Open Chronicles Forty Fathoms Deep

[Kristopher Mortas]

Several Miles Off The Coast of the Gulf of Liad
Aboard the Courier of the Stars, Merchant and Transport Vessel, en route to Dornoch

The sea lie still.
​

The seas were home to many legends.

Some of them true, some of them exaggerated, some of them terrifying, some inspiring. Kristopher was somewhere in the middle- there were many great and terrible things in the world, and so it would make sense that the sea, an unforgiving, cruel place, would have more secrets to keep than the stones and soil of the land.

Kristopher paced along the deck, hand on his sword. The ballistas were manned, the crew mostly asleep. The stars and paths were lit up, magical instruments and complex machines he was not learned enough to understand. More importantly- the sun was setting, mostly hidden beyond the horizon. He feigned illness, easily remarked as sea sickness for his time spent below deck when the sun was awake.

Feeding, however, would be a different issue- if the journey lasted more than a day or so longer. He looked up at the stars above, gritting his teeth and suppressing the urge to attack the crew member that passed him, and set about to his night tasks- manning the sails, and so forth. But something felt off-

A true predator of the night, a hunter to the extreme, Kristopher knew when he was being watched. When he was being stalked. And on the horizon, his yellow, evil eyes- somewhat shining in the night, saw a flicker of light. A lantern. Three sets. But eerily far- and more importantly, blue-green.

He narrowed his eyes, but wasn't well versed enough to dismiss it. It flickered again. Closer. He turned his head to the nearby sailor, who saw it as well.

"S'what you suppose that is, stranger?"

Kristopher looked at the sailor, who had not yet raised the general alarm. But the tension was in the air-

The night was deadly- the darkening skies did not bode well for the passengers of the Courier of the Stars.

 

[Vulpesen]

Swaying in the rigging, Vulpesen couldn't help but wonder why his people. the Zorrens we're known as sailors or renown. Claws for climbing up the mast or fighting in the close quarters of the deck and acrobatic forms with strong bodies for the rigors of a sailor's life. Wrapping a quick bowline around his waist, partly out of boredom, and partly for some added security, Vulpesen thanked the stars that he had found the sea before going into the employ of the brothers Vitae.

The wind whistled a lullaby as Vulpesen rocked with the sea, the sway exaggerated by his height and nearness to the main mast. If not for his duties as the night shift rigger, the Zorren would have let that sway and song lull him to sleep. As it was, he forced himself into a state of awareness which brought to attention the odd colored lanterns in the distance.

Gleaming golden eyes closed as he let his consciousness drift into the wilds, joining the wind and sea to extend into his surroundings. Something was indeed coming. But it wasn't natural. Whatever the presence was, it was too far to yet discern its purpose, but still, Vulpesen opened his mouth and let out a "HOOOOWWWLLL!" The captain and his crew could gripe at him later for the noise. What was important was ensuring that the Court of Stars' envoy made it to his destination without getting kidnapped or sunk to the depths.

Kristopher Mortas

 

[Kristopher Mortas]

Kristopher turned to Vulpesen-

And narrowed his eyes. The Vampire looked back to the horizon, where the lights suddenly went out. They went out not at the same time, but in somewhat of a sequence. The howl lurched across the night, and Kristopher looked. And then- he blinked. He looked with his vampiric eyes, much better adapted to the night than anyone else onboard.

And he saw it.

A mast, peering out through the fog and the growing darkness.

And he turned to the bow of the ship.

Masts and hulls stuck out in the water. It was an ambush. And the howl had given their position away, if they weren't already exposed. Kristopher passed the Zorren with a hateful stare, but walking to the large mast-

And rang the general alarm bell.

The Vampire pulled his hood down, and took a deep breath.

"Son of a bitch."

 

[Rogdul the Blink]

Rogdul was born a sailor, which admittedly wasn't very common for orcs but it had bestowed many skills on him from a young age. One of those was the ability to quickly transition from sleeping and waking states with little drag, mental or physical.

He hadn't internalized the screeching of a zorren yet, but before the bell's first clang had completed, he bolted upright. By the second, his legs were swept off the cot. On the third, he was standing.

"Alarm!" he shouted, his low, gravelly voice vibrating through the air. He stamped his foot, shaking the cots around him to help wake any stragglers. "To your stations!"

With that, he grabbed his armor and his tunic and rushed toward the ladder up to the deck pulling the shirt on over his head. He didn't need to see who might be in the way; they knew to move aside, or they'd be moved forcibly.

On the deck, he called out to the watch. "What do you see?"

He tied his gauntlets and throat protector, prepared for what he imagined to be anything, and took a position with the ballista crews. With his strength, he could man one by himself. A useful ability, to be sure.

Kristopher Mortas Vulpesen

 

[Kristopher Mortas]

The enemy ship was vile, cruel, and appeared as death would- out of the darkness, and with eerie green lanterns. Magical lanterns- able to be commanded off and on at a whim.

The Vampire hissed, and walked amongst the hull. He doubted anyone would care at the moment if he was a Vampire or not- that question, that sort of fear, might best be reserved for when they weren't in the middle of an ambush.

The Orc, the Zorren and the crew began to move around, rapidly preparing for the combat ahead. Kristopher paced back and forth, before heading below deck, rousing the sleeping sailors. He gathered his own sword- giving it a testing swing.

He climbed back up, his vile eyes, cruel and sharp, scanned the horizon. The ship was gone.

Gone.

The waters lie still.

But he knew they were still out there- still hungering, lurking. His answer came-

A shadow in the water.

A ship, below them.

The Captain saw it as well- the experienced merchant banking hard to port, and just before the bow of the enemy ship broke the water- Kristopher saw it, likely before anyone else due to the darkness.

Red and yellow eyes littered the enemy ship, as it came back to the surface.

 

[Ihaka Nikau]

A Mourner outside of Malakath was a rare sight, but not one so rare in present times as to give pause to those who beheld them. Since the discovery of Malakath by the wider world of Liadain and Epressa the prowess of the Mourners for dealing with the myriad troubles of the undead became known and widespread. The awakened Portal Stones on the new continent gave quick means for envoys from all nations to seek the expertise of these renowned ghost hunters.

Ihaka Nikau baffled the sailors of the Courier of the Stars, however. Hardly did he fit the description, or the image fashioned in each man's mind, of what a Mourner should look like and how he should act! He was downright jolly. He smiled at everything just about, greeted the men often with open arms and a hug soon to follow, and with great cheer did he attend to tasks about the vessel. Where was that dour mien, that grim visage, that a man of such report ought to have?

Presently, Haka was below deck, and it was Rogdul's shout which at last roused him. He gave a bit too much of a start, though, as he smacked his head trying to sit up in his cot.

"Ai, that was a good one," Haka said, rubbing his head before, more carefully now, getting up and out of the cot. Now his Ghost Mail, a suit of armor unlike that forged solely with mundane steel, bound itself together onto him from its resting place on the cot. Each piece, save the helm, was pulled and fastened into its proper place upon Haka's arming garments by ethereal blue wisps of magic, and so in seconds did Haka become clad in its protection. Helm in one hand, taiaha now secured in his other, Haka in short order tread the path Rogdul had and emerged from the ship's belly.

Like others, Haka had gained passage aboard the Courier not only by being another hand at labor, but as a warrior and bulwark against some form of boarding. Kristopher Mortas had rung the alarm, and this heralded need of the latter of these means by which passage was purchased.

Haka strode with a leisurely gait up to the closest person to him—Vulpesen, a zorren, though Haka knew not his name nor his heritage—and, coming alongside him, said, "Late night guests, huh?"

This with a nod toward the rival vessel coming forth from the obscurity of the night. The vessel which laid plain for many eyes to see, and then vanished in a twist of darkness and fog (and just before the ship's bow would break the surface of the water).

"Too late for a second supper or any nice things."

White teeth flashed in a bright grin which brought a bit of dawn to an otherwise black night.

Kristopher Mortas Vulpesen Rogdul the Blink

 

[Vulpesen]

With one rope wrapped around him, Vulpesen reached out and took another and with a long leap, swung himself down to the deck. It was a long drop, and one most men might have balked at, but his time amidst the ropes and sails had instilled a certain confidence in Vulpesen as he plummeted down. Slamming into the wood below and curling into a roll, the Zorren took to his feet with nary even a bruise, snatching his sword from a where it lay against a wall as he came out of the roll.

"Late night guests, huh?"

He turned to face the friendly smile from below decks and flashed his own in return, fangs gleaming in his wily grin. "Looks like it. Odd sort, too." He peered down at his sword in hand. A rapier, while his weapon of choice, was perhaps a bit impractical for combat on the seas. Too long for the cramped quarters that would become their deck should a fight truly break out. Thankfully, leysteel, the magical metal of the faeries was known to take a shine to magical tricks.

"Maybe they brought some rum with them. I could use something beyond this watered down grog." The blade in his hand shimmered then seemed to melt as it changed shape, the blade shortening into something a bit thicker with a slight curve. A cutlass would serve him much better. "Or a nice bottle of fine red wine."

Kristopher Mortas Rogdul the Blink Ihaka Nikau