Fantasy Far Shores

[ShakinMcBacon]

Scratching Vrutha's name down, Ralin listed her profession as "Skullsplitter Champion". He smirked when he saw her rather flamboyant display, and decided to respond likewise when she asked him the same question.

"Myself? I am Ralin, apprentice magi, weaver of the arcane arts, and now Prince's scribe boy," He said, not bothering to hide the tone of disdain in the final statement. He conjured a brief flash of fire to signify his position, just as Vrutha had done with her crude axe.

The orc had made the last entry, and he began to tally up the total. There were 563 people on the ship: 87 children, 137 crewmen, 182 civilians, 102 soldiers and others of a warlike nature, king's guard and lower ranks included, 38 nobles, and 17 members of court. Of the civilians, there were six blacksmiths on board (including Hariette, whom he had recognized), twelve carpenters, and ten or so healers, the rest making up numerous trades and vocations.

"We're packed to the bloody brim," He said idly aloud, looking up from the parchment. So many lives, so many hopes and wishes, how many would come to end in the voyage to come? Not to mention the several other ships of the fleet, all similarly loaded with their human cargo, and each ship's ill-prepared stockpile supplies. Ralin had spoken briefly with the quartermaster, and the shifty-eyed, round-bellied man had claimed they had rations for two weeks. If you don't eat out our stores Ralin had thought, but there was naught he could do about it. Sure, he could fill a cup of water, maybe even conjure a crumb of bread, but he wasn't anywhere near using his magical abilities to feed the masses. If only Galinduil was here. He found he thought that often, too often. Galinduil was gone, as was his immense wisdom, and Ralin had to simply cope with it.

Momentarily lost in his thoughts, he addressed Vrutha again.

"From whence does your clan hail? I recall reading a brief segment on the Skullsplitter tribe in a historical account of the orc peoples, but my memory fails me," He didn't exactly ask out of interest, he just wanted to focus his mind on something else, before he returned to Elomir.

Epiphany

 

[Epiphany]

The wizard's display of power was a true confirmation of his claims, something most humans didn't bother with. Vrutha tilted her head before tipping it into the smallest of nods. For an apprentice, he wielded actual power and held himself well. That was worthy of respect. More than being a mere 'scribe boy' was at least.

She watched him silently calculate, her gaze drifting to the parchment he wrote on before returning to his face. The female orc displayed perfect patience with him, in part because she genuinely didn't have anything else to do. No assignment, no responsibility, merely a watchfulness for an opportunity to prove her value and secure her people's place here. This human was junior but at least he'd talked to her, at least he hadn't left yet. Perhaps there was opportunity here after all.

"Yes, there are many people here. Too many." Vrutha's nod of agreement with Ralin's observation of the ship's overcrowding was followed by a quick inspection of the crowded upper deck they stood on. "Food will grow scarce. Water too. We must find land, soon, if families are to be saved. If any of us are to survive."

When Ralin at last addressed her again, Vrutha smiled her human smile. It was tight-lipped, the kind that didn't expose more of her tusks. Vrutha had learned in her years in human service that showing her tusks looked predatory, and she didn't have a need to intimidate anyone right now. "The High Plains," she answered at last. "The Dust Plains, I believe your kingdom called them. We held forty miles of horse land with the Gak'Shagoth River as our southern border. Gone now."

Not to the Lutheri, though. The Bonecrusher tribe wanted their river access and, eventually, they took it. She was the last surviving member of her tribe. But then, the Bonecrushers may have perished to a man as well. That old rivalry seemed so unimportant now. As did this conversation, to be honest. Humans valued conversation, it was how they forged their social bonds, but there was little to invest the human beyond the passing moment. If he was on errands for the Prince, his duties would swiftly take him away.

Time to be memorable.

"Your census," she said, nodding at his parchment. "The Prince will use this to know his...assets?" Vrutha's use of the human language was fluent after all this time but still some words came slowly if they didn't come up often. "We will find land. Or we will find pursuers. In either case, tell him I ask for First Honor. If we find land, this ship will need a skilled scout who can survive anything. And if we find pursuit, this ship will need my Skullspliter in its defense." Her eyes grew calculating. "As you might, hmmm? Should we find battle, find me and I will preserve you through any fight."

There. If he chose to left, he would remember this orc and the service she could offer the ship. If nothing else, hopefully she'd bought herself time. If they thought she would be useful later, they wouldn't abandon her to the seas now just to conserve food and water.
ShakinMcBacon

 

[ShakinMcBacon]

"Ah, of course, I remember now, my condolences for your loss. I'm sure the prince will find use for you, I'll pass on your request to him," Task completed, Ralin bid the orc farewell before heading back up to the command deck, where he bowed quickly and held out the parchment for Elomir.

"The results, sire, we're far over the capacity of a ship of this sort, not to mention lacking in supplies..." He left out the quartermaster's estimate, the prince could bother somebody else about that. "Oh, and there is a Vrutha Skullsplitter on the ship, and she has requested First Honour. She seems to be of a stalwart sort, if my counsel is at all tolerated," It probably wasn't, but he liked the orc, which was unusual. Most orcs he had met held a firm disdain for magic or any of the more intellectual aspects of life. In his experience, they were often eager to simply knock you over the head with a broken bottle rather than talk things over. Still, this one had seemed eloquent enough.

"Are my services required any further?" He hoped they weren't, for he wanted to get back to his books to think things over, if not to simply be alone for a while.

Vudukudu

 

[Vudukudu]

Elomir made a mental note that Harriette was aboard. That meant they had a blacksmith, and one of some competence. Certainly, there would be a need for metal, if they ever found land. He would also need a crown, as rightful king. Maybe the young Maloh could be persuaded to craft it.

With the peasant on her merry way, he returned his attention to the sea and instructing the captain to make for Port Alexius. Banners were unfurled and hung from the highest mast, great crimson sheets bearing the sigil of Alexius. Any military vessel, or one familiar with naval communication, would recognize the signal. Otherwise, they'd simply have to follow the churning waters left in the wake of the Divine Wrath. After all, where else was there to go? To go back to land anywhere unfortified would be to invite doom - certainly thousands, if not tens of thousands, of Alliance citizens still lived, hiding in the wild places of the nation, but that was simply delaying the inevitable. To Elomir, it was infinitely better to delve into the unknown. At least it would mean dying on his own terms.

The fleet begins to gradually turn in the direction of Port Alexius, and the more experienced crews begin establishing the closest thing to a communications network they can manage. With the aid of a few magi, shouting can be adequately amplified to cross enough distance to reach the next ship over. Speeds are adjusted to create something of a fleet formation, and before long, the exodus looks almost planned from a distance. If only it was, perhaps more would have a chance of surviving.

When Ralin returned, Elomir listened to him with an eyebrow raised and a curious smile. "I'm sure the details of your report will prove more helpful than the summary, magi. I'll begin looking it over immediately, your service is appreciated. And do send me the Tusker if you see her again, would you? I've yet to speak with an Orc since the siege began and I presume we'll need a new Master of Beasts. She may know a fitting candidate." Elomir replies, nodding slightly to dismiss the magi.

 

[ShakinMcBacon]

Ralin nodded in response, and left to seek out Vrutha again. She was in the same location, thankfully, and he quickly relayed Elomir's request.

"I've taken your request to the prince; he wishes to see you," Now done with his errands, e returned to where he had left his pack and lute, made sure the books were still accounted for, and gathered the things up before heading below deck to find someplace of his own, away from the noise. The lower were decks were just as, if not more crowded than the above, but he made his way to the stern, where guest quarters for nobles and important passengers typically were. Most were already taken, but he found one that was typically reserved for high-ranking mages. A youthful guard stood at the door, talking to an overweight, anxious noble.

"I know I've already availed myself of one room, but that is for my family! What of my servants and maids?" The man says, his voice irritatingly high-pitched and pleading.

"We're already over capacity, this room will be for any other nobles, I'm afraid," The guard replies, obviously annoyed by the man. Ralin approached, and decided the guard was the more sensible side.

"Kelran, is it? I believe you once escorted my master and I to Redholm?" Ralin spoke, addressing the young soldier. He did indeed recognize the man, he had been part of their escort on a particularly long and arduous journey early in Ralin's apprenticeship. Something of a bond had been formed, as Kelran was also quite young and a mere recruit.

"Ralin! Good to see you alive and well!" Kelran replied, smiling, he looked briefly over Ralin's shoulder. "Where's Galinduil?"

"I'm afraid he didn't make it, he died on the walls..." Ralin was a little less cheery now, and he shook his head. "He went out well though, I'd rather not dwell on it. Is this room open?

"Aye, it's actually meant for someone like Galinduil, but seeing he's gone, I suppose you essentially replace him?"

"Not quite, but I would have been with him anyways,"

"Well go on in, make yourself at home, I'm sorry, he was a good man," Kelran stepped aside, ignoring the protests of the noble as Ralin nodded his thanks and entered. It was a small room, but it had a small desk and stool as well as a bed, which he had hoped for. Placing his pack down, he settled in for the voyage, making sure to remember to invite Kelran in sometime; it was good to a have someone he could trust on board.

Epiphany

 

[Vudukudu]

Having once again dismissed the young mage, Elomir returned once again to his meditations. Based on this report, and the quartermaster's projections, they could survive two to three weeks at sea without supplementing their supplies. Of course, fishing must begin promptly. Fortunately, many of the vessels behind him were of the fishing sort, and they could be instructed to distribute the daily catch. He'd quietly had most of the ship's storage space filled with grog and barrels of wine, both of which would help stave off scurvy. Still, he suspected many would die before this journey was through, either by starvation, sickness, or having these ships careen over the edge of the world.

When the orc finally arrived, Elomir reluctantly turned to address her. "Pardon the hurry, Skullsplitter, but as you may expect I'm a rather busy man. Lord Redding, a knife?" He says, slipping off his left glove. "I presume there are other of your kin on other ships, but in the meantime, it will not do to not have a grey-skin with the title of First Honor." He continues, carefully exchanging the glove and the knife with Redding. "By the strength of my blood, I name thee, Vrutha Skullsplitter, as my First Honored and champion among orcs. Your title, just as easily as it was given, may so be taken away by a legitimate challenger." He recites, then carves a shallow crescent into the back of his hand. He lets the blood ooze over the blade, unflinching despite the stinging pain, and then flips it around in his hand and extends the knife out to the orc. "Let this be the symbol of your title. Once we've collected the names of the surviving orcs, your first task will be to find me a suitable Master of Beasts. You are dismissed." Without letting the orc get a word in, he turns away to Redding and the Captain, a surly old man by the name of Anders.

"Redding, keep order on the ship. I need time to plan." He says, clapping the man's shoulder before turning to the Captain. "Port Alexius. Get us there quickly. Evaluate the fleet for stragglers and ships that will not survive the open seas." With his orders given, the Prince makes his way below decks to his personal quarters, a surprisingly spartan, though respectably sized room.

Twelve Days Later
​

Port Alexius is in flames, the smoke visible long before the city itself. The fires still rage in the Poor Quarter, the Merchant's District, and Red Row. Still, the Lutheri have abandoned it, their need for carnage apparently slaked. Another fleet of some size is in the harbor, waiting idly. A mage capable of far-sight had seen the Capitol's fleet headed this way before his death during the siege, and his word had been sufficient to convince the Alexius fleet to wait. The now unified fleets, consisting of nearly 200 vessels, mostly of smaller size, carried some 13,000 people. They were the last of the Alliance, mostly cowards, with a mix of children and peasants to round it out. Elomir expected no better.

Thirty Three Days After Leaving Port Alexius​

With the Lutheri gone, Elomir had sent men into the city to ransack its rotting corpse. Not much of great use was found, except for the contents of the garrison's stockroom. Barrels upon barrels of barley and millet would help stave off starvation for quite some time, but they were still far too many for it to last long. He'd implemented rations, at the point of a sword, on the first day of the journey. Now, some vessels were running out, and everyone was going hungry. Fishing hauls proved barely sufficient to keep people alive, and he'd already had to make a very public example of three fishermen who thought they could hide some of their catch for themselves. He hated killing dwarves. Their necks were rather stiff, and it made decapitations messy. Still, order on the Divine Wrath was able to be maintained. Men loyal to him carried swords, and most who desired to complain did not.

Perched on the deck by the wheel, Elomir stood in simple, though impeccably well made robes. He enjoyed the salt sea spray, and exposing himself to it was one of the few things that could bring a smile to his face. "Lord Redding." He says, summoning the gentleman with a wave. Redding was faring less well. He'd never been much of a seaman. "Tell the physicians they are to cease treatment on children and the elderly. If they do not comply, make them understand."

Fifty Nine Days After Leaving Port Alexius​

A mob had tried to storm the Divine Wrath using boarding planks in the night. A rumor that the Prince had a secret stockpile of food on the Divine Wrath had spread to a neighboring vessel, and its hungry, desperate inhabitants had decided to acquire it for themselves. There was no such supply, but they were beyond the point of words. There had been few casualties on his side, and only three dead. That left the thirty corpses they were still heaving overboard as traitors and fools. They had not been prepared to meet weary, though disciplined steel. Royal guards and Elomir's own veterans had hemmed them in to the center of the upper deck and speared them like pigs. Elomir had never liked pork after hearing the way pigs squealed before their deaths. After hearing peasants making much the same noise, he suspected he'd never partake again, even if it meant starving on this ship.

Seventy Days after Leaving Port Alexius​

Three days ago, a ship had disappeared in the night. It was one of the smaller ones, and it had taken some time to notice. The next evening, two more ships vanished, one of some size. There were no screams, no signs of what happened. This night, Elomir had rallied sufficient forces across the fleet to stay awake and observe, damn their exhaustion. What he saw, what they all saw, made them wish they'd never sailed this far. No ship had ever returned from so far, and now they knew why. In the darkness of the night, with no light besides that of their torches, it was almost impossible to see until it was too late. Beneath the waves, a gargantuan mass of writhing tentacles and teeth, hunted. The leviathan, caught in its predations, turned to violence. Rather than simply embracing a vessel and tugging it beneath the waves, it lashed out, shattering hulls and sending four galleons, three sloops, a man-o-war, and a pair of galleys into the depths.

Its dozens of lashing tentacles, each covered in venomous spines, claimed the lives of nearly ninety more on vessels that survived the onslaught. Only by the combined fire of surviving magi, archers, and the shipboard ballistae of the Divine Wrath, Wave Rider, and Providence did the great beast perish. Its body sank, still clutching the wreckage of its last victim and plunging it beneath the waves. Its blood, a purplish ichor, turned the water the color of wine and soaked the decks of the surviving ships. The beast's meat proved inedible. The near-daily fights over food would continue, as they were reduced to eating what fish could be caught.

Ninety Days after Leaving Port Alexius​

Elomir and Redding were in their usual place on the rear deck. They'd long since stopped having the stairways guarded, and any semblance of authority at this juncture was based solely on the fact that Elomir and Redding wore swords and knew well how to use them. Most of the fleet had devolved into anarchy after the Beast attacked. Any sort of command structure had fallen apart, and they'd abandoned nearly twenty ships for lack of crew to sail them. Disease and starvation have claimed thousands, and entire ships had succumbed to sickness and been left behind. Elomir had personally thrown a torch onto a plague-ship, rather than see its people spread their contamination. He'd later been told there were nearly one hundred children aboard. "One hundred?" He had said. What a small, meaningless number.

Today, Redding and Elomir's conversation had turned toward music. They'd spoken so much since the journey began that it was difficult to find new topics, and so they had resorted to discussing the merits of centuries-old composers. At least, until Redding squinted skyward. "Milord, do my eyes deceive me? Is that not a bird?" He asked, pointing a finger upward. Elomir followed it, and frowned. "It is, unless we're struck by the same sickness of the mind." The pair stared, just about enraptured by this sight, for nearly a minute before the bird in question arched downward and landed on the ship. It cawed once before Elomir skewered it and found someone to clean and cook it. He let the commonfolk have it. Most of them didn't discover its significance themselves anyway. No bird he'd ever seen could rest on the water. Its presence alone meant land was ahead, though how far he could not say.

One Hundred Three Days After Leaving Port Alexius​

The last four days had been a nightmare of navigation, and some ships had been lost in the fogs. It was a thick, oppressive sort of fog, one that curled around you and made you swear to the gods you were alone until you bumped into someone. Still, there weren't many left to bump into, and even fewer who were capable of walking unaided. Elomir felt as if he was surrounded by skeletons, and he himself had looked far better. Most of the survivors had been reduced to eating fish alone for the better part of two months now, and that was not a diet capable of sustaining anything very well.

They'd never dropped anchor. Moving forward had always been too important, and night shifts had been arranged to insure the fleet remained together. Still, they were unable to do much in this fog besides keep track of each other by torch light and shouting, and hoping that they could count off. The fog, keeping all observer's from telling the way forward, similarly prevented them from knowing they'd reached land until they slammed into it, shattering the Divine Wrath's keel on a rocky outcropping in the middle of the night. The cheering when everyone realized what had happened was weak, but spirited. Elomir encouraged it as much as he could - it would help them forget that they may have landed in some other sort of nightmare.

 

[Epiphany]

The Day Of​

With the young Magi's instruction, Vrutha nodded once and went to see the new King. She hadn't expected such a quick audience, nor the honor he bestowed, but there was a grim humor in her eyes that might suggest to Elomir that she was fully aware that asking for, and accepting, the rank given could get her killed by her own race or by the duties he might ask of her. Accepting the knife, Vrutha accepted her dismissal and nodded to Redding and Captain Anders, for all they were likely to ignore her anyway.

Twelve Days Later
​

The last city with any hope, aflame. Vrutha had resigned herself to a waiting game with the potential for violent action upon arrival but the sight of it robbed her of any real lust for battle. It seemed the whole world died before her eyes.

At least there were more survivors. If more mouths to feed. With the King determined to secure what resources remained, it gave Vrutha a chance to finally mingle among the other ships and look for survivors of her people. As she found them, she bound them together into improvised family units, with little regard for remaining Clan lines. All Clans were broken now. They could only hope some of them survived the great voyage to come. With that in mind, she forbade the formation of wholly orc-crewed ships. Four fights broke out over the matter but each time, after holding her own, she impressed upon them a simple point; the Orcs were Horse Lords and there were no horses where they traveled. They would need fishers and to learn fishing to have any hope. It pained her to admit to this weakness, much less force her people to face it, but no other choices remained.

She secured several names for the King's purpose of appointing a Master of Beasts. As for herself, Vrutha elected to remain with the King's ship, alone. And in this, no orc questioned her. Family was fundamental to Vrutha's people. And while each surviving orc could count at least one other distant kin relation among the survivors, even still Vrutha was the only one to be Clanless now. No one would miss her, or miss dealing with their discomfort at having her close by.

Thirty Three Days After Leaving Port Alexius​

Two weeks into the voyage, Vrutha abandoned all pretense of being the Orc Champion to this remnant nation. Securing the Skullsplitter in her slim square of below-deck, the orc woman turned to the fishers brought aboard the Divine Wrath and bent her head to receive their instruction. She knew nothing but her arm was strong and her wounds healed at last; there were few as mighty as she. And so her arms, back and her legs grew strong day after day of hauling the nets in and casting them out.

The King's soldiers kept order and she knew better than to join ranks with them. They maintained discipline well enough and would not have her if she asked. Besides, at least with fishing Vrutha had some small measure of control over her fate.

Fifty Nine Days After Leaving Port Alexius​

The mutiny had been put down brutally by the King's soldiers. Once more, Vrutha held herself apart, only intervening at direction from the new King. She did undertake the duty of pitching the bodies overboard, knowing it would bother her less than it would bother the humans who'd killed their own. And as she watched the last plunge beneath the waves, the growl of her stomach and tremor in arms that had never known fatigue made her wonder how soon she might join them.

Seventy Days after Leaving Port Alexius​

Working all day hauling fishing nets and standing watch all night left the orc woman more fatigued than she'd ever been in her life. Though she always received a share, owing to her steady, diligent and dependable work fishing, Vrutha knew she'd lost weight. Her muscles stood out in vivid definition now more than ever. And the trembling continued, coming and going despite all her efforts at quelling it. Hunger. Must be.

When the monster revealed herself, Vrutha was almost heady with relief. Finally a foe. A target. An outlet for her rage. Standing watch with her mighty halberd, Vrutha slashed a tentacle larger than she was on two occasions. It wasn't enough, as the creature could only effectively be fought at range, but it was something. She bore her tusks and grinned fiercely as it finally perished.

When the battle fever left her, Vrutha sank to the blood-soaked deck and rested her head against the ship's rail, wondering if she'd just lost her last chance to die in combat.

Ninety Days after Leaving Port Alexius​

Haul the nets.
Ignore the dead.
Haul the nets.
Feed a child instead of herself.
Haul the nets.
Stare at a figure reduced to muscle and now less muscle.
Haul the nets.
Not enough food.
Haul the nets.
Gaze at the bird that arrived and perished with uncomprehending eyes.
Haul the nets.

One Hundred Three Days After Leaving Port Alexius​

The fog made remarkably little difference to Vrutha, for her duties had become entirely focused on survival. So many fisherman had fallen prey to illness, dying of malnourishment, dying to feed their families instead of themselves. Vrutha herself had a little blonde ten year old human girl named Cassandra that she split her own share with and even that wasn't enough for either of them. Grim exhaustion blanketed all other thought. The orc woman no longer stood watch at night while working the day. Instead, she hauled the nets and she slept, and spared a little time to teach a handful of others how to help her, for she'd become one of the more experienced fishers on the ship owing solely to attrition.

Vrutha had been sleeping when the sudden crash of the Divine Wrath upon the rocks woke her. The orc took up her Skullsplitter and carried it above deck to join the King and his men, her eyes searching the fog-enshrouded darkness for the sight of land, hoping the shakiness of her weapon wasn't too obvious. Not that these humans could see well enough in the dark to notice. Not that their own arms didn't shake now with hunger too.

When Cassandra slipped up to join her, Vrutha allowed her to remain. Her only other option was to send the orphan below, and if the ship wasn't high enough out of the water, it could flood and sink. After months of starvation to keep the child alive, she'd be damned if a poor decision resulted in the little girl's death now.

Instead, the orc stepped forward and leaned over the railing to look at the rocks below. Then she seized a rope and glanced back at the humans on deck. "I will see how great the damage is, how wide the rock we rest on is, and look for land." Unspoken was the invitation for anyone brave enough to join her.

And then Vrutha lay her tribe's ritual weapon against the railing and climbed down the rope to the rocks below with both hands, the King's knife in her belt, ready for what use she might put it to.

 

[ShakinMcBacon]

Twelve Days Later
​

Ralin watched the smoldering city from the small hatch in his room, before sitting back down. He had seen enough carnage, and he didn't want anything to distract from his current discovery. The masters of fire had left many secrets in their books, and he had found the most intriguing one yet. An incantation, when muttered, would bolster one's arcane abilities when casting fire. Standing, he laid a finger below the passage, and held out his hand, palm up. He muttered the spell, but nothing more than a fizzle occured. He tried again, but to the same effect. It had been an issue that bothered him over the last week or so, but this time understanding seemed to close...

"Divine's sake, I thought you tried that one already," Kelran spoke, sitting on the floor against the wall, idly sharpening the already razor-edged blade of his sword. Ralin ignored him, and spoke the words again, this time with more determination. Summoning fire, he felt a surge of power course up his arm, and a sudden potent burst of fire erupted, singing his eyebrows and blackening the ceiling above. He fell back from the force, and coughed away smoke. Kelran had rushed to his feet to open the hatch, waving the smoke out and staring incredulously at Ralin.

"Bloody hell, you want to burn down the ship!?" He stood on the cot, stomping on the desk to distinguish a piece of smoldering parchment. Ralin laid on the rough planks, grinning, and eventually starting to laugh. "What's so funny?"

"I did it!"

Thirty Three Days After Leaving Port Alexius
​

Concepts that seemed trivial and meaningless were found to harness deep knowledge as Ralin studied every word and passage of his small library. He never put away a book until he was sure he had understood it fully, and even then he would go rushing back to a previous tome after some new realization. Some days he felt like arcane mastery was within his grasp, other days the ink-laden pages seemed to stare back at him with a dull expression and void of insight. Whenever he would come to an impasse, he would talk with Kelran, or take a walk around the ship. This idle conversation was more than enough for the two boys to connect, other times sitting in a companionable silence while Ralin strummed the lute idly. The troop Kelran belonged to had long since abandoned much sense of hierarchy or discipline, meaning the boy spent more and more time sitting in Ralin's room, watching the sea drift by or carving at a piece of wood.

"I miss it," He had said suddenly while carving, and Ralin had been so lost in thought he didn't catch what he had said.

"Sorry?"

"Home,"

"What about it?"

"Nevermind,"

Fifty Nine Days After Leaving Port Alexius
​

The request from Vrutha for tutelage had been unexpected, but not altogether unwanted. The distraction from hunger had been enough of a reason, and he took to his pupil's studies with a renewed vigour. At first he felt odd teaching someone older, as well as fiercely independent, but he found her to be a surprisingly quick student, and each evening they would gather by the small desk, copying out phrases and piecing together tomes letter by letter, word by word, sentence by sentence. Kelran even joined in on one occasion, but he didn't have the patience to commit himself fully. These lessons continued for much of the journey, until Vrutha could read out a full page and write a simple letter.

Ralin would have gladly continued, but as hunger crept in, they both found they had less energy to devote themselves to the lessons, and Ralin grew reclusive, talking to nobody but Kelran. The reason behind his aloof nature was a new craft he had devoted himself to: lightning. Whether through practice, will, or divine intervention, his skills in fire had seemed to reach a plateau, and he felt himself drifting towards other, more tempting elements. His initial attempts were messy (the scorch marks on the walls bore testimony), but with each failed attempt he felt the blurred image of comprehension grow clearer. One stormy night, when lighting flashed and thunder rumbled the hull, Ralin stood on deck, clutching to the mast and holding one arm out to the malevolent skies, feeling the energy that crackled within. Rain and salt water stung his eyes, but he concentrated on the black clouds. A stirring, a crackle of force gathering, a deep rumble.

A flash!

He opened his eyes, having not realized they were closed, and recoiled his hand as a burst of shock stemmed from his fingertips and down his arm in jarring pain. He fell to one knee, panting and grinning broadly. Soaked and shivering he went below decks and entered the room, the grin still on his face, and sat down to write feverishly.

"You look like a drowned rat; what's with the grin?" Kelran asked, raising his head from a bundle of sacking, his sleep having been disturbed.

"Nothing,"

Seventy Days after Leaving Port Alexius
​

The beast's attack had rocked the ship, spilling a bottle of ink across a fresh piece of paper, the last of his stock. Ralin swore vehemently, wiping ineffectively at the mess, but Kelran grabbed his shoulder and pulled him out and up onto deck. A dripping tentacle rose to strike, and Ralin sent a ball of fire hurtling towards it, causing it to recoil and momentarily drop, allowing Kelran and a wild-eyed sailor to hack at it with their swords. The fight continued similarly, and eventually the beast succumbed to its many wounds, floating for some time before sinking to the inky depths, doubtless to become food for some other, larger creature. It left Ralin panting and dazed, having never had to use magic in such a prolonged fashion. Kelran slapped his shoulder, his face splattered with the beast's blood.

Ninety Days after Leaving Port Alexius
​

Kelran lay in the cot, swathed in blankets with more piled high as he slept restlessly. Ralin sat on the stood, leaning against the wall, elbow resting on the desk. He had two alchemical books, and he was able to fix a poultice, but ingredients had long since grown scarce and there was little to do but offer feeble prayers. The sickness had rocked the boy for nearly a week now, and Ralin watched with growing anxiety as his friend slowly withered before him. His face was gaunt, the skin was stretched and yellowed like the old parchment that lay beside him. Ralin himself was nothing more than skin and bones, a fact he had realized when he lifted his tunic to find protruding ribs and childlike arms. He found less and less interest in his books, his pursuit for the mystery of lightning feeling a redundant and silly endeavour while the boy before him tossed and turned in sweat and disease.

One night he sat in the stool with his lute on his knees, tracing the grain of the fine wood when Kelran suddenly spoke.

"Ralin," The words were feeble and hoarse, nothing more than a whisper, but Ralin rose quickly, crouching by his bedridden companion.

"Yes?"

"I'm dying, aren't I?"

"No you're not,"

"I'm not stupid,"

"I know,"

There was a moment of silence, with nothing more than the groans of the ship.

"I think we'll make it,"

"I think so too,"

"When we get there, we should build a bakery, like the one my pa owned, that way we won't be so skinny,"

"Yes, of course,"

"And you should play your lute in the inn, that would be nice,"

"Okay,"

Another moment of silence, and Kelran seemed to begin to fade. He gripped Ralin's hand suddenly with surprising strength.

"Don't work yourself too hard,"

Ralin didn't know how to respond, but he didn't need to. Kelran's grasp loosened and his eyes glossed over. Ralin felt his eyes sting, and rubbed them only to blur his vision with tears. Looking through Kelran's pack, he laid aside personal belongings with his friend's body, and stopped on a small wooden carving. It was one he had noticed Kelran working on often, but never inquired about. It was a figure hunched over a desk, a quill in hand. His brows were furrowed in concentration in exquisite detail. He placed it on the desk, and called for help. Kelran's body sunk into the murky depths slowly, along with his dreams of fresh bread and warm taverns.

One Hundred Three Days After Leaving Port Alexius
​

The collision spilled another bottle of ink, but Ralin didn't care. His good parchment had run out, and he had resorted to using scraps of linen and hemp, which often blotted the ink, making his writings largely ineligible. Rising with the pace of a dead man, he clambered his way above deck, only to find himself in a thick fog. Walking towards the bow, he bumped into a sailor, and made out the figures of what seemed to be Elomir and his companions. He approached them, and realized what they had hit. Land? Could it be possible? He saw Vrutha climb over, and he ran over to the bulwark, peering into the thick mist, feeling a sudden course of energy and purpose fill him. Their journey had ended.

​

 

[fickleglory]

The Day Of

Her father was alive and that was all she could ask for. The prince wasn't kidding when he mentioned delirious.

"You'll be alright," she said. "You'll be alright," After a warm reunion with her father Harriette returned the key. The woman looked among the bodies on the ship. She hardly called any of these people friends.

Twelve Days Later

Over the next week or so, Harriette kept a close watch on her father. She had no prior knowledge or skill as a physician. As long as that man was breathing Harriette considered him doing fine.

The arrival of Port Alexius was less than optimistic. The sight of the fire contrasted to cold rock in her stomach.

Thirty Three Days After Leaving Port Alexius

Thank the Gods they had finally reached land. The smell of the sea was more than burdensome on her nose. Despite being on stable ground, her body micmicid the way the ocean teetered the ship. There was not time to waste for a chance to scavenge. It felt, for a lack of a better word, rude to push around the corpses that lie torn and charred. Harriette tied a cloth around the lower half of her face it wouldn't do much, but it comforted her. Her eyes had difficulty ignoring the bodies. Every time she passed one she would stare while the feeling of her mortality sank under her skin. She did not like to describe herself as faint-hearted, but the sight of bodies caused her vomit. Hunched against a wall to support herself she paced her breathing to regain her senses. Her eyelids squeezed the balls deep in her skull before she opened them once more. To her surprise, under her fluids was a more than useful hammer. Her hand reached to the item; she picked the hammer up. It was a sticky and charred, but nothing salt water and love couldn't fix.

Lutheri robbed life from the city; they devoured it whole. Harriette passed by many homes in ruin. She continued to venture through the city for more tools. What might have been a smith's workshop held little to no goods, but she found a bent rake. It was a good find in her book.

Harriette walked past, what she assumed was, a tavern. Chairs and tables were nothing more than charcoal while half the building was in rubble. Through the ash was a burnt bar and past that was an empty kitchen. Harriette pushed looked to the ground and saw a broken door to a cellar. The woman sighed and stepped downward into the dim lit hole. Anything related to food was gone or rotten. Her hands grazed the cold wall looking over empty shelves. Her foot kicked at something. It made a small echo of noise. Harriette leaned down and felt around a fat cylinder. She held it above her head examining what was a drum. She smiled, the children would enjoy playing with it. Or the refugees will scold her for bringing junk aboard the ship. Harriette found one drumming stick, but not the other.

Her desire to search was over, Harriette had come to terms with her treasures.

Fifty Nine Days After Leaving Port Alexius

You would think that more time on the boat would help her become accustomed to the rocking motion. This was not the case. Harriette hung over the railing, her body shuddering on the wood for support. Nothing about this scene was flattering for her. She coughed, burped, and groaned in plain view. The worst part about vomiting was when it came out her nose. After the past few weeks she kept a torn cloth handy.

Being idle made her feel worse, so she began work on the boat. Her first day was nothing less than eventful, seeing planks on the side of the ship terrified her. It all seemed to end as soon as it began.

Seventy Days after Leaving Port Alexius

When she was not assisting the men on deck, Harriette was by her father's side. Some of her food went to him. Her body was noticeably thinner, she assumed it was starting to eat itself. Yet, he seemed to be doing better. Harriette felt her father was getting less attention from the physicians; as well as the others.

"Where is your mother?" her father said. This was now coming to subject.

Harriette stopped tapping the drum in her lap, "I think she passed,"

"Oh," her father sighed both his hands crossed on his stomach. He was thinner as well, but it looked good on him.

Harriette yelped after the shipped jerked her off her seat. Through the wood she could hear shouts and screams. Harriette dropped the drum onto the floor and retrieved her hammer. On deck was a beast she had never seen. Her stomach became restless and a sputter of vomit passed her lips. She clenched her teeth and swallowed hard. She had her meal an hour ago, she could not have it wasted. Harriette's hammer swung at a tentacle that grasped the ship. To her right, the orc woman had detached part of the monster's limb, which was very impressive. From behind her she watched fire cross the sky.

Soon after the battle reached it's end, a deep color stained Harriette's clothes. Her body shook and adrenaline faded; whatever was in her stomach shot out onto the wood.

Ninety Days after Leaving Port Alexius

Consistent practice allowed Harriette to be a less than competent drummer. What used to be noise was now an enjoyable beat. She did not have much of a musical background. Her mother taught her popular songs, but Harriette began to play strange music on a whim. The battle of the beast gave her an emotion that she wanted to replicate in music. The kind of furry and roar she heard throughout the fight. A single drum could not explain all this emotion. Harriette will need to find someone well rounded in music to assist her.

One Hundred Three Days After Leaving Port Alexius

The fog made her nervous. Harriette took over another hand's shift; exhaustion was getting to them all. She could not see what was before the ship. Then it happened. Her heart popped at the sudden crash of the ship. She could hear people beginning to cheer in hoarse voices. Her thin body pushed forward into the crowd; a voice spoke over them. When she reached the front, it was the orc woman who was climbing over the railing.

Harriette approached the edge. "I will come with," Her callused hands gripped the rope; she followed behind the orc.

 

[Vudukudu]

Elomir's body may have been failing him, but his will had not yet begun to wither. He had survived the sea, and what lay on land would be paltry by comparison. Or so he told himself, as he strode forward to join the orc, the young mage, and Maloh's girl. He was glad they'd each survived: the orc could prove useful if wielded properly, a mage was never without his uses, and the smith would either help them survive or be a suitable bargaining chip for her father's continued loyalty. The old bastard had survived, though only by a hair.

Picking up a battered-looking crossbow along the way, discarded and untouched since the sea-beast's death, he pressed it into Harriette's hands. "Point, squeeze. If it moves, make it stop." He said simply, turning towards Ralin. "You - get a sphere of Influence about us. If we find ourselves amidst an ambush, I'd prefer arrows to be slowed or stopped entirely." With a quick glance towards Vrutha, he merely shrugged. "Lead on, champion. You've my sword at your flank."

With practiced smoothness, Elomir drew the Rageblade from its sheath and set it alight, projecting a nearly twenty foot radius circle of light through the fog. "Redding, you have the helm. Signal the fleet if you can, drop anchors. If we're not back within the hour, assume the worst." He barked, then made his way unsteadily off the deck with his cohort following shortly thereafter. They'd hit a rocky outcropping, and from the ground they could see how bad the damage was. They'd hit it hard enough to impale the lower deck, and he suspected more than a few people had died on impact alone. They'd consigned some of the more injured or sick to that area.

"Steel your hearts. The unknown beckons and we cannot stop our march." Elomir muttered, a hint of bitterness in his voice. He doubted anyone but Ralin would recognize the quote, out of a poem he'd long since forgotten the name of. It was about an expedition one hundred years prior that had sought to travel across the sea, and had never returned.

Beyond the rocks they'd struck, the ground turned to sand and ruddy stone, more the mark of a barren coast than a beach. A hundred meters from the shore, a handful of palm trees burst forth from the ground, and near them the first sign of life. Roughly the size and shape of a wild boar, its scales glittered faintly with the light emanating from the Rageblade. It squealed, reared, and belched a cloud of luminescent green smoke before darting deeper into the fog.

"Ralin, have you ever seen.. well, anything, like it?" Elomir inquired, a hint of genuine curiosity in his voice.

 

[ShakinMcBacon]

At first surprised, Ralin roused himself from his torpor of hunger and put one leg over the bulwark.

"Hold up, I need to get off of this bloody ship," His voice sounded hoarse and quiet, and he hardly recognized it as he descended to the beach. His feet planted onto the sand, and he stumbled as his head swam. Being so long on the ship, he had long grown used to the pitch and roll of the deck, and now on solid ground his legs felt like jelly. He took a moment for his body to adjust and watched as Elomir handed Harriette a crossbow. Ralin nodded when he heard the order, and he set to work mustering the invisible dome. It took more effort than usual, but he managed to conjure it, but he felt light-headed. The hunger had obviously weakened him more than he thought, but he was determined not to show it as Elomir lit the way, and the group walked up the beach and into the trees. He drew his own sword, the familiar weight oddly comforting in the unknown darkness.

Navigating the rocks carefully, they made their way into the trees, the only light from Elomir's fiery sword. Something that could have been crickets filled the night with their song, and the scaled beast emerged from the bushes, and must have been startled by the light as it took off, leaving a burst of foul-smelling fog. It parted around the shield, but the smell still drifted through, and Ralin gagged before answering the prince's query.

"Nay, sir, the mist must be some defense mechanism, I'd wager," The scholarly part of Ralin's mind was awoken from its stupor, and thoughts and questions began to swirl. "Perhaps there are more creatures of its kind? Let us pray they have a similar fear of humans,"

 

[Epiphany]

Seeing she was not going alone, and that the King himself intended to come, Vrutha took up the Skullsplitter and bound it across her back, tied off to her jacket. It made the descent via rope a bit more awkward. It also made it that much more important that she appear as fit and strong as possible. Despite the loss of weight, even of muscle, at least her leather coat still fit and her chainmail added enough bulk to make her look bulkier than she'd become.

Dropping to the rocks below, Vrutha quickly inspected their landing. Upon finding it safe, she tugged on the rope and called up an all-clear. She then held it stiff to make the descent of the others easier. It was a pleasant surprise to see the strong blonde woman joining her. Months at see had given them ample opportunity to encounter each other, but the nature of the journey and the sheer toil of manning the fishing nets had limited Vrutha's ability (or energy) to socialize. But standing here below on the rocks was already the most space she'd had to herself in half a year, it felt like. Perhaps an occasion would arise.

The arrival of Ralin was welcome, for the mage's education and companionship had been welcome. He looked haggard, like they all did, though Kelran's death probably contributed to that. She held up an arm to help him down off the rope, in case he needed it, for labor had never been a pursuit of the wizard and lack of food made even the strongest of htem weaker than they might otherwise be.

And finally the King. That enchanted sword was a welcome boon, given the poor lighting. Fog was rarely a peril in the Horse Lands and Vrutha peered through it as best as she could as she struck out towards the shore, towards the palm trees she could dimly see. Then she saw the boar with its...scales? And poison breath? Shaking her head in disbelief, the orc woman glanced back at her companions before looking to the King for direction. It was Vrutha's intention to take point and be the tip of the spear, the first barrier between the King and harm, but he was also a man used to having his way. At the very least she could let him choose their path.

While the other three gathered up on the beach, Vrutha bent to one knee and examined the soil, felt it trickle through her fingers before squinting to look for tracks. With practiced, methodical hands, she unwrapped the great halberd on her back and hefted it once more in both arms. If the boar came at them with its poison breath, it would find a blade meeting it before it ever drew close enough to breath on them.

 

[fickleglory]

In a way, it felt insulting to be told how to handle a weapon. She has crafted many before, but it felt like she was holding a crossbow for the first time.

Ah, yes. The crossbow, the bow with a cross. The crossbow where you pull a string down the body then pull a trigger. The trigger will disengage the lock and release the arrow. The arrow that goes into the crossbow. The crossbow's arrow. Harriette took a long moment before she finally nodded to the king's command. No more than three moons had passed, but that was a long break from her life's work.

Her grip tightened on the weapon. She had removed herself from a trance; and then Harriette made haste to follow the orc. It was a obvious struggle, mostly because she had to handle the crossbow on her decent. Luckily, her hands had been put to good use, the calluses were unfazed by the rope.

Finally, she had reached the ground. The legs under her melted into jelly, she held at the orc woman's shoulder for support. Was it possible to be land sick? Harriette looked to the orc and smiled, "My, apologies." With a deep breath the woman straightened herself and took a few steps away. She turned to the orc, "Other than passing each other, I believe this is our first, real, interaction," her voice was hoarse, it's feminine tone was not lost. "I am Harrie--" she stopped speaking when she noticed the beast in the distance. She was sure she had drank enough water today. An unsettled ache rose in her stomach. Not now, please, not now.