RP:To Boldly Go

From HollowWiki

Part of the Township Troopers Arc


This is a Warrior's Guild RP.


Summary The Warrior's Guild and their allies set sail aboard the Tranquility in order to find the mythic island home of their insectoid nemeses. Their mission is successful, but the island's legendary guardian very nearly sunders them in its snare. The scattered crew fight for their lives in this, the penultimate mission of the Township Troopers arc.

Rynvale Harbor

Lionel | The Tranquility is an oar-driven brigantine, retrofitted to enhance speed and maneuverability from her original, unknown purpose. None of the present crew know her tale, but they swear by her, one and all. Emrith’s runic inscriptions along the hull have given her greater protection against blunt force, but there has only been time to mend a few of the small cracks and twists in the battle-worn vessel. As the Tranquility makes ready to leave harbor, the gaff-rigged mainsail goes up with a whoosh, Rynvali wind smacking cloth with a flourish. The heaving lines are retracted, but the heavier hawsers remain in place until the various members of the Guild are aboard. The strongest oarsman, called Stroke by his fellows, takes up rightward position closest to the stern. Stationed leftward of him, his complementary rower is none other than the dwarf called Sundance, a Catalian who has served in Lionel’s employ. Eighteen further sailors take their positions at oars, men and women of several races, most of whom have served their Captain Bell for years. The only unifying trait across this motley crew is strength; human, dwarven, even high elven forearms are all larger than average, and judging by Bell’s harsh shouts and quick stride across the deck, that strength has risen from a rigorous life at sea. As for Londo Bell himself, he’s a barrel-chested man with a mustache that ends with a swivel on both sides. One of Rynvale’s masters-at-arms, he has not found as much occasion to go to sea lately as he once did, but after the Guild’s success in convincing him his Tranquility is necessary for their mission, he has at least taken solace in the fact that he can return to the ocean blue. Confident his sailors aren’t slacking, he heads to the wheel to man it personally, his white-gloved hands already gracing its knobs. “I do be waiting on your cue, then, Master Lionel,” Bell calls out, and Lionel answers with a thumbs-up in the affirmative. Once his teammates are aboard, that cue will be given.


Meri would be amongst Lionel's 'teammates' even though she is really just an outsider, holding no rank within the warrior's guild. She does work out of a shop in Rynvale, so at least this time there is clear motive for an invested interest. Onto the Tranquility Meri would go, funneling her way into some out of the way position that likely has her distanced from the rest of the warrior's guild. The faces she was familiar with would still be afforded a nod before she went about her usual 'keep quiet and keep to myself routine' that she had developed with them. This may just be some scouting mission but Meri would not be caught unarmed as she was last time, having had the sense to bring her sword along for the trip. No armor, though, she might have her reasons for that. She was dressed as she was on almost any other normal day except that her bodice has been left at home and the woman is instead wearing an over-sized button down shirt. One of the most important items she brought along is tucked away in a pocket for safe-keeping.


Emrith takes in a slow, silent breath of salt air, leans on a deckrail and stares moodily down into the ocean. Heleg and Nahr ride comfortably on his back, pinning his white-dyed cloak in place and ensuring that it does not flap in the fitful breeze. His hood is pulled up, mostly penning his blond hair within its confines and keeping it from spilling across his face and over his eyes. In the hollow between the back of the hood and the nape of his neck, three tiny constructs of shadow sit, moveless and painless and quiet, a product of the ring on his right hand. The city behind them practically teems with examples of the same, perched where they can sip a tiny trickle of life force at all times. Emrith is uneasy at the thought of all those minuscule shadowy spiders nipping away at the citizenry a little at a time, does not wish to think too deeply on what that vast well of slowly-building energy will do once it gains great enough momentum, but at the moment, he is powerless; he has no doubt, though, that when the reckoning does come due, it will be frightful, and will leave a scar the likes of which he will never be permitted to ignore or forget. Complicating his predicament is the fact that the elf is unused to travel over water, and has recently discovered that although he can fly upon the back of his dragon, Ilaerothil, with relative ease, his stomach does not care for the gradual pitch and yaw of the vessel beneath his feet. The spell-blade is sure of the craft's soundness - surer still, given his own spellcraft in the last few days - but he would just as soon be back on shore right now. The fingers of the hands clutching that wooden rail are decidedly stiff and white-knuckled, and the face hanging toward the sea appears ominously pale. "Should have followed from above," he mutters, then adds a low curse in elvish. Emrith looks up, away from the hypnotic swells of the waves, to study the sails snapping overhead; each has been drawn upon with waterproof paint, runes within the stitchings and on the insides of the sails which will not only augment their efficacy somewhat but will also render them much tougher to tear and tangle. He looks up at the blameless evening sky, and wishes he was up there somewhere, astride Ilaerothil's back, perhaps with Larewen perched behind him. The gods only know where the necromancer might be, but Emrith wishes she was here. Despite Tranquility's stoutness and the proximity of guildmates he trusts, Emrith Kohl feels very small and very alone at the moment, a sensation which is not being improved by his contemplation of sails and sky and spiders, and of the vacancy where a vampiress should be most of all. He looks back down at the oarsmen, each holding sweeps made of burled wood which have also seen modifications from the elf; each oar will feel just a little lighter to the one who wields it, perhaps enabling those members of the crew to drive the ship a little more quickly; one never knows, after all, when speed will be of the essence. Emrith shifts his feet, shrugs his shoulders, and stares resolutely at the back-and-forth of the oars, trying to fill his mind with that repetitive motion. Many people have done much hard work to get them here, Emrith not least among them, and there is still more blood on the horizon. It would not do for any of them to forget the many less combat-savvy folk who have lived and lost in this strange, protracted war, and the responsibilities incumbent upon those with the means to change the world for the better. "Death is lighter than a bird's wing," he murmurs in elvish, "and life, a mountain on your back." Only then, after those quiet moments and this last pronouncement, does the vampiric elf vent all of his remaining breath, a plume of vapor that is soon subsumed into the greater wash of the seaward wind. There is something philosophical in the thought of one simple breath being so small, so meaningless with the constant breeze surrounding the one who breathed it; yet Emrith cannot move himself to consider it long. Past a certain point, after all, pondering the infinite, or near-infinite, is a fool's errand, an easy way to silver one's hair, bend one's back and empty one's heart of all meaningful purpose.


Khitti was not entirely pleased to be on a boat right now, even though she knew it was going to be happening for awhile now. She didn’t enjoy the ship ride -to- Lithrydel from Dhavislaav and sure as hell didn’t enjoy the one to Rynvale a week or so ago. Is it even possible for vampires to get seasick? Well, it might just be all in Khitti’s head, but the boat was moving -way more- than what she wanted...and it hadn’t even left the dock yet. At least earlier in the week, she could focus on the need to kill Ameno and that’d been enough to keep the waves in her mind and stomach at bay. But, not today. At least the tourist attraction boat they’d taken on the way to Rynvale had gone ever so slowly, and she’d not gotten the liberty to dwell on it when Amarrah made her presence known again. But, that ship was not the Tranquility and right now Khitti didn’t feel very tranquil or serene or any other synonyms one might conjure up. Stupid bugs, why’d you have to go and live on an island? The redhead was here nevertheless, though, and could be found clinging to whatever she could find, wearing her typical dragonscale attire, directly in the middle of the deck and as far away from the sides as she could get.


Manasa The Ha-naga had been spending warm days at the beaches here, sunbathing and enjoying a swim when she felt like it. Exactly what the naga was doing before she saw her guild mates off in a distance. It was time, and among them those copper serpent like eyes caught the sight of Meri. A smile flooded those lavender lips, and she searched to see if she had still wore the bracelet that was given to her. Indeed she was, and with that the hanaga made her way grabbing the leather vest to wrap it around her torso still sporting tell many beaded necklaces. But such adventure called for a bit more covering of her chest, upon her back resides the steel rod and the twin dadaos. No shield upon her back as she carried that at her left grip, moving to the ship she went to stand beside Meri. The tip of the tail reaching up to tickle at Meri's neck, fighting off a smirk. Eyes rest forward to the direction they would go, first time on a ship. Feeling the vibrations of the boat echo into her person caused a soft hiss to escape.


Kreekitaka was fine. Yes, he was. Yes he -was-. Shut up, Rynvale's resident healer who Kree was admitted to just to make sure! Stop talking about things like nutrition and dosage limits. And language like "if you do that again your heart is going to explode" is entirely uncalled-for. Have you ever even seen an uyeer before? Oh, you have. ...Shut up, anyway, there's a mission to go on! Kreekitaka arrived to the ship as regal-looking as ever, with barely any hint as to the rather awful experience he'd had the past several days trying to recover from the Ameno fiasco. At least, his attitude was regal. His attire was rather more pedestrian--simple red kilt, water tanks, no cape. He'd kinda ruined his fancy stuff when he went all-out. Upon arrival, he nodded to Lionel, letting him know he was fine, and then performed his summoning gesture--claws snapped, clacked together, and then lifted up to bring his elbows against each other. A lazy puff of steam not far from the ship let him know that his partner was waiting for them to get underway, as before. He turned his attention back to the leader of the expedition. "I imagine Kingmaker is going TAH!oo be usefo for us if HHHTHere are any waTAH!erborne creatures. She is... you've seen her fins, if I remember righTAH!. Very powerfo." With that out of the way, he glanced in Khitti's direction, determined to ask his questions this time around, but it could wait until they were more underway.


Dominic || Brand was entirely pleased to be on a boat right now. Really. His smile hadn’t faltered since they’d approached the dock; it was quite an odd look for him, as grumpy as he usually was. He was dressed in what was more or less his usual attire with his sleeves rolled up past the elbows, arms ready to be put to work. He’d taken it upon himself to walk throughout the ship, double-checking measurements and knots, inspecting the configuration of the sails, and observing the crew. Even once everything appeared to be to his satisfaction, he couldn’t make himself stay put where he ought to be, closer to the Guild and to Khitti. He could be found, if needed, chatting up Captain Bell, swapping sea stories.


Calmly, At Sea

Lionel | “Punch it,” Lionel tells Bell, patting him on the shoulder. “I do punch it plain and true,” the captain mutters gutturally, shouting for the hawsers to be dragged in. Once the crew is clear to go, he shouts again, this time for the oarsmen to earn their pay or else hides will be tanned a deeper red than a summer rose. Stroke and Sundance lead the charge, heaving to tilt the ship wayward of the harbor. The rest of their team of sailors follows suit, and within fifteen minutes, the departure from Rynvale is completed. “I’ve seen her fins,” Lionel smirks at Kreekitaka’s inquiry, walking closer to the edge to watch Kingmaker’s steam puff rise not far from the ship. “I’m glad she’s on our side. Well, your side, at least. Same difference?” He sure hopes so, in any case. “Alright, folks,” Lionel announces, taking up a position toward the center of those gathered. “You know the mission. We’ve got ample reason to believe the insectoids’ home base is an island just 22 kilometers off the shore of Rynvale. We’re taking a look, but we aren’t going in. Frankly, we aren’t ready for that. We need to know what we’re up against and then discuss our options. But if we wait too long, they’ll attack more than just Rynvale. We know what they can do. The hour is at end to end this war before it claims more lives. We should be arriving shortly. So, uh. You know. Mingle.” From a spot near the observation post, Rorin fixes Lionel with all of his side-eye. “He really needs a better speechwriter,” the lad mumbles, smiling. The Tranquility moves through mildly choppy waters, gaining speed at her captain’s command. With clear skies everywhere the eye can see and even a flock of seagulls flapping wings to join them, it seems the Warrior’s Guild may have chosen just the right day for a scout.


Meri saw Manasa as plain as day, once the naga was on the ship at the very least. That did not stop shoulders from scrunching up at the sensation of the naga's tail tickling the side of her neck. A light glare cuts to the naga but it's short-lived, red lips soon curving up into a smooth smile. "Manassssa," Meri teases. Red lips part to say something further to the naga but then Lionel tries his hand at one of those speech things, only putting a temporary halt to Meri's words. The command to mingle is met with a lifted brow and a shake of her head, back to Manasa. "It's been some time, hasn't it?" This question is met with a pause as she considers just how long it has been since the two had crossed paths. It seemed like a blur. "Had I known that you were going to be joining us I would have brought my sketchbook." Then again, it was probably safer on the island. A brief look is spared toward the rest of the faces on the ship, from warriors to sailors. Pause is given when her gaze lands upon Khitti, issuing a faint smirk at the obvious signs of the woman's plight, but ultimately those blue eyes return to the naga. It would seem as though Meri wouldn't make an effort to make rounds and engage in small talk with everyone. She was content being chatty with Manasa, "How have you been? What have you been up to?" And so the chatting would continue, maybe Meri didn't have her sketchbook with her but since they had time to kill Meri could at least yammer on about a recent piece or two. Khitti may want a mermaid tattoo. We'll throw that one out there too.


Emrith :: The scream of a particularly low-flying seagull causes Emrith's gaze to snap upward, pinpointing the bird with his cold, green eyes. His former mood turned brittle and irritated, the spell-blade begins to pace along the deck, making sure to stay out of the way of the working sailors, but he must move. Suddenly, the ship seems a small place, even with the nearly boundless ocean beneath them, and the firmament above. "Like a moving island," he mutters, and continues pacing, eyes flickering back and forth between guildmates and sailors alike. Meri's presence is noted, wherever precisely she may be; this is not the sort of environment in which one can hide without great effort, after all. Emrith offers her a curt nod when he passes close by her, then continues moving. The tromp of his booted feet is a soft but steady sound. The spell-blade's stomach seems to have settled a little - perhaps all he needed was a different, more regular motion - and this gives him an idea. Channelling a brief little burst of mana into his boots, Emrith begins to levitate an inch or so above the deck. He walks a few more steps, now making no sound at all, then stops. No movement; he might as well be standing stock-still in midair. "It worked!" he cries, and there is definitely pleasure in his voice. The hard cast of his eyes and face lighten perceptibly. "Why did I not think of that sooner?" He resumes his place by the rail, but his hands only rest gently against the well-worn wood; no clutching grip is needed now, no roiling nausea troubles him. Now he can look at the world a little differently, and so he does. The ocean is deep, full of mysteries both wondrous and terrible. The sky may be dark much of the time, but what of the stars, and the moon, and sun which nurtures life? And these crewmen? Emrith turns to them, opens his mouth, closes it again, then shakes his head. "You're a fool, Emrith Kohl," he says softly, then speaks more loudly. "Whatever happens, I want to thank all of you for your trust and your understanding. This is no small thing. Hard work and toil are never to be forgotten, and--well, thank you." His impromptu speech ends almost as soon as it had begun, but the reason is perhaps a patch of darkness upon an otherwise uplifted mood. A sharp prick on the back of his neck, followed by another. Something, it seems, does not like it when Emrith finds strength, or tries to give that strength to others. The spell-blade subsides, staring silently down at the water again. "This has got to end," he says, and his voice has resumed its sullen mutter, as before. "One way and another, it has got to end. I cannot take much more of this."


Khitti :: Punch it? Don’t ‘punch it’. Seriously, Lionel. Ugh. Brand was glared at, of course. “If Brand “mingles” anymore, Lionel, I’m thinkin’ he’ll be getting married to Bell before ve get back to Rynvale. Maybe zhe ship too. Have himself a nice big family with Tranquility and a few little dinghies.” There was an eyeroll so massive after that, it’s possible that her eyes rolled around in her head thrice before coming back to settle in their proper position. Hopefully not, though, that’d mean she’s probably possessed. “Liiiiiioooonnnelllll, are ve zhere yet?!” Anyway, she’s not jealous of this ship or anything. No. Never. Nope. Well, she shuts up rather quick-like as she feels her most recent meal coming up. Oh, nevermind--it went back down again. Can Khitti be a mermaid now? Please? This would all go so much better. Where’s those dang sea-witches at that likes to make deals? Would it be overkill if she were a mermaid with a mermaid tattoo someday? Not that Khitti needs to go making more deals with evil females anytime soon, seeing as how that odd tattoo that now spanned from her left forearm and all the way to her neck was in no way what it seemed. Welp, sorry Khat. I don’t think that’s happening anytime soon. There’s lots of muttering now from Khitti as she continues watching Brand in all of his sea-loving glory, but beware should anyone approach her--you might get covered in her sugar-filled stomach contents. Carrot cake was probably not the best thing to eat beforehand.


Manasa Being of four hundred and twenty six you would think she had seen something like the kreekitaka, but no. she had not ever seen something like him, but then again a ha naga never really got out of the palace much. Her amusement to seeing the giant mixed of different sea creatures into one was visible upon the Visage. With flicker of the Violet tongue she kept her thoughts to herself, glancing back behind her at the seven feet of tail to see the scar left behind from the last battle she was in. Scales would never grow back along that scar, revenge was on her mind to rid the bugs from existence. How dare they ruin her perfectly beautiful tail, now perfectly flawed. Wiggle of her nose, she glanced out to the water. What would it feel like to move on water and not be swimming within it? But with Meri way of saying her name caused the naga to blush lavender and giggle. Catching herself she cleared her throat, “Healing my tail but I am well. You? You've been missed.”

Kreekitaka took the order to mingle seriously and proceeded to ignore any warning signs that he might end up with sugariness all over him as he leaned on the railing next to Khitti. "So," he said, having spent the last entire trip being dodged and the return trip asleep and therefore unable to ask what he needed, "I haven'TAH! HHHTHe fainTAH!esTAH! cyue whaTAH! HHHTHis 'Amarrah' HHHTHing is, or why iTAH! is imporTAH!anTAH!. EnyighTAH!en me." Well, so much for it coming out as a question. It's a shame what impatience can do to one's tact. Maybe it might have been easier to ask someone else, but it'd be better to hear it straight from her.


Dominic || Brand heard that, Khitti. (It was possible his ears were uniquely calibrated, after all this time, to pick Khitti’s voice out from amongst a crowd of other stimuli bombarding his senses.) The comment from afar earned his stare, willing her to look his way. The moment she did, he’d stick out his tongue. Because Brand was mature like that. And then, right back to mingling he’d go, though he left the captain to his captaining and took up helping out the crew instead. Sundance earned a grin and a nod of recognition, once Brand moved to check on the rowers. A handful of newer recruits received Brand’s counsel as to proper form. “You might not feel the difference now, while you’re young,” he told one of them, “but trust me, you get to my age n’ you’ll be thankin’ me you didn’t burn out your shoulder in your frakkin’ twenties.” Brand might have come dangerously close to that, himself. Ouch.


At Sea, Fiercely

Lionel smirks. “We’re not there yet,” he dutifully informs Khitti, holding his tongue on the matter of Brand and his new love-at-sea. His fellow Catalian seems to be getting along famously with Londo Bell, though. No surprise there. It is possible that Lionel will need to inform Khitti several times that the Guild and their allies are not, in fact, there yet, but eventually that changes. Twenty-two kilometers due east from Rynvale, the Tranquility slows and turns to address not an island, but the beginning of a five-meter rock outcropping rising from the sea which trails straight down the horizon without an end in sight. A pair of iron beams, joined by more beams at regular intervals, can be found at the center of the outcropping. It, too, goes on and on into the distance. Lionel frowns, peering concernedly at the strange discovery. “Captain Bell, have you or your men ever seen anything like this?” The big man spits. “Friend, I don’t be thinking any of us have ever -heard- of a thing like this, let alone be having -seen- it. You folk do be in the business of war, aye, but a strange war, unlike any I’ve read even in the storybooks. After I did see a millipede the size of a well-meaning inn trample and devour a poor woman, I took a vow, I did, to start believing in devils and snarks and sea dragons. Aye, and your man Kreekitaka seems to confirm at least two of them, himself. But this…? Aye, again I do be seeing nonsense. What’s yer order?” Before Lionel can respond, thunder cracks like a whip and the clear skies turn to grey in a hurry. Lightning does not flash, and the rain that follows is only a faint, lazy stream, but everyone on-deck is gaping. “Damn the sea gods for their indecisive nature,” Stroke bellows, and Sundance, shaking his head vigorously to remove the wet, rumbles a full-bodied laugh in return. Lionel is quiet for a moment, weighing their options. At last, he makes his choice. “We’ll follow that thing,” he gestures to the outcropping, “and see what awaits us over the rainbow.”


Meri smiles toward Manasa, there might have been inquiries about what had happened to her tail and perhaps even an answer as to how Meri has been but those thoughts are silenced. Nothing ever is peaceful with this bunch so of course the skies turn grey, signaling that they may not be in for smooth sailing. Of course not. Sorry, Manasa, but from here on out Meri is not so chatty from here on out. Instead she is back to silent and observing but the naga would at least gain a wink from the tattooed blonde before she slips into this this more taciturn mood. Blue eyes would finally turn away from Manasa and toward the horizon, more specifically the outcropping that they seem to be heading toward.


Emrith seems to be mostly ignored by the other folk on the ship, and perhaps that is for the best; his mood seems to be as inconstant as the sea itself these days, and it would not do to sow more discord, however inadvertently, at a time like this. He is slightly surprised by the worsening weather, since it had been fairly clear only moments ago. "Something is not right here," he murmurs, but with the constant drum of rain, it is unlikely anyone had heard him. The vampiric elf feels a faint tingle, though whether it is impending lightning or the sensation of hostile magic, he cannot tell on short notice. The rain is a constant, steady drizzle, enough to impede but not confound sight completely. Emrith trains his eyes on the strange rails and rocks as the ship sets a course to follow it. Unseen in the mist, shapes begin to converge on Tranquility from three sides, skittering soundlessly across the water's surface like skipping rocks. Their movement is almost preternaturally fast, and the creatures seem to move in eerie unison. Each is about the size of a wolf, with a frail body and six extremely long legs. Moving as one, the group of water-striders converges upon Tranquility from every direction but the front. As one, the bugs lunge up onto their rear legs and raise their heads skyward. Suddenly, the ship is bombarded by powerful waves, causing it to dive and bob in the sudden maelstrom. In the chaos, each insect leaps toward Tranquility's deck and attempts to find purchase there. There are eighteen in all, and though each is a rather weak fighter on its own, they are capable of using water magic to douse or even attempt to drown their opponents at almost a moment's notice. Their size and agility make them somewhat difficult targets, especially on a slippery deck that heaves to and fro so unpredictably in the roiling sea. Emrith misses being flattened by one of the beasts by inches, but is clipped a glancing blow as it lands on the rail next to him. He takes a surprised step back, slips on the deck, regains his footing, draws both shortswords with liquid speed, and sets about him with an elven battle-cry. "To arms! To arms! Defend the heart!" From afar, more waves pelt Tranquility, suggesting that reinforcements may be on the way, if they have not arrived already.


Khitti :: It’s quite unfortunate that it’s a Kreekitaka to approach her. Thinking about crab-like folk translates into food in her mind and thinking about food right now isn’t so great. She opened her mouth to explain about Amarrah much like she had to Meri not long ago, but...out comes that cake mixed with stomach bile, a bit of Brand’s blood (since she’d have fed before coming out here), and probably some tea or something too. Green eyes widen a bit, and there’s definitely some nervous laughter to accompany her apology, “S-s-sorry, Kree! Uh...now...uh, is probably not zhe time to talk about her. M-maybe I’ll send you a nice letter telling you all about her vhen ve get back? I’m, uh, always a bit busy, you know.” Khitti’s line of sight darted around in hopes of settling on someone, anyone, that she could sneak off too. At least she felt better now, anyway, and the sudden onslaught of stormy skies aided her too, strangely enough. “I’m, um, going to...see if I left zhe oven on, “ is said as she pointed in a random direction and headed off that way. She’d soon take a wrong turn at Albuquerque as she ran headlong into not only waves that threatened to overturn the boat, but a legion of bugs too. Much like Emrith, she’d unsheathe both of her own shortswords and yell over to Brand, “Hey! You zhink you can stop gushing over zhe boat long enough to help vith zhis, Lover Boy?!” Thankfully, her vampiric abilities leaned towards agility instead of strength like some of her kind and she was able to keep up with them quite well. The same triad of magic--shadows, shadow-ice, and shadow-flame--that she used on the Everspider and Ameno (and his various personalities) were conjured up around her blades, her dark magic-amplifying stone tucked away in one hand as she slashed and hacked at the waterstriders’ legs and is well-drenched in return by their water magic.


Manasa looked away from Meri seeming to enjoy the human's company and the way the ship carried along the water. Glancing towards each other person on board, collecting a head count as she felt a storm ahead of them. Looking back out she saw the clouds, excitement rising within the there might be lightning at a sound of thunder as there was never lightning to far behind. Being an electromancer she would charge herself and want to leap into a bolt to enjoy the rush of electricity within each pore. Then the place they went to find, was not a far off sight. Pupils narrowing to get better vision of such place that they would have war upon. Best not to war on water especially stormy waters. Looking back to Meri, a concerned expression for the human. Her tail would lift and gently wrap about Meri's torso, “Stay close to me if you get nervous or scared.” Dropping the tail back away to coil up underneath the hanaga, the left hand reaching to her back to grab ahold of the steel rod. Eyes looking to the skies, “Where is the lightning? And we will just hover from a distance?” Well that answer was visible as bugs climbed upon a ship, with a wink the hanaga sprung into action. Lightning would be visible flicking about inside the serpent eyes, moving outwards to spread along the shoulder into the arms then into the steel rod . be used as a conductor. No gases about for Manasa to be worried on, thus she an truly play with her electricity. A smirk appears, the tail shrinks into a pair of legs with the scar still visible across her knees. “Heads up!” the naga calls out, rushing to emrith aid, smacking one of the bugs legs out from under it as it had moved to be attacking from behind him. Next she forced the steel rod against the under belly, with a bright flash of white and a powerful lift of the rod she sent the bug into the air with the amount of electricity rummaging through the insect body. Leaving it cooking from inside out, with another push of lightning she sent the bug flying off the boat using the steel rod as a bug zapper for the next one that she stalked towards. Balance slightly off, as she was not used to being on water. “Extra crispy anyone?”


Kreekitaka was about to demonstrate the quality of his outfit and how it was near-impossible to stain when she offered to write a letter and disappeared instead of actually answering his questions. "Uh, fine, I suppose," was said in response to Khitti's retreating form. When the waves started crashing into the ship (which cleaned him off after only one splash, listen, garments like these are available at very reasonable prices at his store, this has been a paid message from the Kreekitaka Corporation) and the bugs started clambering on, the crabman rippled his paddles and thumped his chest in delight--fragile things with exoskeletons, hooray! And, to make things even better, they were even using water magic against them! With a triumphant, whooping ululation that was not in any way (yes it was) cribbed from Futurama, he shrugged off his heavy water tanks and lashed them to the railing. Now unburdened, he hurled himself into the fray, reaching out with both claws and crushing a pair of bug heads with a single motion. As the waves crashed against him, swift rippling of his paddles propelled him through the currents and allowed him to easily maintain his footing. His jawblade almost seemed to leap from its holster of its own accord when he drew it and he began swinging in wide arcs to crush whatever insects were in its path. Down below the ship, Kingmaker happened to smell combat--and bug guts. A moment later, the colossal pliosaurs jaws erupted from the water with a tremendous spray and slammed shut with unimaginable force, likely obliterating a good many of the bug's reinforcements before they even made it onto the ship.


Dominic || As experienced a seaman as he was, Brand was still more use to the lot of them as a fighter. So even though he was assisting belowdecks when the call to arms sounded, he was obliged to respond. Cursing the whole while, he took the steps upward two at a time until he arrived on deck to rain and bug-fueled chaos. Oh. And Khitti, yelling at him. Well, that was just great. “I’m gorram workin’ on it!” he retorted, and called lightning to his fingertips. His trademark fire might cause collateral damage to the boat, y’see; couldn’t be havin’ that. One orb of that electric magic after another was lobbed into the air, where they would hover several feet overhead and attempt to zap at any of the striders that got too close. He could only craft and maintain so many at a time, but it would be enough to maintain a safe perimeter of a few square yards across the fore of the ship. “Ranged combatants, with me!” he called, though who could say if any would hear him over the din of storm and battle. Any friend who stood within the range of Brand’s lightning magic would be able to cast their magic or fling their projectiles from under a net of relative safety.


Lionel draws Hellfire from its prismatic scabbard with a quick thrust of his left arm, igniting the steel in deadly red flame which resists the rain’s dousing. By the time the Tranquility has been boarded, the man is a blur, his thin black silks doing well not to weigh down his ever-graceful acrobatics. The one thing Lionel does not do is summon further flames to aid his speed; it’s par for the course, but he’s made the conscious decision not to blow up the Guild’s boat on their maiden voyage. With a quick horizontal slash, Lionel takes a water-strider in its upper legs, ripping all six free from the fleshy torso in one swift stroke. But no sooner has he achieved this than the Tranquility has rocked dangerously to the left, sending Lionel’s feet skidding across the deck and forcing his right hand to catch at the rail. Regaining his balance, he blinks to the sight of two more water-striders opening their small mouths and firing forth high-pressure volleys of icy water in his direction. “Elemental, my dear flotsam,” he rebukes, slamming Hellfire tip-first into the wood beneath his heels and flipping himself forward toward them, the flames coating its steel meeting that ice and ending in stalemate. As he hoists Hellfire free from the little crack it created, the striders’ magical attack has ended, and they’re putting up their hooked legs in vain defiance, blade carving through them like butter. Elsewhere, his squadmates appear to be performing with similar success, and Captain Bell himself has drawn his cutlass to join in the carving. The bulk of the sailors remain at their posts, intent on drawing the ship away from the gusts and waves that are threatening it, but a few are called to arms when the creatures draw too near. One sailor is taken in the ribs by a strider’s hook, and another is impaled in the heart after being blasted by a bubbly beam, but two deaths to the enemy’s eighteen is a coldly fair trade. Battle comes to a decisive end within moments, but moments can feel like half an eternity when lives are on the line. All that’s left in the Guild’s wake are the corpses of their foes and two men for burial, but the storm continues, the rain now a downpour. Lionel grits his teeth, glancing at one of the dead striders in disgust. “Keep course, Captain Bell.” The captain nods grimly, and the Tranquility carries on. Whatever awaits them at the end of this strange outcropping, it had better come fast.


Meri grumbles because OF COURSE. Sword is drawn from it's metal scabbard just because but the blade of the weapon is not set ablaze as it traditionally has done, for the simple reason that Meri did not bother with the maintenance of the scabbard for this journey. Why? So some nasty little water bug can douse out her efforts? The motion of drawing her weapon was more for show for Meri does not rush headlong into battle. Even if that was her want it would seem that Manasa was intent on delaying that, tail wrapping around Meri's torso long enough to hold her in place to express a few words. Those words are met with little more than a sly smirk and upon her release Meri would move more toward the center of the ship. It would not due to be thrown overboard, but really, Meri has thought about that. At least one person is not going to be stuck on an island eating coconuts. Anyway, even though sword was in hand the psion would play up in the environment around her more than anything else. Example: one of those water-striders lands on an oar in an assault of one of the sailors. It breaks. Said oar ends up levitating through the air only to impale one of the agile creatures with the split end, etc, etc. Meri will keep her distance. The battle ends, Meri holds her current position toward the center of the ship, sword still drawn. No faith, this lot has the worst luck.


Emrith raises his arm, shakes it, and a strider falls free of his sword to splash overboard. He checks for wounds, finds none - although he is now soaked to the skin and extremely annoyed about it - then begins pacing. "Any hurt?" he calls out. "Any hurt?" He is no longer paying attention to the strange rail-like protrusions from the water; he has eyes only for those on deck who may have been hurt. The strider attack may have been fairly weak by the standards set by previous assaults, but it was sudden enough, and shipboard combat is no easy thing. Emrith reaches into his sodden cloak and comes out with a small packet wrapped in wax paper; the packet bulges oddly, as if it might contain small fruit. Unwrapping the package reveals roundish roots instead. "I am a fair hand with a needle and gut," Emrith says, "but by no means a healer. Still, knobroot, if chewed, is both a stimulant and a mild baffle to pain. I have seven roots, and if you need one, take one. You may find that your sleep at the end of this voyage is somewhat deeper than you are used to, your exhaustion more profound; it is the only known side effect of knobroot of which I am aware." What Emrith does not say is that the two dead sailors have no further need of pain relief. What Emrith does not say is that the guild may not all come back alive. He doesn't have to.


Khitti was about as keen about falling over the side of the ship as Meri was at this point. After dealing with a few more bugs, she’d return her swords to their designated spots on her hips and joined Brand’s side. “Yeah, you remember zhat zhing I said? No more ships after zhe Shadow Plane. Not unless you wanna find me a sea-witch to give me a nice tail to swim about vith.” There was probably going to be more ships at some point, sadly; Khitti will probably never get away with them with as much as Brand seemed to love them. She only shook her head at Emrith and his offer of stitching up. She’d a few cuts and scrapes here and there, but nothing that wouldn’t heal soon. There would be a brief once-over of Brand, to make sure he was fine, but she wouldn’t say anything about it--he really didn’t like it when she fussed over him.


Manasa was proud how fast her fellow team mates acted. Brand with his electric orbs, Lionel wit that blade and the others ready for battle. Doing her best to not look to Meri again would look to lionel, the steel rod staying in her hands with remain flickering with lightning as the electromancer stay ready for another round that was surely to come. “That was oddly quick, think that was just a test to see if we were prepared or even more yummy travelers?” She asked aloud to those on the ship. Eyes shifting to Emrith, “No I'm not hurt, wet but I was already wet from the swim before I came aboard. Thanks for asking.”


Rorin stands with his face to the wind and hair in the rain. The single white shock of it among his black locks glittered wetlt above his grey left eye. His right peers out behind its patch with every soul aboard revealed to him between the black and white world only that part of him knew. He would agree with Emrith if he could hear him honestly. Rorin tried not to let the freak weather get to him still though his left hand was upon his bastard swords hilt. Scanning the distance, he did not see the arachnids aprpoach, skittering through the fog. Still the urgence in his head is clearly a prompting of danger. It is an ever familiar feeling to the pilgrim that tells him to draw his advanced crossbow and load it nice and slow. The instant the ship rocks Rorins legs are wide with a low stance in preparation. There! A dozen and half upon the deck! Rorin removes his right glove while the sleeve unfurls over his monstrous arm. The blueish scales expand, thicken, grow, turning white like twisted bown from shoulder to his clawed hand, bestowed upon the back of it some ancient symbol of holy power. Rorin is quick to find a target with his right eye through the storm. The bugs twisted and corrupted souls were easy to spy even among the blazing souls of the many on deck. He is quick to fire all three of his tracked bolts, one to a bug, before joining Brand near the aft. Rorins bolts would defend every crewman he could manage though it would not be enough to save them all. Just as quick as it started it was over. "A gate party, Commander, scouting their waters to keep them clear. The true thick of them will lay ahead. I pray they make it so easy!" Rorin attempted to inspire everyone a bit perhaps and hoped it not to fall flat. Grim determination burned in his left eye. The twitch in his inhuman arm and the pressure of his head told him things were far from over. Not to mention Rorins magic featured mainly explosive style force. He would have to limit himself in this. As for the dead Rorin had no skills to heal wounds of such caliber. He could only utter a quiet prayer with their captain.


Kreekitaka was mostly unhurt (and probably wouldn't be all that affected by the knobroot anyhow, or at least it'd probably affect him differently). He'd managed to clear a pretty wide path in front of him with the jawblade and kept them at leg's length. Eyes stayed on those electric orbs--with all the water sloshing about on the deck, he didn't want to get sizzled, but since the magicians seemed to be rather careful with it he decided it was probably okay. He swung the jawblade in a little circle to test how much force it had stored up from the fight, and leaned over the railing to smack it against the side of the ship a few times. He wanted it fully-charged, just in case there were more of them--or more of something else, whatever they might be. The weapon's shockwave was wonderfully-powerful in the air--and he suddenly realized that such an effect underwater would be magnified many, many times. While not immediately eager to dive overboard and test this, he did keep it gleefully in the back of his mind. Meanwhile, Kingmaker stopped splashing about and crushing bugs with teeth and flippers, snorted a large cloud of steam into the air, and then dove deep, her mottled hide promptly disappearing into the blue of the ocean.


Dominic || Brand was -fine-, other than the fact that he’d gotten a bit drenched and was back to being particularly grumpy now. A perfectly good maiden voyage, sullied by more bugs. He was gettin’ real tired of these gorram things by now. Hopefully the Guild was truly as close to ending the problem as they thought they were. “Might hafta get you that tail, then,” was Brand’s retort to Khitti, a great scowl accompanying the thought. Don’t talk to Brand right now about not liking ships. “Don’t make a lick of sense you like mermaids as much as you do, n’ not the ships.” He turned tail away from her, scrambling upwards for the best vantage point from which he could survey the way ahead. -Without- Miss Spoilsport.


The Island Closest to Heaven

Lionel can only nod at his friends’ observations. Rorin and Manasa are probably both right. “We’re too used to too much more,” he says. “There’s no way that was the main event, not if they already know we’re out here.” But he has to shout it above the torrential downpour, and only those closest will hear him. Yet this does not last for long; storm clouds end abruptly in a perfect circle surrounding an island coming into view dead ahead. From the looks of it, this mass of mountains and jungle and sand spans eight to ten kilometers across, with its estimated depth unknowable at this trajectory. Along a far-ranging shoreline, shapes can be viewed by the hundreds, marching as if in an army. They seem small at first, but the Tranquility gradually reduces the gap, leading eagle-eyed crewmembers to realize the slightest of them are the size of a full-grown man. Mantises, row after row of them, and horse-sized beetles, too, and a menagerie of other insectoids. Lionel stands at the bow, arms crossed and grimacing. “The welcoming party.” Further inland, where the sand ends and foliage begins, moving shapes slither like snakes, but their physiology can’t be ascertained without a much closer look. Lava pulses in a steady stream from an erupting volcano, but it looks to be a relatively quiet eruption, with the magma drifting gently into regions unseen. Towering above all else is a massive stone construction inlaid with iron. Its base is rectangular, and four impressively even triangular sides meet in an apex. The pyramid is not dissimilar in proportions to the ancient half-beaten structures deep within the Nameless Desert, yet none of those ruins compare in size. Its volume would stretch the lines of believability for the Guild were it not for the unspeakably tall buildings seen in the ruins of Haath -- indeed, the many sailors and their Captain Bell are all blinking and gasping to look upon it. “There,” Lionel raises his voice to note to his allies, pointing a finger past the jungle and toward a particularly high peak. “I can’t say for certain, but that looks like a pass.” Indeed, a man-made trail weaves up the mountain and crosses into what might be a bridge, then weaves down another mountain at an arc that suggests it could lead into the pyramid. “And… there.” The Catalian points with his chin toward the shadows of what could well be a cave some distance from the pyramid. “The metal bars end inside that abyss.” The rocky outcropping of land the Tranquility has followed to this island does in fact continue directly inside that cave. “Might mean that’s the way in. Seems like they’re both worth checking out once we’ve made land. I think we’ve seen what we need to see. Let’s head back to Rynvale and discuss our findings.”


Emrith :: On the far side of the island is something which at first glance looks a bit like a second island, though one far smaller and oddly devoid of landmarks. But as Tranquility begins its approach to the true island, the one at the end of those peculiar rails, the other mass begins to move. All the smaller guardians seem to hang back, to defer to this giant as it moves. It is slow at first, this guardian, but quickly gains speed, throwing up an enormous, obscuring tsunami before itself. Matu'Omi's rage grows with each powerful stroke of its limbs; the interlopers must be driven off, must be crushed, at any cost. It knows little, this enormous, enchanted turtle, except that one imperative. Then, out of the water there erupts a huge, armoured head on an impossibly long neck, tunnelling through the frothing wave to hammer the ship's hull with a punishing dead-center strike. Tranquility rocks hard, then heaves broadside through the water as the gigantic head retreats. Tiny shapes begin to populate the water on either side of the titanic beast, eventually resolving themselves into two distinct sets of creatures. One subset looks mantis-like, complete with bladed limbs and rudimentary razor-sharp mandibles. The other kind are round, knobbly and seem hard as steel. The entire flotilla, having been fashioned from tiny fragments of shell, focuses its attention on the ship, meaning to scurry up her sides and board her with all haste. From there, the dozens of small constructs will no doubt cause mayhem before they can be driven back or cracked apart. Matu'Omi, for its own part, hangs back, but a careful observer will no doubt see the whirlpools starting to spring up behind and to either side of it; the colossal beast is attempting to protect itself from being flanked, and any one of those watery funnels is probably enough to bring Tranquility to a dark grave at the bottom of the ocean. Its head has disappeared now, leaving only the humped shell, covered with lichens and bony excrescences; the shell covers its belly as well, encapsulating the creature's entire body in a carapace stronger than most known substances. It might be possible to deliver enough damage to crack the guardian's protection eventually, but it will be no easy task. Matu'Omi listens, and senses through its surrogates, and waits, occasionally loosing tiny pieces of its shell to form yet more creatures to harass the beleaguered guild. Then, with slow implacability, the turtle advances, moving closer, meaning to first bump the ship and then to begin shoving it away. Given half a chance, it will simply dash the craft against the nearby rocks and rails, pin it there, and hammer it to matchwood. It is a relentless sort of attrition, this plan, though it does leave the guild with a potential advantage. Now, at least, Matu'Omi is within reach.


Emrith had not been keen on leaping into the water at the guardian's approach, but finds his hands full when those scuttling, scampering things begin to swarm over the deck. Flame stance serves him well here as he mounts the attack, swatting and slashing and even kicking from time to time. He takes a slash from a mantis across his face, marring the skin above his left eye, then a painful bash in the knee from a snail-like creature as it barrels past him. By the time Emrith has cleared a place around himself, the great turtle has bumped Tranquility with its shell for the first time. Seizing the initiative, Emrith leaps toward the bow of the ship, lunging clear of sailors and guildmates alike, then lashes out with first Heleg, then Nahr. There are two sharp clinks as swords meet shell, and then suddenly a sheet of electricity coalesces above the beast's back and roars forward. Emrith leaps aside in time to avoid being electrocuted, but not without a singed left hand; the fingers go numb, and only reflex saves him from losing his shortsword over the side. The elf staggers back, then shouts above the melee for all he is worth. "The shell! Don't strike the shell! It uses magic!" It seems, however, as if the enormous monster does not plan on any more electric attacks...not for now, anyway. Emrith raises his weapons, steps aside as a snail-thing bumbles past him along the deck, then channels through both blades. A roaring fireball strikes the turtle across its shell, and the flame spreads like oil along its gradual curvature. A second later, a pillar of ice, easily conjured with the help of all the water in the area, strikes the shell dead center with a splintering crack. The frigid pillar shatters, but there is a small mark on the shell at the point of impact. "Magic!" Emrith yells. "It can be hurt with magic! Crack it! Crack it!" He suits word to deed and attempts much the same thing, trying to both heat and freeze that enormous, seemingly impregnable barrier. But the tiny constructs are numerous, persistent and dangerous, and the spell-blade is often forced to abandon his efforts on the turtle in order to save himself or to protect a nearby crew member. He has the distinct impression that this battle is only going to get worse as more time passes.


Khitti growled at Brand, glaring at him as he headed off elsewhere. Fine. Go. It’s not like she needed a babysitter anymore anyway. She’s then headed off in her own direction to the side of Tranquility, peering over the side as the others cast their attention towards the island. Just as she did, however, the massive sea-beast had bashed itself up against the ship and it’s was all she could do to not fly off the side. With her swords sheathed away, and the call for magical attacks made, she’s summoning up one of her large eldritch orbs, the acidic makeup of the shadow magic hopefully enough to penetrate the turtle’s armored shell. There’s a brief moment of consideration, and then she’s shadow-stepping from the ship over onto the beast itself, unleashing blackened orbs one after another onto the beast. She goes further towards the center of the shell, far past Emrith, trying to find some other sort of way to get through its shell, though it’s probably not likely to be found.


Rorin shuffles impatiently. They are coming. He can feel them coming. Perhaps it is only the main island growing closer but Rorin knows better. The eye of the storm where true monsters hide. The erruptance of the island before them takes a breath from him. The enemy is not merely innumerable they look nigh unconquerable. Like many on deck Rorin pulls out a periscope to view the veritable gauntlet of arachnids awaiting the invaders arrival. "I wager that is what the Haathians would have us deploy," Rorin calls out to Lionel about the megalithic structure. "It appears our dual party system continues," Rorin adds with the sight of two entrances. What sort of beings could truly build this place? What inspiration spurred them if not from a deific plane? Truly Arkhen woukd be with him once the last battle began for Rorin must end the echoes of this ancient nightmare. Not long now. Not long at all. Yet... no. That feeling must be from the amassed abominations. Why is it Rorin expected that fate old song and dance of... "commander?" Rorin calls attention to the mass approaching them! "A beast upon us! Tighten the bellows," the Pilgrim cries. He stumbles backwards inside the shadow of this gargantuan horror. Tossed aside, Rorin rolls to recovery and draws both blade and crossbow. He cannot hope to pierce it with these yet on either side the sea is beset by arachnids. Rorins mouth is agape until he realizes the folley of the ship and crew. "Stow cannons and cover your portholes, all hands below deck we can spare! We must stop them from getting in the ship!" The Captain must hear his words- for if a single enemy made it inside the cabins would be a slaughter field. "The guardian! Heat expands, cold contracts! Then crack it!" Rorin swung below deck himself. He would save as many of the crew as he could before turning back up to have a hand in cracking the cloistered behemoth.


Kreekitaka was, if anything, -even more- excited. Now this was a -real- challenge. A colossal turtle with shell-minions! Once more the jawblade was employed—but this time he only swept it around himself once, as the creatures here seemed bumbling and more meant to harass than harm. Not really worth his time, in his opinion—but the giant turtle was. He leaped from the deck and plunged into the water… and turned his jawblade around… and pressed the blue button. From the surface, one could actually see a flash of light as the shockwave erupted from the weapon -so hard- it actually -ignited the water immediately in front of it-. Even from the surface, one could hear the blast—a noise like rolling thunder erupted from the depths and a splash like that of a depth charge erupted from Kree’s location. The shockwave was absolutely titanic and probably slowed the turtle down by a good bit, even if it didn’t rupture its shell—and that was when the colossal jaws of Kingmaker emerged back from the depths. Traveling at full speed, clamping down on the mighty magic turtle with a maw that could bit small whales in half, the pliosaur was moving at such velocity with such inertia that it probably launched both itself and the turtle into the air. The motion Kingmaker made with its head as the pair of them crashed back into the water swung the turtle down like a hammer, as if the equally-massive reptile was literally suplexing their foe.


Dominic || The Sunderia, the ship Brand had come to Lithrydel on, had been equipped with several experienced mages who could control storm and sea. Such expertise would have been much welcome now, Brand thought, as the ship careened and more creatures threatened to swarm and overrun them. He could do very little to help right the ship from its tossing about or the threatening whirlpools that loomed beyond -- too much water with too much force, and not enough Brand. He could, however, easily target the shell creatures, and so with more lightning he pelted them, paralyzing or frying whatever he could strike at aboard the ship.


At Sea, Fiercely

Lionel rushes to the ship’s bow in the wake of this fell abomination, but his course takes new headings multiple times as the Tranquility rushes and bobs violently. Screaming at the top of his lungs to be heard over the din of chaos on deck, he rallies: “Defend the oars, but stay close! They’ll splinter us if we don’t regroup!” As if to ensure his message, he slides over to a central position as the team is almost overrun by the boarding party, igniting Hellfire in a fresh roar of searing emerald flame. The act slows the hasty advances of the mantises and their rounder ilk, but when several of them hop toward him in tandem, he can only hope to evade them whilst slashing at the napes of as many attackers as he can. But the ship rocks again, scrambling Lionel’s evasion, knocking him down hard and helping a now-decapitated mantis’ scythe to cut him across the chest. It rips his silks and leaves an ugly red streak, but despite his fierce cry and the blood sloshing to the slick wooden planks, the Catalian is back on his feet and launching himself toward the waves of enemies. With a swift flick of the wrist, he wills his fabled sword to fire multiple blasts with bolt-like speed, crashing into Matu’omi’s heavy flank as a heed to Emrith’s cry. “Magic, got it, no big deal, just racing death with a tortoise the size of Gualon. Come back to Lithrydel, they said. Lead the Warrior’s Guild and be Hildegarde’s right-hand man. Be a hero again, they said, just like in the stories. Nothing in the gorram stories included a tortoise the size of Gualon!” With an exasperated sigh, the Hero of Hellfire unleashes a follow-up barrage of ember at the horde of sea monsters Brand has targeted, then leaps to a sail rope and swings it across to some more. Londo Bell stifles a groan as he’s struck by a claw, but carves a path forward through this muck, defending his sailors and those below-decks as Rorin has commanded. “Aye, lad, but ye do be a smart one. Still, this do be nothing I’ve seen, I repeat that.” He whistles, and a chunk of the monsters seethe and hiss in response, hopping over corpses. “Good, ye dumb fraks. Be distracted.” Bell pulls the cap off his canteen and takes a swig of his rum, then retrieves a small orb from his utility belt. “All of ye, coming into my town. Killing my friends. Ye do be cruel, but no villain is so cruel as man.” He skewers an insect in the eye, then kicks it away from him and skewers another, but they surround him, and he steps backwards to the edge of the boat. “For man can think in terms I daresay you cannot. Aye, laddies, this be cruel.” Bell unpins the orb, then shouts. “Brand, was your name, boy? Grab hold of that wheel and save this sorry land-loving lot, if ye’d be so kind. I’ve a date with destiny, it seems. The ship is yours.” With a snarl, Bell falls overboard, the bugs leaping to catch him. The orb implodes, and over into the tempest sea they all go, Londo Bell and twenty or more of the most vicious things the realm has ever seen, fooled by a man who values the needs of the many above the needs of the one.


Emrith :: Matu'Omi continues its relentless forward pressure, driving Tranquility back with each heave of its impressive bulk against the ship's hull. It can feel the brief splinters of magic striking its shell, can sense the female astride it, has a rudimentary picture of the chaos on deck as several warriors batter constructs to pieces or toss them overboard. It can wait; the only thing that matters is victory. And then the shockwave hits from below, the Uyeer's damnable weapon hammering it with enough force to cause its entire body to ripple deep within its protective shell. It groans, a sound vast and low and agonized, but that utterance of anguish slowly turns into a guttural roar. And then, Matu'Omi, the guardian of this mysterious island, begins to fight back in earnest. Those funnels, each of which had intended to protect its flanks from attack, all suddenly seem to focus on the vaguely-sensed shape of the Uyeer within the water, forming into one enormous vortex into which pours cascade after cascade of electricity; if that creature dared to strike Matu'Omi so, then Matu'Omi will first trap him in his own element, and then vaporize him even as his body is flung about in helpless downward spirals. Enraged, Matu'Omi senses the arrival of another beast much like itself, something more sharklike, something which bites it and then heaves the pair of them skyward, and its rage breaks. More lightning, first covering its shell in a sheet of blue fire, then racing down Kingmaker's gullet in liquid ropes, meaning to fry it from the inside even as both colossal creatures slam back into the ocean and sink briefly from sight. As to Khitti's whereabouts, there is no immediate sign; the geyser of water thrown up by Kingmaker and Matu'Omi is enough to cause Tranquility to flounder, enough to cover the battlefield in a haze of salty droplets for several seconds...and by the time it has begun to clear, the enormous turtle has begun to move again. This time, it attacks from below, and its ploy is far more devious; it may be badly wounded, but swimming is something it has been doing for thousands of years, and it will never give up, will never yield, until these strangers have been destroyed. Matu'Omi begins to spin its entire body in a huge, tight circle, generating a whirlpool the likes of which few have ever seen. If it cannot simply batter the ship and its crew to death with force, then it will suck them down and devour them at its leisure once the water and the lightning have claimed their lives.


Emrith is doing his best to harry all and sundry, skewering scale familiars and blasting the turtle with magic, when suddenly the shockwave sends a tremor through the area. This far up, Emrith is only sent stumbling by it, but down below, the great turtle must be much the worse for wear. And then, from the tail of his eye, Emrith sees Kingmaker strike, sees the two behemoths come free of the water, and has just enough sense to turn aside before they smack down again. The sound is tremendous, the icy wave which washes over the ship easily enough to slam him to the deck. He holds onto his blades by sheer force of will, hooking his feet around a stanchion to avoid being tugged over the gunwale like so much flotsam in a flood. He finally regains his feet, water sluicing around him; the little scaled horrors seem to have been sucked away in the backwash from that great wave, but Emrith's stinging eyes scan the deck for more threats, for the wounded, for any imminent sign that the turtle is coming back for another round. Then, suddenly, alarmingly, everything is beginning to spin, slowly at first, then with more speed. "Get us out of here!" he screams, reverting to elvish in his panic. Whatever that turtle-thing is, and wherever it might be now, Emrith has no doubt that it is behind the maelstrom threatening to seize the boat and make an end to her and all her woebegone passengers. He has not seen Khitti's acrobatics, has not taken especial note of Lionel nor of the now-dead captain, knows little of the specifics; at this point, a very bedraggled, very dizzy elf is trying to get his bearings, hoping that some besides himself are still left alive to save this possibly sinking ship.


Khitti :: Oh, Londo. It’s probably a good thing Khitti’s on that ridiculously large reptile right now. It’s also a good thing that you’re dead now too, because she’d frakking murder your face for the next century if she knew that you’d given Brand that ship. She’d probably even quote the Catalian by saying “Seven frakkin’ hells and all zhe gorram paths in between.” Yeah, that’d be a good thing to say, but, poor Khitti’s done gone and gotten herself into trouble once again. As Kingmaker lays the smackdown onto the turtle like some sort of WWE wrestler, the redhead’s able to at least shadow-step her way out of the impact, but then she gets caught on one of those geysers. Looks like Team Khitti’s blasting off again…! The sheer force of the water throws her far off course, and a hell of a long way from the ship, the series of unfortunate events only worsening as she’s sucked down into the whirlpool beneath the reptile and into the depths below before she’s able to register any of the things that just transpired. She may not -want- to be a vampire anymore, but that whole lack of breathing thing is really coming in handy right now.


Rorin fires bolt after bolt yet they come. "I'll soon be out at this rate. Very well then," Rorin concedes as he exchanges an empty magazine for his heavy bolts. "I'll save these for last," he stowed the crossbow and cried out for battle as he willfully expanded his right hand. The chitinous white bone metal expanded larger than his chest, then his whole abdomen, the palm alone encompassing his torso. "Arm your selves to the hull and whole the powder magazine! Let them not to galley or swain, for there they will fester and roil. Take arms men! For Tranquility!" Rorin rallied the sailors below before he turned to the top deck- before arachnids burst through the cargo hull! "I'll take you here and now! You will be admonished in the eyes of my lord!" Rorin poured blueish holy power over his arm as he charged forth. One after another he would backhand and crush and claw as he stabbed and slashed. Rorin took a line to the top deck at a zipping speed before leaping off. "Together, warriors! Emrith, Khitti, Lionel, let your flames be one! Then the ice. Manassa, keep our flanks clear! The gods be with us we will return without one more fell!" Rorin raced to Lionels side, deflecting a measure of scythes and varied appendages with one sweep of his own. They have little time now, both sides must prepare for this final surge. Hell, nevermind anything Rorin said, Khitti just got launched who knows where, and in the midst of that, Rorins taken a nasty gash to the leg. A quick slice ended the debate between he and the perpetrator as he looked about. "Lifelines!" Rorin shouted to Lionel, blasting over to the main mast, procuring the tough ropes meant to save sailors in sea storms. "Tie them about who we can as fast as we can- now!" That seemed like as good a plan as any though they'd have to dart and dash and fight their way just to save some of these poor souls.


Dominic || Brand was still fighting everything that came his way when he heard the parting cry of a man he’d scarcely known a few hours, gifting him the ship as his last command -- wait. What? Brand barely comprehended it, so struck was he. He carved his way through the chaos almost automatically -- just a heavy static buzz where his thoughts ought to be -- and before he knew it he was at the wheel, steering the Tranquility and barking commands to sailors every which way, sailors he’d not even learned the names of yet. How could he captain a ship when he’d only met two-thirds of the crew at most? And why him? The ship pitched dangerously, and an answer to one of his questions slid heavy across the floorboards: a corpse Brand recognized as the first mate, skewered through his core by the gorram bugs. Well then. The new Captain Brand (it had a nice ring to it, didn’t it?) would certainly do everything in his power to make sure the rest of the crew and the Warrior’s Guild could make it out alive.


Kreekitaka actually stunned himself with that jawblade blast. The recoil hurled him back through the water and gave him just enough distance on the lightning-infused whirlpool to slam his jawblade into its holster and slam a potion of resistance while moving as swiftly as he could through the water, trying to dodge the attack. Around him, things started happening. First, he noticed Kingmaker twitching and jerking but slowly recovering, with several large spots where he realized the animal must be bleeding internally from the shock it took. Second, he looked off to his right and saw Khitti hit the water. Third, he watched as the animal began to spin, to try and drag the boat under. This was becoming a nightmare. He peeled off to his left and managed to use his wake to slow down the water of the whirlpool chasing him slightly—not by a lot, but enough to skate around it without getting entirely sucked in. The potion did its job, preventing him from getting too cooked by the lightning—he’d have burn scars again, but nothing he couldn’t handle. (Or at least nothing he couldn’t handle while high on battle and resistance potion.) His claws slammed against each other and the sound echoed through the water, grabbing Kingmaker’s attention. Knowing the animal was in pain, he gave it a direction—go -this- way—before turning towards Khitti and surging towards her, grabbing her with a claw and hauling her in the direction of the ship. Which was, I must mention, directly in the path the crab king had ordered Kingmaker to travel. The colossal beast, as it surfaced, bumped up against the back of the ship and shoved it forward, pushing it with great strength back the way they’d come, away from the turtle monster, back to safety. Eventually, Kreekitaka would rendezvous with the vessel and haul himself and Khitti up onto a rope offered by a crew member. “Such a shame—I beyeev a few more minuTAH!s an’ we’DAH! have haDAH! iTAH!.”


Lionel has precious little time to register Captain Bell’s heroic sacrifice when the Tranquility lurches hard in the wake of the sea monsters’ duel. Even primal screams are barely audible blips, but he’s tying rope with his free hand once Rorin arrives. Lionel, after all, is never one to miss a good rope. He secures as much as possible in the span of the next thirty seconds, and not a second longer, because their poor ship is thrust and dragged with such intensity, it’s a minor miracle it isn’t ripped to shreds then and there. Matu’omi’s whirlpool lifts the Tranquility halfway upright by the stern, which is ample altitude to throw a woman overboard, into the maelstrom. Her features, flying by at sickly speeds, paint her as if she were Meri for any who might see her buzz past, but in fact the two women merely share similar faces; Meri herself, having cut down her fair score, is now hanging on to rope for dear life. Any second, that rope will break, and still another soul will perish at sea. “Give it everything we’ve got,” Lionel says with a glare, raising Hellfire for one last tumble while he hangs in midair from a rope too close to snapping. Mentally, he enters his void; registering the fact that he is dangling above an upturned ship that will soon be consumed by an underwater cyclone has never done anyone any good, he figures, so it’s as well to forget it all. To remove it from the equation. In that momentary clarity, Catal’s Last Prince unleashes a terrifying barrage of emerald pulses at Matu’omi, magics which will seek to melt the casing of that armor. But it is the last thing he can do. There is but one man now who can save the lives of all those still breathing, one man who can bring what’s left of this boat back to shore, one man on which the fates of the Guild, the sailors, and perhaps all of Lithrydel now rest. Brand. When he grabs the wheel, the Tranquility groans so loudly, even the chaos of the roiling sea racing behind them is outmatched. His hands on that wheel are enough to right the angle, shoving the bow roughly into the tide as the ship continues to hit top speeds in its effort to rival the whirlpool. Prey in the snare. Wood and metal against deific nature. Yet Brand has acted in time, if just barely, and although the outer planks of its hull have begun to rip free and slide into the watery abyss, his new prize has gained a fraction of enough momentum to soar wayward of its would-be grave. Still, it would not have been enough. Just saving the ship from Matu’omi’s greatest attack would not have saved it from Matu’omi itself, and with third-winded adrenaline beginning to settle into an inescapable exhaustion for the survivors, that might have been the end of it. A tragic finale for the men and women who would have ended this war, but none could say they didn’t give their all. Kingmaker has other ambitions. With the allied beast’s tremendous shove, the SS Tranquility launches ahead full-on, picking up speeds of twice, if not thrice, conventional accord and leaving the island’s single-minded guardian well behind them. After that great cacophony, the sudden silence that awaits the survivors is as eerie a discordant noise as any.


Calmly, At Sea

Rorin loved rope. Thank Arkhen for the man who invented rope. How hard on the head did that person have to be to wrap twine together and call it safe? Whatever thoughts possibly went through such a mind as to invent rope were entirely vacant to Rorins as he went about tying everyone single person he could find. Only then is he able to take a stance and hold onto the railings for dear life. Swinging wildly Rorin uses his dire sized monster hand to catch whoever may remain unsecured as the ship commits a shedr plummet. With these poor souls he would cling to the main mast for dear life. It seemed as if hours passed before he could look out in silence again and slowly release his rescued captives. Rorin begins to breathe searching without thinking all but the last bits of mental capacity trying to gauge how many of them yet lived. Was it enough? By the gods, could it be enough?


Emrith lurches forward with the ship as it rocks in one direction, then stumbles back the other way when it threatens to pitch into the maw of the whirlpool. Only keen elven reflexes save him from undignified flops and tumbles, and the spell-blade stows his weapons in favour of helping where he can. He seizes a man by the scruff of his neck to save him from falling over the side, then wrests an oar from the grip of a dead man and begins to stroke with it, working as frantically as he can, trying to give the boat every crying inch it can grab in order to get free. And then, with a sickening plunge and rush, they are retreating, and Emrith lets his hand fall away from the oar. It clatters into the oarlock, and Emrith stands, shaken, wounded, sodden, but alive...as alive as any vampire can be. "That does it," he says, suddenly and rather loudly, given the relative quiet. "An attack by sea was a monumentally bad idea. I do not know what that beast was, but I have no particular desire to return for closer scrutiny." Emrith looks around at the carnage of the ship. There are puddles of water everywhere, a couple of dead sailors, tangled ropes, mangled-looking sails - although none are actually torn - yet Tranquility seems whole, if badly bruised. "We have lived," he says to no one in particular. "Lived, but not by much." Kreekitaka, it seems, is dragging Khitti back up onto the boat, and Emrith turns to her and offers something like a smile. "Took a bath in salt water, did you? It was probably not your best idea." Then he looks down and shakes his head. "Not one of us had our best day today, I think, so I am not meaning to cast aspertions on anyone's character or deeds. We were brave, and we were strong, and we gained half a victory. We know what we need to know, but we were routed. But regroup is a tactic that all warriors know. Lose the battle, win the war. That is what we must be thinking. Lose the battle, and win the war."


Khitti looked rather much like a drenched ragdoll in Kreekitaka’s claw as he dragged her aboard. Nearly unconscious at this point, thanks to the pressure the whirlpool had bore down onto her form, she’d likely get handed off to one of the crew and more or less set aside like some unwanted inanimate object to recover as everyone did their best to get the Tranquility back to Rynvale’s shores, Emrith’s words barely heard through the din that rattled about in her brain. Battered and beaten by the waves, she’d most certainly not come to again until they at least reached the docks, where she’d have the worst headache known to man and an aching body that wouldn’t want to move much. Looks like Brand’ll have to carry her -again-.


Kreekitaka was still muttering abot how he "coulDAH! have TAH!aken iTAH!, jus' neeDAH!eDAH! one more charge..." as he went to locate his tanks. Fortunately, they'd held throughout all the insanity of the day. After making sure they were still there, he climbed back down off the ship to tend to Kingmaker and check its wounds, to make sure they weren't life-threatening.


Lionel falls rather spectacularly from his rope. Too bad the floor is so slick or he’d look dashing for doing so, because instead, he lands on his back and slides. Well, at least he slid instead of cracking himself and worsening his chest wound. Climbing up with a moan, he surveys the battle damage. The insectoid corpses, the humanoid corpses, and Brand at the helm. Lionel, for all the horror they’ve all endured, still manages a comical double-take. “Well then.” Emrith’s coming up beside him, and he nods agreeably. “He’s right, everyone. We regroup. We came, we saw, and we suffered for it. We didn’t know the depth of that suffering, but we knew this wouldn’t be easy. It’s never been easy.” He leans over to the body of the first mate, shaking his head and sighing. “Remember this man’s face. And Captain Bell’s. And all the rest of them. Sear it into your brains, if possible. These are the people whose lives they’ve claimed. Now look to your left. And your right. And think about home, too. Those are the people we’re going to save, and these are the people who will stand beside you and make that possible.” Another sigh. “But it won’t be today. We regroup,” he repeats, with added emphasis.