RP:Taking The Plunge

Summary: Lanara leads Puddles to the ghost ship, manned by an undead crew, and under the leadership of Captain Barnabas Bones. The unlikely duo discusses the oddities of the ship, the uniqueness of the shark horse, the ritual, and their plans for how to infiltrate Rynvale, unnoticed. Barnabas enjoys feeding the steed, while Lana sends a letter, thus breaking off her engagment to the ex-witch-killer, Eirik. Finally, as dawn arrives, the ship begins to sink, and the adventure can truly begin!

Lanara :: The docks are mostly silent, save for the crashing of the waves against the shore, and a twinkling of chimes hung from the door of the harbormaster’s office that would twinkle with every gust of wind. The beach is empty, and covered in darkness, as the torches had gone out, from either the breeze or not being relit at such a late hour. It was just after midnight, and the moon hung low in the sky, the stars out to provide just enough dim light to guide the way for any souls that took to walking at this hour. It’s at this precise moment in time, that a streak of white appears on the beach, and even at a distance, one could see that it was a horse. Though, as it nears the docks, the ‘horse’ is anything but a mere barnyard horse. It’s a unique combination of a stallion, and a great-white shark, slightly larger than your average steed, and it stalks through the sand with a purpose. Several medium-sized duffle bags are tied to its back, secured around his mid-section with a thick rope, and every so often he attempts to thrash from side to side, in an effort to spill the cargo from his spine. As the moments tick by, the menacing, grey and white shark-horse places his front hooves onto the planks of the dock, and stops, refusing to budge. Those seemingly lifeless coal eyes roll around his head, as though he were sizing up each ship, or looking for a target. Lanara materializes, seemingly out of thin air, and stands before her beloved companion, going as far as placing a chaste kiss, just below his left eye. “Good boy, Puddles! You’re doing so good! Come on… A little further…” She had changed her attire, to tan capri pants, a thick hunter green tank top, white socks, and ankle boots. Her long chestnut hair had been expertly pulled into a braid, and hung down the middle of her back, and a utility belt had been secured about her slender waist. She looked like a modern-day Lara Croft, though instead of raiding tombs for treasure, she was sailing to Rynvale and seeking out a Kelpie. As she coo’s softly to the beast, and runs her fingertips along its flank, urging it to fully step onto the wooden planks, she takes a quick glance around the area, her eyes widening as she spies a ship that she hadn’t seen earlier that day. “Come on, Puddles…” She beckons, heading in that direction, eager to see Barnabas again, and for them to set sail. Begrudgingly, the shark horse follows his mistress, his hooves noisily clacking against the wood.

Barnabas stood upon the unilluminated and otherwise vacant deck and at the bow of a rather remarkable ship, a looking glass pressed against his left eye as he spied the approach of his new acquaintance and the live cargo that was soon to come aboard. The captain's attire made him almost melt into the dark backing of the sea. No longer did rough and cheaply woven fabrics cling loosely to his frame. Indeed, Barnabas struck quite the image of a captain now; of course, he still wore the same cap, but beneath the long black oiled canvas slicker coat he wore, now was a gold trim embroidered black silk shirt, its short lace-up course left casually unknotted not far below his collarbone where the shirt's exaggerated collar came to two pointed ends. The bottom of this fashionably embellished shirt was tucked into a pair of black leather pants that were tailored perfectly for and fitted tightly to the pirate's long and thin legs, at least until below their knees where they vanished into the tall folded uppers of his boots. At his waist where the articles of shirt and trouser met was knotted perhaps the only piece of his wardrobe that wasn't possessed of or dyed an inky black. A thin crimson sash draped there, unevenly tied to one hip beneath the shrouds of his open duster-like coat. Upon the other hip, now, resided an ornate scabbard, sheathed in black leather and fastened with floral pattern-embossed golden metal. The sword hilt that peeked out was no less eye-catching. A basket of black-toned steel encaged a spiral handle grip and came to a robust pommel where a large dark facet-less red garnet further decorated the already ostentatious weapon. Though its blade could not be seen confined in the scabbard, it was itself of similar purest black steel. The ship he stood upon was difficult to miss at the last and largest slip of the docks. Especially juxtaposed to the fishing vessals and modest freighters that jostled at their moorings around it, it was of imposing size. Three towering mastheads stood bare of sail for the time being, and these rose out of a dark wood body unlike any other class of tall ship. Its hull, though proportionately somewhat narrow abeam, was longer than most other ships at port by a full fifty feet, yet surprisingly sat just as low -or lower in some cases- than they, giving the beguiling suggestion that it had but one deck, contrary to its captain's earlier reference to a belowdeck area, quite specifically. Its stern was square-tucked and bore a raised upper deck above an interior cabin space, but the stem at the fore pointed over the waves, and this was where Barnabas stood, where the lance-like bowspirit angled out over the sloshing water, as bare of sail as the line of masts behind it. He dropped the telescopic eyeglass once Lanara and her mythical mount reached the planks of the dock. Placing the tool in an inner breast pocket of his longcoat, the captain made long and easy strides to the center of the ship, where mid-deck the side rails spaced to allow the placement of a gangplank. With a vault, Barnabas casually managed the short distance and fall to the dock at the moorings, which, if Lanara was so observant, were not wrapped with the tethering lines of the massive ship. And yet it sat there, seemingly secured, and Barnabas appeared not in the least anxious about retrieving the wide plank which was stashed nearby for convenient boarding procedures. He gave a slight groan as he lifted the edge of the long heavy board, dragged it to the edge of the dock, stood it on end, and dropped it into place between the railings of the ship. It came to rest with a great clamor, and Barnabas looked down the dock, worried it may have startled Puddles, who was just now coming into his unassisted view on the pier at Lanara's gentle behest. He stared at Puddles' approach, absolutely and thoroughly stricken with awe. Not many things elicited a slack-jaw reaction from Barnabas anymore, but the sight of this shark-horse certainly did. If he had had his pipe in his mouth as he did earlier that evening, it would have clattered to his feet. Once Lanara and Puddles drew nearer the end of the dock, past the other slips and ships, to the furthest finger of the marina, the pirate greeted the creature as if having not even seen the elf. From a fair distance, and like a person might try to ease a nervous or neck-shy horse, he extended two low, open palms, and when he spoke he did so in soft, almost whisper-like tones. "Hey there, good lookin', I'm Barnabas..." He stayed beside the gangplank at the edge of the dock, careful not to make Puddles feel cornered between a stranger and an even stranger city. "Long trip, huh, bud?" Those bottomless black eyes somehow pulled at Barnabas' heart, made him just want to squeeze him as hard as he could. But he didn't. He allowed Lanara to lead Puddles to him, and, it should be noted, he showed no fear whatsoever for the beast despite having a fairly good idea as to what lay inside its fearsome maw. "It's alright now, Puddles, ye made it past all that mess. Now I'd like ye t'meet someone." This latter declaration is made with a look and as much inference to Lanara, and was accompanied by a slow sweeping gesture of his right arm to the vessel that sat in the water behind him. It was a ship, for all intents and purposes, and visually at least seemed nothing but. Yet Lanara, with her empathic abilities, might have at once been able to sense a very distinguished sentience and life from it. She was old -ancient, in fact- and lived somewhere within or beneath all that wood and furled sail that gave every outward appearance of a mundane, inanimate ship. "Her name is Cranc Mawr," Barnabas said proudly, his eyes gleaming in the moonlight, "an' I hope y'all can get well enough along." An entirely different voice would eventually greet Lanara should she recognize the sentience once coming aboard. It was something, especially to an empath, that would be quite palpable -a peculiar sensation reminiscent of the term 'in the belly of the beast', although in reality they would be walking upon its shell. It was this aura phenomenon, coupled surely with the impossibly decrepit state that the ship was in at the time, that unnerved the harbor so during Barnabas' last visit to port. The pirate hoped this sensation was less distressing and more soothing for Puddles -after all, he had spent the last few hours relating all he could to the living ship about the present company and what was to be done. Cranc Mawr was a creature born, well over a century ago, in the deepest trenches of the sea in a different time. Her species was something like a cross between the mythical kraken (with which they coexisted) and a hermit crab of giant proportion. Somewhere down below and within the hold of the ship that served as her shell was a soft squid-like cephalopod with tentacles as well as chelipeds -that is, long pincer-bearing arms. "::Lana::" her voice greeted the witch once her and Puddles had managed to brave the gangplank to the deck, if they did at all. It was a unique voice, with many layers and which by nature transcended language, and it was delivered by a multitude of harmonic frequencies. "::Creature lady. You are welcome. You are safe with us.::"

Lanara freezes as Barnabas extends his hands, and speaks to Puddles as though he were an actual person, and not a deadly shark-horse. She knew that the male was a safe enough distance away, and that many chose to speak with a flourish of their hands, but the steed at her side, didn’t recognize any of this, at least not at first. Those dark coal orbs roll around in their socket, and even though sharks were known to have poor eyesight, they had an excellent sense of smell. A visible inhale is given, as he snorts, before his head tilts and his eyes narrow on the pirate. His mistress is long forgotten as he picks up the pace, and takes longer strides, as though his fear of the planks was suddenly overcome. Lana follows at the rear of Puddles now, worry evident on her expression as she briskly aims to match her companion, step for step, though she’s outnumbered, as he has four powerful legs, and she has two. That dampened shark head is lifted, and beneath the moonlight, he’s a magnificent animal to gaze upon, though the threatening maw is opened, to reveal razor-sharp teeth, as he arrives before the gangplank. He studies Barnabas, closely, his eyes lolling around before settling on that crimson sash upon his hip, and at that precise moment, Lana catches up and places her petite body before that of the captain. Puddles was preparing to issue an attack, and she knew the warning signs better than anyone! If her shark-horse were to chomp down on anyone, it would be her, as she was wholly responsible for his actions. As the steed hesitates, unsure of his next step as Lana is now in the middle, the witch swallows hard, and weighs her options. Barnabas hadn’t showed any fear upon seeing the animal, and he was taking a huge risk bringing him on board. Not many men would stick their neck out for a stranger, and it was her turn to return the favor. With her back to Barnabas, she reaches back and takes hold of his hand, thus forcing his body to fully press against hers, as she tilts her head back to look into those cerulean-speckled hues. “Trust me.” She says nothing more, as she threads her fingers through his, and lifts their joined hands before the snout of Puddles. The gill slits on the side of his velvety smooth head puff in and out as he steps forward and fully envelopes their scent through the gel-filled pores of his nostrils. That sixth sense ability, which can also detect electricity, works to meld the aura that is being thrown off the elf and the half-kelpie man. Those eyes take on a lesser evil stare as Lana’s soothing empathic abilities work their magic, and Barnabas’ scent is noted as having the blood of a sea sibling. The seconds tick by, before the mouth closes, and he twists away and heads onto the ship, leaving the hand-holding pair staring at his swishing tail as he explores the deck. “You’ve passed the test, Barney…” Turning to face him, she realizes how close they are, and she drops his hand, as the faintest of blushes graces her cheeks. Taking in his attire, she smiles; pleased that he played the part of a ‘pirate’ true to the tales she’d been told. The weapons are noted, as well, though there isn’t any fear in her expression, as she was pleased that he had come prepared, should something untoward happen on their trip. The mention of meeting another brings a curious arch of her brow, as she heads up the gangplank, thinking that she were going to meet the Captain’s wife, or daughter, or such. Come to think of it, though, the name is a bit odd! Lana pauses, her fingertips beginning to tingle, as she looks around expectantly, and it’s then, as her affinity with animals picks up, that she realizes she’s not about to meet a mere woman. Perhaps the name was more fitting than she had originally thought? She didn’t expect to see a feline or canine, as so many of the inhabitants of the lands held as companions. Likely, it would be something nautical, or perhaps, the most obvious choice for a sea dweller. A vibrantly feathered parrot! So, it’s to the sky that her eyes first drift, then to the bow, the stern, and finally to the hull. Upon seeing no winged creatures in sight, she pouts, only to be startled by a soothing voice, seeming to come from beneath the deck! Hesitantly, she walks along the deck, coming to stand beside Puddles, and she clings to his flank, as the unknown creature calls her by name, and swears that she’s in safe hands. The tranquil feeling that the voice intended to emit slowly seeps into her senses, and her anxiety lessens, until she’s referred to as ‘creature lady’ and it’s then that Lana stands up straighter. Most beautiful elf maidens would be offended, though this particular elf manages to see the humor, and she bursts into a fit of giggles. “I’m guessing I’m not the only one aboard this ship with an unusual companion?” Her eyes dance with excitement, before she glances around again, as though willing the hermit crab-kin to make an appearance. When it does not, she merely lowers her gaze to the planks, as the voice had come from somewhere down under. “Pleasure to meet you, Cranc Mawr. This here is Puddles. Thank you for welcoming us aboard.” Without wasting any time, she undoes the cargo that had been tied to the back of her steed, and she works on fixing his hooves into the grooves in the planks, before forcing a shackle about the ankle of those slender legs. She wouldn’t take any chances, even though threat was gone, and the beat had accepted Barney as his own. A promise was a promise. He would remain chained for the duration of their sail to Rynvale. Puddles doesn’t fidget or fight the woman as she binds him to the boat, and it’s all done within a matter of fifteen minutes. The rest of the duffle bags are piled neatly at the side of the boat, so that no one trips over them while walking on deck. The elf does this all by herself, and though she’s somewhat tired at this late hour, the smile remains planted on her pretty face and she approaches Barnabas with an eagerness. “So! Captain Bones! Anything I can do to help?”

Barnabas oddly did not feel his chest afire from the posturing and advance of the shark-horse beast that was Puddles, but from Lanara's. Sure, his mind was beginning to imagine scenarios that could develop as the creature scrutinized him almost devilishy. But being pulled into the witch caught him much more off gaurd, and caused him to nervously raise his free hand to his hat. It's ironic that a woman would make a pirate more uncomfortable than a freak shark thing, but this was very much the case with Barnabas. When he took a notion to go carousing it usually concluded in some manner of fight, and such nearness of a woman was a distant memory. Not that Lanara's life- , or at least limb-preserving efforts weren't realized. When she would turn around, he would be rubbing at the back of his neck, his own freckled cheeks flushing some before their hands unclasped and he introduced Cranc Mawr. Barnabas watched Puddles ascend the gangplank first, mystified momentarily by the graceful trot of the creature and its clearly powerful finesse. He fell in line with Lanara and proceeded to the deck. As he stopped to fling the hefty board over its end and loudly back down to the dock, he heard the familiar voice song of the creature that inhabited the ship. He turned, a broader smile plastered to his face than the elf had yet to see. The captain gauged Lanara's reaction, seemingly impressed. "She don't act'ally talk t'folk much...must sense a goodness about ye, I suppose," he observed after her giggle fit and introduction. Cranc Mawr gave no further reply, but Lanara would certainly continue to feel her presence, almost omniscient over the ship. Indeed, the creature felt Lanara upon her shell as much as one could feel a louse wriggle about their hair -although the empathic witch could probably sense more endearment from her for the beings aboard than one would possess for such a parasite as that. Moreover, she could probably tell that Cranc Mawr approved of her present endeavors, and took great pity upon Puddles, who she saw as an affront to nature, and more specifically an insult to the goddess Selene. Barnabas maintained a distance from Lanara as she withdrew and secured Puddles' confinements. He watched her guide him, work her hands under the moonlight to lock the shackle around his fetlocks, and he lifted his gaze to observe the creature's reaction, hoping he would settle. By the time Lanara's task was done and she had turned to Barnabas, she would perhaps surprisingly find half a dozen dark forms moving about the deck. Most were en route to the rigging points along the ship's sides, but one was standing behind the captain and close enough for Lanara to see his features, or specific lackthereof. The being was stout and short, about five foo tall and with the shape of a two hundred pound man. He was dressed in the same manner as the other five forms that took position along the edge of the ship beside its masts: a quilted black gambeson, black gloves, and loose black trousers. None appeared armed presently. His face was wrapped with a long broad black scarf, as was his neck, making his bare feet the only mark of flesh. And flesh there was, but in a grisly way. In the shine of the moon, Lanara would be able to see that the skin was not at all a healthy color -more blue than the pink would she see in the cool night- and in places it was beginning to slough off. No, there was no life coursing through those feet, and perhaps Lanara could sense that their bearer was but a surrogate form obtained through necromantic magic. Depending on the scope of Lanara's empathic abilities, she may have realized these supplanted Kelpie souls were angry -loathing even, of her moreso than her shark-horse companion. Something of immense importance to them kept this anger subdued -a sense of duty to the ship, its captain, and a deity. "Meet Skelton, m'helmsman" answered Barnabas to Lanara, but gave no pause for such meeting. "Don't bother introducin' yerself, the lot of'em're mute. Dead men don't talk. Far's yer concerned, I mean. I can't quit the noise long as I've got this sword here. Skelton does play a fine squeezebox, though. But in all honesty, Lana, ye can have a rest if ye're tired. M'quarters are yer's, there on the aft o'the ship. Far as sailin' goes, I've rigged 'er tops special, an' we can muster it well enough with their hands." As he would indicate the rear of the ship, where a staircase climbed to the helm deck above what apoeared to be the aforementioned quarters, with a door and window, Lanara would see that the other five undead crewmen had begun to drop sail with the manipulation of ropes and their pulleys that came down to various points along the periphal of the deck. The mainmast sail fell with a billowing sound at the command of some pull of a line and a spar swung out from the central mast to take a skewed angle as the crew began setting the sails to tack into the slight headwind. Even before the slack was pulled from the rigging, the ship lurched forward. It might come as a surprise, so physically baffling that something could propel the massive vessel so instantly. Barnabas was ready, having come to synchronize not just with the undead crew but with the creature below, whose great appendages were the source of the sudden inertia. The sails wrestled a moment and the dark forms that manned adjusted the clew points subtley, and then the initial momentum continued to increase. Before long, Skelton had crossed the deck and assumed the helm and the Cranc Mawr was cutting through the water at a pace that the sharpest of cutters at port could not hope to set. The close hauled angle of the point of sail and the counteracting forces along the ship's keel caused it to propel into the wind, not just unhindered but seemingly furthered by it. Barnabas watched this all, practically glowing with pride as he evaluated the rigging he had spent over a week meticulously engineering, with many of the hardware having had been custom forged for just such an ingenious, labor-saving use. "Reckon we'll see Rynvale by sun-up," the captain noted. The five dark bodies, having secured the sails for the time being, stood statuesque, and stared out to sea one and all. Skelton himself appeared to be at the helm as a sort of novelty, as spinning that great wheel proved unnecessary since Cranc Mawr was surely directing their course. Barnabas inspected, from a healthy ten foot distance or so, how Puddles fared now that the ship was underway. "If yer not wore out, I wouldn't mind hearin' more about this ritual some, an' 'ow such a peculiar beast came t'be. Promise t'trade ye yarn fer yarn."

Lanara had caught the faint flush that lied beneath those freckles, which is precisely why she had taken such care in securing the manacles about the horse’s fetlocks. Barnabas would likely think she was merely taking extra precautions, or perhaps he thought she had this down pat and had done so in a timely effort. She did have it down pat, and she was rushing through the motions, as swiftly as her own thoughts ran rampant, thus making her have to continuously check over each shackle as they were snapped correctly into place. The blush upon her cheeks had intensified by now, as she mutters a curse or two beneath her breath, causing Puddles to snort derisively. This was madness! She had, literally, pressed her figure against a pirate, despite the fact that he sported two weapons, and they barely knew each other. Not to mention the fact that she had boldly grasped his hand, melded their scents, and used her animal empathy to win Barney the favor of her mystical companion. Even her own fiancé hadn’t quite gotten that far with the witch! The mere thought of Eirik has her nipping her lower lip, half in shame, and half in excitement. He was in Venturil, securing a city of savages, and she was sailing the seas with a stranger. She knew that her disappearance would cause him a moment of concern, if he were to even bother checking in on their home. Her ring finger is bare, and her mind quickly erases her betrothed for the moment. When she returned to the lands, they’d have a very long conversation and she’d make her choice, regarding their marriage. Sometimes what the heart and the mind wanted were very different. Still, it was nice to know that she was capable of producing a blush from someone, as it had been a while since she’d given or received attention from another male. So, as she had regained her composure, sauntered over to the captain and his helmsman, and fixed an easy half-smile on her face, she stops short and takes notice of the newcomers on deck. They weren’t exactly full of life, but if they were ghosts, they would have phased through the ship, right? Was she aboard a dark-magic using ship? Dubbing them some sort of undead, she nervously toys with the tip of her long braid, flicking her gaze to the Captain, as he makes the introductions. Thankfully, she’s saved from having to touch that clammy, dead, flesh, in a handshake, and she merely gives a curt nod. Whereas most would flee in terror from seeing the grey and gangrenous flesh of the mute crew, Lana seems to wear a half-perplexed expression on her face, the perfect blend of curious and bewildered. She’s about to ask about ‘how’ they are able-bodied, albeit undead crewmen, when the offer of using his private quarters is set forth, which only exacerbates her nervousness, and issues a new blush. “N-No, thank you. I’ll manage! I’m often a night owl, though basking in the sun all day, likely, tuckered me out more than usual.” Fighting back the urge to yawn, she turns to the side to take a closer look at Skelton, when everything happens, seemingly all at once, and the ship whirs to life. They were sailing! Lana is unable to contain her excitement, and with a squeal, she dashes across the deck, presses her palms upon the handrail, and peers over the side, to watch the slicing of the waves beneath, as the massive ship cuts through the water with ease. The moon casts a faint glow on the elf’s silhouette as she tilts her head upwards, and feels the breeze caressing her face, the light mist of the salty sea upon her fingertips, and hears the sound of the waves crashing against the keel of the ship. “I can see why you enjoy sailing so much, Barney. It’s the most breathtaking experience! I’ve… I’ve actually never sailed before.” Her tone is raised slightly, so that he can hear her over the numerous sounds of the ship, the water, and the undead crewmen at work. His questions are heard, though she waits another moment, finding it hard to tear herself away from this very moment. She lived for the elements, in magic, and in nature, and the combination of air and water all but encompasses her mind, though she doesn’t want to appear rude, and so she turns around and gives the Captain her full attention. “I honestly don’t know how Puddles came to be… I know that he’s obviously part shark and part horse. I know that he can breathe on land, as easily as beneath the water. I know that he’s been through a lot… Because I, uh, handled, those that were performing experiments on him, and using dark magic to alter his true nature.” Her chocolate eyes fill with sadness, as her gaze trails over to the surprisingly obedient shark stallion, as he lifts his majestic head to catch her eye. He apparently enjoyed sailing, as well. The edges of Lana’s mouth crinkle, as she’s unable to hide the smirk that takes the place of her frown, as her gaze returns to lock onto Barney’s face. “He was a little pony. And they had him in this super small cage. He wasn’t even able to turn around or lay down… He was forced to remain standing, at all times. When he didn’t behave, he was shocked, or whipped into submission. I had visited Kelvar on the anniversary of my mother’s death… I watched from the treetops, seeing the horror that had become my homeland. And it was then… That I stepped in.” There’s no need to explain just how many of her kind she had put an end to, as the horror is indicative on her fair face. The woman led a haunted past, and this little memory is just the tip of the iceberg. “Anyway. I think I previously mentioned all of this to you, but there were two survivors. Puddles and Bachias. Both are considered abominations, though the shark horse is likely a safer bet than my adopted nephew. He’s immortal. Albino. And he has this nasty habit of throwing his feces like a monkey. He’s feral. My sister, Talyara, she took him in, when I returned. And I took on raising the pony, as my own sort of child. He’s all I have left of my homeland… He’s saved my life, countless times, so it’s only right that I do the same for him. Puddles doesn’t like anyone. Even my own kin. He tried to eat Taly a few times, and he bucks if she dares get onto his back. I-I…” Lana pauses, choosing her next words carefully, as it all seems to click into place. “You are the first that went unscathed, and you had your hand before his mouth. I think it’s more than my empathy. More than the mixture of our scents. I think that Puddles sees you as his sibling. If that makes sense?” She’s silent for a moment, allowing the half-kelpie to absorb her words, and to see if he’d have a response. He’d also notice the way that Lana is looking at him, with a newfound trust in her eyes, and that easy smile on her lush lips. If her beloved pet trusted this man, than she felt that she could, as well. And that’s why her eyes light up as he inquires about the ritual, as magic was her favorite subject. “The ritual? What would you like to know about it? The tools? The actual spell? Specifics about my magical abilities? I’m an open book. I think that educating others is the key for my kind to be understood. There are too many out there that misuse their magic, or use it for darker purposes. A true daughter of the Goddess… A real witch… We know better. We fear karma.” Lana waits for his line of questions regarding the ritual, though her mind is already preparing the two questions he had promised to answer, in turn.

Barnabas gave Lanara a moment to quite literally absorb the experience of launching over the waves before prompting the conversation, for by their pace and the headwind, now, it was semi-frequent that the ship rolled over a swell and subsequently crashed down into it. He watched the elf as the ocean sprayed the hull of the ship and brought a rainy mist down over the deck, almost as if he were admiring the artful craftsmanship of a figurehead gleaming in the cloud-filtered moonlight. When she declares it her maiden voyage, he propped his brow and grinned with a satisfied surprise. His mind briefly flashed back to the dual slices of pie Lanara had earlier that evening, and also pondered if he had any ginger root in the limited pantry of his quarters to abate a bout of seasickness. The captain came to stand beside Lanara, placing his own hands around and leaning upon the carved rail as he listened to her relate the events that led her to Puddles. While she expounds upon his origins, Barnabas watched Puddles over the deck and took note of how much easier he managed to sway with the waves than the average steed. The grim story Lanara wove of the cruelties visited upon the magnificent, if a bit freakish, beast prompt a sober turn of his face to the elf, and the lack of mercy in the pirate's heart for people capable of such was plain enough without his interjection of it. His nose and lip curled in vivid disgust at the notion of fostering a feces flinging monkey child. He definitely would rather ferry a shark horse any day. Lanara further described Puddles' temperament and the uniqueness of his tolerance for him, and this made Barnabas cast a thoughtful eye downward to the deckboards. His head bobbed from shoulder to shoulder and the tone of his voice raised some as he said, "Sure, sometimes I feel sharkish," before shifting his almost bioluminesent eyes over Puddles and then to Lanara. The specificity of his question is considered while he held his gaze to her chocolate toned eyes, observant of the excitement that they showed for the topic. "I never got my head around magic. But karma's a funny notion. I've seen too many bad things happen t'good folk, an' plenty o'good things 'at happened t'the bad..." Barnabas looked on Puddles again, his eyes tightening upon their edges. "But I think a good deed ushers another, as much as an ill deed reaps another, aye. Make yer world better, aye. But some folks deserve no mercy, Lana, no chances..." He again locked eyes with the witch, and this time they were soft, compassionate, despite his quite resolute words. "Sometimes the world's a better place without some folks. 'S'all subjective. But at least sharks're honest." Here the evident misanthrope cracked a smile, hoping to parse the grim conversation, calling to mind the beings aboard that were beyond bitter for having seen their kind destroyed by a traitorous warlock, and stood up from the ship's rail. "So, the ritual. Ye said ye found it in yer late mum's grimoire. I was curious what ye reckon 'appens after ye obtain yer hairs...will ye perform the spell on the island?" There was a note in Barnabas' tone that indicated concern, whether it was for Puddles, Lanara, the Kelpie, or himself -or just a general apprehension for magic- remained to be seen.

Lanara turns so that her back is to the rail, and she leans against it, faithful that it will support her weight of a mere hundred and twenty pounds. The breeze has caused a few unruly strands of hair to escape the confines of her braid, and they tickle her cheek, though she doesn’t lift a hand to tuck it back into place. She had given up long ago trying to tame her chestnut locks, at least when she was amidst the water or high humidity, this rang true. Puddles warily eyes one of the undead crewmen, drool dripping from his slightly ajar mouth, as he eyes the shadowed form with an all too true hunger in his gaze. Lana shifts her gaze from Barnabas as he finishes his statements about the honesty of a shark, and his views on karma. It seemed that the pair had quite a good deal in common. It gives her pause, as she’s often aloof with strangers, though he’d already surprised her at every turn the past few hours. It wouldn’t hurt to offer a little more about herself, right? After this little trip Captain Bones would forget all about her, like most had in the past, and they likely wouldn’t cross paths or shores again. They had a few hours until they neared Rynvale. And there was something so freeing about being on the water, that it made it difficult to want to hold back. She had never been a dishonest woman, per say, however, there were times she didn’t reveal the entirety of her statements. Realizing she had done just that, she clears her throat, and extends that olive branch, allowing the pirate to know her a little better. “So. The real reason I returned to Kelvar… I went there to end my life. Even my sister doesn’t know that… I have a habit of wandering off. I love to explore new lands. Make new friends, and sometimes foes. I just… I’ve never been one to be ‘kept’ anywhere against my will. I’m told I suffer from wanderlust, but I don’t ‘suffer’ at all.” Suddenly, she notices the look in Puddles’ coal eyes, and she gently grabs Barney by the hand. “Oh! Its snack time for my little guy! Come on. You can help me feed him, while I tell you the rest.” They close the distance and Lana drops his hand, as she positions him to stand before, quite literally, the great white’s nose. The shackles hold the beast in place, and though he’s hungry, he doesn’t make any sudden movements, or see the Captain as a threat. This was a very good sign! So good, in fact, that Lana leaves their side to get something from one of the duffel bags, and she returns with a paper wrapped package of dead fish. The striped bass stares up at her through lifeless eyes, and she lifts it by the tail, motioning for Barnabas to pay attention, as she aims for the tongue and throws it in the center of the shark’s mouth. Puddles doesn’t chew, he merely swallows, though his front hooves clack against the deck, from excitement. “Good boy, Puddles! Our friend, Barney, is going to take over now, okay? You be nice to him.” There is no threat in her tone, though the beast would never defy his mistress, especially as she was watching him like a hawk. Handing the package of fish over to the male, she gives him a lingering sidelong glance, to gauge his reaction. Most men wouldn’t have the courage to stand this close to the hybrid, let alone put their fingers so near his maw. “It’s okay. He won’t hurt you. Trust me. After you toss him the fish, step to the left, and run your hand down the side of his nose, almost like you’re trailing your fingers down the middle of a lover’s back… He really seems to like it, and then you’d have quite the tale to tell. as you’ve pet a shark!” Lana steps to the side, watching as he takes over the snack time duties of her companion, and she grins to herself, unable to hide the smirk upon her face. He surely would love to meet her other pets, one in particular stands out, and she gives way to a barely-stifled giggle, before she meets his eyes. “You’re doing great with Puddles. I’m impressed with you both!” She waits, and when feeding time is half over, she returns to their earlier conversation. “As I said, I returned to Kelvar to end my life… Because I had lost my empathic abilities. Not with animals, just with everyone else. My sister was possessed and I sacrificed my empathy to free her, though I lost a big piece of myself that year… I had a lover, Krystan, but he was murdered. My mother and homeland were destroyed by the Drow. I needed to end things… And so I returned to the only home I ever had, to do just that… However, my homeland was no more, so on the outskirts of Kelvar, I found that coven, and I met Puddles. He made me feel again. And I knew that if I didn’t give him a shot at life, that it was over for me, too. So I took that second chance, and here I am.” She makes no mention of the life she returned to find here, or how she had died, twice, and all that happened in-between. That could come later, as he asked about Puddles, and not Lanara. She merely was trying to explain why this particular beast had such an impact on her life, and their unnatural bond. As for the ritual, her eyes sparkle in the moonlight, and her lips curve into a silken smile. “I think it’s best if I perform the ritual on the island, yes. That way Puddles won’t return to Cenril with us… At least not in this form. He will dissolve into a small shimmering puddle, which will be absorbed into the ground. It’s sort of like expelling magic. And when I cast the spell, he can reappear. It’s for his safety, as well as ours. We don’t want him to be seen when we make port in Cenril or my stalkers may catch on to something. It’s best that they think Puddles died while protecting me, or that he ran away, never to be seen again.” Lana steps nearer to Barnabas and quirks a brow. “What do you know of rituals, Barney? Do you think that I’ll need a sacrifice? Or pour my blood upon the soil? It’s not what you’re thinking… Some candles will be lit. I will summon all five of the elements. Puddles will be in the center of the circle. There will be a small bonfire, in which I’ll toss the ingredients, while chanting. That sort of thing. It’s entirely harmless. I wouldn’t put you or your kelpie-kin in danger. You don’t have to be present, if you’re uncomfortable. I only practice white magic...” The smile is wiped from her face, as she realizes the concern in his tone, and she instantly takes it to heart, as she glances away. Of course she couldn’t expect him to trust her, as he’d only known her for a few short hours. But for some reason, that unspoken accusation had stung, and left a sour taste in her mouth. Barnabas may think she was seasick, but in fact her feelings were somewhat ruffled, and so she walks over to her possessions and looks for the bag with her personal belongings. Pulling a grey sweatshirt over her head, she sits on an upturned barrel, and opens a paper bag, that is filled with a variety of homemade cookies. She munches on a chocolate-chip cookie, and should Barnabas have followed her, she’d extend the bag to him, so that he could pick whatever flavor he preferred.

Barnabas rarely found himself in such compelling company, and generally speaking, he purposefully didn’t get to know most people beyond pleasantries. He found it easier to like them that way. He found, and much preferred, how it made him an inconsequential figure to most. Even while his previous ship, the Elver, made ferrying routes between Cenril and Rynvale with regularity, Barnabas almost always shut himself inside his quarters unless otherwise called to the deck by his first mate. Now, he found himself brimming with questions for his passenger, and he found it difficult to abstain from interrupting, especially to second knowing a wandersome spirit. While he listened to Lanara start opening up about her homeland and troubled past, Puddles eyed the undead crew hungrily. They were wholly unaware, or seemed to be at least, as they kept their backs to the deck and stared vacuously out to sea. Their captain’s eyes danced when Lanara declared it snack time, and he happily allowed her to pull him by the hand towards Puddles, his eyes tracing the long line of his body from his nose to his haunches. Where many could see grotesqueness in its form, Barnabas saw elegance. Excitement kindled his eyes and his expression, not fear. Lanara tossed the morsel into Puddle’s great mouth and Barnabas watched closely, not just to the way she lobbed the fish, but her posture as well. He found himself handed the package of fish, and a childish light of excitement washes over him. Much as Lanara did, Barnabas lifted a fish by its tail, dangled it it for a brief moment for Puddles to see, and lobbed it into the center of his mouth. Goal! An easy slide of his feet to the left, and with a steady hand he reached forward, brushing his fingertips like a comb from the shark-horse’s snout, over his withers, and across the curve of his haunches. The pirate’s beard was spread wide, a bewildered smile firmly affixed beneath it. He didn’t care to mention any previous close encounters with sharks -swimming with them while freediving the reef of a particular island he once found himself marooned upon- for those instances paled in comparison to this. His lips reveal the front of his somewhat askew teeth as he is commended, but he shifts his attention to the elf when her serious tone returned. Before they turned away, Lanara might see the corners of the rough-looking sailor’s eyes wet in the glow of the moon after hearing how precious a gift it was, for both her and Puddles, that they crossed paths, and the thought that even then some company of men sought not just to sever that bond, but to see the creature’s very destruction. “Bless yer heart,” Barnabas praised Lanara as he dangled and lobbed another fish to Puddles. “And damn the lot that hunt ye.” He listened, then, to her suggested course of action, nodding in agreement. The curve of his lips faltered once he realizes his apprehensive tone may have unbalanced the witch, and he blinked a few times as he was questioned. “Well, t’be honest-” Lanara’s sullen shift closed his mouth again, and he allowed her to distance herself across the deck without giving immediate chase, He looked down and tossed the last striped bass from the packet to Puddles, again stepping aside and grazing his hand over him. Assuming the beast responded in a similar manner as he previoiusy had, and Barnabas still had his arm, it was after a few cajoling words that he made his way to where Lanara sat upon a barrel near the scuppers. “It’ll be fine, bud, I promise ye I’ll see ye all through,” he said softly, close to Puddle’s side, and then continued to the left and approached Lanara. The cookie offering is graciously accepted, and from a blind draw Barnabas acquired a chocolate chunk-embedded disc of his own. Before taking a bite from it, he reproached himself. “I’m sorry fer m’own ignorance,” he said plainly. “I don’t doubt ye, y’know. But I don’t know a thing wot pertains t’magics. I s’pose I’d always thought it were an unnatural thing because I don’t understand it -but I reckon it’s not, couldn’t be. It’s proper natural, innit?” He asked this almost rhetorically, and as if it were a very recent revelation for him. Sampling the cookie, Barnabas quieted, inwardly grateful for the snack that his passenger brought. In his cabin was a limited -no, an ascetic store: simple biscuit flour and a small variety of herbal seasonings to decorate any wild sea catch, and a cooking device that was little more than a charcoal lantern. And the pirate had a sweet tooth too, one merely stirred awake by the rich mincemeat pie that he had earlier imbibed in the late Mrs. Mallard’s soon-to-close teahouse. Barnabas knew Lanara had yet to judge, question, or condemn him for his unorthodox enterprise, questionable references and company, and he genuinely felt and showed sore for having misconveyed his hesitant curiosity for admonishment. He also knew the elf was probably holding onto a few questions, ones to which he had already promised answers. So he allowed her to process his clarification of sorts, the rhythmic lapping of waves against the ship’s hull and the slapping of sail under wind doing well to fill any silence with what, at least to Barnabas’ ears, was a harmonious sort of static.

Lanara broods on the bucket, almost angrily biting into her homemade cookie, as she watches the interaction between the sea creature and the sea sailor. Puddles liked Barnabas, and for half a second, she could swear that she saw him tilts his head and graze his gill slits against the male’s arm. It’s as close to an affectionate nuzzle as one could hope to obtain from a shark, and it’s also a method of marking his territory. The man was no longer considered prey, but a friend of the horse hybrid. The delighted smile of the sailor is noted as well, and Lana chomps into another cookie, mulling over his words from earlier, as Puddles’ snack time comes to an end. He was good with Puddles, and let him on board, without question. He had granted her passage to Rynvale, without the expectation of monetary payment. He even seemed compassionate when hearing about her past, though she knew that he held secrets of his own, starting with this very ship and its crew. Maybe he didn’t mean to upset her with his inquiry about the ritual, despite the unspoken accusations in his gaze and tone. He wouldn’t be the first to misunderstand magic! So, as Lana finishes her second cookie, she looks up in time to see Barnabas approaching and as he slips his hand into the bag, she’s peers up at him and gives him a small smile. “I see I’m not the only one with a sweet tooth, huh? My mother taught me the secret to her recipe… Which oddly, goes into –every- one of my cookie recipe! It’s a dash of vanilla, in the batter.” There’s a long pause, before he offers an apology, and it’s then that her expression truly softens, and she shakes her head. Though she was quick to anger, she wasn’t capable of holding a grudge, at least not when someone seemed so sincere. “No… Don’t be sorry. It’s a little alarming that I care about your opinion of me… I-I rarely find myself growing fond of others… And I-I guess it just bothered me a little when I sensed your dislike in my kind. Normally, I could care less what others think of witches, let alone myself. After all that business in Larket, with the witch murders, I’ve just been cautious about practicing or explaining my magic. One wrong word and I’ll be burning at the stake, like my late friend, Valrae. So… I’m sorry that I took it to heart. I believe that you don’t know much about magic, and I don’t think you intentionally meant to offend me. You were just being cautious.” Offering more cookies, she shifts so she’s making direct eye contact, and studies him for a moment. “Magic is natural, in the sense of being a witch. I can’t speak for us all, but I can tell you about my magic. My father was a powerful mage, though his magic would be considered arcane. It flowed through his veins, and he grew more powerful with each passing day. My mother was a druidic witch, meaning that her magic was nature based, with some divine powers tossed into the mix. I am the product of them both. I can ‘will’ something to happen with a few words or a flick of my fingers. Or… I can ask the Goddess above to strengthen a spell, or use healing magic. I also rely on the elements, and lean on them for my power. So… I guess the answer to your question is that, yes, magic is natural, though the tools and add-ons, and such, are unnatural? If you have any questions, you’re free to ask anything you want, and I’ll answer the best I can. Whether its magic related or something personal… But please, just don’t ask about my father. It’s a story that I don’t wish to recall, at least not on this trip. Fair enough?” Again, that sparkle returns to her eyes as she speaks of her craft, and she leans forward, enjoying that Barnabas seemed to hang onto her every word whenever she spoke. Listening was a gift that not many possessed, though he was blessed with that trait, tenfold. The brief mention of her late father does have her cheeks reddening, be it from anger or embarrassment, or a mixture of both, remains unknown. “I believe I’ve earned a question or two? I won’t get too personal…” She giggles, feeling at ease again, before continuing with her inquiries. “My most obvious question is about this ship! How did you come to possess the boat and its crew? Are they… Undead? And that soothing voice that greeted me when I first stepped onto the deck… What sort of animal lies beneath?” Lana’s expression grows serious, now, and the sailor would know that like most elves she had superior intelligence, as she had connected several of the dots on her own, already. Following the loaded questions with an easier one, she asks, “And… How old are you, Barney?” Lanara appeared to be in her mid-twenties, though elves had a significantly longer lifespan than a human, and didn’t seem to show signs of aging. One birthday every seven years, in fact, which is likely why she had wondered about his own age, as he mentioned his mother being a kelpie.

Barnabas confirmed his penchancy for sweets with an emphatic nod, and appraised the remaining bite of his cookie before tossing it away between his molars. “Smart cookie,” he deduced, either of the baked good or its baker. Vanilla was one of the sailor’s favorite spices, and he recalled long hauls where he had chewed on the long beans to quell his stomach of hunger pains. The gravity of a death sentence earned a thorough knitting of his brow, and although his disapproval was clearly illustrated by this face, the offer another cookie prevented him from providing his commentary on the matter. Instead, he munched and listened, standing against the rail by the scuppers and nodding along as he followed Lanara’s explanation of magic. “Aye, that’s plenty fair,” Barnabas acknowledged the boundary to the subject that was too difficult to discuss. Another mouthful made for a murmured assent of sorts once the elf mentions her own curiousity and proceeds to her line of questions. While the treat is chomped and gulped away, Barnabas would remove his hat and scratch at the looser roots of his knotted hair, an indication that his answers would come in a lengthy string, and that it was now Lanara’s turn to listen. A few cookie crumbs that garnished the front of his beard fell loose as he made a ‘tsk’ sound between his front teeth and his lips. “Let me begin by telln’ ye that I’ve seen twenty eight short years in this surprisin’ world.” If anything, the weathered sailor looked older than that. “Took t’sailin’ when I was still squeakin’, though I’ve wandered and seen many a land by foot, too. Rovin’ has always been m’biggest vice -wot I mean is ‘at I know firsthand wot a restless soul feels like. But m’crossin’ paths wiith old Cranc Mawr here…might be my most peculiar tale yet. I ‘ad taken a sabbatical o’ sorts, as I have from time t’time, went a drovin’ horses from the plains o’ Venturil, learnin’ the mountains o’ Xalious, pickin’ songs an’ fishin’ an’ keepin’ much the nameless drifter. Short watery fates ‘ad always followed any folk that worked th’waves with me, ever since I was a lad. Guilt -grief, I suppose, brought me t’that.” Barnabas cast a long stare over the ocean at their wake, as if to consider the many he once knew that lined its cold, lightless bottom. “Thought I was cursed somethin’ wicked. And the dreams wot plagued me, Lana. They were nightmares, worse than any fever dream. Started a few weeks ago -got worse, I mean. I saw the rottin’ salt-brined faces o’men lookin’ at me soulless-like, every night like clockwork. Got so where I couldn’t sleep no more. I came back t’Cenril there, thought I’d check an eye to m’old crew, the Elver. Weren’t really a shock t’hear the lot ‘ad sank, y’know. Expected it, like. But while I turnt m’self up under a bottle at the Whaler’s Bar, a funny little blue-skinned demon lady called m’name. Gave me this sword, here.” The pirate would pause, momentarily, to pull back his slicker coat so as to show the decorated pommel of the peculiar black sword. “I don’t rightly know wot ‘appened. I felt a warm numbness, heard somethin’ like a whale song -if ye’ve ever stuck yer head in the water an’ heard ‘em cryin’, it’s unlike anything else- and, next thing I knew, I was standin’ on the beach and watchin’ a ship breach before me with more holes than she had hull. M’brain hurt from the noise -each o’those quiet men o’er there ain’t really so quiet, y’see. Cranc Mawr herself didn’t really speak t’me right off…took a few days. She’s leary o’lettin’ folks on to her existence an’ all. That blue-skinned lady? Wise old goblin thing. Dyzz. Dosed me up with some sort o’brew, put me in a vision. Really, it put me on the floor for a night an’ some day. But what I saw was connected t’this ship, the crew, an’ me. Kelpies, m’mum an’ her pa. A history, like a tapestry with all our threads loomed together. It was like m’dreams all melded an’ made sense. Aye, the men’re undyin’, an’ their human forms’re the remains o’some enemies past. The ship’s but a shell fer Cranc Mawr, an’ that’s how she coulld float in the state she was when I first seen ‘er. Came out the very sea itself like a ghost ship. Cranc Mawr was a part of a lost city, a capitol as I understan’ it, o’ the Kelpies, ages ago. Before the Kelpies were what they are today. M’mum was the daughter ovva king. There was some civil dispute o’sorts. Some wanted t’take the shores, and the others simply wanted to continue, as Selene made ‘em, t’the traditions ‘at kept the seas ebbin’ proper. Man an’ fish, kelpie, kraken -there used t’be a political society down there. This king, he was good. Wanted peace between the races, ‘tween land and sea. Cooperation, fairness, mutual respect. His second, a warlock, ‘ad been his brother an’ fought beside him fer many years prior, but he saw it as weakness. He an’ other, err, insurrectionists, they made a pact with a war-some people on land. He learnt them a ritual, one ‘at bound his own kind into the form ovva horse an’ to another’s will. Before, as I understand it at least, Kelpies were proper magical an’ could take any form o’the sea. Somethin’ in this ritual corrupted their source o’power, an’ it was no arbitrary thing that horse-form was their curse. Personally, I love the creatures, but ye can imagine how it was a mockery an’ an insult t’force a proud sea guardian into servitude as a landborn beast o’burden. The loyalists -traditionalists- they scattered, an’ men expanded their realms to the edge o’ the sea an’ over upon it, made midden heaps outuvvit. Weren’t long ‘fore a free Kelpie was a rare thing. The king, his daughter, an’ these men -least wot’s inhabitin’ them,” Barnabas waved towards the few nearest undead crewmen, “They were stuck in a war they never wanted t’go to. Obviously, that human kingdom turned on th’Kelpie traitors jus’ th’same. Cranc Mawr, here, was a charge o’ the sea, kinda somethin’ like a flagship fer the Kelpie king. Free of will, but bound by duty t’Selene. A magic crab-squid o’sorts, I’ve gathered, an’ maybe even the last of its kind. Natural, but empowered by Selene. When their king fell -a string o’defeats to both the traitor an’ an armada of their now-mutual landborn enemies- his few remainin’ subjects made a bond, some voluntary rite, to bind themselves t’Cranc Mawr fer s timeless sort o'protection. M’mum -she was captured, enslaved by the wretch ‘at fathered me. The crew’s souls’re free, y’see, but they’ve elected t’persist. Cranc Mawr is wise, long-sighted. They…they are bitter an' vengeful beyond mortal reckonin’. Sometimes their clamor an' bloodlust in m’mind is too much, an’ I ‘ave t’set this sword away an’ enjoy the silence some. Which is what I was doin’ when I met ye. Now, I’ve come t’the conclusion that I’m a vessel o’ Selene m’self, ‘ere t’ease relations ‘twixt land an’ sea, a temper t’their hate if ye will. There’s much I share in their despise fer man -but I’ve also come t’know goodness in mankind. An’ they seem t’respect me like. Those faces in m’dreams? Weren’t m’long drowned crewmates. ‘Twas them. An’ they were lookin’ t’me fer answers, I think. They knew me -expected me, I s'pose.” While he trailed on, Barnabas had been idly toying with the talisman chained about his neck overtop his black silk shirt, a totem of Selene. “So when ye told me ye were questin’ t’find a Kelpie an’ procure some hairs fer a ritual, I knew ‘twas fate’s hand that crossed our paths. Before I found this ship, I felt like a piece of driftwood: no sense o’ purpose, no direction. Nihilism don’t look good on me, neither. I didn’t exactly make t’end m’own life, but I did give enough people enough reason t’do it fer me.” Perhaps Lanara could tell the hard-worn corners of Baranabas’ eyes, nose, and mouth were the result more of a weariness than simply the patina of wind and time, for indeed the pirate’s features wore heavy from lack of sleep and, deeper, a general dispassion for mankind that was just as much evidenced in his tone of voice.

Lanara stares at Barnabas’ mouth as he speaks, so intently, that she doesn’t even appear to blink, let alone breathe. There was a reason that the Goddess blessed her with two tapered ears, and one mouth, and that’s precisely why she strives to be a good listener. Although her face may appear stoic, she’s quite enthralled with his tellings, and she waits on bated breath, for every word that passes his lips. She found it hard to discern his true age, as he had a great deal of facial hair, and his skin had likely made him appear slightly older than he actually was, from years of being at sea had worn the flesh. The fact that he’s a mere two human years older than her is somewhat comforting, as most in the lands were either much younger, or much older, and it wasn’t often she found another close in age. Lana is twenty-six, in fact, and she has been the same age for the past two years, though she’d look the same for at least the next thirty or so years. That was merely one perk of being an elf! As his story continues, she peers up at him from beneath her impossibly long lashes, her dark hues never straying from his face, until a particular word strikes a chord. The expressionless façade, with which she earlier held, breaks, and she blinks, her eyes widening somewhat at the blue skinned ‘demon’ that he describes. For a split second she feels the urge to interject, until he mentions the trance he was placed under, and she pieces the puzzle together. Perhaps this Dyzz was some sort of tribal woman, a shaman, of sorts, and not a demonic creature of the underworld, like her mind had conjured. And then the tale shifts to include Cranc Mawr, his lineage, and the differences between the Kelpie’s and land dwellers. The emotion that brims in Lana’s chocolate hues is visible, and for a moment it looks as though she’s about to spring up from the bucket and offer the sailor a hug, though she manages to restrain herself, and merely listen to his tale. She was a skilled listener, at least until she sat before this man, as his tale had her mind running wild, imagining every character and the struggles that were placed in their path. The witch is sympathetic, and as his tale comes to a close, and he mentions that their fateful meeting had helped him to feel as though he had a newfound purpose, she cocks her head to the side and gives him a tender smile. The minutes tick by, after he finishes his tale, and she finds the silence to be rather comfortable, as they both are lost in their own thoughts. Puddles tilts his head to the side and gives the pair a sidelong glance, as though he were amused at their budding friendship, or maybe he just wanted another snack. It was hard to tell with him, sometimes. So, before she sets forth another line of questions, she rises from the upturned bucket, and retreats to her belongings. The duffle bag is unzipped, and she pulls out a folded parchment, and one could easily tell from her body language that the letter contained grave news. Lana’s shoulders slump, her lower lip trembles, and she shakes her head, before stuffing it back into the bag, as she resumes her rummaging. A few articles of clothing, a dead parakeet tied to a string, some fancy towels likely stolen from the bathhouse, a bottle of ale, are placed upon the deck. The second half of her bag is searched, and as her search turns up empty, she tosses the miscellaneous items back into the bag, and moves on to the smaller of her bags. “Aha!” A black velvet pouch is procured and she squints her eyes to peer inside, though the darkness of the night is all encompassing, and so she upturns the pouch and several gemstones fall into her open palm. Using the stars as her light source, she scrutinizes each uniquely colored and textured stone, before she pinches one in particular, and extracts it from the group. The others are placed into the safety of their pouch, and she closes up both duffle bags, before nearing Barnabas, almost shyly. “Thank you for sharing your tale with me, Barney. I am sorry that you had to experience some of those things, firsthand. Life isn’t always fair, huh? You are right to mistrust mankind. I am an elf, and I hold my own kind at arm’s length, for one never truly knows the intentions of another. But, I promise, we’re not all that bad. There can’t be light without darkness, and there is no true darkness, without a speck of light…” She glances away, at the undead crew that mans the ship that’s propelled by Cranc Mawr, and she can almost feel the dislike they have of her aboard their ship. She had brought along a shark-horse, and that likely caused them to recall bad memories of their own sordid pasts, as the Kelpie’s were forced to take on the shape of a water horse. Guild riddles her fair features, and as Skelton turns, she gives the helmsman a curt nod. She was immensely grateful to this crew, but to the Captain, most of all. In a few short hours the sun would rise and they’d make land in Rynvale. She was anxious to save Puddles, but she hoped that everything went according to plan, for she didn’t want to cause any more emotional harm to those aboard this very ship. They’d been through enough, already, before she stepped on deck. None of this is said to Barnabas, but he’d be able to read the apprehension on her face, as she returns her attention to him, and extends her arm. Again, she reaches for the male’s hand, and turning his palm upwards, she rests a small stone at the center, before closing his fingers, so that he’d clutch the rough object tight. “That stone is called Amethyst… It’s used for warding nightmares. Place it beneath your pillow when you sleep, and hopefully it will ease the frequency of your bad dreams. It’s infused with my positive energy… But, if you wish to cleanse the stone and imbue it with your own good thoughts, I suggest rinsing it in salt water and leaving it out overnight, for the moon to bless it with the power of the Goddess. Make certain when you’re washing it, that you are thinking of rinsing away any negative energy, and that you’re putting in the best of intentions.” Not many knew that crystals were a significant tool in witchcraft, and the sailor would likely be puzzled by the token she passed into his palm. Upon closer inspection he’d notice that the base of the stone is a smooth grey, followed by a semi-rough clear quartz, and finally, the roughness of the stone would be visible, as he looked innermost. A striking blend of lilac and deep purple shards, all elegantly meshed together, and reflecting a faint sparkle with each movement, beneath the moonlight. The witch falls silent, letting Barnabas absorb her words, before she slips in another question. “You said that your last ship was called Elver… Does this ship have a name, too?” Her guileless eyes are glued upon his face again, as Lana isn’t familiar with a pirate’s love for his ship, or the reason behind giving it a name.

Barnabas could appreciate the sounds of the sea and the ship under sail. He listened to it after his long-winded synopsis of what, essentially, was the projected memories of the Cranc Mawr. He stared out to sea until Lanara’s rummagings caught his attention and swiveled his head. Barnabas was keen and perceptive, and much the same as his life spent traveling and living amongst strangers had lent him an intuitive gut and the ability to read microexpressions, he often saw minor details where others would not. He saw the letter, the look and emotion it elicited from the elf, and he saw her deliberately place it away again. Remaining in place until Lanara neared him, Barnabas would give a meek smile in answer to her sympathies. The elf, upon looking about, would have already found the small crew had turned from their stations along the edge of the deck, and were silently staring back at her. The voiceless beings turned from her to Barnabas, as if comprehending a purpose in the voyage and company. Barnabas hoped it would be impressionable to the restless spirits, an example of humanity, to stay their malevolence. Skelton’s head, wrapped in black cloth in the same manner as his deckmates’, seemed to even mimic a stiff nod from where he stood at the helm. Barnabas looks from Lanara’s almost seal like eyes downward as she took his hand to deposit the gemstone inside it. His hand wrapped around it, Barnabas closed his eyes to the rolling waves around him and visualized the stone she identified. Nature -was- magic to the man, and he spent long lengths studying the many bewildering facets of it. He could imagine the smoky lilac of the stone in his hand while he closed his eyes and, either knowingly or unknowingly, attuned to the pulse of the quartz. Soon enough, he opens his hand, running the tip of a finger from his other hand over the terminations of the purple gem and how appreciating how the prisms refracted the moonlight upon the smoke and cloudiness entrapped inside. Scriers, he had heard, could divine meaning from the aberrations within such crystals; he only recognized the beauty of it. After peering into the amethyst quite closely, having lifted it up to eye level, Barnabas stowed it away in an inner breast pocket of his slicker coat. “Thank ye, Lana. M’mum -er, woman ‘at raised me as such, she liked gemstones…Should I put it in m’pillow, ye reckon?” Barnabas was remarkably unsentimental, and the lack of decoration in his quarters was something rather uncommon among captains. A hammock, lantern, modest chest and a table and chair were all he found necessary, unlike the lavish quarters and respective trophies that other captains tend to fancy. His question stands testament to his trust in Lanara’s craft. He would mentally mark her answer. As the ship’s name is inquired for, Barnabas gave a vague shrug. “I asked ‘er what she was, an’ she said Cranc Mawr. She doesn’t remember the name her kin gave’er -she’s lived a long time- but I gather that’s what her kind is called, an’ bein’ that she may be the last, I’ve just gone along and called the ship that. ‘Great Crab’, I think, in some lost tongue. Most cap’ns name their ships somethin’ lady-like. Christen ‘em in a ceremony, markin’ ‘em a daughter o’ Selene so that they might see her protection. Superstitious lot, sailors.” Barnabas lifted a sleeve to wipe at his brow, his eyes skimming over the water a-helm. His estimation would prove correct -in a couple hour’s time, the sun would rise to show them within sight of Rynvale isle. There were no landmarks for him to look at. It was merely an idle gallery while he thought. When those thoughts were voiced, they came sidelong from the sailor, while he continued to stare out into the moon-shimmering waves. “I know’va a cove a few points west o’the port proper where we can get ashore. Won’t have t’worry about port authority, er marchin’ Puddles down the busy streets. Should put us some closer t’that mist forest, too.” A thoughtful stare lingers over his shoulder to Lanara’s duffel bags. “I think, if ye wanted to drop yer trail fer yer pursuers, Cranc Mawr here can help. We’re gonna scuttle within sight o’the shore. Wait fer the sun, an’ sink in plain sight.” His tone was flat, but quite serious. Lanara could confidently assume he had already performed such ploys with the ship. “Leave some luggage t’wash ashore…Ye can swim, right?”

Lanara steps back as he bonds with the gemstone, the witch having personally selected each stone in her possession, and she knew that the amethyst bore a strong, magical, pulse. There were various healing properties of each particular gem, and she knew them all by heart, so as he inquires about placing it beneath his pillow, she responds with a nod. Turning to the crew, she finds them all to be watching her, rather intently, and she merely gazes upon each of them, in turn. She sensed that although they disliked her presence, and thought of her as a mortal, forest dwelling, human with pointed ears, they hadn’t brought her or her unusual pet any harm. Lana meets the gaze of Skelton, studying him closely, before she snaps out of her reverie at Barnabas’ words. She had been thinking about how they would get Puddles safely on shore, without being seen. He wasn’t exactly something you could slip into your pocket, or pay off the patrol to pretend they hadn’t seen the mysterious beast. And even if by some miracle the slip of coin had worked, there were always bystanders that would stop and stare and spread rumors of the shark-horse and beautiful elf they had seen. Her cover would be blown, and it would result in her death. Lana wasn’t about to die a third time, for she knew that if she tempted fate again, she wouldn’t be given another chance at life. She shifts her gaze to Barnabas and gives him a faint smile, not entirely loving the idea of having her belongings float in the sea, though she knew it would enhance the belief that something untoward had happened, thus giving her pursuers a reason to back off in their pursuit. There’s a pause, as her gaze lingers on the center bag, of the three, the one that housed her tools for the ritual. She needed everything within there, though the bag was mostly waterproof, and she could link it through her arms. “Yes. I can swim. The one bag is mostly towels, some food, and fish for Puddles. That can float ashore, as we can replenish those things for the journey back to Cenril. The other bag is my spare clothing, which also I can do without, I suppose. However, I will need the materials for the actual ritual. I can condense the bags into one smaller bag and bring one spare set of clothing, as I’ll be wearing my bikini in the sea…” Lana’s voice trails off as she walks across the deck, her steps full of purpose, before she drops to her knees and unzips the bag with her personal belongings. The letter which earlier gave her such a forlorn expression is clutched to her chest, and a single tear trickles down her cheek. It was time. She knew in her heart that she couldn’t prolong the inevitable. Some more rummaging produces another two envelopes, and a box so small that it couldn’t hold more than a few coins, or a small piece of jewelry. The elf seems to forget that she’s on a ghost ship, with an undead crew, and a half-kelpie sailor, as she hesitates, with the trio of letters and small box held in her two hands. Puddles senses the shift in her mood, almost immediately, and he begins to struggle against his bindings, to no avail, as the reinforced shackles hold him in place. A sheen of sweat seeps through his pores, and his gill slits open and close wildly, as he seethes in anger, wanting to provide comfort to the little witch, and finding that he’s failed. Lana hears the clinking of the shackles and lifts her head to peer at the shark-horse, her face awash with tears, and the two lock eyes, as she telepathically tells the beast to calm down. It works, as Puddles bows his head, his lifeless coal eyes lowering to the planks, as the woman returns her attention to the letter. They wouldn’t survive the water, and she didn’t feel comfortable leaving them on the ship, as they were of great importance. With a flourish of her fingertips, she throws them into the air, and as most would expect them to scatter, or fall back to the deck, they do not. The letters stick together, and slip onto the box, seemingly held by some sort of invisible glue, before they float through the air, over the sea, and into the darkness of the night. Cleary, magic was afoot, and they would be rapidly delivered, though the ache in the heart of the witch wouldn’t vanish as fast. She sniffles, and aims to dry her tears, though they continue to fall, and rather than curl up in a ball and give into sorrow, she continues to condense the bags. After about an hour of dividing the items necessary for the trip, and those that could float to shore, or remain on deck, she slips her sweat shirt over her head, followed by her tank top. She rises to her feet, and shimmies out of her calf-length pants, and slips her boots and socks off of her feet. Lana has the body of a dancer, curves in all the right places, a toned stomach, and slender legs. There also was that legendary derriere that was known realm-wide as the shapeliest of rear-ends, only amplified in the leopard print bikini that remained on her form. If Barnabas were to observe her removal of her outer clothing, he would see that it’s all done in a fluid motion, and though she was comfortable in her own flesh, it wasn’t to the point of conceit, as she remains with her back to him, only pausing to dry a rogue tear, here and there. The outfit is deposited into her clothing bag, all three are zippered shut, and she undoes her long braid, allowing the slight waves to cascade freely down her back and over her shoulders. Unhindered by its braid, her hair was likely to dry faster, so it made sense for her to swim without having it pulled back. As she’s now finished, she takes another minute to compose herself, dries her face with a towel, and pads barefoot over to Barnabas. “So… Do you have everything you’ll need for when we swim ashore? I left some room in my bag, if you want to store a change of clothes, or, uh, strip down to your swimwear.” Her eyes search his face for any indication of whether he witnessed her tears, or if he had noticed her physique, though truth be told, the latter would be easier to handle. She gives him a minute to reply, before she gently broaches another topic. “So. I’m not in a rush to head back to Cenril. If you have any business on the island, or should we need a rest after Fog Forest, and the ritual, I’d be happy to pay for your room and board. I heard there’s a tavern… “Broken Barrel Inn” and they have the best sangria. I’ve never actually explored much of Rynvale. I’ve been to Gamorg, and the top of Rynvale, though only the stables, and it was brief.” Lana abruptly stops talking, as she realizes that she’s resorted to her occasional habit of babbling, and she merely clears her throat, and looks out to sea. Small talk was never her strong suit, though the idea of returning to the lands, after the ritual, no longer held the luster it once had.

Barnabas nodded as Lanara explained what she would need to take ashore. He stepped forward from the rail, the darkened digit of his right hand pointing towards his cabin door. "It'll stay dry in there," he told her, in case she wanted to keep some of her affects dry. Lanara didn't seem to hear him, though, as they both set into motion at approximately the same time. Barnabas moved towards the door he had indicated. His gaze lingered on the elf as she dropped down by her cargo, but he didnt notice anything amiss until Puddles began to thrash in his restraints. As he was standing not far from the creature, it gave Barnabas a short start -the first sign of fear for the shark-horse, albeit quite shortlived. Following Puddles' distress to again turn back to Lanara, he noticed her saturated cheeks and the letter in her hand. Quickly he averts his eyes, unlatching the door to his quarters and slipping inside to quite purposefully grant Lanara the privacy of her moment, having sensed something of the gravity of it. Retrieving what he had did not take long; slipping back out of the door, sans hat and shirt and shoes, and with his sword and small oilskin satchel in one hand, Barnabas returned to the moonlit deck in time to catch Lanara scattering some belongings at sea. He froze, hand still attached to the unclosed door, and watched from afar while the letters and the small box danced in the air just off the side of the ship. He couldn't be certain, but he thought he saw the magically projected parcel fly away. He stood there a moment longer, watching, before apparently remembering some thing and vanishing behind the ajar door once again. Perhap's Lanara's elven ears would hear the door latch softly, and Barnabas' bare foot soles scuffle along the deck boards while she was consolidating her belongings. The sailor walked the side of the deck, around the cabin and to the upper deck of the helm above it. His black silk shirt was no longer tucked into his trousers, and there was no long crimson scarf tied there at his waist, either. The shirt was stuffed tightly away in that bag that he held at his side, leaving to the chilled night air Barnabas’ rather stark torso. Though his long, skinny arms were sheathed in a thick dark course of hair almost to their shoulder, only a few patches of the same thick body hair grew from the man’s torso. The curved lines of the lean muscles on his chest and abdomen were framed, and somewhat juxtaposed, by his collarbone, hips, and lower ribs, all of which were plain to see through his flesh. Though he was built like a boxer, apparently, and though he was a sailor who invariably worked long days under the sun, the paleness of his torso might come as a surprise, and conjecture that Barnabas was less comfortable in his skin than Lanara was of her’s. The legs of his black silk, drawstring trousers ended prematurely somewhere around mid-calf, and flared out somewhat before revealing a set of almost skeletally-thin ankles and feet, from which bones could be seen wriggling with every shift of weight and footfall. Formerly chaotic dreadlocks have been wrestled into some form of order, their woolen collective mass lifted from the back of his neck and tied with two locks which grew from his nape, and which now wrapped around their brethren and splayed out in opposite directions behind his head. Barnabas' jawline, neck, and face appeared all the more gaunt and bony now that they were no longer framed by that cascading mop of hair. He even looked a few years younger, maybe, until Lanara would get close enough to see the patchwork of scars that striped his body. The unique sword was still sheathed inside its ornate scabbard, and this and its respective belt are placed on the long board that functioned as a bench before the helm. While he stood here and she finished organizing -or rather, re-organizing- the captain pulled a roll of parchment from the innermost compartment of his simple-seeming satchel. In truth, it was an ingenious backpack, constructed of seal-skin and consisting of several overlapping, drawstring, waterproof pockets. Just the kind of purse a pirate would keep such things of importance as his maps -which is exactly what Barnabas had begun unrolling and inspecting upon the rough board surface. Skelton remained emotionlessly rooted at his station behind him, and for a considerable length of time Barnabas poured over this map. That is, until a flickering moonshadow stretched over the deck caught his attention from the corner of his eye. The shapely woman captivates him for a time, and he tried rather unsuccessfully to recall a scene more worthy of a canvas. This was perhaps to his shame, since he is taken by surprise when Lanara turns around. He rather obviously and awkwardly tried to pretend he had been scouring that piece of paper all along, even going so far as to lean closely and skim a finger over it while she approached him. This would afford the elf a broad view of the marks that form great long white peaks and valleys in sheets over Barnabas’ entire body. Yes, his torso was pale and sun-deprived, but the scar tissue of these brutal past wounds were what really made the pirate’s skin almost glow under the moon. His back seemed much more thoroughly scarred than his chest -though the magnitude and severity there, too, lent his flesh a sort of topography- and overtop the long muscles it was striped with courses across its length and span many times over, with lines laid from different angles so that the scars layered atop one another. Barnabas looked up from the paper, feigning surprise. His mouth dances as if to say something, but he finds himself relieved when Lanara speaks. “Right, yeah,” he slurs, reaching over the board and pulling his small haversack to him. He made a deliberate show of rolling up the map of Rynvale that he had been examining, and stuffed it into a cylindrical compartment that was inside several other sequential pouches. “Dry shirt’s all, an’ some maps I’ve in m’dry sack,” he said dismissively, his eyes not meting her’s. He slung the satchel containing these things over his head and right shoulder, adjusting a clasp on the strap at his sternum to ensure its snug fit. A soft smile replaced the ebbing discomfort on Barnabas’ face when Lanara speaks again, and his colorfully speckled eyes now settle on her face and search her bleary, tear-sore eyes while she talks. Without a mess of ropeyarn obscuring his brow and most of his face, Barnabas bore a certain innocence that would have been entirely unseen under his former countenance, and the genuine sympathy in his expression for the elf furthers this. “Broken Barrel? Aye, I know it well. Been a sight since I done more’n skipped off o’Rynvale…could be nice t’spend a bit o’ time there, catch up on ol’ folks maybe. Good food, drinks. Least some good folk, too. Used t’be an’ easy thing t’find a good bard in a cheap pub there, as I recall. Yeah, plan on me takin’ up yer offer on that, Lana, once this’s all seen through.” Barnabas said it in such an easy way, as if his business and daily affairs were so often elected by simple whim and fancy. “We’ll see a fat ol’ house first,” he said, staring over the length of the deck and out across the horizon, of which the yet-hidden sun was just beginning to sketch a silvery line before it would make its appearance. A keen eye could see the vibrating mass of bird bodies in this faint band of light that were the many shore-scouring flocks of Rynvale seagulls, tirelessly gleaning what they could from the changing tides or unattentive citizens. “Big, fat mansion. Then a stretch o’rocks an’ some sea-caves. We’ll fall in the drink somewhere there. Water’s right fer it -sixty, seventy feet deep right at th’shore where the sea-caves’re. Tide’ll bring floatsam right ashore off there, too. Won’t be anybody out on that stretch. Cranc Mawr’d be chum happy t’wait under there too – some o’the best fishin’ on the island under those rocks, I reckon.” Barnabas hadn’t yet mentioned it also happened to be some of the coldest waters there, and tumultuous as they rolled in and battered the island. And the fact that some of those fish might even match Puddles in size. “So, ye feelin’ good about capsizin’ on yer very first sailin’ venture?” Barnabas asked with a lop-sided grin, jokingly jabbing towards Lanara with his elbow as he looked from the pre-dawn sky to her. It may have seemed an aloof shift of tone and topic, but it was quite deliberate on his part, hoping to inject some levity in what seemed like a trying time for the elf witch.

Lanara had heard the captain’s footfalls as he seemed to travel around the ship, though she didn’t turn her head to see what he was up to, as she was in her own little world. Sending the letters and that mysterious box had exhausted her emotionally, though she keeps her eye on the prize, and in this case, Puddles. The shark-horse meant the world to her, and she’d be damned if someone that had misused her heart would step in the way of this ritual, so she takes a few steadying breaths to center her mind. The rise and fall of her chest, the scent of the salt-ridden air, and the sway of the boat, cause her mission to be accomplished, as the broken relationship is moved to the depths of her mind, and her heart rate returns to normal. This all happens as Barnabas has returned to the deck and is closely peering over the map, and is wearing nothing more than his drawstring trousers. Lana’s eyes trail over the bare parts of flesh, lingering on a few of the more pronounced scars, though she doesn’t add any commentary to her assessment of the man’s physique. The sailor was slender, with a toned torso, and a spread of hair dotted across some of his skin, with some visible tan lines. Not that she’d seen many scantily-clad men in her lifetime, but she found his form to be desirable. Women liked scars, and the stories that were sure to follow, and she was no different, in that aspect. Though, she knew that some hard-earned scars carried nightmares, and not the heroic fables that fairytales had promised. It does strike her odd that his stomach was somewhat pale, for she imagined someone that had built a career on the sea, would have tanned evenly. The elf hadn’t been in the company of many scantily-clad men, and so she stands beside the captain, aiming to peer at the map that he was so absorbed in, when he looks up at her, in feigned surprise. As he fails to meet her eyes, and gives a one word answer, her eyes cloud in confusion. Was he uncomfortable showing so much of his skin? Or… Did he think her a hideous beast? For all the gold in the world, it was hard to fathom how such a beauty would think herself undesirable, but truth be told, Lana never considered herself anything more than average. Kelvar didn’t allow their residents the use of mirrors, for fear that it would breed vanity, and the only thing her looks ever brought her was heartache and unwanted attention from ill-mannered men. She joins in on the discomfort of the sailor, and coils her arms about her torso, as she chews on the inside of her cheek. Upon closer inspection of her lightly tanned flesh, and if she were to tilt in the right direction, Barnabas would spy the fresh paw print tattoo on her lower back, with a few hearts encircling the wolf’s paw. Aside from that, she doesn’t seem to bear any significant scars, at least none that are visible in this lighting. Lana stands on the tips of her toes, aiming to look at the map, as Barnabas’ form towered of her, though the map is rolled up rather quickly and moved out of her line of sight. Her lower lip juts out slightly, in a pout, though the sailor manages to distract her by accepting the offer of remaining in Rynvale for longer than they had originally anticipated. A faint smile returns to her lips, and she eagerly nods her head, the thought of an impromptu vacation raising her spirits. Sangria was her favorite of alcoholic beverages, though she’d heard rumors that the watered-down wine that Kelay offered couldn’t compare to that of the island. Especially since that’s where all the fine fruits had originated from, and as they’d be by-stepping the importing, the drink was sure to house more flavor. Beverages aside, she also wanted to clear her head, and there was nothing better than sunshine, sand, and shenanigans, to fix the blues. It was almost dawn and she follows his line of sight to where he described the houses and fixtures that would soon appear. Her eyes light up with excitement as she knows the night will face, slowly, and then all at once, and the sun would be soon to follow. The plan the male had devised was a good one, and she didn’t find any fault with the execution of swimming to shore, allowing some of their belongings to float in the sea, or allowing Cranc Mawr and Puddles to nibble on the chum, before their adventure truly began. Though, if he were to look at her face, he’d notice how she suddenly paled, when looking overboard. “So. Um. We just jump over the side of the ship and into the water?” It was a far drop, and though she was used to walking the treetops, and didn’t harbor an intense fear of heights, this didn’t seem to sit so well with the little witch. Her arms tighten about her mid-section, and she dips her head, her hues glued to the deck. The fear of being abandoned struck her so forcefully, that she peers up at the pirate, beneath dark lashes, suddenly shy. “I was thrown from a second story window a few months ago… I was at the healing center for a long time, regaining my strength, and taking bone fusion spells for my back. You’re definitely taking this plunge with me… Right? And if something should happen to me… I have a sister who lives in Frostmaw. There’s a cottage, north of the berry garden. Her name is Talyara. Could you just tell her, uh, what happened to me?” Suddenly, this all seems very real, and she knows that she made the right move in sending off the letters, should something untoward occur on this trip. That moment of fear is replaced by a slow smile, as he gently elbows her in the ribs, and makes a pun about capsizing on her first voyage at sea. She was grateful for the change in topic, and she rolls her eyes and places her hands on her hips. “I dunno about you, Barney! The ghost ship. Swimming to shore, in what I assume to be very cold water. The, uh, crew. All of it? I feel like I might hire you to sail me again in the near future. Hell, maybe I’ll take up the life of a sailor.” She winks, to show that she’s only partially jesting, before she leaves his side and walks over to check on Puddles. The shackles are eyed, and she begins to untether the manacles from about his fetlocks, finishing in time to see the break of dawn. Puddles lifts his majestic head and wanders about the deck, eyeing the crew as he stretches his long legs, and remains on his very best behavior. Surprisingly.

Barnabas' scars weren't the manly map that alpha males prided to sport. The scouring and lash marks were so profound that they lent the appearance of disfigured, alligator-like flesh, especially on the sailor's back. No, those scars he saw as freakish reminders of what wickedness and cruelties men touting authority are capable of visiting upon their fellows, and he was not quick to show them off. They represented a meeker Barnabas, one insubordinate enough to suffer but not wise enough to free himself of the harness he struggled against. Lanara's worries are received with an almost sadistically satisfied smile. This facade is broken, though, by the wink and flutter of his right eye. The captain picked up his sword, wrapping the belt around his wrist a few times and gripping it about mid-blade over the scabbard. Easy steps, as if he was more comfortable and balanced without boots, took Barnabas beside Lanara as she crouched and released Puddles' footholds. "Aye, but 'ave a good stretch 'fore our swim," he encouraged. The nautical sunrise had progressed, and a blooming globe seemed to be breeching the very sea itself. But there, something before it, partially consumed by the fire of the sun; Rynvale island, to stern and larboard, rose out of the horizon. Barnabas watched Puddles, hoping to see his version of a canter, perhaps, before greeting the sun with a shielding hand to his brow. The crew men, without command, began moving again. They unwrapped coils of rope from along the edge of the deck and hauled on lines that winched up the heavy spars of the sails. The sails furled, the lines were secured, and in a syncronized procession, all six crew members -including Skelton- opened a large hatch panel midship and vanished belowdeck to what were their peculiar berths. "Here's what I propose," said Barnabas as the ship continued to draw upon the island at a high rate of speed, especially considering there wasn't a scrap of sail on the wind. The helm wheel whirled around, as if possessed, but the ship didn't so much as lilt. "Those caves run pretty far under that rock." He pointed as if he could see the sea caves, which would have been impossible without his looking glass. In truth, he knew the island and this channel like a frog knows its pond, and they were on the exact approach he intended to take. "My quarter's is dry. Will be, I mean. Door opens inward -not a carpenter's blunder. A brilliant design, really. We stow in there, ship dives an' she crawls the ocean bottom right up in the sea cave. She'll tell us when she's settled. We'll have thirty, forty feet maybe t'swim t'the surface. Yeah, the water's goin' t'be frigid. Might even have t'dry out once we get a ways a shore. But I won't lose sight ovye in there, on m'word. We can fix a rope, if ye like. I'd say we just bob up on a barrel, but I reckon the caves is too good a cover t'forgo, an' we'd be more likely seen kickin' our way ashore on some debris. Cranc Mawr can wait there long as we fancy t'take gettin' back, safe as milk, too." For a man who had been, thus far, remarkably honest and forthcoming, his natural ability to strategize might shed a devious light on the sailor. Well, prate, really, but Lanara hadn't gotten that far in her knowing him yet, and didn't seem privvy to any of the hearsay. "Puddles be alright, ye think? I mean, he ain't gonna swim off into the great blue yonder?"

Lanara bends at the waist, and places a hand atop each foot, stretching her long legs, as Barnabas gives her the run down. They likely looked like an odd pair, standing beneath the rising sun, him with areas of pale flesh and a scabbard at his waist, and her a pretty elf doing yoga poses in a skimpy bikini, before their swim. Let’s not forget the magical beast that’s trotting around on deck, opening his maw at any of the undead crewmen that get too close. All in all, they all managed to get along, and the sailing, at least, had gone without incidence. Once her hamstrings are fully stretched, Lana lifts her arms above her head, though she immediately lowers them, to pull the bikini top into place. The last thing she wanted was to flash the crew, and so she settles for rolling her neck from side to side, and gently extending her arms, before her, rather than overhead. “I really should have packed a one-piece suit…” She mutters, beneath her breath, before turning away to pick up the small bag that would be accompany them onto the island. A lingering once over is given to each bag, as she mentally summarizes what she would require for the ritual and their time in Rynvale, and she counts on her fingers, before nodding. Everything was accounted for, as far as she could remember. Looking at Barnabas, she smiles, as he assures her that they won’t be diving over the side of the ship, thus quelling her nerves. “Thank the Goddess for that! You’re a life saver, Barney. And I think I’ll be alright without the rope.” She’s about to say more, when Puddles, quite literally, stands in the middle of them, stomping his front hoof against the deck. “You want out… I know, baby. We’re going to go for a nice swim, soon. And I need you to stay close to me, as soon as you get to shore, okay?” Obviously Puddles doesn’t verbally respond, though his eyes roll around, and the massive head seems to incline in a nod. “Yes. You can have your lunch, should anything swim before you in the water. Make sure to save some for Cranc Mawr.” The beast seems pleased with Lana’s answer, and he remains at their side, as the suns rises above them, almost blinding at first, though it lightens their surroundings, and an audible gasp escapes the elf. The ocean was beautiful, and she leans over the railing, and excitedly hops up and down, as a trio of dolphins emerges from the water in a perfect arch, before settling within the waves. “Barney! Barney! Oh my gosh! Did you see that?!” Squealing from the surprise show, she grabs the sailor by his forearm, and drags him over to the railing. She gently squeezes his arm, as she points with her free hand, waiting for the porpoises to emerge, and they don’t leave her disappointed. The three continue their diving show, much to the amazement of Lanara, and one dolphin is brave enough to near the ship, peering up with interest. “Oh my gosh! She’s beautiful! Look, Barney! She’s waving with her little fin!” The dolphin wasn’t waving, as the elf had called it, though she did appear to glance at them with curious eyes, before she retreated to the other two, further out to sea. As they swim off, and fade from sight, only then does she lessen her grip on Barnabas, and she tilts her head to meet his gaze. “I can’t imagine how I lived all these years and never once saw something as breathtaking as this moment.” The sun casts a faint glow on them, and he’d find that Lana’s chocolate hues had small flecks off gold as the light reflected off of them, though the moment passes, as she raises a hand to shield her eyes from the glare. It was about time for them to leave the ship, and she drops her hand from his arm, and turns to meet Skelton’s gaze as he merely watches them with an intense stare. Puddles, meanwhile, had missed the dolphin show, and had somehow gotten into one of the bags that were to remain on board. As he dined on a few fish, he almost guiltily looks up at Lana and Barnabas, before swallowing. “You ready?” Looking over her shoulder at the sailor, she takes a deep breath, and aims for the captain’s quarters.

Barnabas was more smitten by the graceful stretches of the elf and her near-malfunction of her wardrobe than the frenetic display of the dolphins. Lanara would likely have missed that, though, and they still didn't fail to put a shine to his face. The woman clinging to his arm likely bolstered it, too. He watched the inquisitive creature swim and leap closer to the ship before, eventually and inevitably, she realized the awesome nature of Cranc Mawr and made a hasty getaway to the rest of her pod. "Oh, just ye wait til a pelican shytes on yer head," chuckled Barnabas in response to Lanara's great wonder. He turned in unison with her, giving Puddles a ready nod as if he might understand, and overtook her steps with his long legs. He looked over the vacant deck once more. The crew man had retired below in the midship hatch, and all the things not stowed were purposefully so. Puddles is given a considerate look as he finished rooting about the bags for unattended snacks. Then, in a decidedly fluid motion, a twist of a latch handle and a tug opened the intricately joined doorway. A strange, leathery material seemed to form a gasket around the door itself as well as its framing, something reminiscent of the bumpy flesh between a turtle and its shell. Barnabas held the door ajar with the same hand that clutched his sword and its scabbard, and after he would usher her in with a hand laid gently between her shoulder blades, Lanara would enter into a sparsely furnished room washed in a peculiar green light. The source of this odd light was within the large, black wrought iron lantern that hung and swung from the center of the ceiling with every roll of the sea. It cast hardly a shadow, but for that of the table and chair that were fixed to the floor by brackets directly below it. There was no flame in the sconce of the lantern, and its light did not flicker. Along the wall to the right of the door, pinned into the closely-joined laterally laid boards that comprised the room, was a net slung as a hammock and hanging a few feet from the floor, with a small stuffed canvas roll swinging in it that presumably functioned as a pillow. On the opposite wall, facing the door and across the table and chair, was a chest, similarly bracketed in place and probably amply large enough for Lanara to fit inside. But there would be no need for that, as Barnabas pushed the door shut behind the two. He leaned his back against it a moment before moving to the left and peering out the thick glass portway that was installed there. It gave a vantage across the length of the deck, only partially obscured by the line of masts, and Rynvale island could be clearly seen coming into focus. Cranc Mawr had been slowing her approach, and as Barnabas reached out to beckon or pull Lanara near him, that she might take a peek out that round spot of window, the entire vessel began to pitch. It was sudden, and everything pitched to starboard at once. Of course, the cabin's interior designer was wise to bolt the furniture down, and this prevented their crushing of any occupants. There was nothing to stop Barnabas and Lanara from being tossed, like little rocks in a rolling can, past the window and into the empty corner farther down that wall of the room, not even the former's exceptional sea legs. Barnabas hit the wall first, bodily, making his best attempts to buffer and catch Lanara with his outstretched arms. His sword had come loose from his grip and clattered to the floor during the first jostle, skeetering into its own corner safely inside its sheath. Barnabas knew the heave of the ship would mark the start of Cranc Mawr's theatrical rendition of a scuttling. It had begun. The cabin did not heave back to larboard; instead, it continued settling at a steeper and steeper angle until, by standing against what was the starboard wall of the cabin, they could see out the window that the cabin seemed to be hanging off the deck almost perpindicular with the sea. The hold filled with water, which could be felt by a resonant vibration through the timbers, and Cranc Mawr equalized and displaced pressures via her specialized adaptation of multiple siphuncles -that is, a valve crustaceans use to alter their buoyancy with biologic gases. The cabin didn't need to actually flood to sink, and it wouldn't with that membraneous living gasket, at least until they opened the sea in on themselves. Rynvale island loomed over the bow, turned askew, before the sloshing ocean overtook the lens of the window. The cabin held pressure as they slowly but surely settled lower and lower into the dark, frigid waters. The ship gradually leveled out once more as Cranc Mawr descended to the deep, permitting the pair to stand upon the parts of the room that were originally intended to be a floor. The green lantern swung angrily, but never faded, bathing everything in ethereal green that wasn't outside in dark sea. Shadows would pass fleetingly before the window, sometimes startlingly close, but there was little to no light penetrating deep enough to lend the visibility to identify the rough shapes. Barnabas found himself greatly concerned for Puddles' whereabouts and almost oblivious to his closeness to Lanara. "Ye intact? Got all yer parts?" he would ask once he realized how much of a knot the heaving of the ship had thrown them into, and giving the elf the punctuation of a dramatic once-over from top to bottom. "I hope Puddles took the transition well." He spoke gingerly, as if nothing else of the situation gave him cause to worry. It wouldn't be long before Cranc Mawr reached the sea bottom and began pulling herself gently towards the watery hollow of the island. In the meantime, they were in a submarine of sorts. Cranc Mawr was able to regulate much of the pressure in the captain's quarters through her sophisticated siphuncle network, but there was still a strange sensation as well as a muffled, chambered effect on the acoustic interaction of their voices and the cabin space.

Lanara chuckles at the comment about a bird pooping on her head, and gives a parting glance to Puddles, before she’s ushered into what she assumes is the captain’s quarters. Taking a quick look around, she’s surprised that there aren’t golden medallions, and fine tapestries hanging from the walls, as she assumed that most pirate’s fancied their treasures. Instead there was only a hammock, a chest bolted to the floor, a dimly lit lantern, and a table and chair. It strikes her then that Barnabas hadn’t spent much time within the confines of his room, as he hadn’t taken the time to furnish it. She assumes he’s single, as well, for a woman would likely leave behind a few of her belongings. Though, if what the stories said were true, the ‘ship’ held the captain’s heart, and they were known to have several lady friends, at separate ports, of course. A ‘knowing’ glance is given to the male, as she prepares some sort of quip about him being an eligible bachelor, though she’s distracted by the happenings on deck, and falls silent. Peering through the window, standing on the tips of her toes, she catches sight of the shark-horse running up and down the length of the deck, before the ship begins to pitch. Lana’s jaw drops, as her incredulous stare remains fixed on Puddles, before he makes a graceful leap and jumps over the railing. He was a strong swimmer, so she wasn’t all that concerned about him sustaining any sort of injury or drowning, but her worry lay with the fact that the ship seemed to be tilting and sinking, without warning. She had imagined that there was a small hatch in the floor, like that of a live-well in some boats, and that they could just rig it so they could enter the sea from the floor of the boat. But this was madness?! Her lack of knowledge about the ship only startles her further as the boat rocks, violently, and she flies away from her spot at the window, and bumps roughly into the table. It works to her advantage, since it’s bolted in place, however, her right hip will likely sport an ugly bruise. Lana yelps in pain, only to find that she’s tossed in the opposite direction, though Barnabas pulls her into his arms, and she’s saved from further injury. Despite the fact that Barnabas is over a foot taller and of a much broader frame, they actually fit together quite comfortably. She had heard him make contact with the wall, moments ago, and she clings to his form, her arms coiling about his mid-section. This was not the time for being shy, and the blush in her cheeks is likely from panic settling in. “Are we going to be okay?” Rarely, did she show her vulnerable side to others, yet this man had witnessed the worry over her pet, her tears after mailing her break-up letter, and now he was holding the panicked, bikini-clad elf in his arms as she fends off a panic attack. Heart racing, she buries her face in his chest, as she holds on to his body for dear life, a soft whimper escaping her lips. Would they drown? Was this part of the plan? Did he mention that this would happen? When was the last time she was held in a man’s arms? Would she ever see Talyara again? She can’t think too long on any one subject, her thoughts are racing like wildfire, and she’s shaking like a leaf, as her eyes are squeezed shut. And as fast as the chaos had began, it seemed to subside, as the ship equalizes, and her fierce grip to his frame, lessens. Slowly, Barnabas would feel a tickle upon his chest from her long hair, as Lana opens her eyes and lifts her head. She remains in the embrace as she seems to calm down, and glances at the window, only to see a dark shadow pass by, and she wonders if it’s Puddles, or other sea life. The elf had never encountered another living shark, and to be honest, the idea didn’t thrill her, as she’d have to get up close and personal, before she lost a limb to a hasty bite. A shudder runs through her frame, and though her breathing has returned to normal, there’s still a slight tremble in her legs. Being tossed around, on a presumed sinking ship, had terrified her, even though not a drop of sea water had made it inside of their confined space. True to his word, the sailor had kept her safe. Lana tilts her head and looks into his cerulean-speckled eyes, slightly lifting her chin to answer his inquiry, as she’s looked up and down. “Yes. I’m fine… Thanks to you. I’m pretty sure I dented your table with my hip, back there, but I’ll be alright. Are you okay?” She swallows hard, and slowly unravels her arms from around his middle, as she didn’t want to make him uncomfortable. “Puddles will be fine. He’s probably snacking and will meet us on shore.” The blush upon her face, now, is clearly related to their closeness, as she breaks eye contact and shyly lowers her head. “I think this will take some getting used to, if I’m to take up sailing…” She’s referring to the near-death experience she just witnessed, firsthand, and not the fact that she was pressed up against the captain of the ship. Realizing her awkward slip of the tongue, she falls silent, as her blush intensifies. After a few moments, she notices the scabbard on the floor, and wonders what other dangers await them. “So, what’s the next plan? We open that door…. Don’t we? And we swim for the surface, and break for the beach?” This whole sailing aspect was foreign to her, and she was relying on him to show her the ropes. This was Barnabas’ show, and during the ritual, it would be her time to shine.

Barnabas was much less known for his bedroom decor -or conquests, for that matter- than he was for his penchancy for adventures into madness. Lanara was right to feel worry for their present predicament, and he knew this despite betraying none himself. Unconsciously he placed his left hand upon the elf's head in a consoling gesture when she buried her face against his chest and that satchel strap that crossed it. When the tall sailor realized he had been clutching the woman, his hand would fall from her head and slide to rest lower on her back. His eyes met her's, blinked a few times in rapid succession, and then he gave a quick appraisal of his own condition in reply to Lanara's concern. "Aye, quite." She unwinds from his waist and Barnabas craned his neck over and around her to inspect the curves of her hip and her apparently celebritized posterior. Either in assessment of her booty or the bruise that might be forming near upon it, he said flatly and seriously after straightening again: "Looks fine t'me." What she said after a blush and a lowered head called forth a hearty stream of chuckles from Barnabas. "It's, er, not yer everyday encounter," he said before scanning over the room again with a freneticism of someone running through a gamut of plans and tasks in their head. He found where his sword had settled at just about the same time Lanara had, and he took a few steps and stooped down to recover it. Again, he wrapped the belt about his wrist, deeming it too great a hindrance to swim with it upon his hip. And swim they would, soon enough. "Somethin' like that, yeah," Barnabas said, turning back to the window side of the cabin. He looked at the door, which opened to starboard, towards the window adorned wall. "That door'll swing with a force," he warned. "Ocean'll rush in violent-like, yer ears might pop some." Barnabas was thinking as he spoke, and Cranc Mawr was all the while lurching along the seabottom upon her great appendages. As they came nearer to the sea caves, the scant light that filtered to the bottom became next to nothing. No longer was there an indigo world outside that small, round window, but a black one. It would be a choking, featureless and frigid darkness to greet them. "We'll stand over there -by m'hammock. Have t'wait fer the water to equalize t'swim out er we'll have broken backs, not just bruised bums." He flashed a smile with some effort. Though he was trying hard to act casual, it was clear Barnabas was taking this quite seriously. It wasn't that he was concerned for a lack of oxygen or the cabin pressure failing -he had perfect confidence in Cranc Mawr's natural ability to keep them intact and supplied for air. It was the rough sea which no doubt relentlessly battered the hollow rock face that was very soon to be like a dome above them. Finding their way, in the cold dark water, to a haven from the waves? That, though a pivotal detail, was what had Barnabas nervously cracking jokes and smiling. "The mid-mast is exactly twenty-six feet straight out that door...if we 'ave t'kick up t'the surface, we swim up withat as our guide..." This might be where Lanara realizes Barnabas' earlier math about a forty, fifty foot swim doesn't quite compute when it seemed like such a long ordeal, that sinking. It also might reveal how well he had pretended to have already formulated this plan, which he now spoke of as if he was improvising, with 'ifs' such as that. He held up a hand, the other at his side clutching his sword by its scabbard. "She's started into th'caves now. Tides goin' out." Barnabas snapped his eyes back to Lanara. He was hearing the ship speak to him. "We're in Rynvale! By'm'lady, we're innit!" His excitement could be attributed easily to relief. "Th'cave -did- go back! Haha! And there's daylight out there!" As if on cue, the cabin lurches, pitching back some so that Barnabas and Lanara would have to crook their bodies to stand on the floor, like they were upon a steep mountain face. Though they were still submerged, the upward angle out the window and over the deck could be clearly seen a beam of light striking down to them through the water out of the black. The ship stopped moving, coming to rest in this position. Barnabas pressed his face against the glass of the window while, for a few moments, that shaft of light was blocked by something. "Okay," Barnabas said with a purposeful breath after the light shone down upon them again and he turned from the window to Lanara. "That light's not far off. Cranc Mawr stuck an arm innit -says it's plenty big fer us, about a thirty foot swim from the deck up t'the open air. Comes out in the tidepools. Not much sea current back in here -not as much as the mouth o'the cave, least. Last chance t'go back, er take another approach. Ye ready?"

Lanara didn’t mind the brief assessment of her figure, as she was rather used to being on display. She had been a bikini model for nearly two years for Kreekitaka, and after that, she moved on to join the Bard’s Guild, as a dance instructor. She often was seen working out, eating healthy, and putting on performances for large crowds, at least in the past. That all ended about eight months ago, and rumors circulated as to why, though the witch had kept the real reason under wraps. Only a select few had known bits and pieces of her tumultuous past, and only her sister and one other knew the extent of the abuse she endured. Some secrets were meant to be taken to the grave. So as he takes a gander at either her hip or derriere, she slightly angles so that he can closer inspect it, should he desire. For medical purposes, obviously, though the fact that she had earlier clung to him and trusted him enough to be vulnerable was a sign of interest in the sailor, at least on her part. She watches as he retrieves his weapons, and she uses this time to retrieve her bag, which had fallen off her arm as their forms bounced around the room of the sinking ship. Unzipping it, she takes a quick look inside to make certain nothing had broken, and she twists the strap and slips it over her slender shoulders. The makeshift backpack adds a good twenty or so pounds and rests against the center of her back, though she doesn’t seem to have any issue with carrying the excess poundage. The little witch was both mentally and physically tougher than she looked. As she’s toying with the straps of the bag, Barnabas is going over the distance to the surface and she quirks a brow. Wait. Didn’t he say fifty or sixty feet? And now it’s about half of that? And why did he seem so ‘surprised’ about the features of the cave? It dawns on her, and she stares at him with wide eyes, her tone slightly raised in accusation. “Wait a minute! Barney… Either you have awful math skills or you are winging this as we go along. I thought you said you had experience with this particular stretch of sea, and that you’ve been to Rynvale before… Though you now sound almost surprised that things are going so smoothly?” Lana advances on the male, her bare feet padding against the floorboards, until she stands before him, chest to chest. “You lied, didn’t you? I know you’re a sailor and that this is your ship… But you may have fibbed a bit about the other stuff.” For a moment her face flushes, as her chocolate hues lock onto his blue eyes, and it’s uncertain if she’s about to slap him or plant a kiss to his lips. Neither happens, she merely looks up at him, in disbelief as the seconds tick by, and he urges her to go and stand by the hammock in the far corner. The tension breaks as the right side of her mouth twitches, and a mischievous grin splays across her lips. “I do that, too! And… Even if you have fibbed a bit on the details… I’m really glad you’re here with me. I’d rather share this adventure with you, than anyone else, and I’m sure that Puddles feels the same way. And I guess a part of you really does want to be here, as you already went through such trouble to secure me passage.” Lana steps back, allowing the sailor more breathing room, now that her feigned threat was complete. She looks more amused than angry, for she was often meddling in affairs that didn’t concern her, and she had relished in going on adventures. Besides, his white lie wasn’t all that horrible, and he could read a map, manage a ghost ship, and her shark-horse was growing fond of him. She couldn’t fault him for living for on the edge, or for wanting to get out of Cenril for a few days. The thought of the room filling most of the way with frigid water did little to ease her nerves, though she obediently retreats to the designated area, and takes a deep breath. It probably was a wise choice to turn around, or maybe risk being seen by others in Rynvale. It carried less a chance of the loss of life that way, but the elf is resilient, stubborn, and if she had gotten through all of the obstacles of the past year, this would be a piece of cake. She plants her feet firmly on the floor, clenches her hands around each strap of the bag, and fixes her gaze on the hatch, in preparation. “I’m ready, Barney. We got this.”