To expedite, explore and extract...

[Letho]

They cheered. Even with death so fresh in the air that the only prominent scent was the sweetly sour stench of stale sweat and spilt blood, the men that apparently took his side in this squabble cheered. Letho couldn’t really blame them. They seemed like the bunch that seldom found themselves in life-or-death situations, a handful of unfortunate men that fell into the good graces of the all too familiar bitch called fate. Some of them probably took their first life on this night. It would strike them afterwards, the recognition of what their deed really meant, and though the necessity of the death they sow would outweigh the guilt, they would feel that cold sting in their insides all the same. It would make their guts churn and twist once they realize they just took everything their foes had and everything that they could ever have. And they would know that their victory had a terrible price.

Letho knew all of this. Even at the relatively young age of twenty-five, the swordsman was in so many kill or be killed situations that the twisted faces of foes that he robbed of their lives started to fade away like an ancient scroll left in the sun. He knew what it meant to extinguish the very existence of somebody who had a childhood just like him, who had memories and thoughts and dreams and desires, who lived in every sense of the word. The self-defense didn’t justify it. That was why the butchery at his feet didn’t seem like a victory to him. That was why he didn’t cheer.

When the leader of the renegade braves approached Letho didn’t recoil. As unlikely as it seemed, he knew that the man meant him no harm and that the sailors he led were on his side. Instead his grasp around the leather hilt of the blade loosened, his eyes closing gently as the muscles throughout his entire body rippled with relaxation. The glistening white aura that cast a theatre of shadows all around the main deck fluttered gently twice before fading out and the massive oversized muscles of the warrior melted down to their usual bulky size. Once again he retained the look of the tired wanderer whose feet walked too many miles and whose eyes saw far too many wonders. His weary brown eyes looked back at the man that bore a rather uncanny name; Storm.

“I don’t need blind trust to know that you and your men shared the same cause with me in this quarrel, Storm Veritas. I’ve seen you fight with courage against these scum and you have my gratitude.” Letho replied to the introduction of the panting man, his voice rather indifferent and colorless save for the brush of royal strictness, the trademark tone of all of Letho’s introductions. His hand discarded the curved cutlass nonchalantly, the blood drenched blade clattering in the silence of the aftermath as his mind urged him to hurry down below. He didn’t know where did this Storm (if that was indeed his real name) character come from. Perhaps he one of the mutineers that had a change of heart or just a lucky sod that managed to escape the mass. But at this moment he frankly didn’t give a damn. The fact that he wasn’t going at Letho’s throat more then sufficed for now.

That, however, changed the second time Storm spoke, because at that moment he earned something that only a handful of people managed to acquire; Letho’s respect. And the formal aforementioned gratitude shifted to a heartily one just as Letho’s face cracked a bit from the usual stone chiseled visage of a battle-hardy grumpy man. His hand brushed off the droplets of sweat and blood that accumulated on his brow as he let out an audible sigh. “Talk about too close for comfort...” Once he lifted his head back up, there was not a single trace of the uptight royal conserved expression on his face, the visage that Myrhia hated with vehemence replaced by one of sheer relief. The meaty hand grasped Storm’s shoulder tightly, resolutely.

“You’re a good man, Storm. I owe you...” and even as he said that, he turned his face towards the rest of the men and raised his voice. “I owe all of you! You have shown more courage then a legion of knights today. But now is not a time to cheer. We need to gather the wounded and treat their wounds. We’ll make an infirmary down in the sleeping quarters. Bring all that you can find there and I will treat their wounds.” he spoke as he released Storm and walked amidst the men that finally seemed to lose the mask of fear that covered their faces ever since they saw him in his bestial form. His voice was different now, somehow warmer and more mundane, the respect within it adding a completely different hue to it.

And it was that familiar warmth that invited Myrhia to leave her hiding place below the staircase and behind a batch of mops that reeked of stale water and unwashed feet. Her bare feet tapped weakly and reluctantly on the wooden stairs, her torn nightgown making her figure resemble that of a ghost as she popped up on the main deck. Her slender hand held the dagger in a desperate fearful clutch as her eyes tried to track down Letho on the field of massacre that, if it weren’t for the profound shock that still held her in a somewhat of a daze, would surely made her vomit. “Letho?” she spoke in little over a whisper, her faint broken voice searching the darkness just as vehemently as her emerald eyes filled with tears. They both tracked him down unmistakably and once she could see his large figure turning her way, she was ready to scream.

“Letho!” she yelled, her pale smooth feet now frantically tapping on the blood-stained floor boards, slipping and sliding, her shaky steps evading the corpses and severed limbs as she ran towards him. And nothing else mattered to her at that moment. Not the rum-infested reek of the warm breath of a man that tried to rape her, not his aching cold grasp that pushed her into the mattress, not even her unlikely savior that carried her out of the whole mess. Right now she just wanted to feel safe again, feel his hands embracing her just like that first time back in Scara Brae. The fearful, innocent embrace, gentle nearly to a fault and taking her to their own little sanctuary where the world was just an illusion and time stretched to the point it ceased to exist.

But instead of a tender embrace of her lover, a cold hairy hand grabbed her from behind, yanking her by her hair and pressing a cold blade against her smooth exposed neck. Everything on the main deck, including Letho who was by now halfway to the red haired girl, stopped instantaneously and instead of the divinity of her own little heaven, Myrhia felt as if she sunk straight to the pits of hell once again. The breath on the back of her neck stank of tobacco and rotten eggs as the dagger slowly dipped into her neck, producing a minute trickle of blood and a helpless whimper from the girl.

“Ah, I’ve got your pretty now, Letho. Watchoo gonna do, huh tough guy?” the raspy ancient sounding voice spoke with a bitterness of a psychotic murderer that lost all connection with reality about a lifetime ago. It was a hissing voice of a snake that swiveled and rattled in the dirt just before it was about to strike. Letho recognized the voice, so did the surviving sailors and just like the swordsman they were out of options.

“Bastard! Let her go.” Letho growled, taking a single step forward. But even as he did so Aslan tugged on the mahogany hair even tighter, his blade just reaching the flesh beneath the skin of the redhead, making her throat muscles tense and wish to exhale a scream.

“Uh-uh, I wouldn’t do that if I was you. Not if you...” but the next thing that exited the foul toothless mouth of the captain was a terrifying shriek as he stumbled backwards with a dagger in his stomach. Unfortunately Myrhia, who managed to impale the man with the dagger that Storm gave her, was caught by the captain’s dagger, the blade mercilessly slashing through the side of her neck and making her scream before she collapsed on the deck.

“YOU LITTLE BITCH!!!” the captain screamed, making a groggy move towards the girl that held for her neck with a frightened look on her face as blood washed her tiny hands. He moved almost in slow motion, like a punched out prizefighter that searched for the ropes with hope that they would lead him to the sound of the bell. An arrow from the shadows made that round stretch throughout eternity. The projectile impaled itself the man straight through his forehead, making the ghastly figure of the captain fall with a deathly cringe with an unhealthily arch of his spine. This time Letho’s eyes didn’t even search for his hidden ally, the bulky man darting forwards even before the body of the captain connected with the hard wooden boards. In a flash he was looming over the frail beauty with a grievous frown furrowing his brow.

“Did... Did I get him, Letho?” Myrhia asked, struggling for both voice and breath as she tried to force a smile on her scarred face. Letho prayed to all the gods and demons his lore recognized that her smile wouldn’t be a bloody one. And the gods answered. The cut was only a fraction of an inch short of ripping her throat wide open, and though she was loosing a lot of blood, her wound was not mortal. He managed a smile that failed to be reassuring as he removed her hands hastily before tying down the wound with a piece of his shirt.

“You did, Myri. But don’t speak now. You’re going to be alright.” he spoke as the remaining sailors gathered around the scene, some of them in no better condition then the dying teenager. He picked her up in his arms, her tiny crumpled body barely larger then that of a child, and headed down below. “Gather the wounded and bring them to me.” he said to Storm sharply, the briskness of his voice coming as a courtesy of the clock that slowly counted down for the girl in his arms. He fired one last look towards the shadow on the opposite side of the ship, his eyes trying to lift the shroud of blackness in order to see at least a shape of his benefactor. But again there was nothing but pitch-black solidity of the moonlight shadow cast by the sails that fluttered above their heads.

[Storm Veritas]

Just as he thought it was over, just as he thought they had reached the end of conflict, a scream tore the ship apart, the scream of the girl Storm had assumed safe. A wretch in his stomach; if harm came to this girl he may very well face the wrath of the same man he had so recently befriended. It was a rush, a frenzy, the deck a maelstrom of confusion, a torrent of fear and panic. In seconds it was over, the girl resting at the feet of her hero, blood pouring copiously from her neck as the mighty swordsman called out to Storm. The command was to gather the wounded. It would not go unheeded. Self preservation had returned to the precipice of Storm’s priorities, standing aloft as all that truly mattered.

Last thing these people want is more orders from me, but I’m not risking my life for these bastards. If they aren’t coming with me to Letho, they are going to be casualties of war. To hell with being the nice guy; now is the time to remain the living one.

The first trip was a short one; his eyes scanned the deck. Anyone that had heard the cry had come running, and the man gathered by in various states of disrepair. They certainly would not leave the side of the most powerful man on the ship, the one who would tear them limb from limb should they not stand by his side at his hour of need. There was the top of the stairs in the distance, the place where the archer had taken down the hostage-taking scoundrel. That would have to wait; Storm needed to produce results. He needed bodies, and he didn’t care how he brought them to this desperate, dangerous warrior.

Storm’s first course of action was to bound down the stairs. There were several men at the bottom, many too weak to continue forward, many who chose not to follow the temporarily gallant Veritas in his war-charge. The overwhelming smell of the place was what hit him like a train, though, shaking him into a sad recognition of the death and despair aboard.

Holy mother of god. It smells like sh*t down here.

The briny smell of blood loomed, a bitter, biting thing that Storm had grown disturbingly familiar with in his short time on Althanas. More pervasive, however, was the terrible scent of bile and feces. Many men lay dead, their eyes glazed and staring infinitely into the wood panels of the small floating coffin. Rigor mortis had set in; their bodies had quickly become stiff and unnatural, blood seeping slowly from nostrils and mouths and ears. Worse than the failure of these capillaries, however, was the bowel failure, the constant, lifelong restraint no longer held, lingering residue of whiskey-soaked sh*t hanging in the air like a horrible fog. Storm was disgusted, and stripped of the humanity he may have shared only seconds ago.

I got to get the f*ck out of here. To hell with these people.

He wished to escape, so he moved quickly. His eyes scanned all the bodies for heaving chests; there were few. The first man took short, desperate breaths, lingering on the brink of death. Storm made it quick and painless, ramming his long kriss dagger down into his torso from just behind the collarbone. He felt it strike the heart; instantly the breathing stopped and the man seized. It was over for him. It would be over for them all, too, should they not move quickly.

“I’m only looking for the living. If you can’t get off your ass, no fears. I’ll come and take care of you, I’ll take care of the pain.”

A few gasps, and two men scrambled drunkenly to their feet. Their eyes were wide with fear; gaping mouths unsure of what they had just seen. This noble leader, this charismatic driver of men… how could he turn on his own men?

“Move up to the deck! Wait for the command of Captain Letho. Good work, gentlemen. Now GO!”

The men didn’t wait; they bolted for the stairs, legs pumping furiously in spite of obvious pain. Storm wouldn’t be far behind. He continued to scan the room, finding and dispatching one more poor soul, his twisted dagger this time tearing up at a heavily bleeding man, cruising a smooth path under the sternum to the heart. It was a terribly savage killing, yet for all the bloodshed, it would be fast for him as well.

As much mercy as I can afford to spare, my friend.

The lips of the men were turning blue, their skins becoming paler and more inhuman with each passing second. Likewise, Storm was becoming overwhelmed by the nauseating aromas, and felt a bit green in the gills for his own comfort. The normally cloying sea air would be a welcome change. He left the bodies in their bloody wakes, the pools of dark crimson becoming thick and viscous as they cooled. It would be a terrible place for someone to clean, but Storm was certain that the someone would not be him.

The night was coming now, and Storm reached the top of the stairs to find a considerable throng of people around Letho and his darling redhead. The girl’s eyes were open, and she appeared to be conscious; both good signs for the extension of Storm’s voyage. Were her health to turn south, he eyed a quick path to the deck side, knowing his chances with the sharks would be better than with the fire-eyed captain.

Discretion IS the better part of valor.

He looked to the captain again, Storm taking his place in front of the men, many of which looked it him in askance. With a menacing gaze, he backed the men away from the couple, giving the girl plenty of space to breath. Hell, he knew he held physical dominance over any of these half-assed sailors, it was easy to look down upon them and answer only to the captain. This was, not coincidentally, exactly what he would do. He knelt and spoke softly, his voice soothing and diplomatic and kind. He realized that he hadn’t heard the man give his name, so he spoke to him as the others had.

“These are the bulk of the men, Letho. I don’t know of the archer, but he doesn’t seem a threat. Should I go and fetch him? I think it best you have time here with your woman.”

[Letho]

Once Letho was down below and Myrhia’s trembling little body was wrapped in the safety of the rough cotton sheets that forgot what white was a couple of years ago, his hands started to work their magic. It was said that the hands of the true Savion Guardian were hands not of warfare and murder, but chivalry and soothing, an extension of the divine inherited wisdom. The swordsman wasn’t entirely certain about the wisdom part – after all, how wise is a man that travels to an unknown land without as much as a map just to find a blade that could very well be the very cause of his demise? - but his skills to cure pretty much every wound known to man were right on the money. His massive hand wrapped around the side of her scrawny neck that bled profusely, applying the pressure on the wound efficiently, while the fingers of his other hand tenderly coursed through the mahogany locks of her hair that fell over the left side of her face. She looked up at him trustfully, her wet glassy eyes those of a fallen angel that begged for forgiveness, that reached up towards the sky for salvation. Her perfect lips quivered a last petal on a dying rose that started to lose its blood red color as she struggled to speak. But she felt no pain, such was the nature of Letho’s touch, and that made her manage another frail smile before she closed her eyes and let herself to his blissful touch. The gash was a small price to pay to be in the safety of his hands once again.

With Myrhia out cold, the dark man let his hands do the other part of their magic, the much more mundane down-to-earth kind. It consisted of cleaning the wound, washing out the remaining blood, applying some of his dry healing herbs (that uncannily easy erased the stale sour stench of pickled feet and replaced it with a fresh enticing scent on menthol and myrrh) and wrapping in all up with a set of makeshift bandages that might have been a shirt once (might have been also a blanket, a bed sheet and a pair of underpants). Once he was done and the red haired angel was sleeping with the tranquility of a miry spring lake, he tucked her in, placed a kiss on her pale forehead and turned back to the rest of the crew.

“I don’t think he wants to be fetched, Storm.” Letho responded to the black haired man that was surely entitled to a good half of today’s victory. “And I don’t think we would be able to do so either. He’s a sly thing or so it seems, but he’s a matter best left for later. Right now I need to treat the rest of the men. Everybody who sustained an injury should take a bed and I’ll get to all of you.” but even as he spoke, mistrust spread through the improvised infirmary as the buccaneers suspiciously measured Letho. Especially his hands, the meaty rough objects of destruction that only minutes ago wreak havoc and death on the main deck. Merciless hands. The hands of a killer.

“Look, it maybe doesn’t look so bad today, but by tomorrow you’ll have a fever, in two days the infection will spread and in three you’ll be dining with your dead grandfather.” he lay it down for them simply, in a human tone, in a way most people liked, and it started to make sense to them. And even if it didn’t, it was a wise choice to obey the man who could wield the ship’s main anchor as if it was a mere ball and chain. One by one they took their places, their movements accompanied with sets of muffled groans and cringes, and one by one Letho treated them with the same magic, albeit more hastily then his lover. By the time he was done, the “infirmary” was filled with mummified men, the relaxing odor of the healing herbs, the satisfying snores that rippled through the room like a chainsaw and the faint bleak light of the day emerged through the pair of small rounded windows.

In the end only Storm, himself and a pair of young lads that seemed too scared to even touch a blade were the only men that were able to do something besides staring at the floor while fatigue ripped through their bodies. Wiping his hands from the blood that by now nearly became his second skin, the swordsman spoke to Storm once again. “It seems it’s just us. Come on, we have work to do. We can’t have a plague outbreak now when we survived this ordeal.” And while the most of the remaining crew rested, their sleep well deserved after the mayhem they mugged through during the wretched night, Letho was everything but resting.

The ship was a mess in every sense of the word. The stench of death took the form of a mixture of feces and salty urine that stood almost like a barrier, hovering throughout the bowels of the “Intrepid” with a rather clear intention of staying there. The stench itself clenched a person’s stomach with an iron fist, ready to squeeze out a meal or two. Luckily for Letho, he ate lightly the other night, and the image of the battle aftermath was more then familiar to his eyes. Myrhia might have fainted if she was at his side. Not Letho though. He carried the bodies out of the belly of the ship, the smelly limp sacks of hay with beady eyes that stared right through him, and threw them down into the murky sea that reflected the foggy dawn. It was a dirty job, probably more suiting for a handful of good-for-nothings that were “rewarded” with cleaning. But good-for-nothings were a luxury that Letho couldn’t afford right about now, most of them either dead or as good as dead down below. So he rolled up his sleeves and started to tidy up the mess. No use of a ship with an infestation of plague creeping through it.

Throwing the bodies overboard was the easy part of the job though. It was what they left behind that was a drag to clean. Sticky blood, scattered entrails and bone fragments, teeth and limbs and puddles of urine mixed with liquid dung. Luckily for the man, the trail of bodies that led from the lower decks was pretty straight forwards, not straying to all of the halls and decks but leading upwards in the fastest way possible. The main deck was at least fractionally easier to clean. A handful of buckets of water, a good half an hour worth of mopping and most of the crimson stains were just a distasteful gut-wrenching remembrance.

By the time they were done even Letho felt as if somebody rode him whole night and decided not to stop at dawn. He half sat, half collapsed below the first mast that reached up to the azure sky that cleared up, providing the ship with smooth sailing through yet another timid summer noon. Sailing. Now there was another obstacle on a path that seemed already so heavily encumbered with troubles, it seemed downright impossible to pull it of. Truth was Letho Ravenheart knew as much about seafaring as he did about magic. He knew it existed, he knew for what it could be used, but other then that (and the relatively rudimental physics that explained the meaning of the ruder, helm and the sails) he was as much of a captain as a barbarian - that was doing a precise medical operation with an iron pipe - was a surgeon. Still, some of the sailors down below looked mighty experienced and that helped his confidence grow just enough for him not to fall into the usual melancholic hopeless trap. Enough for him to keep looking ahead instead of back at the Corone shore that was slowly shrinking at their side to nothing more then a thin dark line on a distant horizon.

Just as he felt his mind was pulling towards dozing off under the soothing warmth of the midday sun, his eyes caught a sight of the black haired man that was in a way the very thing that tipped over the balance of the night’s battle. He was a rather refined looking person, not entirely like the roughnecks that usually took on seemingly desperate jobs, despite his rugged rustic unshaved face. “Storm Veritas!” he called up the man, his voice, just like his visage, clearly weary and sleep-deprived. “I don’t think we have been properly introduced last night. I am Letho Ravenheart, somewhat of a leader of this expedition. So tell me, what wind blew you into this task?” the burly man asked, squinting his eyes as he looked up towards Storm and the sun that blazed behind him. Letho was certain Storm was not one of the men he hired back in Corone, but then again, neither were some of those that fought at his side yesterday, a rare souls that actually had a consciousness and the sense of right and wrong. He figured Storm was one of these.

[Storm Veritas]

The scattering of the men was altogether unsurprising; most had fought much more bravely and faced worse danger than Storm. He had struck from range, running when things were not assured, and taking refuge in numbers. It was easy to lead people, he found, when there was nothing to do but point and holler. The sailors, strewn throughout the boat, had been a testament to bravery.

And foolishness. Why did they follow me? What the f*ck were they thinking?

His own confidence in leadership still shaken, he listened carefully to the questions from the mighty captain of the ship. Returning a strong, steely gaze Storm attempted to read the emotion and intelligence in his eyes. The focused, concentrated eyes of Letho Ravenheart were bright and shining, rife with insight. He was not a man to be toyed with; any coy response or half-truths would instantly be sniffed out. Storm began, the truth flowing from his lips like beer from a well-sprung tap.

“Well, I don’t have any direction these days, to be honest, besides away. Seems that the people of Radasanth thought I may have outlived my welcome, and I was in the business of getting the hell outta there. Certainly wasn’t anything left for me in a town where I was so famous, but looking back at my image on the post exchange walls was far from a warm welcome.”

He smiled; Veritas felt himself fumbling a bit, his fingers nervously picking at small old cuts and sun-dried skin. It was a nervous tic, although he was becoming much more familiar than the wizened old soldier. He had learned in his travels that no good man exists without skeletons in his closet, and people all seem to enjoy the exposure of other’s shortcomings. One of the frailties of the human condition lied in the fact that misery does indeed love company.

“Can’t say I’m an innocent man.” He looked up, eyes bright now with honesty and openness. “Can’t say I’m going to start fresh, or live on the up and up. I guess I am who I am, whatever the hell that might be. Go from town to town, live a little, see the world. Drift. Never a dull moment.”

It was a lie, the first he had told the considerable Letho. There were many dull moments, stowing away and crossing fingers, hoping for a meal, a shower, or just a chance to use the men’s room. It was odd seeing everyone and knowing none, to not connect. Speaking now with Letho, it was refreshing, a cleansing of sorts. He could let out the demons, and wasn’t pressured to act tough or feign more decency than he held.

“I didn’t have a place to go, not a pot to piss in. Came on to the boat, snuck downstairs, ate some scraps. Stowaway is an easy racket; just lay low, don’t bother anyone, and if you get sighted, you act like you belong. Easy enough.

“Of course, I saw everyone get tossed downstairs, and decided it was time to come out of hiding. Figured some bad sh*t was going down, and I could stand to help out a bit.”

It was phenomenal; he had never had such an outpouring of frankness to anyone upon Althanas. There was no backlash, no scorn, no anger in the face of Letho. Storm could vent quite a bit, and ramble on he did.

“So here we are, and night is coming. I overheard you mention some place… I think it was Nyd, something like that. I thought I’d take off there, take my chances, roll with it, and see what type of game I could run there.”

His curiosity piqued, Storm paused for a moment before returning with another outburst. His voice raised an octave as he led the inquisition, his desire to know more defying his better senses. He exploded in a line of questions, instantly regressing to a ten year old at the toy shop.

“And what about you? What happened up here? Who were those pricks, and why did they try to put you down? What’s up with your metamorphosis back there?” Biting his tongue, he held his breath for a moment. No, he couldn’t hold back. “I’m sorry to be rude about these questions, but man, I’ve never seen any sh*t like that before. The way you cut through those bastards… it was otherworldly.”

[Letho]

He was a chatty fellow, or so it seemed, his voice speaking with eloquence that only further confirmed his words and Letho’s conclusion; that he wasn’t one of the sailors that came on this mission because of the jingle of the bag of gold. The swordsman didn’t particularly enjoy the company of talkative people. Or happy people. Well, people in general. That was, until Myrhia came along. She would have probably enjoyed this kind of conversation. She would stare up with those large emerald eyes of hers, listen attentively, biting her lower lip at the ugly parts and offering a compassionate smile or an encouraging pat on the shoulder. And then she would ramble on and on and on just like this man did, using countless words to say something that could be compressed in only a handful of them.

Not Letho though. Being a man of few words, the bulky man fitted into the profile of the mindless brute with uncanny ease and remarkable accuracy. He liked that assumption thought, the prejudice that allowed him to pass unscathed by the mass that he disliked so much. It was better to be considered dumb and left alone then speak with wisdom and get a world of trouble on one’s back. But as much as on some other day Storm’s rambling would be shunned aside by the usual “everybody has a sad story nowadays” phrase that Letho like to cite often, his story actually got the dark man’s interest. Going from town to town, drift through the world on the wings of fate, no place to go... It sounded so familiar it opened up the wounds that were covered up for years now. He had seen his share of wandering, walked his share of miles and fought his share of battles to be able to say that he knew what was Storm talking about. Myrhia would have explained that to the man in the sympathetic voice of an angel. Letho merely nodded his head distantly, his fingers playing with a set of five splinters that sat beside him below the high mast and the eyes of the stranger. This wasn’t a discussion he wanted to get into and he figured Storm didn’t want to make it into a discussion either.

With his question answered with an abundance of details, it was Letho’s turn to answer the shower of inquiries that the man fired at him in a rapid succession. It seemed that the inquisitiveness came hand in hand with the slyness of his tongue. Letho’s mind, still rather groggy from the dozing feeling that crept somewhere in the back of his neck, making his eyelids as heavy as iron, slowly sorted the questions, soaked up all the information before preparing an answer.

“I don’t know what you did before, Storm, and therefore I cannot judge you for that. What I do know is what you did last night and that’s all that matters.” and that was the truth. This was not the first time Letho ran into an individual that lived on the other side of the law, living of the swiftness of his hand and mind. And if those encounters taught the fallen knight anything, it was that prejudices often proved to be flaky at best, or downright wrong at worst. The way he saw it, Storm could have done nothing, keep playing the stowaway and creeping through the bowel of the ship long after Letho and Myrhia were both fish food. Cold-blooded murderer would have done so. Storm didn’t and that meant something in Letho’s book of rules and values that contained a nice little pyramid diagram within its pages. And near the top there was a part that stated that the true face of a man emerged in dire times.

“But I think you picked a wrong ship to stow yourself away on.” the man added, pushing himself back to his feet with a weary muffled “umph!”. He walked a couple of feet away from Storm, stopping on the very bow of the large vessel as his eyes peered into the south where nothing but the faint line of the horizon returned the gaze. “You will find no game on Nyd. It is a desolate place, a forgotten realm of ice and things as ancient as the very foundations of the world. Nothing lives there and no ship sails to it.” the man spoke with a calm, rugged voice, his hand holding on to a rope as the gentle wind played with his sleeveless linen shirt. His tone was definite, clearly stating that the “Intrepid” was the only way to and from Nyd, presenting the man with the situation with no sugarcoating whatsoever. Sugarcoating was never a game Letho was good at.

“Apparently, most of the sailors here didn’t want to sail to it either, even after they agreed to it in the beginning. They made their choice and I made mine, it’s as simple as that.” Letho continued, stepping down from his defiant position at the front of the ship only to lean onto the wooden railing that went all around the main deck. “The metamorphosis, as you put it, I’m not very proud of that. It’s... Well, you know what happens to a cornered animal?” he asked the man with a wry grin on his bearded face. “Same thing. You poke something too much, you get poked back. Only for some reason I can summon enough power for some major poking.” he smiled this time, a wry crooked looking thing appearing on his face, not entirely unattractive but rather just simply out of place on his stone-chiseled visage.

“As for my reasons for going to Nyd... Well, suffice to say I seek for an item that rested there for a while now. Apparently it can settle some issues that I’m having.” “Preventing my head from bursting being one of them.” his mind added sarcastically, reminding the man of the shimmering portal to the world in which an elf wife and two children awaited for him.

“Why don’t you tell him what’s the real reason, Letho Ravenheart?” a voice spoke to the conversing pair, making Letho recoil sharply as his eyes sprung back to their livelihood in a fraction of a second, frantically searching for the source of the voice. It seemed to be coming from above them, somewhere below the line of the second sail, but regardless of how much the brown eyes strained, they saw nothing but three lines of rough rope and a fluttering whitewashed sail. “The blade is what he seeks, The Blade of the Judicator.” again the female voice only thins time it came from the left of them, seemingly out of the greasy barrel filled with tar. “The blade that shaped the world.” again the voice added, muffled, nearly hissing words of an invisible woman that now seemed to take refuge on the rope ladder that reached up towards the tip of the hoist.

Letho regained his composure after the first two location switches that the woman made, his lips curling into a smirk and his eyes refusing to take part in the little ruse the woman set up for the two. He heard of this skill, voice throwing they called it, but never found himself on the other end of it. Now that he did, he found it quite disquieting, but far from alarming. It was one thing to throw one’s voice and a completely other to do the same to a weapon. “Ah, our mysteriously coy ally approaches.” Letho commented to nobody in particular, his voice a touch jovial and breaking of from the usual strict royal tone.

“Not coy, Letho...” she retorted, this time her voice much more prominent and coming from behind him, from the other side of the fence that looked down on the passing azure ocean. The swordsman felt sharp pointy tip of a weapon pressed against his side, just below his ribs. “...just careful.”

She wouldn’t strike. If she wanted them dead, she wouldn’t take part in the battle last night. That was why the dark man merely stood there, his arms crossed in front of his stoically and his eyes closed gently, waiting for her to come on board. The slender figure of a cloaked woman held on to the fence with one hand, her body hanging on the other side deftly as she held a curved dagger as an ominous threat to Letho’s liver. With a quick jerk of her arm she brought her body up, landing soundlessly in front of the two and returning the dagger to the scabbard on her side. “Not everybody can charge into a battle like a wild boar...” she said, her head cocking sideways a bit as she fired a glance towards Storm. “...or play around with the powers of nature.”

She was quite a dame, Letho though, or would be if her curvy sizzling figure weren’t clad in an unsightly gray cloak that separated just enough to reveal one of her agonizingly long milky white legs. Her golden hair cascaded around her face in a countless series of gentle curls, surrounding the heart-shaped visage that smirked at the two with one of those smiles only a woman could produce, the seductive radiant smile that toyed and broke hearts as if they were eggshells. There was some elven blood in her, the silent approach and the alluring beauty being only the two most obvious details that led the swordsman to that conclusion. But the mundane down-to-earth smirk and not overly stuck up glare of her azure eyes was enough of a reason for him to conclude elven blood was not the only one she had running through her veins.

“My name is Selena.” she finally spoke after some good thirty seconds of mutual measuring of the hardy swordsman and his companion. Her fair face failed to reveal whether or not she was satisfied with that she saw, but her hand protruded towards them all the same, her rather strict dictating face breaking the frown a little bit. She was quite imposing woman, the kind that took control and stopped the time flow in the room in which she walked in, the kind that shifted eyes and usurped calm minds. But the swordsman seemed resilient to her charm, his hand accepting the handshake coldly but resolutely. He had two minds in his head right now and both were occupied with a female companion. There was certainly no room for another. Not if he wanted to hold on to the shred of sanity that was still hanging by a thread in his head.

“I feel inclined to introduce myself, but you probably know both our names and out reasons for being here by now. So what are yours?” Letho spoke, his eyes suspiciously eying the woman, silently stating that he still held her at certain distance. A stowaway with nothing to lose he could handle. A mysterious woman that snuck through shadows and could creep up on him even in broad daylight was something to be careful about.

“You’re kidding, right? After five thousand years somebody finally summons enough guts to search for the fabled blade. I was not going to miss that.” Selena spoke with a dash of exhilaration in her tone.

“Oh joy.” Letho responded in a cynical tone, bringing her flying-high mood right down. “Either way, I thank you for your help last night, Selena. It is good to have somebody of your skill with us and not shooting at us. For now, though, I have to get some rest. I believe you two can handle the deck while I’m gone?” the last sentence being more of a statement then a question. They couldn’t know less about seafaring then him, so he wasn’t exactly leaving the “Intrepid” in bad hands. Well, not worse then his anyways. Leaving the blonde haired beauty and the shady looking man on the main deck, Letho made his way down below, following the path to the living quarters. He missed the deck once, strayed into two wrong hallways before he found his way to the bedroll where Myrhia slept with the blissfully calm expression, crumpled up in a small ball and letting out her muffled barely audible whimpers. Lowering himself beside her, the swordsman embraced her ever so gently, leaning her tiny body onto his own before placing a silent caress on the back of her neck. Inhaling her enticing scent with each breath he took, he slept soundly for the first time in weeks.

[Storm Veritas]

The swordsman spoke back to Storm, offering nothing in the way of judgement. The lanky traveler was correct in assuming that he could lend some small partition of trust in the burly Letho; this man was honest, if brash, and far too strong-willed to be pulled aside by something so petty as a stowaway. Coincidentally, it was this same nature that made him offer a very blunt and unapologetic piece of advice for the drifter, as Nyd certainly held little in the ways of the typical towny-morons that Storm had grown accustomed to ripping off.

Before he could finish his speech, however, the interruption came, as the sultry, seductive voice of the archer whispered across the deck to them. She was a vision; her svelte curves still straining and reaching the surface behind a large, vile cloak. Her blonde hair and striking face were truly a sight for sore eyes here on the open sea. Veritas thought himself hallucinating when he caught a flash of a long, delectable thigh parting the slit of her cloak.

Holy sh*t.

She seemed to be similar to Letho in character; she too was forthright, strong willed, and to the point. She made no explanations for her activity, besides seeking out the same blade that Letho himself was questing for. An odd conflict of interest, Storm believed, but he was past smitten. This tender morsel of walking sex had him downright infatuated, and it took a strong conscious effort to keep from staring. Fortune smiled upon him as the sword wielder left the two of them to right the ship. It was quite the pleasant turn of events, and Storm struck quickly.

“If we are to bring this ship to Nyd, we have a lot of work to do.” His words were harsh and cutting, his haste and lack of tact deliberately used to knock this temptress of guard. Selena was ravishing; Storm would not stand apart by ogling over the magnificent woman. He suspected that idle chatter and the occasional innuendo would be useless to her, and he continued his strong demeanor.

“Set the mast strong to port. There is still some drifting breeze that will catch us south, and I’ll fix the rudder. Once we straighten the heading, we can coast towards this place you speak of.”

He watched her move as he walked to the wheel, grabbing the large wooden device by two of its many oaken handles and giving it a slow, gradual turn. The ship had been drifting aimlessly for some time, and there were only a few traces of light stemming from the deep-setting sun. He knew this marked west, and had a few ideas in the way of ship-sailing, but assumed that he could fake his way into captaincy here. Pretty girls don’t tend to sail much.

The girl worked fervently, loosening straps and pivoting cranks, cutting a lynch-rope and sending the large canvas flying high into the air above. She was fast, smooth, and deft with the controls, and he gazed unto her with an embarrassed grin. Within seconds, she was quickly walking towards him again, her feminine curves undulating beneath her cloak.

Busted.

”I believe that perhaps you are more fit for this wheel than I,” he began, bowing at the hip and gesturing to the wheel, his left arm tucked taut to his waist. “I think I could gather this isn’t your first ride, little lady.”

Selena smiled; she knew that she had shown him up, yet now was not the time for gloating. Her lips were pursed together, thick and soft things begging to be kissed. The power a beautiful woman has over men is not often overlooked, and she was no exception. She ran her long, slender fingers down his cheek, her sultry gaze nearly cutting him in half.

“Maybe I’ve logged an hour or two.”

He took a seat before her, resting on a small platform that led to the bow. The rest would do wonders for his tired bones, and he could begin to run his mouth to the seductress, tempting her and teasing her and winning her favor. The smooth tongue was something he was quite gifted with; it was a useful tool to bring women to bed, and a better weapon within the same confines.

They would chat for hours; the woman was interested by this mysterious, arrogant traveler. Aside from her hypnotic curves, Storm was drawn to the frank woman, the powerful heroine who seemed to answer to none. She would be his, he had decided. The only question remaining would be how.

And, as they sailed the remainder of the night away, he prodded and chiseled away that stony façade, hoping to find exactly what it would take to bring her affection his way. It was only a matter of time.

[Letho]

***

The house is hauntingly empty. The stringy vines and an inch thick layer of moss paint the stone walls to a sickish green, both contributing to the decay of what was once home of the Ravenheart family. Letho knows this house well. The picket fence was defiantly white once, the lawn was mowed precisely and the roof that now prided itself with a gaping hole was once perfectly tiled by fresh red recently bought tiles set up by his own two hands. And the orchard that is now in shambles with overgrown weed clinging to the tousled peach and apple trees was once perfectly arranged, blooming with all the rich colors that spring brought in its wake, spreading the enchanting scent that made a person want to just lay on the soft grass and die in the heaven of conflicting smells and images.

And there was a myriad of sounds ripping through the spring afternoon instead of the dull silence. His daughter Teenah screaming at her brother Victor, their feet tapping on the porch frantically, Tayotihua’s soundless approach and the captivation of the two rascals, her strict elven voice. And then a stray nightingale would announce that the night is drawing nigh and the crickets would confirm with their annoying noise, scraping their legs against each other and filling the dusking day with an idyllic detail.

None of that remains now. The clouds are looming over the devastated broken home, their ominous gray glare adding a creepy hue to the entire scene. It is a home of ghosts and the swordsman is standing in its yard, searching for something that would remind him of the life that once pulsated within those walls. There are no signs of violence, no scorched walls or arrowheads pinned in the wood. The house that he left a couple of weeks ago is simply deserted. They moved on. Tayotihua was always a strong woman and after he failed to return she moved on, taking the children to a more fair land, far from the aching memory of the man she loved. That is what happened. Even if there is no sign to confirm it, something deep inside Letho knew that is what happened.

Or rather that is what would happen if he failed in this task.

***

“TAY!!!” the swordsman screamed, his eyes springing wide open, staring emptily at the brown wooden roof that stood above his head. His forehead was sprayed with beads of cold sweat, his hands holding the rough sheets in such a tight clutch that the crumpled cloth creaked and moaned beneath his fingers.

The scream that Letho uttered brushed against the heart of the redhead that lay at his side, leaving a shallow wound on her timid little heart. How else could she feel when a man that slept beside her woke up, screaming the name of another? She knew the reasoning behind all of this, how couldn’t she since she was the instigator of it in the first place? And yet that scream hurt her deeply, the name spoken making the girl move slightly away from the dazed man whose eyes still stared at the world only visible to him. She looked at him with her apologetic eyes, the frail slave girl apologizing to him for all the trouble she caused, for not being good enough to be in his dreams instead of the gorgeous elven woman with silver hair.

It took Letho a couple of moments to realize that the columns of his porch were in fact the lines of the boards above his head, and that the mesmerizing image of his lost home was a product of his deranged mind. His heaving breath slowed down gradually, his brown eyes shifting back to focus as his bulky hands stopped the punishment for the innocent bed sheets.

“A... Are you alright, Letho?” the mousy scared voice came from beside him, a slender warm hand gently embracing his forearm. His eyes fell on her visage, the scarred face that carried the hopeful emeralds that gazed at him with a perplexed worried look. Despite everything, she managed a smile, curling her tiny body closer to his own, leaning her head onto his shoulder and sighing audibly.

“Yes... Just a bad dream.” he responded with a disquieted restless tone, kissing her forehead. It was a blatant lie if he ever told one to the teenage girl. The scene that stood in front of him was more then just a random nightmare, it was an insight in things to come, things that may come to pass if they would step astray in this perilous journey. An insight in a future that hovered over his heart like a noose of the hangman, warning him what price he would pay if the Blade of the Judicator would not be found.

“I guess I wasn’t in it.” she served what was on her mind subtly, her innocent voice barely reaching his ears as she buried her face deeper into his shoulder. His hand moved from his side, grasping her cheek as gently as a blooming rose, moving the locks of her smooth mahogany hair that fell over her scarred cheek.

“It was a nightmare. I wouldn’t want you in a nightmare anyways.” he responded, and in a way that was another flat-out lie. Because he wanted her in a nightmare. In the bleak gray future that stood before him only seconds ago, her gleeful spirit and the touch of her hand would be the very thing that would save him from desperation. The answer, however, eased her mind, just like Letho knew it would, and she smiled satisfyingly, placing a childish kiss on his cheek before she squeezed his hand and nestled closer to him with a hearty purr. Pulling her lithe body next to him, the rich brown eyes fired a gaze at the rounded window on the far end of the room. It was morning, the angle of the solid blazing beam stating that it was still early in the day, but it was the day of consolidation and integration with the crew. A day during which he had to announce that after the excruciating night they were to press on, despite their decimated numbers and lack of real captaincy. He could only hope that the buccaneers that fought valiantly last night would stand with him once again.

***

After sending a word throughout the ship that the assembly is to take place on the main deck, the knight was making his way to the light of the day through the gloomy interior of the “Intrepid”. Once again, he carried no weapon at his side, his attire unchanged save for the black leather coat that covered most of his body now. There was no point of stepping in front of the sailors with a sword at his side (not to mention the six foot gunblade), not after what happened last night. He didn’t want to speak with a threat hanging above his head like a warning sign, but as one of them, as a man that needed their aid. Myrhia followed behind him, her long smooth neck still wrapped in a throng of bandages and her face still sickly pale, but her determination set firmly and boldly to stand beside her man. She was clad in scarlet, her short shirt revealing her scrawny milky legs just enough for Letho’s heart to leap a bit every time he would look at her. They were an uncanny couple; a burly warrior and a tiny skinny slave.

On the main deck the bulk of men was already gathered, creating a bustling mass of heads and bandages concentrated just below the elevated portion of the ship where the helm stood. There Storm and Selena already waited, the golden haired woman dominantly standing at the helm of the ship with the wind tousling her long hair and playing with her gray cloak, revealing more of her alluring curvy figure. Myrhia was instantly intimidated by the woman, her green eyes once again noticing how different she was from a real woman such as this Selena. Comparing herself to the vixen that defiantly commanded the entire vessel with a steely look in her azure eyes, she was a mere tomboy, a girl that the natural body development forgot to take for the ride and grant her the natural womanly curves. And it made her regret that she picked to wear her skirt on this windy day.

“Ah, our lovebirds finally decide to join us. Good morning.” Selena commented with a mild content smile, nodding her head towards the swordsman that passed by her words unfazed. There were times when he found necessary to conceal his affection for the teenage girl, but that times were nothing but a bleached memory by now. Instead her replied with a courteous smirk, the kind that clearly stated that he neither cared nor wanted to know what she thought about his relationship with the slave girl.

“I see you two managed to keep things under control.” Letho replied, the pleasantries long time missing from the speech of the knight that was once again taken by the usual bad case of morning grumpiness.

Myrhia, however, had no such illness. First thing she did was run up to Storm and threw her hands around the black haired man, embracing her tightly. “Thank you, sir.” she whispered in a muffled voice, the images of last night darting through her innocent mind and making her shudder. “If it weren’t for you...” she spoke, moving away with an embarrassment coming as a direct result of her harsh actions. Letho didn’t pay much heed to this; it was just the way Myrhia was. A cheerful person that find no obstacle in sharing her high spirits with others, a timid soul that learned how grateful one has to be for all the little things. Once she was done she approached Selena, reluctantly protruding her slender hand.

“Selena, this is Myrhia. Myrhia, meet our mysterious ally from last night.” Letho did the introductions in somewhat of a softer voice then the distant cold greeting that he spoke moments before.

“Nice to meet you, ma’am.” the girl responded, bowing her head gently to the woman. But Selena accepted her handshake with a touch of melodic laughter spreading from her sensual lips.

“Please. Leave the ma’am out of it. Makes me feel like I’m your mother or something.” the dame spoke kindly, breaking Myrhia’s skittish visage into a mild appreciative smile. “Just between the two of us...” the woman added as she leant more closely to the frail girl. “...it will be nice to have some female company in the midst of all these male hotheads.” At this Myrhia uttered a merry laughter, agreeing with a minute nod.

“But the men are awaiting for your announcement, Letho.” Selena finally turned to the swordsman that was already looking over what was left of his crew. They weren’t the most imposing crowd, especially all wrapped up in bandages as their inquisitive eyes stared at their captain. Letho saw desire in those eyes, desire to leave this expedition that started on the wrong foot and seemed to have a bitter intention of keep going on the wrong foot all the way to the wretched Nyd. Desire to return to the arms of their loved ones, kiss their wives and embrace their children, sit in their tavern with their comrades for a pint of ale and a story of a maddened captain that tears people as if they were wet paper bags. And he was about to tell them that desire is all that they would have to hold onto for a while.

“People, listen up.” he started, taking a step forwards and raising his hands. His voice way dominant, royal, the way it used to be when he would speak on one of his father’s balls, speaking as a prince of the Savion kingdom. It was a voice of a born leader with blue blood coursing through his veins, a mighty tone that stood up against every other sound in the vicinity and defeated it with remarkable ease. “I know you are hurt and tired and that this journey started so wrong that proceeding is the last thing on your mind. But I need you to do that all the same. I won’t lie to you.” he spoke, his voice falling down to a more mundane tone of a weary wanderer that spoke with profound frankness.

“I don’t know what awaits us on Nyd. I can’t promise that all of us would return either. And I can’t even offer you more then another thousand gold pieces for your services. That is why I’m not ordering you to proceed. I’m asking you, as a man that needs your aid in a task that is too big for him, that you follow me on this journey. I am not your captain. I know nothing of seafaring and the rules of the sea and all of this...” his hands showed towards the countless ropes and sails that formed a complicated web he could only hope to unweave once. “That’s why I ask you to this together... As equals.”

Silence took over the main deck like a plague. Never have sailors heard such a speech from a captain. They expected that he would ask them to proceed, but their expectance included the generic iron-fist speech and promises of splendor and glory. Needless to say, the honesty with which Letho spoke blindsided them, caught them by surprise and left them speechless. The swordsman looked at this sorry bunch of bruised up sailors, knowing he is standing on the brink of failure. Suddenly the haunted house seemed like a very likely outcome.

[Storm Veritas]

What would turn into another very long day started as a welcome relief. The sun had risen in the east, marking the port side of their vessel with a stunning array of dull reds and lovely lavender hues. Stars were drifting back behind the brilliant bluish backdrop. The air was still cool, but the warmth would grow soon enough, and that saline aroma had become second nature, something they no longer factored into consideration. The childish chatter with Selena had faded by then; the two were tired and happy, welcome companions enjoying each other’s company. While he had not bedded her, Storm felt a warmth in his belly as the affection returned from the strikingly beautiful girl was genuine, if not physical. Things were progressing well, he thought, and it was a disappointment to be interrupted by the rising of the other crewmembers.

Yet Myrhia would never be a totally unwelcome sight to him; the redhead that emerged alongside the stately swordsman was healthy and active and happy. She threw herself onto Storm, a childish display of affection not unappreciated. The eyes of Letho were close by, and the heave of guilt in his stomach was enough to keep Veritas at a safe level of tact as he quietly dismissed the lovely redhead.

Nope, nothing to see here…

Not that it mattered; there was little guilt for his feelings for the scarlet-locked girl, as he was altogether smitten by this Selena. So taken, in fact, was Storm that he barely noticed the arrival of the rest of the crew and sailors, a group of men whom emerged from the ships undercarriage with a dull, uneasy rumble. They had obviously been summoned; many rubbed their battered bodies and grumbled to each other in tones of misery and discontent. Whatever had pulled them up here left them with a purely duty-based ambition; they clearly had no desire to be up at this early hour.

With a few passing pleasantries and nods and gentle embraces, Storm took a spot at the base of the pedestal to the bow where Letho had launched into his plea. The swordsman, the very man who the night before seemed invincible, an inconceivable colossus, the war machine created by the Gods himself, had begun to speak in tones of doubt and dissonance. The rumbles of the haggard crewmembers were growing, and Storm could easily sense their discontent. This Ravenheart was a born leader, a man whose swagger and confidence drove men to follow him. To show such uncertainty at this point was certainly suicide for the success of the mission, and would obliterate the faith of the masses. The little voice in his head was a cackling eagle, the piercing voice confirming his fears. This was the worst way that Letho could have addressed the battle weary.

No, no, no… F*ck! What are you saying!? Shut the f*ck up, before you get us all killed!

Storm leapt to the stage, his right hand wrapping around the massive, sloping shoulders of Ravenheart, who was clearly dying before the masses. He cringed as the disquieted sailors seemed confused and upset, and worried further that the mighty captain would shun his input, knocking him to the deck, or scuttling him overboard. The powerful are prone to short fuses, he figured, but despite the power of this considerable ally, the opportunity to quell forty men was more important than the chance of wronging a single powerhouse.

Fortunately for the slight traveler, Letho did not lash out, and rather looked to Storm with a confused gaze. It was likely he had never been interrupted before, and almost certain that he had never been interrupted by a man of such obvious physical inferiority as Storm Veritas.

But let me do the talkin’, big fella. I’ll leave all the smashing to you, but this is where you need me.

“Ladies…” Storm began, an obvious sarcasm twanging from his voice. “I hope that you don’t mind Captain Bringdown pissing in your gruel this morning…”

A decent wave of laughter; it was likely the audience was more eagerly awaiting the rage-driven outburst from Letho than the next joke from Storm. Daring to insult such a powerful man was not wise, and there were several floating corpses in the wake of the ship to testify that Storm would also make good chum. Defying the odds of becoming shark-food, the tall leader of the misfit band began to speak again.

“Seriously, times are hard. No sh*t. We know this, and we know that many of you awake this morning without much in the way of ambition. But there are better times than this ahead.

“Enjoy the trip now; we have another adventure ahead, where we travel to Nyd. It is a place which is said to have plentiful riches. So although your captain’s coffers may be low, hopefully we can bring back enough gold and gems to satisfy all your wives.”

A grumble; it was good enough. He was rolling, considering that he had no time to prepare. He had to keep going.

“But more importantly, think about last night. Think about the captain, think about myself. You are amongst powerful allies. We will try to keep you safe, because the numbers here will help protect us in turn. And none of us are looking to pick more fights.

“Better still, this lovely lady here is named Selena, and you all can smile and nod and keep moving when you meet her, thank-you-kindly. Last night, when you all slept and groaned and b*tched and moaned, this woman captained the ship. She is smooth, and slick, and will guide us safely.”

There were some precursory grumbles to this, yet the ravaged crew was in no shape to argue with results. A female captain would be a progressive idea, but a really hot chick served them all just fine. She could stay, and she would be popular.

And, more importantly to him, the nod and coy smile from the girl shined in approval. Storm had played this point perfectly.

The crowd was beginning to turn, their smiles and nods a bit more optimistic. Storm began to speak more loudly again, his voice boisterous and confident than before.

“So we have a lovely lady, to guide our ways. Any opposed to laying eyes upon a sight so soothing, let me know. We’ll gladly throw you overboard, for fears of nighttime… invasion.”

A raucous laughter now. Nothing got pirates laughing more than homophobic joking.

“And a captain who can pulverize the sea himself, and lay flat anything that come in our way? Who shall be the first to stand before him and oppose? Stand forth, and don’t forget your fake hair and red nose.”

The crowd began to clap. Nods of approval; they knew that they had faith in Letho’s fighting ability, and there were none that had seen such power before. To stand alongside was certainly better than against.

“And we have the chance at riches, and a swift return home! After our land, we touch and go, sail home rich men, and enjoy hot showers and lavish praise! And then… my friends… then you are on your own, and then you can really satisfy your wives.”

As he thrust his hips in emphasis of the joke, he heard a roar of applause and laughter, the men beginning to clap. It was unfair of Storm to promise them riches that may never come their way, but he knew that options were limited to be kind. The men broke from the huddle and began to take part of their daily chores, enjoying the prospect of a brighter day ahead. It would be tough work to sail to Nyd, but fortunately for the men before the crowd, the crew was willing.

Just to be safe, Storm stepped down from the bow, creating some distance from Letho. He had done the captain a favor, whether the burly brawler knew it, but would not tempt the fates further by staying within arm’s reach.

Time to get some food, and continue on. A straight shot south to Nyd.

Glancing up, his glowing sapphire eyes caught the fawning smile of Selena. Life was good.

[Letho]

“A little bit of finesse can take you a long way...” Lothirgan always used to say to the Savion prince and he never neglected to add that “...and you don’t have it, MAGGOT!” every time Letho would learn under his tutelage. Truth was, the swordsman was a born leader, the son of the king with royal blood flowing through his veins, but his ability to lead never came from his tongue. If the battle would ensue, Letho would be the first one to step into the fray fearlessly, inspiring the men to do the same and lifting their morals to unforeseeable heights. He would slay foes, crack skulls and spill rivers of blood and the crowd loved him for his relentlessness. But in times of tranquility, when the obstacle that needed to be crossed was not tangible and only existed in the heads of others, Letho would have to admit his feebleness with witty words that would hit the right spot in the minds of the listeners. After all, that was why Savion kings always had a spokesperson, a gallant man in fine robes with his hair pulled back and his mouth filled with soothing well-placed words.

And as if his inability to sway the crowd in his favor wasn’t enough, the dread of the nightmare warning was still lingering within his mind. The horror of the abandoned home made the man slump into desperation that reflected heavily in his words, making them everything but inspiring and digestive for the weary troubled minds of the sailors.

That was why, when Storm cut his honest disposition short, the swordsman did not intrude or react in any way save for crossing his arms in front of his chest and listening with a thick frown. He suspected it before, but that morning the shady stowaway that revealed himself last night proved that he was somewhat of a jester, a sly man with a silver tongue and a handful of distasteful jokes that tickled the funny bone of the sailors. Their morale started to rise gradually, leaping upwards with every convincing sentence that Storm spilled in front of them, and before long their weary visages that stared at Letho in disbelief only moments ago were now smiling widely. They cheered and shouted and cursed amongst each other, slapping each other’s hands (which on occasions resulted in painful grins of the wounded ones that in return only brought up more laughter), murmuring with satisfied content, even exhilaration, as if the promised riches were already in the belly of the “Intrepid” and they were on their way home.

Letho gave it a week, maybe two before the euphoria that reigned amongst the buccaneers would douse down first to content, slowly edging towards slight dissatisfaction with a desire to just end this dreadful task. What would happen after that time, or even worse, if Nyd proves to be as bountiful as a poor man’s wallet, the swordsman could not foresee. And judging by the eloquent and well-served speech that Storm offered instead of the breakfast desperation that took over Letho, neither could his spokesman.

With his deed done and the crew set on their daily chores, Storm started to make his way down from the command post of the ship, but the certain resolute hand of the knight caught him by the shoulder. After a moment of mutual silence and the exchanged perplexed look of one and keen piercing look of the other, Letho spoke to the man who once again pulled him out of serious trouble.

“You certainly know how to win the crowd, Storm. Thank you for your assistance.” it was a conservative gratitude filled only with a dash of emotions, the kind men often exchanged. But once the bulky hand released the shoulder, Letho’s words came in a somewhat of a more jovial tone, his face even offering a mild smirk. “You do know that if these riches turn out to be nothing but a story, they will hang you and feed your body to the fishes?”

Though it might have been a humorous remark, both of them knew that it was not something to be trifled with. Promises made on the sea were no different then promises made on the land and men loved to see them come true just as much as they got infuriated if they were used only as a ruse to jumpstart their interest. With such disquieting thought Letho left Storm’s side and proceeded to offer a helping hand where it was needed. His pessimism, however, was instantly countered by the comforting words of the golden haired beauty.

“I wouldn’t sleep too much sleep over it, though. If only a fraction of the stories about Nyd are true, the lustful desires of the sailors would be more then sated, Storm.” she said to the man, her lips curling in a lovely teasing smile, her azure eyes offering enough certainty to assure even the most wary skeptic around. “But let us get there first.” she added with a measured wink before she started to issue strict orders to sailors that moved at her every whim, their eyes significantly more relaxed while the orders were shouted in a pert melodic voice of the vixen.

Leaving a trail of corpses and the last sign of Corone shoreline behind the stern, the “Intrepid” continued to sail southwards, its passengers unaware of the tribulations that awaited them on their path to the fabled island.

((Continued here.))