Out into the Sea [26th early MT]

[Morg]

The old shaman simply nodded and grasped an oar. He was clearly no more experienced a rower than the rest of them, but he pulled on the oar the way he did everything physical: with an easy grace. With Gavin and Milkhaire rowing and Gaelena and Syrawenn hauling at the ropes, they made quick progress toward the shore. The only impediment - apart from the driving rain and wind - came when one of the ropes Syrawenn was pulling suddenly came free of the wreck, causing her to slip backwards into the wet bottom of the boat. No one was injured, however, and the other five lines held fast.

The waves, in fact, seemed to want to bear them towards the jagged coast, and when they reached it it was difficult to slow the gig down enough. With a grating crunch the small craft slid onto a ledge of slick black rock and lodged itself there, allowing them easy access to the shore, which sloped upwards to the headland of Jerrhyn's Point proper.

"Vargaz' blood... what are you doing here?"

A man had emerged on the deck of the Stormbringer above them. He was dressed in leathers and in a blue-grey tunic, which like his hands were heavily stained with dark blood. It wasn't the same voice that had shouted out to them, and that man's face was no longer visible at the porthole. This man had short dark blonde hair and was lighter in build, and his voice was not nearly as resonant. A long knife and a club both hung from his belt, but his bloodied hands were empty.

[Gavin Tylvan]

Pulling on the oar, Gavin muttered between huffs and puffs, his arms straining against the water, even though for some reason the waves actually sought to help them. “Yeah, probably….. But I offered…. a way out….. and he did not….. accept….. Screw him…. We’ll get….. this done….properly…..” Words were of little use and the only pause in rowing came when Syrawenn slipped, the tall warrior turning to help her up, muttering a curse. “Motherless son of a whore. I though the bolt caught better.” He did not tarry longer, turning back to the oar and pulling with renewed vigor, seeing how close to the shore they had gotten. He grinned at Milkhaire and unconsciously willed words into his mind, hoping the white-haired shaman would hear them. We are close now. Not much longer. Soon it will be over. One way or another.

And then the boat crunched against the shore and he jumped out, reaching for the armor and heaving it over the side and tossing it to dry ground. Next the tall Dortman gripped the side of the boat and kept it steady for others to get out. “Pull it closer to shore. Just one tug.” He stood ready to heave it more firmly atop the rocks and only once the boat was safe did he turn and regarded the bloody-handed man. Muscles tensed, but Gavin did not make a move towards the sword on his back, merely standing ready to do so if need should arise. “Morning there. We heard this is where Stormlord resides. We need to talk to him about these storms and stuff. Make a new pact like the one he made with Mother.”

[Syrawenn]

The girl put all her strength in simply holding the damn ropes when one slipped and backlashed.

"CRAP!" She swore out loud against the wind, diverting several raindrops with the gust of exasperated breath coming from her mouth. With a *thud* she landed on her back. "Friggin rope will blimmin will do what I WANT it to do!" Immediately Syrawenn scrambled up again, resuming her duties as if nothing had happened.

Once actually on shore the weirdness did not stop. Upon noticing the bloodied hands the girl's hand instinctively went for the dagger in her belt. Yet Gavin acted as if nothing was wrong, as if there was no blood.

An maybe there ain't. Maybe I'm just nuts.

She squinted. "Urgent too. Name is Syra. Who's you?"

An what the flip are ya doin here!

She didn't voice that last part, nor did she include any of the other names as the youngster was not so sure they wanted to be named at all. As for her own name, she did not care much. There was precious little attached to her name as it was.

[Gaelena]

When Syrawenn slipped, Gaelena almost let go of the ropes, but Gavin moved quickly and helped the girl back into her seat, so her hands remained wrapped around their tethers, pulling as hard as she could. The bandage on her hand actually helped a bit, giving her palm a less slippery surface to pull the rope. She was almost surprised with the time they made to land, though she kept her emotions in check. Now was not the time to celebrate anything.

She stepped out of the boat with some help, silently regretting the wearing of the dress underneath her cloak, which was now plastered to her body. Pants would have been much easier, not nearly as confining as the dress which now wrapped tightly around her legs like a python. But then, all worries about her comfort disappeared as the man in the bloody tunic appeared. The red on his hands and his clothing reminded her of how she got when on the battlefield, dressing wounds and such. She wanted to expect the best in people, and he looked like a decent fellow, but looks could be deceiving.

[Morg]

No ground was exactly dry. All the rocks were slick with rain and spray, and pools of murky water were formed between them. Yet it was possible, with some care, to scramble out of the boat as did the four. Milkhaire was last out, helping Gavin to drag the boat further up the rocks where it would be safer from being dragged off by a sudden strong wave. The shaman's shock of hair was plastered about his face and neck, but he didn't seem tired by the rowing.

Gaelena's intuition about the blood on the man's clothing was a plausible one. It wasn't spattered about him as if from a combat opponent, and nor did it seem to be his own blood, since his garments were intact. Rather it was matted on his lower sleeves and at the level of his navel, as if he'd been tending to someone with a very serious injury.

At the mention of the Storm Lord by Gavin, the man frowned, a frown that deepened at Syrawenn's brusque addition. "Me... I'm not important." There was a slight hint of frantic madness in his wavering voice. "If you're lookin' for the Storm Lord, you're in the right place. I was on the crew of the Stormbringer... We tried to stop him. Cap'n Rime did what he could. Drew on the Sea God's power. But he wasn't strong enough. The Storm Lord drew us aground on this here rock, an' his little friends took the bodies of the rest of the crew. Just the two of us left now. Soon just me. Can't save the Cap'n, not and fight 'em off at the same time."

The man was babbling a little as the rain bucketed down upon them. He was evidently perversely glad to have an audience. A nearby thunderclap brought him back to the here and now, and he brought one of his bloody hands up to point at where the land rose steeply towards the summit. "Up there, you'll find him. Storm Lord, that is. Now you're here, you're as doomed as the rest of us."

A broken body lay face down in a rockpool near Syrawenn, a stretch of white femur jutting out where his leg had broken. He was wearing the same colour tunic as the bloody-handed man. Another, similarly dressed and similarly dead, lay skewed on the deck of the Stormbringer, neck contorted back on itself.

[Gavin Tylvan]

Despite the smiles and jesting, Gavin was far from relaxed, his cheerfulness and jokes merely a vent for the tension he felt coiled inside him, as he prepared himself for danger and deadly threats he suspected would loom from all sides. Thus the blood on mad man's hands was seen in the worst possible light and the tall warrior relaxed slightly when he explained the reason for it, even though he was not terribly polite. "Yeah, well..... You are here. We are here. Island of Dort is being ruined by storms. So yeah, you are kinda not important, just like we aren't, even though we are important to us. But, anyhow....." He glanced up the hill, to where the man said Stormlord resided and then at the deck of the Stormbringer, noticing the body, and the rather violent way he died, though the sight itself did not cause any revulsion. He had seen worse. Heck, he had suffered nearly as bad when the acidic blood of demon burned through his skin.

"I think we ain't in such a hurry to reach the Stormlord that we can't pause and help you a bit." Gavin glanced at Milkhaire and Gaelena, and then at Syra. "What do you think? Maybe you two can try and help with this Captain Rime and maybe get him better. Syra and I can watch your back." Turning to the hilltop and the storm overhead the tall warrior grinned and bent to pick his bundled armor up. "Seems like I may need this after all." He turned to the bloody-handed man and tilted his head. "These friends of Stormlord.... What are they? And how do you fight them? Will sword and crossbow do?" Gavin had a definite goal, but it took some time getting to the core of his curiosity. "Oh and by the way, how did you try to stop the Stormlord? Did this happen before?"

[Gaelena]

Gaelena was a bit surprised when Gavin offered her services to the blood drenched man, but nodded. "Show me where he is. Are there any others who are still hanging on?," she asked, looking around, taking in the dead bodies around them. Turning back toward Gavin and Syra, she said, "Be careful."

[Morg]

"They're spirits o' the air," Not Important replied bitterly. "They do what he says. They sucked the life out of most of the crew, then took their bodies. Deep dark ocean only knows why. When they're inside 'em, they can be killed with swords an' that. Don't come back neither. But if they come at you while they're in spirit form..." The man shuddered. "All you can do is pray." He wiped a hand across his rainswept face, leaving a streak of dark blood above his eyebrows, and glanced at the corpses as if they proved his points. "Those of us as were left got attacked by the taken ones. Some of us died, and some of them. Now it's just me an' the Cap'n, on our side, and the Cap'n's no good for fightin' now."

Gavin's second question confused the bloodsoaked and rather dazed sailor a little. "Before? Eh?" He stepped back, almost slipping on the treacherous rocks, and rubbed his hands together. "We sailed out here because the ritual had failed. The other gods' followers didn't show up. Cap'n Rime asked for Vargaz's help. Tried to use the sea and winds to drive the Storm Lord away. But it wasn't enough. He's strong - so very strong." Not Important's voice cracked a little. "Waiting to die now." He turned to Gaelena. "Others are all dead. Come and see the Cap'n." With a weak smile he beckoned her across the dark planks of the broken Stormbringer towards a hatch that led down to the wreck's hold.

[hr][/hr]
Captain Abram Rime was dying, and he knew it. His faith had led him here to die. He'd underestimated the power of the Great Storm Spirit. Its might had been astonishing - and the power of the sea god, his god, Vargaz, could not or would not drive the spirit from the shores of Dort alone.

He'd been standing amidships like a pillar of defiance, bellowing orders to his wavering crew, when the overtaxed mainmast had snapped and collapsed upon him. A lesser man would have died instantly from the shock of the impact, but Rime was made of sturdier stuff. And my god is with me. Vargaz wanted him alive, it seemed - wanted him to reflect on his failure in his dying moments.

The scene that greeted Gaelena was not a pleasant one. Once her eyes had become accustomed to the dark of the hold, it was possible to see Captain Rime where he lay. A pool of treacly blood surrounded him, and his body - a long, gnarled body like an ancient oak - was almost unrecognisable as human between his lower ribs and his legs, mangled by a crushing weight. Not Important was clearly no healer, and his attempts to tie sheets tightly around the wounded area to staunch the bleeding were pitifully inadequate. Nevertheless, it wasn't at all critical at this stage. A healer of Gaelena's skill would be able to tell at first assessment that saving the man's life would require a miracle. Any attempt to care for him would serve only to prolong his life or to make his dying few burns less painful.

With evident pain, Rime turned his head to face her and Milkhaire. He was the man whose face had been visible at the porthole. It was a proud face, though weatherbeaten. He seemed surprisingly lucid when he spoke, given his horrendous injuries, although there was blood on his lips and tongue. "By Vargaz, you and your fellows seem determined to be here, despite my warnings," he rumbled, and his whole body spasmed, pumping more dark liquid out onto the deck. "What are you here to achieve?"

[hr][/hr]
Further up the rocky slope, a tower of sorts became visible on the highest point of the skyline against the shifting cloudmass. A dim blue light flickered around it.

Nearer to Gavin and Syrawenn, though, were the human shapes making their way down towards them. There were four of them, in loose formation, dressed in the same loose blue uniform as the bloody-handed sailor. Although human in form, they didn't move like it. Instead they appeared to be blown along by gusts of wind against their shoulderblades, their feet dragging somewhat against the ground. All four were armed with an assortment of melee weapons. Their eyes were light and vacant, and the hissing voice of one of them carried eerily from many paces away, even though the sound of the crashing waves was almost deafening.

"Have you come... to praise Him?"

[Gavin Tylvan]

Gavin hauled his armor up the rocks and tossed it across the railing, to land on the deck with a heavy thud and a clink of metal rings. He listened to the description of Stormlord's servants and chewed his lips at the mention of life being sucked out of him. He supposed that holding his breath would protect him for a while, but then another thought entered his mind. "I don't suppose you have some bellows on yer ship? Maybe in the kitchen or somewhere? Maybe we could use those to suck the spirit inside if it comes and trap it? Or draw it close to a fire so he burns up?" Those were idle thoughts, and as he spoke, the tall warrior helped the others climb on board.

"Aetya is dead. That is why she did not come. We heard she was born again, but is just a babe, and will not be able to do her part for some yahren." He offered no more in terms of explanation, releasing the straps that held his armor in a bundle and spread it across the deck. With ease that came out of much practice, he donned the mail hauberk first and then set about putting the rest of the armor on. Almost eerily calm, the bearded man checked every clasp and buckle and double checked each protective plate, making sure the armor would stay and protect him if it came to blows. It was only a couple of burns later that he stood ready, drawing the sword out of its scabbard which he placed in the corner. Then with a naked blade across his knees, he sat and waited for the trek up the hill.

Glimpsing the tower in the distance, he tried to guess how long it would take them to reach the summit, when he spied the quartet of shapes approaching the boat. Even before they spoke he was up, and started rolling his shoulders twisting at the waist, warming up the muscles for potential fight. "Get the crossbow ready, Syra. Looks like we have company." Gavin's blue eyes followed their unusual approach, as he studied the way they moved, trying to prepare for when they were locked in combat. Then the hissing came and the tall man yelled on top of his lungs. "Maybe! Dunno! Will praise make him stop the storms?!?" Then he turned to Syrawenn and added in a lower voice. "If they come looking for a fight, you plant a bolt between the eyes of the first one over the rail, and I'm buying you all the drinks you can drink when we are done." He grinned and then yelled again. "Tell him we want to talk! Make a new pact! Yeah, that's right! Like one Mother made!" He doubted his words would make them turn, but it was worth a shot.

[Syrawenn]

Syra made a face.

Spirits.
Yea, great.

The girl was reminded of the hopeless battle against a dark lord rising, somewhere in one of her many strange dreams. There had been a vial and an orb and several people who died in a fire...but she remembered inviting the spirits into herself, to finally voice their anger, their frustration at the dark thing that had taken their lives.

Wonder if that will work in wakeyworld. She pondered, nodding at Gavin's words as she readied the crossbow. Wonder if those spirits who are pushed out are still mad an around. Could rally em.
Could.
Maybe.

But what if we invite the wrong one? The ones that we're supposed to hold at bay?

Pfff.

"Gotcha." The youngster did not remind Gavin that she'd had most practice with a normal bow. A crossbow should be more accurate, right? It should be easier to point it, right?

Since Gavin seemed to have taken up the conversation, it wasn't exactly smart to voice her own thoughts at this time. So instead she shouldered the crossbow and took aim at the one that was most clearly visible.

"Between the eyes. Sheesh, ya just wanna make sure you don'have to pay up." She mumbled.

[Gaelena]

Gaelena followed the blood-soaked man into the dark bowels of the wreck. She glanced behind her, making sure Milkhaire was with them. She could be fearless, but she wasn't stupid. Going into a dark place without at least one friendly face was not only stupid but dangerous.

Once her eyes was accustomed to the gloom, she took note of the terribly injured man before her. Her green eyes narrowed as she took in the damage. Oh, this was not good. She sent a silent prayer up to the Mother, praying for the Captian and praying for more knowledge than she had, to try and save the man.

His voice came through at the end of the prayer, causing he to look him in the eyes. "Shush. Keep silent and still and I will tell you why we are here." She waited until he gave some sign of agreement, then began working as much as she could, working on the broken man, trying to staunch the flow of blood and address the worst of the wounds as best of her knowledge allowed.

"We are here for the same reason you are, but our god is the Mother. She was the one who originally bound the Storm Lord and we're hoping she will come again and save Dort," she began, her hands working without thought.

[Morg]

At Gavin's words the possessed sailors drifted to a halt, glancing around them as if they were lost children. One - the one to the far right - turned and began to make its way unhurriedly back up the slope, curling around the west flank of the island's peak. The distance was not at all great, for Jerrhyn's Point was not a large landmass. The summit was no more than a few burns' climb away from where Gavin and Syrawenn stood.

Fortunately, crossbows - a weapon immensely rare in the Empire of Seven Isles - were far simpler to use than longbows, or even basic slings. In truth it took only a week to learn to use one properly, although that was time Syrawenn didn't have. The hardest part was drawing the string back in order to load it, which required all her strength. From there, however, it just seemed to be a matter of pointing it in the right direction and pulling the trigger while keeping a steady stance - which was easier said than done given the rain that was driving down towards them and the slippery rocks underfoot.

The most clearly visible was a tall man, in the centre of the three that remained. Unusually for a sailor, he was rather paunchy, with a rounded face and large bald patch amid his mousey hair. Perhaps when alive he'd been a cook or a purser. Either way, he now presented a large target.

"No pact," the dead man proclaimed after a long pause. "Praise or fall." With this the three possessed men pressed forward vigorously towards the pair. With no particular haste they began to draw weapons from their belts; the central figure wielded a long cutlass, and the other two held longswords. Their advance was silent, although the roaring of the ocean made it hard to tell.

[hr][/hr]
Sensing a professional in Gaelena, Rime subsided into silence, lying back, his shoulders propped up slightly against the ship's curvature. As she worked, Milkhaire came to kneel on the other side of the captain's body, his long white locks dangling in the pool of blood. He didn't attempt to intervene in the healing, instead just inspecting the wound. Rime didn't seem too disturbed by the strange shaman's attention, although he was preoccupied with Gaelena's ministrations.

The horrific amount of bruising almost concealed the true damage to the tall captain. His two lower ribs were broken, those on the left doubled up through the skin while those on the right plunged further into his abdomen. It looked worryingly like his spleen had been ruptured, as blood was only one among the liquids surrounding the wound. Lower down, although his spine appeared to be intact, his pelvis was broken in at least one place, and the broken bone had torn a hole in his large intestine. Stopping the loss of blood in the short term would be possible with enough material, but would not save him if the fluids of his belly continued to poison his bloodstream. No response to her prayer seemed to be forthcoming.

"There was supposed to be a renewal of that binding, a ritual between servants of the Mother, the Father and the Ocean Lord," Rime spoke quietly, trying to keep movement of any kind to a minimum. "The others did not come, so I set out with only my crew and my god for support." At this point he had to clench his teeth as something under Gaelena's fingers gave and blood flowed forth briefly before she was able to staunch it again. "As you can see, I failed. Where were the others?"

"Tall bloke said that someone called Aetya was dead," Not Important chipped in from the entrance to the hold.

Rime's eyes briefly closed. "Aetya dead? Then Dort truly is lost," he murmured.

[Gavin Tylvan]

Luckily for Syrawenn in this particular instance, the crossbow was already drawn and a bolt set before Gavin handed the weapon to her, so she would only need to point and shoot the first time round. After that, it would be up to her to reload, as he would likely be busy trying to keep the remaining undead sailors at bay. As it were, he was pleasantly surprised when they stopped and one of the attackers turned and went up, hopefully to discuss their proposal with the Stormlord. Turning he glanced at Syra, uttering as silently as possible. "Well, I did not expect things to be that easy."

Then the tall, paunchy sailor spoke and Gavin had to sigh. "Me and my big mouth." It was uttered with a chuckle and a small grin at Syra and then the tall warrior stepped forward, the blade of his sword resting upon a mailed shoulder. He watched them approach and tilted head to the side. "I don't want to hurt you, but you come over the railing and it gets real nasty, real fast." He drew the blade up, careful not to drag it across the mail links of his armor, and gripped the hilt loosely in both hands. There was a lesson to be learned today and that was how to fight an opponent whose feet were not the foundations upon which his center of balance sat.

OOC: Made it short so Syra can react (as she said she would in a PM. I have the actual fight posty ready. Good luck.

[Gaelena]

Gaelena's brow furrowed as she began to see the extent of the Captian's wounds. And since no help seemed to be coming from any supernatural beings, she was going to have to do everything. Quickly, she stripped of her coat and handed it to Not Important. "Cut this into long strips," she said, barely even looking at him. Then, she removed the extra bandages she had slipped into her pocket for her arm, as well as the emergency kit she had made up that she kept on her at all times. It contained a few herbs and needle and thread. One never knew when such things would be necessary. Her white gown was stuck to her, getting stained with the blood and offal around her.

"Make a small fire and keep it contained," she also commanded as she focused on her work. "If you had but waited, we could have done this together. I walked the thorns and learned the ritual that had to be done by the follower of the Mother. Dort is not doomed." Her voice carried a note of finality to it. She was going to do everything in her power to make sure of it. Sure fingers moved to try and repair what damage she could.

[Syrawenn]

Somehow something clicked inside her head.

These were undead beings, as straightforward as they come. They were only aware of two choices and unfortunately none of them seemed to be the right way to actually reach the Stormlord.

Unless...

Gavin was clearly prepared to take them up on the falling part.

"No, wait!" Syra hissed, keeping the crossbow well trained against her shoulder in case she'd had to use it. "Wait, Gavin, lemme try this..."

The youngster lifted her voice: "Fine, we'll praise him. PRAISE the Stormlord for his fertile rains and moving storms, PRAISE him for being smart enough to realize he'll want to be praised by Dort as well. PRAISE the Stormlord for being curious enough to hear out a couple of idiot mortals who appearantly care enough fer the Lord himself AND his city that they come out here to TALK to him!"

There was no telling how this would end, yet there was a measure of control over how far they would get and the girl was determined to make this control last. They had to do something or entire Dort would go down!

And hey, this is as good as any plan we don't have. She pondered, while waiting for their response. Her hands were getting sweaty. She wanted this talk badly, really badly.

Which was pretty amusing for the girl who wasn't that good with words, who was convinced kicking was a highly underestimated form of communication.

[Gavin Tylvan]

For a warrior, Gavin was rather fond of discussing things before situation got nasty and this particular situation had every indication that it was going to get nasty. Real nasty. Real fast. He nodded almost imperceptibly at Syrawenn’s words, frowning slightly as she gave the Stormlord precisely what he wanted, or at least what they hoped he wanted. If the praise the ancient being wanted was what Gavin suspected, he was not going to get it. There would be no sacrifice and certainly no giving of people to Stormlord’s mercy. Even though a knot in his stomach kept tugging at his guts, the tall warrior pushed the uneasiness away, and added his voice to Syrawenn’s attempt at diplomacy. If this failed then dead people were going to die once more. “Yeah, if he wants to hear people praise him for the good he causes, then we will praise him and I bet the people of Dort will praise him as well. But, he has to stop destroying Dort, or there will be nobody to praise him. Just a bunch of scarred and scared people. And praise given in fear is not the same as one given freely.”

[Morg]

Not Important had been standing nervously by the hatch, but didn't hesitate to comply with Gaelena's instructions once she gave them. Within a few flickers the garment was reduced to several long strips of material laid on the planks by the healer. Starting a fire, however, proved trickier. All of them were moist with brine, as was everything to hand. The whipping wind didn't help either, although it was milder within the confined space. For most of a burn the sailor-acolyte worked at it with flint and tinder, intermittently muttering violent curses as each flame guttered and died. Finally, with the help of a gush of foul-smelling alcohol from his belt pouch, Not Important finally managed to sustain a small flame on a pile of broken wood, although keeping it alight was a full time task for him.

As Gaelena spoke, Captain Rime's face betrayed surprise for the first time. "You know how to be the representative of the Mother?" he whispered. "Perhaps, between us..." He sighed. "But no. Without someone to represent the Father, the ritual of renewal will not be complete."

There are older rituals. Milkhaire's strange voice reverberated around both their heads. Newer rituals, too. Somehow we will find a way. There was a pause. Life always does.

Not a healer by trade himself, the shaman was drawing upon some kind of energy to aid Gaelena's work, although it did not feel quite the same as that of the Mother. Fluids dried and crusted over, while the blood flow slowed enough for her to stitch the worst breaks back together. A considerable amount of liquid was still seeping from the wound, and the damage in terms of sepsis had already been done. Rime would not live to see the next morningtide, but Gaelena had bought him some reprise.

[hr][/hr]
Gavin's warnings did not slow the possessed sailors' advance, but Syrawenn's caused them to stop entirely before they reached the railing of the beached ship. The paunchy man's cutlass hung limply by his side as he replied. Something in her words had clearly struck a chord.

"You praise?" The man's toneless, leaden voice rang out again. "Follow and we take you to Him. He will judge. If you are worthy, maybe worship. If not, maybe death." Such extensive use of a human voicebox seemed to tire the spirit inhabiting the man's body, because the later syllables grew more and more distorted and unclear. Still, the message was straightforward enough. The possessed sailors stood limply as they waited for the two to act.

[Gaelena]

If Gaelena's attention had been able to be split, she would have told Not Important to make the fire in a large pot, if one at hand, to keep it out of the wind. But her focus was on the dying man, so she simply nodded when she finally smelled smoke. She then instructed him to place a pot over the fire and boil some water while she took the bandages that she had and made pads out of them, placing them over the areas that seeped the worst, using the strips of the cloak to try and hold them down. The dampness of the cloth, she hoped, would add some extra weight, keeping the gauze on the wound.

“Milkhaire is right. There is always a way. Perhaps the ritual that we devise now will be more powerful,” she said, turning to look at the shaman. “The captain won't be moving any time soon. Do you believe between the two of us,” Not Important had been forgotten again, “we can call down the powers to bind the Storm lord more permanently? I will do whatever is needed.” She meant that, too. If it required that she sacrifice her own life, she would. Too many others had already died.

[Syrawenn]

Gavin's words made the girl wince.

"Shuddup!" She hissed, while trying to keep the crossbow pointing into the right direction. "Tellin him what to do don't work, so we gotta make him think he wants to!" There was a hint of panick to her words as the big man was just about to ruin her impromptu plan.

Alright, so she might have discussed it with him in a little more detail before launching into a monologue, but really, how much time was there to have a talk about this stuff over tea?

Tea.
Yuck.

Right, focus.

And all of a sudden there it was: the undead no longer advanced, but invited them to come over.

"What the..."

To say she felt smug was an understatement. The grin that grew on her face underlined the feeling of utter contentment that filled her in the face of possible death -or undeath.

Because they had listened to her!

"Well I'll be damned." She grinned at Gavin. "Come on, let's see what else we can mess up. Gotta make him want this. Gotta make him feel it's all his idea to keep Dort." Syrawenn kept mumbling to herself, making very sure the idea of undead creatures around them was not registering. Right now they were nothing more and nothing less than guides towards the Stormlord and they would remain such until the time the girl had time to have nightmares over this whole episode.

[Gavin Tylvan]

Gavin was very uncertain about this whole thing with Stormlord and would have preferred a nice, decent fight over who gets Dort, because in a fight he knew which was which. Then came the big surprise and the dead sailors agreed to lead them to Stormlord and even though Syrawenn’s eagerness was good, he had no intention of going forward alone. Not with the word death mention so many times in such a short span of time. He was quite certain he was allergic to death and did not wish to check if such was true by dying and stuff.

So, just in case she got any bright ideas, he made a motion to stop Syra before she crossed the railing. “Wait. Let’s call the others. Safety in numbers and things like that.” He glanced over his shoulder. “Besides, they have the power of gods with them and even though I am not a fan of divines I think it might come in handy this time.” Then, just as she had done, he raised his voice and called for the soldiers without discussing it. “We are coming. I’ll call the others too. We will all go to Stormlord and do the praise!”

Without a hint of reluctance, he sheathed the sword on his back and almost turned to go down and seek the others before pausing once more. “I’ll go get them. If they come closer shoot the nearest one and retreat into the ship.” And with that he was gone, leaving her to watch their back, and fully trusting she would do it perfectly.

It was rather easy finding the others, considering the fact that holes in the side made it easy to peek into the rooms and soon the door to the Captain’s sick-room was blocked by a tall armored warrior. “We need to go. The dead sailors agreed to take us to see the Stormlord. They say he wants to be praised and will spare our lives if we praise him. Now, I think we may be able to use that to make a new pact. An altar or something of the like in his honor somewhere in Dort?” He glanced at the wounded man, but the sight did not disturb him overmuch, though he did try to asses the man’s wounds as best as possible from the distance and the angle. “We could also just kill those three and wander up-hill at our own leisure, but that would send a bad message to the big boy up there.”

[Morg]

Milkhaire turned to Gaelena, pondering as the smoke rose in the dark confines of the ship. The content of any ritual is less important than the diligence and belief with which it is performed, he spoke finally. Between us we may have some chance. But I am ultimately a creature of the Mother, as are you. Other gods will not heed our call alone.

"Get me up to the Tower of Runes and I will do what I can to seek the aid of Vargaz," growled the captain. He was still evidently in some pain, but Gaelena's herbs and ministrations had eased his condition. It still looked unlikely that he would be going anywhere. "If only we had a third..." He was interrupted by Gavin's arrival.

Captain Rime was a man of similar height and build to Gavin, although much older. From the tall man's viewpoint it was difficult to see the true extent of the damage that had been done to him, although the pool of blood he lay in and the large amount of bandaging spoke of terrible injuries. Gavin's words caused him to stiffen, and he responded sharply. "Praise him? An altar in Dort? Are you mad?" He spat out a gobbet of blood and phlegm, glancing between Gavin and Gaelena. "Storm Lord is the Storm Lord. He wishes only to continue his ravages. Might as well praise the Nether. I will have nothing to do with this charade." Even lying in a thin layer of his own bodily fluids and slowly dying of blood poisoning, the Captain could still be a powerful force.

"An act like that would be an insult to Vargaz," added Not Important, fingering one of the swirling tattoos that ran across his stubbly neck. Milkhaire got to his feet but said nothing more as yet.

Outside, in front of the rail where Syrawenn stood, the three possessed sailor-acolytes waited patiently.

[Gaelena]

Gaelena pondered Milkhaire's words, then looked at the Captain. "You, sir, are not going anywhere. You can not be moved in your condition. If one stitch pops or bandage gets fouled, your life could end in a matter of flickers, not tides," she said, turning to Not Important, she asked, "Do you know the ritual for Vargaz?" If not, then they were on their own.

Then, Gavin poked his head in, his words bringing a deep frown to her lips. "I'm afraid I have to agree with these gentlemen. When a bratty child acts up, you don't reward him with praise," she replied. "The parents punish him." She paused, one finger tapping against her lower lip. "That's just it. We need the Mother and the Father, or in this case, Vargaz. It has to be male and female, in as much a sense as gods have genders," she pondered.

[Gavin Tylvan]

People reacted much like he expected them to react, though it still did not prevent Gavin from rolling his eyes back at the zealous reaction. “Sjeez, will you relax. It was just a stupid suggestion, nothing more. Were it up to me I’d prefer chopping Stormy into pieces and feeding him to sharks, but pretending we are going to praise him so we get up there unmolested is much better than cutting a swath through dead sailors. So, no shrines or anything. A ritual is fine by me.”

He shook his head and looked about ready to turn and leave before remembering something. “Now, what’s the general plan? We have representative of Mother, and you two are linked to Vargaz if I heard correctly. So we need one more and he or she ain’t here.” The tall warrior sighed and closed his eyes for a flicker. “You really should write instructions for dealing with ancient deities of storm.” Had they written this stuff down he could have looked it in a book, of all places, and known what to do and not traipsed into a storm dressed like a lightning rod. “Will a follower of Red Warrior do? I am not a priest, and I don’t pray often, but I do believe in him and don’t pester him with requests ever. Or if need be I can swear an oath of allegiance to Father and keep that promise if it helps. And would you please hurry it up. Syra is up there alone. There is three dead sailors there and only one bolt in the crossbow.” He paused, waiting for instructions, since he really did not know what else to do, as dealing with Gods was out of his experience.

[Morg]

Rime's eyebrows narrowed, but he realised the truth of what Gaelena was saying, and subsided. The as yet nameless sailor-acolyte seemed surprised by her question, glancing sheepishly down at the red on his shirt. The blood had almost dried completely while he'd been working over the small fire. "I was never really important enough," he responded. "Only Gull, Ross and the Cap'n..."

Rime coughed again to get his attention. "Gull was no more senior than you are now, when I taught him the ways," he interrupted. "Come here, boy. I will not pretend to praise the Storm Spirit, but I can teach you what you need to do. Your father was a good man - you'll do fine." He beckoned the scared-looking man over and began to whisper in his ear.

Milkhaire crossed the wet boards to stand before Gavin, gazing up at him with his strange blue eyes. The Warrior may stand for the Father, he announced after a few flickers. Then we would have three. The three from the old ritual. The next few words were spoken to Gavin alone. But you yourself must find the way to call him - if you can.

"If he opposes you, you should go to the Tower of Runes," added Rime, pausing from giving his instructions to Not Important, who now looked even more nervous than before. "You will have some protection against him there. The old wards are too weak to hold him now, but he still may not touch the wardstone."

[Syrawenn]

Syrawenn was just about ready to go when Gavin once again stopped her from going anywhere.

"Wha? Get the others? Will ya explain it to them then?" She hissed, having a hard time keeping her attention on both the dead guys and the very much alive guy at her side. "We gotta try to turn this, cause he ain't gonna listen to threats or orders! Well, unless ya got a better plan...otherwise I guess it might take a brat to talk to a brat...god or no god." The addition sounded lame, but she had to keep an opening for those that might actually know what they were doing. All she did was try and run with the moment.


An I know how to run.
At least I know that.

Gavin left her standing. The girl swallowed and aimed the crossbow again.
Just in case.

"Comin in a flick." She asssured the walking corpses. "Just a few longer...don't worry."

Yet in all honesty she doubted these animated bodies were able to feel anything like worry. If anything, she was the one worrying as she stood very much alone, facing three unstable opponents.

A trickle of sweat went down her forehead.

Come on, Gavin, hurry up, hurry up!