"I set an impossibly high bar," Sounsyy corrected the man, "Accomplishment invites complacency. Yeh must always be improving, always learning, always pushing. Few besides we Ala Mhigans truly understand assaulting impassible walls or sacrificing everything on impossible goals. Even the children of our nation have forgotten these things. Yer team may impress me, but I'll never be satisfied. Be forewarned."
Sounsyy watched in silence as the the Sharlayan crew were being led away. Juselmont leading Forty-three, Jada leading Eighty-five, Simin had joined Cwaenlona in escorting the chatty Miqo'te Seventy-seven below decks. The bloody Miqo'te passed one last look over his shoulder in Sounsyy's direction but the Captain merely shook her head at the boy. She sighed and eyed the gathering clouds above that now diminished the morning sun.
"It's yer team. I'll trust yer judgement. But do not mistake, this is very much 'open war'."
Pamido Wolmido joined the pair then and Sounsyy motioned for Sixteen to follow the Plainsfolk below decks to be examined with the rest. The Lalafell was looking increasingly more gruff, his stubble growing into scruff since they had boarded. His decorated armor clinked as the two descended the aft steps into the Infirmary. For once, the room was bustling with activity. The lancer who Sixteen had tackled, Aric, was sitting on one of the medical cots. Simin was attending to the man, pressing her bare fingers into the man's stomach to check its firmness. Jada Moui was collecting arms and armor from those in the room for storage and shouting for everyone in armor to strip down to their shirts before returning to the deck.
Ryanti sat on a medical cot next to him while Cwaenlona attempted to soothe the Miqo'te's concerns, "I can't speak for the Captain, but you're no boy. A young man perhaps, but you're doing a brave duty. Think we all see that. Just don't expect the Captain to get all fuzzy with you. She don't take a liking to most folk."
When Sixteen reached the bottom level, Simin came to him and bowed respectfully before giving a short report in a thick Near Eastern accent, "Your crew is well, just a few scrapes. Eighty-five took a bit of a beating, but nothing a bit of healing and some gauze wouldn't handle. More than most can say after tangling with our Quartermaster. So if you will - you're the last to be checked up."
Simin motioned towards an empty cot and began looking over Sixteen while Cwaenlona finished with Ryanti. Simin explained that for small heals and superficial wounds, she was more than capable, but anything beyond that fell upon Cwaenlona's shoulders. After a short examination, the two crews were dismissed and returned to their duties, which were mostly uneventful as the day pressed on.
It was mid-afternoon that day when the storm finally struck. It started as turbulent waves and a light sprinkle of rain from the clouds. The light sails that Ryanti and P'welro had rigged that morning were struck and replaced with storm sails, made of much heavier cotton. The crimson sails looked like blood against the darkening sky. Then the rain began to pour, swallowing the deck in a deluge. The sea grew more violent and Sounsyy ordered Sixteen's crew below deck. She would not hear any protests, claiming they were too inexperienced at sea to be of use. Pamido Wolmido escorted the four below deck and into their private room. Hurried footsteps could be heard racing down the hall outside.
The Plainsfolk explained that during stormy weather or during engagements all doors, portholes, and shutters were sealed and locked. This compartmentalization lowered the risk of the Roehmerl taking on too much water. The Lalafell pulled the shutter over the room's porthole shut as he said this. Then he set about flipping the four mattresses within the room on their sides and stacking them against the four walls in the room as a cushion.
"Llymlaen's juss gettin' started wit us. Yeh thought standin' steady were hard earlier, wait 'til we crest a rogue. Yeh'll feel as if yer balls jumped up into yer throat," Pamido Wolmido laughed heartily at this, "Though, if yer wantin' to practice yer footing, is a good time, juss try to aim fer yer mattress on yer way down."
Like the Southern King predicted the storm only got worse. Ryanti had not been below deck an hour before the Roehmerl was met with its first rogue, a massive rolling wave of black water rising high above the deck. The vessel heaved upwards and crashed through the wave. Water flooded across the deck sweeping those nineteen sailors still on deck off their feet. Each sailor gripped their mooring line that held them fast to one of the masts. Fhruhsunn and Marjanie both held tightly to the helm, using their combined strength to keep the wheel steady against the pounding of the waves against the rudder. Seventeen other men and women devoted their strength to maintaining the sails, lines, and rigging, keeping them in line with the howling wind.
The Lominsan vessel was whipped about by high winds and rolling waves that looked like black mountains. The red sails were like tiny rose petals blowing through the valleys of the great watery peaks. Pamido Wolmido tried to keep conversation flowing between the group to keep them from growing anxious, but before long the roiling brine beneath them grew so loud, no words could be discerned over the Goddess' fury. Every great wave sounded like a roar, as if deep sea beasts were rising from their dark depths to feast for the first time in centuries. It was easy to imagine how fisherfolk and seafarers could envision such monstrosities like the Kraken or the Nepto Dragon - if only these monsters were truly imaginary...
Above their heads, seventeen bootsteps clapped upon the deck, mixing with the ever increasing rush of water, grinding like sandpaper across the deck. A body fell with a loud thump, only to rise and be washed away again. Suddenly, the bosun's whistle let out a shrill call that sounded above the waves. Pamido Wolmido looked above him and whispered a solemn prayer, "Shite."
Above them there was gargled screaming. Sounsyy and Berasaem raced across deck at full speed towards the port gunwale. Berasaem made to grab for one of the jute ropes that lay taut across the deck while the Captain looked out over the side of the deck, screaming into the roiling abyss below. Berasaem had the rope in both hands and was pulling with all her strength, her muscles bulging as her strong legs pushed against the deck. But she could only lift the rope a few ilms before a wave would break upon the deck and wash her over onto her side. Sounsyy could see nothing but water below so she ran to help the Roegadyn. Two more sailors rushed to their aid and tried to pull the rope free from Llymlaen's hold.
A body emerged from the waters finally, limp and waterlogged. Sounsyy rushed to the gunwale and tried to reach out to the form but her arms were too short. "Pull her up!" Sounsyy screamed above the howling wind and the three heaved.
"Brace!"
Marjanie's cry came too late and the Roehmerl lurched violently, its bow crashing flat into a rogue before being lifted upwards into the rising, sucking waters. There was a crackle, then a loud pop, and the jute rope gave. The woman's body fell with Sounsyy in after it. A loud cry and the three rushed to the Captain's rope and began to heave before the waters carried her beneath the keel. Two more joined the effort and Sounsyy came above the water with a gasp. Her injured hand gripped the first woman's belt tightly, her knuckles white. Sounsyy was screaming in pain but held tightly as they pulled her back over the gunwale. She curled into a ball when she hit the deck, her hand was still locked around the belt as if she couldn't let go. P'welro had to pry her fingers loose and when she did, Sounsyy cradled her hand and sobbed.
Cwaenlona rolled the drowned Miqo'te onto her back and started pumping her chest with her bare hands. Water and saliva spilled out of the woman's mouth, but she did not wake. Another wave came crashing over the deck and three sailors threw themselves over their fallen comrade to keep her from being washed back into the brine. P'welro pulled Sounsyy to her feet and Berasaem grabbed ahold of the drowned Miqo'te, and with Cwaenlona, carried her by her extremities to the aft hatch. P'welro held Sounsyy's arms while she steadied herself. The blond Miqo'te shouted at the Captain, but her words were muted in the storm. Her lips read Are yeh here?
Sounsyy nodded and the two moved to the hatch, unlocked it, and opened it so the Roegadyn could descend the stairs into the armory below. Water washed down the planks and as soon as the three were below, Sounsyy and P'welro resealed the hatch. Then the Roehmerl struck the next wave.
Below Pamido Wolmido could make out nothing but the storm and the occasional cry from the crew on the wind. His lips were pursed and he leaned against one corner of Forty-three's mattress and closed his eyes. The bosun's call had made no further cries since that one solitary blast. Ever since the call, Pamido Wolmido had been on edge, but refused to say why. In fact, "shite" was the last word spoken to any of them. His attempts to keep their spirits high had been utterly dashed. They'd all five have to wait out the storm in darkness.
The storm lasted all that night, and well into the next day. Sometime during the night, the four operatives began their ritual of burning their manifests and praying to Nymeia that they made it through the storm. The tiny flames cast odd shadows about the room, but Pamido Wolmido merely watched the group and kept his prayers to himself.
Pamido Wolmido did not sleep that night, nor had anyone come to relieve him, so he continued to sit quietly with the four. It was difficult to distinguish morning from the night before. It was still dark, and the wind and waves had not yet let up. Perhaps the only measurement of time was the measurement of their hunger. No food was had during the storm. Though it would have only been regurgitated in all likelihood. No more whistles had sounded in the night. For this the Plainsfolk was grateful to the Navigator. He gave his thanks for this during the early hours of the morning and was finally able to get rest.
Four hours passed and finally the sea seemed to calm. Rain could still be heard pounding the deck above them, but this was an improvement, as before the patter of rain had been drowned in the groaning of the goddess beneath them. The waves were still choppy, but less so, and not a single rogue had been felt in the last hour. The Lalafell came awake with a start at a knock on the door. He rushed to open it and was met by Susuroon carrying a tray of food. Five bowls of creamed wheat and a loaf of bread had been brought. The Qiqirn was sopping wet and appeared weary, not at all his normally jovial self. He gifted each bowl silently and then to each a bottle of grog. Pamido Wolmido could not eat, all he could think to ask was, "Who?"
"M'sizh," Susuroon said in a hoarse squeak, "Su-Susuroon saw M'sizh go below for long while. Cwaenlona say is too early to tell if M'sizh wake."
The main deck and infirmary were off-limits to the four for the rest of the morning, but Pamido Wolmido allowed them to go anywhere below deck freely while he visited M'sizh in the infirmary. A few of the crew were wandering below deck. Susuroon was scrubbing the Mess below and righting what dishware had fallen from the shelves. This wasn't a great quantity, as most things upon the Roehmerl were tied or bolted down. But a cabinet had sprung open and several wooden bowls had tried to escape down into the cargo hull.
Juselmont sat on the gundeck, talking to a Midlander named Hound. Berasaem stood guard outside the door to the infirmary. She was without her armor, dressed in simple clothes. She now wore a brace on her left wrist. All of the others were still tasked above deck.
It wasn't until that evening that Ryanti and the others were allowed above deck. Much of that afternoon was devoted to scrubbing the deck, cleansing the oak planks of the fine salt residue that the storm had left behind. It was hard work, but it kept the crew's minds off the recent storm and the life that had nearly been claimed by the sea. M'sizh was recovering in the infirmary below, but her curtain remained drawn. Cwaenlona had to drive two needles into the woman's ribs to drain the water from her lungs. Even after, she required constant ventilation until she started breathing on her own again so that her lungs would not stick together and collapse.
Forty-three was allowed to forgo swabbing and retreat to the Infirmary. There Cwaenlona, Simin, and Pamido Wolmido had spent most of that day, and would the following days, regularly checking in on M'sizh recovery. Simin had the night shift, so her visits during the day were brief, but she tried to assist Cwaenlona where she could. The Roegadyn woman looked as if she had not slept since the storm. Nor had she, but her duties lasted as long as she was needed. However, the medic finally allowed herself rest so long as Forty-three and Pamido Wolmido were keeping watch. The Roegadyn woman retreated into a nearby medical cot, closed the curtain and was asleep in minutes.
Jada had spent much of her time on deck with P'welro, so Eighty-five had taken to helping Susuroon in the Mess. In exchange for conversation and helping him clean, he would sneak her baked treats he had prepared but feared may go stale before there was occasion to eat them. It did the Qiqirn good to see his food being enjoyed. His spirits soared as the day went on.
P'welro's, however, seemed to be doing the opposite. She was distant and often would gaze out over the gunwale for hours at a time. Jada and Sounsyy had picked up her duties with the rigging that afternoon and enlisted Ryanti that evening into doing most of the tasks to keep him busy. Sounsyy warned the Miqo'te that some things were better left un-questioned. "Perhaps she would confide in yeh, but I'd rather yeh didn't ask her. Remember when I said that not all scars can be treated by a chirurgeon's touch."
Midnight had come and still P'welro gazed out over the deck. After careful calculation, Marjanie reported that the Roehmerl was still less than a hundred malms off the coast of Vylbrand even though they had left the Merlthor two suns before. The storm had rooted the vessel's progress and had thrown it back further than it had gained. With a pause, she said, "Means we're still in the middle of it." She did not elaborate further on what it was, nor did Sounsyy ask.
But as the night wore on, it would become all too hauntingly clear what Marjanie's meaning had been. In the water, black as the night sky above, luminescent forms began to swim near the surface of the water, racing like fish around the boat. A haunting, gargling cry sounded from them, like one might hear a whale's song at a distance through a malm of water. The glowing sea creatures sounded distant and pained, even after they began rising from the water.
Once above the waves, Ryanti could better make out their forms as men, rather, ghosts of men glowing that soft aetherial blue. They rose from the water, dripping sentinels, and moaned their requiem. P'welro watched them, leaning heavily upon the gunwale. A glowing figure swam beneath her then raised itself from the depths to greet the Miqo'te. She recoiled at first, looking pained, then softened as the revenant reached out for her. Everyone on the deck looked concerned, but they were frozen watching the sad scene before them. Everyone except Ryanti, who moved towards P'welro.
The revenant sang its distant song at P'welro and the blond's shoulders began to shake. It came nearer to the boat, reaching out to cup P'welro's cheeks in its watery hands. It looked at her without eyes and without a true face, just a gaping liquid cave of a mouth. P'welro leaned forward slowly, holding onto the gunwale, and kissed the revenant's forehead. It cried and tried to pull the woman in, but P'welro stiffened and the revenant melted into water, its hands moistening her cheek and neck. Ryanti reached out and touched P'welro's shoulder to steady her, just as P'welro's fingers reached out to touch the revenant's face as it returned to water.
Her head throbbed painfully, and suddenly Ryanti felt the world give beneath him as he was pulled into P'welro's echo of the past.
Ryanti now stood upon a Maelstrom warship much larger than the Roehmerl. Its sails were at full and the crew scurried across deck. Ahead of this warship were three others, all at full sails and all appeared to be chasing down a boat in the distance. The vessel was Reaver in make, black sails, and flat bottomed. It seemed slow, laden. An order crackled over linkpearl and to starboard, the Maelstrom vessel in lead fired its chase cannons at the Reaver vessel. One crashed into the water, another struck the hull, causing the Reaver ship to shudder.
"A hit! Sink it! Sink it before it reaches open water!"
P'welro stood solemnly on the deck by Ryanti's side. She did not look like she were four years passed, she looked as she did upon the Roehmerl. This was not her vision, this was someone else's. P'welro was gazing at a brown haired Miqo'te male, racing to one of the cannons to starboard. He cheered on the lead vessel, several lengths ahead of the second vessel in pursuit. That vessel fired again, but missed its mark.
"Welro, what can yeh see?!" The Miqo'te male shouted up into the rigging. The sun was too bright to look up at the mast, but P'welro's voice answered back, though the P'welro standing beside Ryanti was silent. Another shot, another hit to the Reaver vessel. It lurched dangerously in the water. The other Maelstrom vessels were closing in now. It would not escape its fate. But then a strange beam of light burst out of the Reaver vessel, reaching up into the sky. A howl sounded from the depths as the sea around the Reaver ship began to twist in on itself, creating a deep funnel that the Reavers were swallowed into. A blast of light and the head of the Primal Leviathan emerged from the whorl. It reared higher into the sky, the glowing scales of its body solidifying as its form became fully corporeal from the energies of the crystals that had weighed the Reavers down. Its great body seemed to almost touch the clouds as it rose higher above the whorl.
The sea groaned beneath Ryanti's feet like it had during the storm two nights before. Orders began to crackle over linkpearl. The first and second vessels fired upon Leviathan, but their cannons did nothing to its scaled hide. Then the waters began to draw inward, pulling the 4th Squadron forward. The whorl began to funnel upwards around Leviathan's floating form. It was as if some mighty god had reached their hand down into the sea and had pulled it skywards.
<About ship!>
<Turn about!>
<Leviathan is summ->
The linkpearls crackled madly, until Leviathan's roar drowned out all other sounds. The male Miqo'te's ears bled and he cupped his hands over them as sailors staggered all around the deck. Then the waters burst outwards, the whole sea lifting upwards and crashing back on itself in a great tidal wave. The wave swallowed the first Maelstrom vessel in the blink of an eye and the second was lifted into the waters, the keel buckled, and the warship shattered like a glass bottle upon cobblestone. The third tried to turn about, but it broached quickly under the wave and capsized and was lost as well. The broken bow emerged for a moment, revealing that the vessel had been ripped in two.
The Miqo'te abandoned his post at the cannon and ran for the mast, calling up to P'welro in warning, but it was too late. The wave was upon them, and the split carcass of the third Maelstrom vessel rose out of the wave and crashed into the warship. The mast shattered and P'welro, who was clinging to a yard high above, was ripped away with the wooden beam and flung into the whorl. The boat heaved upwards, standing vertically, frozen in time for just that most brief fraction of a second, before it too cracked, broke, and was forced beneath the wave that rushed towards the western shore of Vylbrand.
Ryanti was returned to the Roehmerl's deck. P'welro cradled her head beside him, leaning heavily upon the gunwale. The revenant had disappeared beneath the waves and the aetherial glow subsided as the ghosts retreated from the passing boat. Though Ryanti could still see them in the distance, lurking like lamp marimo just below the waves.
"Rest, husband dearest," P'welro choked and collapsed against the deck.
P'welro did not leave her private room for two days after. Jada would bring her food at mealtime. Sometimes she would disappear into the room for an hour or more. Sometimes she would be inside just long enough to deliver the food before retreating and closing the door behind her.
Despite all this, spirits were again starting to rise aboard the vessel as they resumed their coarse across the Indigo Deep. Grog was now served at mealtimes, as much of the water reserves were depleting or risked spoiling. Cool waterskins were now reserved for keeping those working on deck hydrated during the day's labor. Whether this was related in some way to the crew's rise in morale was unknown.
By the next day, M'sizh Lohp had nearly made a full recovery. She was able to sit up, talk - albeit hoarsely, and breathe on her own. As his services were no longer needed, Forty-three was asked to return to swabbing the salt residue from the deck, a task which seemed neverending since the storm, as the salt kept reforming upon the planks' surfaces. Cwaenlona and Sixteen were also hard at work repairing and performing maintenance upon the Roehmerl after the storm. While the boat had taken minimal damage, Cwaenlona insisted that every ilm of the ship be inspected for tears, warping, rot, or other such damage that may have been inflicted.
Ryanti aided Sounsyy with the rigging when the Captain could pry the curious Miqo'te away from chatting up her crew. Inevitably the subject of P'welro had come up over the course of their own limited talks. Sounsyy stared at him for a long while before speaking, "P'welro were 4th Squadron before this assignment. Almost a year after the Calamity, the Sahagin and their Reavers tried to summon Leviathan. The 4th Squadron were tasked with stopping them. They couldn't in time. Leviathan's wake destroyed the 4th Squadron, near washed away part of Vylbrand, and swallowed a village of innocents, Halfstone. Adding salt to the wound, the Sahagin claimed that land now fer their clutches. Lot of death, in a time when we had more than enough death to go around. Those shades- those revenants in the water were the souls of those lost to Leviathan's tainted waters. How many of that Squadron are drowned Reavers now... how many out there like P'welro's mate..."
Drills had been resumed by the sixth day. Though M'sizh and P'welro were absent, limiting the number of daytime crew, Sounsyy made due. These drills of the Roehmerl's strategems were intense affairs, lasting one or more hours at a time. Though not all placed the two crews at odds with each other, much to Eighty-five's chagrin. For one, Jada and Eighty-five were partners having to aid each other to reach a common objective. Many of these were trust exercises, designed mainly to show that no feat should be undertaken alone, but to trust in the crew to aid one another.
On the seventh day, P'welro emerged from her room and once again took up her duties as bosun. Sounsyy was able to finally seek rest in her cabin. She sat back in her armchair that morning and unwrapped the heavy bandage around her hand that Cwaenlona had applied after the incident in the storm. Fresh bruising painted her fingers and knuckles. She sighed and washed the pain away with a bottle of red wine from her collection.
With M'sizh and P'welro returned to active duty, drills became the daily labor of the vessel. When Sounsyy rested, P'welro pushed Sixteen's crew. When P'welro rested, Sounsyy drove them. They ate, drank, slept, trained, and did chores with the rest of the crew. It was an endurance test - a constant battle with the sea. It was open war. But with every day they improved. Every exercise seemed to bring them closer with the crew. Ryanti seemed to have improved the most, or at least, was trying the hardest as if he had something to prove to the Captain.
In their downtime, the two crews mingled and integrated. Eighty-five could often be found with Susuroon or Jada below deck, chatting amicably about food or throwing taunts at one another. Jada liked the sassy Miqo'te, though it was the woman's serious side that won her over as friends. Jada even went so far as to divulge how she came to be in the Maelstrom to Eighty-five. How she had once been a blacksmith on an isle in the far south of the Rhotano. For money and protection, she sold her wares to the pirates who found her shores. Soon, an entire village had grown up around her forge and the town became known for being a haven for illegal arms dealing with Jada at its head. Though, she never divulged why exactly she left her forge, just that, if they were ever in need, it still existed in the far south.
Pamido Wolmido took Forty-three under his wing as he made his rounds to the crew. He was easily the social center of the vessel, making jokes and laughing at them with all of the crew. So Forty-three got a good deal of exposure vicariously through his Plainsfolk kin. Pamido Wolmido was a gracious friend, often giving Forty-three the spotlight to speak, even though he rambled, stumbled, and muttered things almost at random. The aging pirate didn't seem at all bothered by it. Most of the crew found it amusing - that two Lalafell so small had such a tall list of topics of which to engage in conversation.
Throughout the day, P'welro had given Ryanti a series of odd looks, as if waiting for him to ask her about the events of a few nights before. The way he looked at her, she knew he wanted to know, but probably thought it best not to. Normally, P'welro would've told him to keep his nose in his own business, but she had a fondness for the boy, so she chose to confide in him that night at dinner. They sat in the Mess at one of the crate-tables and there was enough chatter to conceal most of their conversation. Especially with Jada, Susuroon, and Eighty-five being loud and merry at the counter.
"Were meh husband I saw out there. I guess yeh figured that bit out. Died four years past. Yeh saw that too didn't yeh... Sometimes, I get these visions. 'Ave fer years. Of the past. Kinda. Not really meh past ever. But I were fine not revisitin' that one. 'Ow Cap'n lives wit all them damn mem'ries. We were on Carteneau afore that. Seventh Hell didn't 'ave nothin' on that field. Her Levy - they don't make it 'ome. Mine? We survive all that, juss to drown at sea. Cause the fishbacks got scurred. They saw we were down n' weak. So they kicked us 'ard."
P'welro was interrupted by a round of raucous laughter from down the counter. Susuroon had gotten his short nose in too deep into his own grog and was now dancing on the counter, jingly madly, which seemed to only encourage the small creature. Pamido Wolmido was clapping and stomping his tiny foot in rhythm as the crew burst out into a dirty sea shanty. Fhruhsunn was humming amusedly in the corner, clapping his monstrous hands in sync with the Lalafell. Sounsyy sat next to the giant Roegadyn, a smirk spread across her face as she watched the show. She drank deep, but didn't clap along. Or couldn't clap along.
It was a sight for weary eyes to see the crew unreservedly jovial after the events of the last week. This was true recovery - as good as it ever got on the Five Seas. Jada had pulled Eighty-five along to dance, even though she was perfectly sober. P'welro laughed and joined in. More was drank, "To M'sizh!" they began shouting in between songs and refills. Those on the night shift had long since gone about their duties. And sleep starting taking the day shift one by one until the revelry had ceased. When Ryanti looked about him, Sounsyy was nowhere to be seen now. She had ducked away not long after the party had started, preferring to drink in the solitude of her own cabin.
Berasaem clapped a strong hand to Ryanti's shoulder. "Yeh should be gettin' some sleep now. Tomorrow's the big day. Should be gettin' where yer goin'. But right now, yeh should be gettin' some sleep." With that said, Berasaem led Ryanti and a wobbly Eighty-five out of the Mess and back to their private quarters to sleep. Forty-three and Sixteen were already inside, laying on their mattresses. The Roegadyn closed the door behind the two and locked them within.
Sounsyy watched in silence as the the Sharlayan crew were being led away. Juselmont leading Forty-three, Jada leading Eighty-five, Simin had joined Cwaenlona in escorting the chatty Miqo'te Seventy-seven below decks. The bloody Miqo'te passed one last look over his shoulder in Sounsyy's direction but the Captain merely shook her head at the boy. She sighed and eyed the gathering clouds above that now diminished the morning sun.
"It's yer team. I'll trust yer judgement. But do not mistake, this is very much 'open war'."
Pamido Wolmido joined the pair then and Sounsyy motioned for Sixteen to follow the Plainsfolk below decks to be examined with the rest. The Lalafell was looking increasingly more gruff, his stubble growing into scruff since they had boarded. His decorated armor clinked as the two descended the aft steps into the Infirmary. For once, the room was bustling with activity. The lancer who Sixteen had tackled, Aric, was sitting on one of the medical cots. Simin was attending to the man, pressing her bare fingers into the man's stomach to check its firmness. Jada Moui was collecting arms and armor from those in the room for storage and shouting for everyone in armor to strip down to their shirts before returning to the deck.
Ryanti sat on a medical cot next to him while Cwaenlona attempted to soothe the Miqo'te's concerns, "I can't speak for the Captain, but you're no boy. A young man perhaps, but you're doing a brave duty. Think we all see that. Just don't expect the Captain to get all fuzzy with you. She don't take a liking to most folk."
When Sixteen reached the bottom level, Simin came to him and bowed respectfully before giving a short report in a thick Near Eastern accent, "Your crew is well, just a few scrapes. Eighty-five took a bit of a beating, but nothing a bit of healing and some gauze wouldn't handle. More than most can say after tangling with our Quartermaster. So if you will - you're the last to be checked up."
Simin motioned towards an empty cot and began looking over Sixteen while Cwaenlona finished with Ryanti. Simin explained that for small heals and superficial wounds, she was more than capable, but anything beyond that fell upon Cwaenlona's shoulders. After a short examination, the two crews were dismissed and returned to their duties, which were mostly uneventful as the day pressed on.
It was mid-afternoon that day when the storm finally struck. It started as turbulent waves and a light sprinkle of rain from the clouds. The light sails that Ryanti and P'welro had rigged that morning were struck and replaced with storm sails, made of much heavier cotton. The crimson sails looked like blood against the darkening sky. Then the rain began to pour, swallowing the deck in a deluge. The sea grew more violent and Sounsyy ordered Sixteen's crew below deck. She would not hear any protests, claiming they were too inexperienced at sea to be of use. Pamido Wolmido escorted the four below deck and into their private room. Hurried footsteps could be heard racing down the hall outside.
The Plainsfolk explained that during stormy weather or during engagements all doors, portholes, and shutters were sealed and locked. This compartmentalization lowered the risk of the Roehmerl taking on too much water. The Lalafell pulled the shutter over the room's porthole shut as he said this. Then he set about flipping the four mattresses within the room on their sides and stacking them against the four walls in the room as a cushion.
"Llymlaen's juss gettin' started wit us. Yeh thought standin' steady were hard earlier, wait 'til we crest a rogue. Yeh'll feel as if yer balls jumped up into yer throat," Pamido Wolmido laughed heartily at this, "Though, if yer wantin' to practice yer footing, is a good time, juss try to aim fer yer mattress on yer way down."
Like the Southern King predicted the storm only got worse. Ryanti had not been below deck an hour before the Roehmerl was met with its first rogue, a massive rolling wave of black water rising high above the deck. The vessel heaved upwards and crashed through the wave. Water flooded across the deck sweeping those nineteen sailors still on deck off their feet. Each sailor gripped their mooring line that held them fast to one of the masts. Fhruhsunn and Marjanie both held tightly to the helm, using their combined strength to keep the wheel steady against the pounding of the waves against the rudder. Seventeen other men and women devoted their strength to maintaining the sails, lines, and rigging, keeping them in line with the howling wind.
The Lominsan vessel was whipped about by high winds and rolling waves that looked like black mountains. The red sails were like tiny rose petals blowing through the valleys of the great watery peaks. Pamido Wolmido tried to keep conversation flowing between the group to keep them from growing anxious, but before long the roiling brine beneath them grew so loud, no words could be discerned over the Goddess' fury. Every great wave sounded like a roar, as if deep sea beasts were rising from their dark depths to feast for the first time in centuries. It was easy to imagine how fisherfolk and seafarers could envision such monstrosities like the Kraken or the Nepto Dragon - if only these monsters were truly imaginary...
Above their heads, seventeen bootsteps clapped upon the deck, mixing with the ever increasing rush of water, grinding like sandpaper across the deck. A body fell with a loud thump, only to rise and be washed away again. Suddenly, the bosun's whistle let out a shrill call that sounded above the waves. Pamido Wolmido looked above him and whispered a solemn prayer, "Shite."
Above them there was gargled screaming. Sounsyy and Berasaem raced across deck at full speed towards the port gunwale. Berasaem made to grab for one of the jute ropes that lay taut across the deck while the Captain looked out over the side of the deck, screaming into the roiling abyss below. Berasaem had the rope in both hands and was pulling with all her strength, her muscles bulging as her strong legs pushed against the deck. But she could only lift the rope a few ilms before a wave would break upon the deck and wash her over onto her side. Sounsyy could see nothing but water below so she ran to help the Roegadyn. Two more sailors rushed to their aid and tried to pull the rope free from Llymlaen's hold.
A body emerged from the waters finally, limp and waterlogged. Sounsyy rushed to the gunwale and tried to reach out to the form but her arms were too short. "Pull her up!" Sounsyy screamed above the howling wind and the three heaved.
"Brace!"
Marjanie's cry came too late and the Roehmerl lurched violently, its bow crashing flat into a rogue before being lifted upwards into the rising, sucking waters. There was a crackle, then a loud pop, and the jute rope gave. The woman's body fell with Sounsyy in after it. A loud cry and the three rushed to the Captain's rope and began to heave before the waters carried her beneath the keel. Two more joined the effort and Sounsyy came above the water with a gasp. Her injured hand gripped the first woman's belt tightly, her knuckles white. Sounsyy was screaming in pain but held tightly as they pulled her back over the gunwale. She curled into a ball when she hit the deck, her hand was still locked around the belt as if she couldn't let go. P'welro had to pry her fingers loose and when she did, Sounsyy cradled her hand and sobbed.
Cwaenlona rolled the drowned Miqo'te onto her back and started pumping her chest with her bare hands. Water and saliva spilled out of the woman's mouth, but she did not wake. Another wave came crashing over the deck and three sailors threw themselves over their fallen comrade to keep her from being washed back into the brine. P'welro pulled Sounsyy to her feet and Berasaem grabbed ahold of the drowned Miqo'te, and with Cwaenlona, carried her by her extremities to the aft hatch. P'welro held Sounsyy's arms while she steadied herself. The blond Miqo'te shouted at the Captain, but her words were muted in the storm. Her lips read Are yeh here?
Sounsyy nodded and the two moved to the hatch, unlocked it, and opened it so the Roegadyn could descend the stairs into the armory below. Water washed down the planks and as soon as the three were below, Sounsyy and P'welro resealed the hatch. Then the Roehmerl struck the next wave.
Below Pamido Wolmido could make out nothing but the storm and the occasional cry from the crew on the wind. His lips were pursed and he leaned against one corner of Forty-three's mattress and closed his eyes. The bosun's call had made no further cries since that one solitary blast. Ever since the call, Pamido Wolmido had been on edge, but refused to say why. In fact, "shite" was the last word spoken to any of them. His attempts to keep their spirits high had been utterly dashed. They'd all five have to wait out the storm in darkness.
~Day #4~
The storm lasted all that night, and well into the next day. Sometime during the night, the four operatives began their ritual of burning their manifests and praying to Nymeia that they made it through the storm. The tiny flames cast odd shadows about the room, but Pamido Wolmido merely watched the group and kept his prayers to himself.
Pamido Wolmido did not sleep that night, nor had anyone come to relieve him, so he continued to sit quietly with the four. It was difficult to distinguish morning from the night before. It was still dark, and the wind and waves had not yet let up. Perhaps the only measurement of time was the measurement of their hunger. No food was had during the storm. Though it would have only been regurgitated in all likelihood. No more whistles had sounded in the night. For this the Plainsfolk was grateful to the Navigator. He gave his thanks for this during the early hours of the morning and was finally able to get rest.
Four hours passed and finally the sea seemed to calm. Rain could still be heard pounding the deck above them, but this was an improvement, as before the patter of rain had been drowned in the groaning of the goddess beneath them. The waves were still choppy, but less so, and not a single rogue had been felt in the last hour. The Lalafell came awake with a start at a knock on the door. He rushed to open it and was met by Susuroon carrying a tray of food. Five bowls of creamed wheat and a loaf of bread had been brought. The Qiqirn was sopping wet and appeared weary, not at all his normally jovial self. He gifted each bowl silently and then to each a bottle of grog. Pamido Wolmido could not eat, all he could think to ask was, "Who?"
"M'sizh," Susuroon said in a hoarse squeak, "Su-Susuroon saw M'sizh go below for long while. Cwaenlona say is too early to tell if M'sizh wake."
The main deck and infirmary were off-limits to the four for the rest of the morning, but Pamido Wolmido allowed them to go anywhere below deck freely while he visited M'sizh in the infirmary. A few of the crew were wandering below deck. Susuroon was scrubbing the Mess below and righting what dishware had fallen from the shelves. This wasn't a great quantity, as most things upon the Roehmerl were tied or bolted down. But a cabinet had sprung open and several wooden bowls had tried to escape down into the cargo hull.
Juselmont sat on the gundeck, talking to a Midlander named Hound. Berasaem stood guard outside the door to the infirmary. She was without her armor, dressed in simple clothes. She now wore a brace on her left wrist. All of the others were still tasked above deck.
It wasn't until that evening that Ryanti and the others were allowed above deck. Much of that afternoon was devoted to scrubbing the deck, cleansing the oak planks of the fine salt residue that the storm had left behind. It was hard work, but it kept the crew's minds off the recent storm and the life that had nearly been claimed by the sea. M'sizh was recovering in the infirmary below, but her curtain remained drawn. Cwaenlona had to drive two needles into the woman's ribs to drain the water from her lungs. Even after, she required constant ventilation until she started breathing on her own again so that her lungs would not stick together and collapse.
Forty-three was allowed to forgo swabbing and retreat to the Infirmary. There Cwaenlona, Simin, and Pamido Wolmido had spent most of that day, and would the following days, regularly checking in on M'sizh recovery. Simin had the night shift, so her visits during the day were brief, but she tried to assist Cwaenlona where she could. The Roegadyn woman looked as if she had not slept since the storm. Nor had she, but her duties lasted as long as she was needed. However, the medic finally allowed herself rest so long as Forty-three and Pamido Wolmido were keeping watch. The Roegadyn woman retreated into a nearby medical cot, closed the curtain and was asleep in minutes.
Jada had spent much of her time on deck with P'welro, so Eighty-five had taken to helping Susuroon in the Mess. In exchange for conversation and helping him clean, he would sneak her baked treats he had prepared but feared may go stale before there was occasion to eat them. It did the Qiqirn good to see his food being enjoyed. His spirits soared as the day went on.
P'welro's, however, seemed to be doing the opposite. She was distant and often would gaze out over the gunwale for hours at a time. Jada and Sounsyy had picked up her duties with the rigging that afternoon and enlisted Ryanti that evening into doing most of the tasks to keep him busy. Sounsyy warned the Miqo'te that some things were better left un-questioned. "Perhaps she would confide in yeh, but I'd rather yeh didn't ask her. Remember when I said that not all scars can be treated by a chirurgeon's touch."
Midnight had come and still P'welro gazed out over the deck. After careful calculation, Marjanie reported that the Roehmerl was still less than a hundred malms off the coast of Vylbrand even though they had left the Merlthor two suns before. The storm had rooted the vessel's progress and had thrown it back further than it had gained. With a pause, she said, "Means we're still in the middle of it." She did not elaborate further on what it was, nor did Sounsyy ask.
But as the night wore on, it would become all too hauntingly clear what Marjanie's meaning had been. In the water, black as the night sky above, luminescent forms began to swim near the surface of the water, racing like fish around the boat. A haunting, gargling cry sounded from them, like one might hear a whale's song at a distance through a malm of water. The glowing sea creatures sounded distant and pained, even after they began rising from the water.
Once above the waves, Ryanti could better make out their forms as men, rather, ghosts of men glowing that soft aetherial blue. They rose from the water, dripping sentinels, and moaned their requiem. P'welro watched them, leaning heavily upon the gunwale. A glowing figure swam beneath her then raised itself from the depths to greet the Miqo'te. She recoiled at first, looking pained, then softened as the revenant reached out for her. Everyone on the deck looked concerned, but they were frozen watching the sad scene before them. Everyone except Ryanti, who moved towards P'welro.
The revenant sang its distant song at P'welro and the blond's shoulders began to shake. It came nearer to the boat, reaching out to cup P'welro's cheeks in its watery hands. It looked at her without eyes and without a true face, just a gaping liquid cave of a mouth. P'welro leaned forward slowly, holding onto the gunwale, and kissed the revenant's forehead. It cried and tried to pull the woman in, but P'welro stiffened and the revenant melted into water, its hands moistening her cheek and neck. Ryanti reached out and touched P'welro's shoulder to steady her, just as P'welro's fingers reached out to touch the revenant's face as it returned to water.
Her head throbbed painfully, and suddenly Ryanti felt the world give beneath him as he was pulled into P'welro's echo of the past.
Ryanti now stood upon a Maelstrom warship much larger than the Roehmerl. Its sails were at full and the crew scurried across deck. Ahead of this warship were three others, all at full sails and all appeared to be chasing down a boat in the distance. The vessel was Reaver in make, black sails, and flat bottomed. It seemed slow, laden. An order crackled over linkpearl and to starboard, the Maelstrom vessel in lead fired its chase cannons at the Reaver vessel. One crashed into the water, another struck the hull, causing the Reaver ship to shudder.
"A hit! Sink it! Sink it before it reaches open water!"
P'welro stood solemnly on the deck by Ryanti's side. She did not look like she were four years passed, she looked as she did upon the Roehmerl. This was not her vision, this was someone else's. P'welro was gazing at a brown haired Miqo'te male, racing to one of the cannons to starboard. He cheered on the lead vessel, several lengths ahead of the second vessel in pursuit. That vessel fired again, but missed its mark.
"Welro, what can yeh see?!" The Miqo'te male shouted up into the rigging. The sun was too bright to look up at the mast, but P'welro's voice answered back, though the P'welro standing beside Ryanti was silent. Another shot, another hit to the Reaver vessel. It lurched dangerously in the water. The other Maelstrom vessels were closing in now. It would not escape its fate. But then a strange beam of light burst out of the Reaver vessel, reaching up into the sky. A howl sounded from the depths as the sea around the Reaver ship began to twist in on itself, creating a deep funnel that the Reavers were swallowed into. A blast of light and the head of the Primal Leviathan emerged from the whorl. It reared higher into the sky, the glowing scales of its body solidifying as its form became fully corporeal from the energies of the crystals that had weighed the Reavers down. Its great body seemed to almost touch the clouds as it rose higher above the whorl.
The sea groaned beneath Ryanti's feet like it had during the storm two nights before. Orders began to crackle over linkpearl. The first and second vessels fired upon Leviathan, but their cannons did nothing to its scaled hide. Then the waters began to draw inward, pulling the 4th Squadron forward. The whorl began to funnel upwards around Leviathan's floating form. It was as if some mighty god had reached their hand down into the sea and had pulled it skywards.
<About ship!>
<Turn about!>
<Leviathan is summ->
The linkpearls crackled madly, until Leviathan's roar drowned out all other sounds. The male Miqo'te's ears bled and he cupped his hands over them as sailors staggered all around the deck. Then the waters burst outwards, the whole sea lifting upwards and crashing back on itself in a great tidal wave. The wave swallowed the first Maelstrom vessel in the blink of an eye and the second was lifted into the waters, the keel buckled, and the warship shattered like a glass bottle upon cobblestone. The third tried to turn about, but it broached quickly under the wave and capsized and was lost as well. The broken bow emerged for a moment, revealing that the vessel had been ripped in two.
The Miqo'te abandoned his post at the cannon and ran for the mast, calling up to P'welro in warning, but it was too late. The wave was upon them, and the split carcass of the third Maelstrom vessel rose out of the wave and crashed into the warship. The mast shattered and P'welro, who was clinging to a yard high above, was ripped away with the wooden beam and flung into the whorl. The boat heaved upwards, standing vertically, frozen in time for just that most brief fraction of a second, before it too cracked, broke, and was forced beneath the wave that rushed towards the western shore of Vylbrand.
Ryanti was returned to the Roehmerl's deck. P'welro cradled her head beside him, leaning heavily upon the gunwale. The revenant had disappeared beneath the waves and the aetherial glow subsided as the ghosts retreated from the passing boat. Though Ryanti could still see them in the distance, lurking like lamp marimo just below the waves.
"Rest, husband dearest," P'welro choked and collapsed against the deck.
~Day #5~
P'welro did not leave her private room for two days after. Jada would bring her food at mealtime. Sometimes she would disappear into the room for an hour or more. Sometimes she would be inside just long enough to deliver the food before retreating and closing the door behind her.
Despite all this, spirits were again starting to rise aboard the vessel as they resumed their coarse across the Indigo Deep. Grog was now served at mealtimes, as much of the water reserves were depleting or risked spoiling. Cool waterskins were now reserved for keeping those working on deck hydrated during the day's labor. Whether this was related in some way to the crew's rise in morale was unknown.
By the next day, M'sizh Lohp had nearly made a full recovery. She was able to sit up, talk - albeit hoarsely, and breathe on her own. As his services were no longer needed, Forty-three was asked to return to swabbing the salt residue from the deck, a task which seemed neverending since the storm, as the salt kept reforming upon the planks' surfaces. Cwaenlona and Sixteen were also hard at work repairing and performing maintenance upon the Roehmerl after the storm. While the boat had taken minimal damage, Cwaenlona insisted that every ilm of the ship be inspected for tears, warping, rot, or other such damage that may have been inflicted.
Ryanti aided Sounsyy with the rigging when the Captain could pry the curious Miqo'te away from chatting up her crew. Inevitably the subject of P'welro had come up over the course of their own limited talks. Sounsyy stared at him for a long while before speaking, "P'welro were 4th Squadron before this assignment. Almost a year after the Calamity, the Sahagin and their Reavers tried to summon Leviathan. The 4th Squadron were tasked with stopping them. They couldn't in time. Leviathan's wake destroyed the 4th Squadron, near washed away part of Vylbrand, and swallowed a village of innocents, Halfstone. Adding salt to the wound, the Sahagin claimed that land now fer their clutches. Lot of death, in a time when we had more than enough death to go around. Those shades- those revenants in the water were the souls of those lost to Leviathan's tainted waters. How many of that Squadron are drowned Reavers now... how many out there like P'welro's mate..."
Drills had been resumed by the sixth day. Though M'sizh and P'welro were absent, limiting the number of daytime crew, Sounsyy made due. These drills of the Roehmerl's strategems were intense affairs, lasting one or more hours at a time. Though not all placed the two crews at odds with each other, much to Eighty-five's chagrin. For one, Jada and Eighty-five were partners having to aid each other to reach a common objective. Many of these were trust exercises, designed mainly to show that no feat should be undertaken alone, but to trust in the crew to aid one another.
~Day #7~
On the seventh day, P'welro emerged from her room and once again took up her duties as bosun. Sounsyy was able to finally seek rest in her cabin. She sat back in her armchair that morning and unwrapped the heavy bandage around her hand that Cwaenlona had applied after the incident in the storm. Fresh bruising painted her fingers and knuckles. She sighed and washed the pain away with a bottle of red wine from her collection.
With M'sizh and P'welro returned to active duty, drills became the daily labor of the vessel. When Sounsyy rested, P'welro pushed Sixteen's crew. When P'welro rested, Sounsyy drove them. They ate, drank, slept, trained, and did chores with the rest of the crew. It was an endurance test - a constant battle with the sea. It was open war. But with every day they improved. Every exercise seemed to bring them closer with the crew. Ryanti seemed to have improved the most, or at least, was trying the hardest as if he had something to prove to the Captain.
In their downtime, the two crews mingled and integrated. Eighty-five could often be found with Susuroon or Jada below deck, chatting amicably about food or throwing taunts at one another. Jada liked the sassy Miqo'te, though it was the woman's serious side that won her over as friends. Jada even went so far as to divulge how she came to be in the Maelstrom to Eighty-five. How she had once been a blacksmith on an isle in the far south of the Rhotano. For money and protection, she sold her wares to the pirates who found her shores. Soon, an entire village had grown up around her forge and the town became known for being a haven for illegal arms dealing with Jada at its head. Though, she never divulged why exactly she left her forge, just that, if they were ever in need, it still existed in the far south.
Pamido Wolmido took Forty-three under his wing as he made his rounds to the crew. He was easily the social center of the vessel, making jokes and laughing at them with all of the crew. So Forty-three got a good deal of exposure vicariously through his Plainsfolk kin. Pamido Wolmido was a gracious friend, often giving Forty-three the spotlight to speak, even though he rambled, stumbled, and muttered things almost at random. The aging pirate didn't seem at all bothered by it. Most of the crew found it amusing - that two Lalafell so small had such a tall list of topics of which to engage in conversation.
Throughout the day, P'welro had given Ryanti a series of odd looks, as if waiting for him to ask her about the events of a few nights before. The way he looked at her, she knew he wanted to know, but probably thought it best not to. Normally, P'welro would've told him to keep his nose in his own business, but she had a fondness for the boy, so she chose to confide in him that night at dinner. They sat in the Mess at one of the crate-tables and there was enough chatter to conceal most of their conversation. Especially with Jada, Susuroon, and Eighty-five being loud and merry at the counter.
"Were meh husband I saw out there. I guess yeh figured that bit out. Died four years past. Yeh saw that too didn't yeh... Sometimes, I get these visions. 'Ave fer years. Of the past. Kinda. Not really meh past ever. But I were fine not revisitin' that one. 'Ow Cap'n lives wit all them damn mem'ries. We were on Carteneau afore that. Seventh Hell didn't 'ave nothin' on that field. Her Levy - they don't make it 'ome. Mine? We survive all that, juss to drown at sea. Cause the fishbacks got scurred. They saw we were down n' weak. So they kicked us 'ard."
P'welro was interrupted by a round of raucous laughter from down the counter. Susuroon had gotten his short nose in too deep into his own grog and was now dancing on the counter, jingly madly, which seemed to only encourage the small creature. Pamido Wolmido was clapping and stomping his tiny foot in rhythm as the crew burst out into a dirty sea shanty. Fhruhsunn was humming amusedly in the corner, clapping his monstrous hands in sync with the Lalafell. Sounsyy sat next to the giant Roegadyn, a smirk spread across her face as she watched the show. She drank deep, but didn't clap along. Or couldn't clap along.
It was a sight for weary eyes to see the crew unreservedly jovial after the events of the last week. This was true recovery - as good as it ever got on the Five Seas. Jada had pulled Eighty-five along to dance, even though she was perfectly sober. P'welro laughed and joined in. More was drank, "To M'sizh!" they began shouting in between songs and refills. Those on the night shift had long since gone about their duties. And sleep starting taking the day shift one by one until the revelry had ceased. When Ryanti looked about him, Sounsyy was nowhere to be seen now. She had ducked away not long after the party had started, preferring to drink in the solitude of her own cabin.
Berasaem clapped a strong hand to Ryanti's shoulder. "Yeh should be gettin' some sleep now. Tomorrow's the big day. Should be gettin' where yer goin'. But right now, yeh should be gettin' some sleep." With that said, Berasaem led Ryanti and a wobbly Eighty-five out of the Mess and back to their private quarters to sleep. Forty-three and Sixteen were already inside, laying on their mattresses. The Roegadyn closed the door behind the two and locked them within.
...Day #8...