a light blue hue to their skin as if they had a strong connection to water. Judging on appearance of their fleet, a lot of time must have been put into their naval power. He assumed that these people must be a form of mariner elves hailing from some unmarked continent somewhere.

As the four men circled the knight he kited them until he was positioned over the cargo hold in the center of the deck. Out of the corner of his eye he could see the others fighting vigorously around him. He payed special attention to Pester as she laid waste to pirate after pirate, proving her worth in fold as a soldier. She could definitely take care of herself but still he felt the urge to protect her.

Then suddenly while the Gideon was distracted the first of the four men attacked. He used the end of his mighty spear, thrusting it toward the knight’s stomach. Without much time to react Gideon leaned, stepping to the side, barely evading its edge as it tore through the leathers of his chest plate. Then with an upward strike he severed the head of the spear from its shaft sending it flying.

As the other three men attacked, Gideon rushed the first pathetic, unfortunate soul, placing the tip of Alessia deep into his elven chest. She slid through his steel and flesh with ease, killing the elf. Gideon dropped the hilt of Alessia as the man fell while simultaneously turning raising one hand up. He then muttered something under his breath while closing his eyes.

As if out of nowhere Gideon harnessed a wonderful magical force in his palm. The grey aura manifesting in his clutches spewed through his fingertips like raging flames. Then after a moment the knight errant unleashed his magic, conjuring forth a large circular shield to his defense.

The five foot shield appeared as a grey construct composed white magic. His ultimate defense caught the blades of all three men before disappearing instantly. As his construct vanished the three elves were left without any forward momentum making them easy kills. Gideon capitalized reaching down to rearm himself before spinning violently relieving each elf of their ankles.

The four companions fought vigorously for a while, leaving heaps of dead mariners as they made their way across the ship. Twenty minutes must have passed and for the duration of their skirmish the cannons had stopped. One after another Gideon sent the slavers to a quick grave alongside his allies. This must have gotten the attention of the other frigates as they too stopped their fire.

It seemed like wave after wave of sea elf poured out of the ship onto the deck. It soon became clear that they weren't going to win this fight, no matter how many they killed more seemed to come. Not only were they soon to be overwhelmed but his friends were becoming winded. Gideon had to figure out a way to end this and quick.

<”The Cannonballs.”> Gideon astonishingly chimed telepathically to Modelain. <”We've got to-, I've got to end this.”>

“Pester!” He yelled in mid blade lock, his eyes never leaving that of the slaver’s. “Can you see where their ammunition is?” He finished through gritted teeth.

“No, but best guess is it's below deck.” She answered, setting free an arrow into the side of the man Gideon was fighting.

“Alright, I need you and the others to get off the ship!”

“What do you mean get off, you coming too right!?”

“Of course, I'm right behind you.” He lied. If the knight didn't do something quick then all this would have been for nothing. He couldn't bear witness if anything were to happen to his friends, especially not Pester. With as stalwart glare he met eyes with Modelain, who seemed weaker and weaker the more this battle raged on.

<”Get yourself and the others out of here.”>he said telepathically.

<”What about you?”>

<”I'll handle the ship.”> He answered.

No more words were shared between them as the Plainswalker grabbed both Pester and Harmony returning for the last time to her dimension.

Gideon knew what had to happen.

He backed up slowly to the central mast as the slavers quickly circled him. He watched as the bravest among them stepped forward swiping violently before returning to the safety of the herd. These were warning swipes, merely trying to sway Gideon from advancing. They appeared to be trying to get his back against the wall, but in reality it was he who was baiting them.

From the beginning Gideon noted that thirty paces or so from the base of the main mast was the grated cargo lift. More importantly he found the ship's weak spot, and that it was a mere disaster away. With one hand Gideon pointed the end of his blade at the crowd and in his other he channeled his magic once more. He imagined himself brandishing two blades and menacing armor, and as if by his will alone the image appeared before him.

This startled the elves taking their focus away from Gideon for the briefest of moments. But this was long enough for the knight to turn face and began chopping at base of the mast. Alessia was more than sharp to cut deep into the sturdy wood, but it still took quite a few swings before he lopped off anything major. As his construct was impaled countless times Gideon cut off enough wood to make the mast week and with all his might be began kicking at it. Violently he planted in his heels again and again until he heard the wonderful sound of snapping wood.

With a final nudge the mast began to fracture and fall. Gideon planned it perfectly as the towering central mast plummeted directly into the cargo lift, smashing the grated open and tearing a large portion of the main deck in the process. He took no chances and swiftly leapt onto the mast and began traversing its length before hopping off into the lower quarter. In the confusion those who remained on the top deck concentrated on Gideon's distractions, both his construct and the gaping hole in their ship.

“Where are you?” He said allow talking to himself. He looked all around in this relatively empty lower deck, clearly everyone had rushed up top during the fight. Gideon hasn't much time to act, and as his eyes touched everything in the room he saw them. Racked neatly on the wall was close to forty or fifty medium sized cannonball. They glowed with the faintest of orange hues, Gideon found what he was looking for.

In no time at all the knight made way across the cargo hold to the dangerous ammunition. He reached for them with extreme caution, delicately placing two in either jacket pocket before he heard them. A few sailors had noticed his disappearance and made quick work to find him. Gideon knew he had merely one option remaining, detonate the ship.

The elves yelled violently in their foreign language hissing venom at the young knight. They first appeared running down the stairs from up top, but that didn't matter anymore.Gideon had already prepared his escape. Alessia wasn't his only legendary weapon, and with great haste he drew his matching blade. Helfe, a dragon bones sword, rivaling Alessia in both destructive capability and sharpness.

As if blocking everything out around him the knight turned to face the starboard wall. He pictures himself about ten feet above the water of the bay outside, and with full confidence he cross chopped an x shape into the maple planks of the ship. After many attacks he severed a hole in the wall roughly large enough for himself to leap out. Then as the enemies advanced towards him, he sheathed his weapons at turned to them.

With a devilish grin he caressed the enchanted cannonballs in his jacket before gripping one tight. He pulled it free as the slavers readied themselves. They must have not noticed it immediately, for the secant they realized he had their ammunition then stopped short with panicked expressions.

It was now or never.

“Burn in hell!” He cried as he reared back and chucked the weapon as hard as he could while simultaneously leaping out of his makeshift window. In mid air he heard and felt the ammunition explode in the heart of the ship. Without looking back Gideon was scalded as the flames of the explosion jettisoned out behind him. It was agony, and as the ship combusted and fracture it flew every which way.

The pain and exhaustion had overtaken the boy as he could do nothing when he hit the water. It wasn't much but as pieces of the frigates hit the bay he tried with all his might to swim to the closest botany item before collapsing unconscious upon it. He had bought the crew as much time as possible, confirmed there were no causalities, and reduced the chance that they be followed on their escape. As far as he was concerned that was enough and he left his fate in the hands of the Thaynes for now.