Completed Old Dreams and the Sea

Captain Eghrak had regained consciousness shortly after Maeve went to work repairing his ship. At first it took a fair amount of muscle to hold back the old dwarf, who had resolved to give Garrod a piece of his mind – or at least his fist. But he calmed down, was even awed, by the sight of his vessel rising back onto the water.

“I guess I owe that sea witch a grog or two,” he chuckled with a tired shake of his head, hardly believing what he was seeing.

He met Maeve as she came back onboard and stumbled through a grateful apology as best as any stubborn captain could.

“I owe ye, and your crew, a great debt. The Sea Demon is at your service. Or will be, once I get her seaworthy again,” the old dwarf said, staring with almost a tear in his eye at his patched ship.

Elinyra watched the spectacle with amazement, too, as she wandered through the refugees bandaging wounds and healing burns inflicted by the ravenous sea creatures. Many among both the passengers and crew had been injured, but nothing grievous among those who had lived to board Kiva’s Fury. She was thankful this was the case, for her healing magic was not as strong as it used to be.

She approached the captains, still wiping an errant bit of someone’s blood from her hands with a clean cloth. “The Sea Demon’s passengers are settled in, as best they can be, captain… captains,” she quickly corrected herself, glancing between the two.

She bowed her head to Maeve. “I apologize for how I greeted you earlier, in the chaos of everything. Thank you; you and your crew may well have saved all of our lives.

“Spirits know I’ve seen enough death of late,” she muttered quietly to no one in particular before excusing herself.

She found Garrod sulking on a barrel apart from the others. She couldn’t tell if he was hurt or simply as exhausted as everyone else. The stars were shining cold in the early hours of the morning now, and people were succumbing to their need for sleep even on the deck of this undead ship.

“Are you injured?” she asked, interrupting his reverie.

Maeve Blackwood Garrod Arlette
 
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One hand wrapped around the leather strap that kept his gauntlet fastened down, pulled the line of skin tight till he could hear it stretch, let loose the bar that locked against the frame, the binding choked his flesh for just a moment as the buckle came open.

You dare, Oh Bearer Mine?

The belt slacked. His blood run free again, the pressure in his fingers lessened as all evened out.

On a ship of the undead? Belephus laughed. Made no play at hiding the mock there that laced the sound. Go on then, give me away, Oh Bearer Mine, the voice rumbled inside his skull, like a thousand tiny fires all eating the last of their kindling there behind his eye, all dying at once with their whispers in concert. To an undead witch who crews a ship with her loyal undead.

He suddenly felt cold.

The survivors around him gathered up, voices tight with amazement as breaths were lost to that moment. "The Sea Demon," he heard some say. "The witch, she... she brings back the ship!" another said in disbelief.


Garrod's hand stilled at its work, left the relic bones to lie there upon his flesh moments more. His eye followed the commotion, saw the druid there amongst the crowd, then the ship that seemed to swell beyond. Water pouring from its sides as greyed matter split and splintered and spread about like so much living stone. The sound of it. Shatters and breaks and cracks of violent, unnatural growth.

It sounded so familiar to him.

He smiled. He was glad the ship was saved. That he captain and what remained of his crew could some day return to that vessel that surely must have been like a home to them. He was glad that even on a dead and haunted thing like this ship, maybe they had done something good. If even by pure happenstance.

His eye shut, and he drifted to sleep as night rolled across the sky. Slumped upon a barrel, with his back against the wall ,sword ever at his side.

"Are you injured," Came a voice that the voyage had turned more familiar.

His eye came open. "Hmm," Garrod sounded from his perch, the sound of the sea chopping louder through the holes of the magicked vessel. "Nothing too serious," he croaked, every bit as dry as the Fury's crew, and slowly unwound from the bundle of flesh and bone he had curled into.

His left arm stretched out, and he felt the twinge of pain, dull yet warm in the back of his mind. He looked to his hand, saw his sleeve had turned to tatters the leather of the plain steel bracer's strap singed off at some point, bits seemed to be dry and stuck in a red and angry wound that ran slick with coagulated ichor. He clicked his teeth, and felt the twinge of pain behind his left calf. He bent low, saw the side of his boot eaten away, another nasty burn like wound there upon his flesh.

"Huh," he said absent mindedly. "Guess I'm lucky it didn't keep eating away at me," he angled his hand to get a better look at the damage. "Doesn't look... poisonous either,"

Maeve Blackwood Elinyra
 
"All the same, it's in your best interest to have those tended to before they fester." He seemed agreeable to allowing her to treat his wounds, so she set to work under the light of the lantern she'd been carrying with her. Setting out her tools, as she had many times tonight. Forcing her own exhaustion to the back of her mind, as she had many times tonight.

Once they'd removed the half-digested bracer and boot, she could see the acid burns in the skin of his wrist and leg. At least they were only superficial in his case. Many had not been so lucky.

"Try to relax," she directed as she wet a clean cloth and wiped away the bits of dried blood, acid and leather from the wound. She'd already used all of her poultice reagents on the most serious injuries. She'd have to rely on using some of her own power, just enough to speed the healing process along.

Inhaling deeply, she let her left hand hover near the wound on his wrist. She closed her eyes and concentrated on the well of her own energy. It took a moment to reach it, like catching a fish in a deep pool, but soon a soft white light appeared around her hand. She exhaled slowly, releasing the energy. Ever so slightly, the redness in the wound subsided and it began to close. She repeated the process on the wound on his leg, healing conservatively since he would probably heal pretty quickly on his own.

"It will still take some time to fully heal, but I've hastened the process a bit," she explained wearily as she wrapped the wounds. "In the meantime, try to rest that hand and leg as much as possible."

She looked up at him when she was finished with a nod. "You're all set. Though..." she glanced at the barrel he'd been attempting to sleep on in a crumpled heap. "You may feel better if you try to rest like a person rather than a bird."

Although truth be told, even resting like a bird would be nice at this point.
 
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Single eyed, Garrod looked at the healer, and gave her a slow nod in agreement. His white-cased hand, clawed and strange as it was in the relic-armor, undid buckle, pulled free what strap remained in tact around the slick slough of his skin and bits of his flesh, and slipped off the leather sleave upon which the iron bracer was mounted. His wound stung, the pain came on like fire turned needle pricks as the salty air swept with a low howl.

A huff of breath through the nose, and he set to work on his poleyn and sabaton. More stinging, more pain. But the boot came off, and the armor clanked upon the deck.

Try to relax.

His eye shifted up from the red of his wounds to the earthy tone of her visage, stained by the film of oil lamp smoke. His eye's sight shift down to where her hand hovered, felt her work before she saw it. The flow of his own blood. The stitching of his own flesh. It all seemed to shake and stir, as if all part of the same pool moved by the healer's hand. A light glowed, soft as dandelion seeds aglow below the moons on a cloudless night, and all the sounds of the sea sang through the cuts in the hull and gaps in the planks aboard the undead vessel.

She advised him, and he nod, keen to follow. "Wounds are just healing faster," he thought aloud, as he felt those raw surfaces she had so carefully wrapped up, ache something strange. As if his skin wanted to crawl, but was still learning how.

He gave a nod. "And what about you?" he asked as he gingerly worked down the sleeve of his gambeson. "Burning more magick, after all that," he tilt his head toward one of the shambling corpse sailors. "Keep that up, and you end up one of them,"
 
Elinyra chuckled at the comment, although part of her certainly felt like death warmed over after everything that had transpired tonight. Smoke still wafted from the Sea Demon, a choking reminder of what might have become of them if not for both the crew’s bravery and Maeve’s intervention.

“I think I should be fine. I might have done this a time or two before,” she said with a slight grin, brushing aside a stray strand of hair as she gathered her tools and lantern.

She stood and looked at him a moment longer, an eyebrow raised inquisitively.

“Here you are, burned and only half-awake and you worry for the healer…” she was going to say something about chivalry, but decided as a yawn crept up her throat it was too late in the night. Gratitude was for another day. Instead, she dimmed the lantern so as to stop disturbing the slumbering souls on the deck.

“Goodnight, Garrod,” she said with a nod of her head before making her way to a spot where she might finally catch up on some sleep; preferably somewhere away from where the other ship's passengers had huddled together like sheep.
 
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A nod to acknowledge her confidence. "Didn't mean anything by it," he said idly as she grinned and looked at him more intently. Uneasy, he cast his eye to the side, staring at the water he could see shimmering through one of the many holes in the magicked hull. Her new words brought his eye back to her, and he watched as she seemed to mull over what else to say.

Goodnight, Garrod,

A second nod. "Rest find you, Elinyra," he replied, and watched her move away.

Alone once more, Garrod looked down at his freshly wrapped arm, still felt the wound pulse. Not with the sting or pain, but with life. Sure was nice to have a healer. He let his arm down and checked his calf next. Saw his bare toes and gave them a wiggle. Felt how cold they were exposed to the night winds at sea. He looked down at what parts of his kit survived. Armor, knife, sword, and what he kept in his belt.

Bad luck that. But, his eye glanced up and saw the healer find a place to lay down. He supposed not all of it was bad.

"Best go try and be a person," he muttered to himself, and came off his horrible perch with a soft thud against the ancient wooden planks.
Sleep came quick that night, soon as Garrod had found a spot to lay down with what things of his still remained. There was a grimness to the next days that came. Those who had suffered too severely came to pass. Elinyra did what she could, but all had their limits. Maeve bargained with the captain, said, their corpses would make fine recompense for the service she had provided. Eghrak was none too pleased about that idea. He had known them. They were his crew.

Were.

Maeve was sure to remind him, and proud as he was, Eghrak conceded to the sea witch who had saved the Sea Demon.

"Forgive me, mateys," the old dwarf said somberly.

"We did all we could, Captain," Filoa tried to comfort him.

Eghrak's face scrunched up, but, he held back the words that had bubbled up. "Right, well, we'll see how all plays out yet."

Garrod watched from afar, thought it strange, but then, so was all of this. A ship crewed by the dead, a sea witch who had saved not just them, but the very ship they had set ablaze in a desperate bid to survive. He looked down at his arm, flexed the still healing flesh. Even that felt weird. A healer's touch. Been a while since he had felt that.

"Ready yourself, Garrod," the old dwarf warned with a gruff look to him. "We make for the Crossroads Mire,"

"The mire?" Garrod said, eye wide with some disbelief. "Den of necromancers and body stitchers, that is," he said with a half-smile. A weird thing. Excitement, mixed with fear.

"Nearest port for days, and" Eghrak looked to his own ship. "We can get the Ol' Demon fixed up there at least, enough to get us to Alliria safely under our own weight," his eyes narrowed, still bothered some by the price he had to pay.

A calm nod was all Garrod could give, having pushed down the strange energy that had crept up from the well of his heart.

How delightful.

As they sailed along the coast of the archipelago that made up the great Bayou, Garrod and crew were on high alert. It was a well known fact that pirates hid fast sailing sloops between the isles, and their shallow hulled fleets would descend on sailors caught unaware like a flock of ravenous gulls. And one night, they did just that. Slipped from the reeds and tried to cross the waters to board.

The bells rang loud, and the undead crew stirred to action. Were it the moaning of the dead, or the fire blast sent sailing through the air and set to splash and fizzle in the sea, who could truly say. But the raiding party broke off their approach, and the captains shifted their course back out to open waters.

Then came the fog. A night later. Thick as soup.

"Should be we are near the Crossroads," Eghrak muttered.

"Light ahead!" came the call from the crows nest. "Off the starboard bow!"

Eyes would look there and see, an eye of red, piercing through the silver-grey curtains. Blinking, and blinking as their ships sailed closer still.

"S'a Light house, captain!"
 
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Elinyra would agree that the following days wore away in the agonizing eternity of mountains grinding to dust. She offered to put those who had died of their wounds aboard Kiva’s Fury to rest in a ceremony at sea, but Maeve’s pragmatic argument ultimately bore more weight with the captain and crew who owed her their own lives; and perhaps a secret fear of what would happen if the request became demand. An agreement was reached through disdainful scowls and unrequited grief.

Trapped aboard the ghost ship – the captain made it clear he considered it riskier to re-board the damaged Sea Demon than to remain on Maeve’s ship – every living soul couldn’t help but feel a sense of displacement, as if they were standing in between the veil not knowing which side they’d emerge from. Then there was the fact that the undead crew had a cold disregard for the living, but seemed almost eager for the deceased to join their ranks.

Captain Eghrak and a couple of his crew stayed aboard the Sea Demon to man the ship, but even when aboard the Fury he said little to anyone as Maeve led his battered vessel across a stretch of sea towards an archipelago. He had been secretive about the nature of their intermediary destination, but the higher-ranked members of Eghrak’s crew kept suspicious eyes aimed at the islands along the starboard side, while the naive passengers stared longingly at the low, green juts of earth dissected by capillaries of water. Land so close they could sometimes smell the earth and plants on the breeze, but tantalizingly out of reach.

This archipelago was apparently populated. Populated enough that it had its own problems with piracy. The two ships only had one short run-in with them as a small fleet of sloops emerged from their hiding places among the islands only to turn tail before they could get close enough to engage.

The night after was another dismal one, made eerie by a thick bank of fog that obscured the land and sea. A cry of “light ahead” came from the crow’s nest, and a crimson glare like a demon’s gaze flashed towards the ships. The two crafts turned towards the welcome, if not strange, glow from the top of a lighthouse still unseen in the moonless night, taking up their sails to take a slow, careful measure of the waters before them.

A pitch-black chunk of land loomed before them, punctuated by several lanterns hanging on long posts along a wide dock. A small bell tolled ahead, and more torches and lamps lit along the shoreline like fireflies. Workers ran along on a broad boardwalk, waving the lights to guide the two ships gently into the dock.

Gangplanks were crowded with disembarking passengers the moment they had been placed down, relief palpable as the traumatized travellers set foot onto terra firma once again. Elinyra could feel that same relief as she departed the ship. She wondered how many times over the last few days she had sworn never to set foot on a sea-faring vessel again after this journey. While the others sorted through their belongings and asked for directions to the nearest supply of warm food and beds, the druid closed her eyes and breathed deeply of the air. The sea salt mingled with the slightly fermented odor of rotting plant matter. A marsh lay nearby.

The two captains gathered in front of Maeve’s ship, a discussion held in hushed tones beyond the ears of passengers or crew. An attentive gaze may have seen them nod to each other, the kivren with a sly smile playing across her lips and the dwarf with a thin veneer of respect over a heart-deep wound. The kivren boarded her ship shortly afterwards, where her crew had already begun the preparations for departure.

The passengers had left on their own initiatives and the Sea Demon’s crew waited wearily for their captain’s orders. Eghrak was watching Kiva’s Fury disappear into the bank of fog with a haunted look beneath the rim of his sunken eyes.

“Cap’n, let’s get some food and sleep. Gods know we could use it,” Shi Lynn offered with a pat on the captain’s shoulder.

“Aye, that we do,” was all the old dwarf had to say.

Unfortunately, there was nothing to be said of the cuisine of Crossroad Mire unless one happened to be a connoisseur of things tasting like mud. The roadhouse had plenty of spaces to sleep, granted many of them were lacking in privacy and disputable in cleanliness. Considering their accommodations over the last few nights, no one was in the mood to argue. Especially with the hairy, semi-humanoid creature who had greeted their group with a big pot of something that looked entirely undigestible.



As the next day dawned, the dense fog began to leisurely lift from the landscape. This was a mixed blessing, as the cramped cluster of stilted huts and crooked boardwalks that defined Crossroad Mire were revealed in the gradual manner of something rising from its grave. All manner of fisherfolk, traders and scoundrels were already out and about on business; humans, kivren, orcs and others, all shifty-eyed and glancing intermittently over their shoulders.

Elinyra had awakened early, before the being calling herself Hagglesnip had the chance to finish brewing whatever was in the roadhouse’s large cauldron marked ‘Catch of the Day’. The smell of it, wafting through the entirety of the building, was enough to turn her stomach without the pleasure of seeing or – spirits forbid – tasting it.

She had business to attend to anyway: the first being the matter of restocking her medical supplies, of which she had used the last, and the second matter of having another healer’s opinion on the state of her hand. What she would have given to have her mentor and former friend Sil’Edain with her now...

It took some time to get information from the locals. The first person she’d asked, a burly kivren with a spiralling swirl of ink tattooed on one arm, spat on the roadhouse’s floor and muttered something under his breath before walking quickly away from her. The second, a stocky human woman who smelled strongly of chum, stared wordlessly at the sleeves of the elf’s robe as if expecting a dagger to come out at any moment. Finally, a very short woman – probably a dwarf or halfling beneath the layers of grime all over her skin and clothes – pointed a stubby finger towards a structure standing alone on a sea-side outcropping of rock and sand. It was perhaps the only structure in the whole area that was built more-or-less straight.

“’E lives in the lighthouse,” she explained in a suspicious tone, her eyes leaving Elinyra’s face to glance behind her shoulder. “Why do ye need to see ‘im? Ye got some disease?” she said in disgust, taking a couple steps away while wiping her greasy hands on her tunic.

Elinyra was taken aback by the irony of the accusation from a town that clearly never bathed, but she held her tongue and instead pondered the location. A healer living as a lighthouse keeper? What a strange combination, in a place quite strange to begin with. So she shrugged inwardly and thanked the grubby woman for her time before making her way to the silhouette of a lonesome, water-stained wooden tower in the lingering sea mist.
 
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Garrod sat on a bench, found it far more comfortable than a crate or a barrel, but only marginally so. A bowl in hand and a wooden spoon in the other. He stared down blankly at the Cath of the Day. It was all tentacles and translucent goo. And the gravy the chunks swam in. It was inky and near black.

"Can't be that bad, can it?" Filoa asked, her dauntless cheer there neath the quaver in her voice.

A shrug was the monster hunter's reply. "Smells pretty strange,"

Filoa plugged her nose with one hand, pinching the the bridge with forefinger and thumb. "Well, maybe if I don't smell it," she said, voice stopped up and nasally, scooped up a bit of it, and plunged it into her mouth. She mulled it over. "Ish noth badh," she said, and passed down the moutful and crammed another spoonful down.

Another shrug, and Garrod followed suit, only he skipped the pinching of the nose and went straight for the spoonful. After the initial funk, the sweetness of dead things, almost like fermentation, there was a pleasant sourness to it. A freshness too. Like lemon. The clear jelly was not too flavorful on its own, just absorbed the flavors of the broth and provided an odd texture. He passed it down. "Huh," he took another spoonful, and saw Elinyra walk by. His eye followed her as she spoke to some of the locals.

A tentacle slapped Filoa across the cheek. One of the little chewy creatures still wiggling around in its broth. The young sailor only started, but she bared her teeth and twist her head to get a hard bight onto the spongey flesh of the squid-thing. "
Yee icked the wrong shailor to shlap!" she tore the arm off of the tiny kraken and it screamed.

Idly, Garrod ate another spoonful and watched as Elinyra walked away, a slippery tentacle slurped through pursed lips. He chewed, then drank down the broth. He let the bowl down, vanquished, the wooden spoon clattered along its hollow rim. He rose. "See ya later, Filoa,"

Filoa nodded and waved with two fingers. Still busy chomping down the creature.

Out of his full set of armor, he still wore the pale gauntlet, its jeweled eye with an ichor-like-slime-shine in the low light of the bog. The skeleton-like hand reached out and grabbed the runed-sword that rest against the wall of a slanted shack. He hefted the blade up, and let it rest against his shoulder, walking after the druid.
The Lighthouse loomed tall in the mist. Its eerie red eye, passing, and passing. Slow in its revolutions. Steady, yet off. Ever so. Shorter. Longer. Longer. Shorter.

Red... Red.. Red.....

A color that bled into the mind. Flickering. Bouncing. Dancing.

Red.

Oozing.

Red.

Trailing. A smear in the mist. The door at the base of the near-straight tower creaked open. Did you knock? Thick stubby fingers, dead-leaf yellow curled about the hard edge of rickety door, down below the waist.

"Who is it?" came the voice from inside. A large round eye, from a short squat shape, peered out from the thick shadows that cloaked the interior of the lighthouse.
 
A polite knock on the grizzled lighthouse door echoed dully through the emptiness beyond, like a noise incongruous with the depth of silence this place was accustomed to. It was answered with a series of barely-audible thuds from inside as someone with a heavy gait approached. The door creaked open just far enough for a set of blunt digits to get a hold of its edge.

"Who is it?" a paper-thin voice wheezed behind a single eye that squinted at her.

Elinyra looked down at the small figure as it slowly blinked.

“I was told a healer lives here,” she said after an uncertain pause. “I would like to buy some supplies, if there are any to spare; and I’d like an opinion on something.”

The figure blinked again, lethargically, and the door fully swung open. Elinyra stepped out of the sanguine glare of the light and into the astringent air of the tower.

Garrod Arlette
 
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1666073327127.pngIt was a small strange thing that greeted Elinyra at the door. About half as tall as her, gangly with pale greyish skin and long knobby limbs. It had a singular enormous eye where a head should be and a froggy mouth that rest in the thin skin just below it. "Come in," it croaked, and hobble-shuffled its way across the smoke swirled room, the air full of the low churn and grind of large metal cogs and cranks and shafts.

A stirring arrhythmia as the glow of the light house's lamp pulsed cinnabar in one moment, oxblood the next, how it painted the high walls of the crooked structure in violent light.

Shelves worn and eaten by the briny air held books and vials and boxes and tools, while others had magic lamps glowing above them, hung with twine and hobnails just above small plants potted in soil. Some so colorful, they seemed to tell all around them, don't touch me.

"Master," the scratch of voice came from the creature's mouth. "Visitor," it announced.

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"Ah, so there is," came a silvery voice. From behind the simple machinery, a young man rest his pen beside its inkwell, his hands shutting a small journal. "Welcome," he said shortly, his pale golden hair disheveled as he pushed his chair out from under the desk with a rough groan of the wood. "We have plenty of stock, if you are looking for something to deal with ulcers, then we have more marshmallow root than we know what to do with." He went to examine some of the strangely colored plants. One almost seemed to unfurl its leaves to him in greeting. "We are a tad bit low on blackberry leaves, however, horrible bout of the rot gut blew through the town the other day," he smiled a melancholy smile as he turned and stopped before Elinyra. "Luckily, only a few suffered of dysentery, and even they came out fine at the end of it," He looked over the druid a moment, a certain realization dawning in his curious blue eyes. "My, look at me, prattling on like a fool. Yes, how can I help you?" He asked as he folded his hands behind his back.

The one eyed creature slugged about, gathering a stray cup left on his Master's desk. A warm yellow light illuminated the workspace, where the feint trace of red seemed to touch all else. "Tea, for Master and guest?" the creature asked as it shuffled out of sight.

"Oh, yes Viktor! Tea sounds lovely! With two sugars please!" he looked to Elinyra, "Would you care for some tea?"
 
Elinyra was still taking in the unusual atmosphere around her, and trying to deduce the nature of the amphibious-seeming cyclops that was escorting her. The place was strangely charming, all in all, even if the mechanical aspects of it were completely indecipherable to her. The potted plants caught her eye immediately, though she couldn’t identify any of the colorful foliage.

She tried not to show her bewilderment at the blonde human before her. He seemed quite a bit too young for his profession – but perhaps she was clinging too much to her elven sensibilities again, and it seemed rude to point it out.

“Tea would be nice. Thank you,” she replied instead with a polite nod, all the while thinking back to the pot of mystery stew simmering back at the roadhouse with great suspicion at his mention of gut rot. She felt a pang of pity for any poor soul who was brave – or hungry – enough to try to ingest that concoction.

“Actually, I’m mainly in need of poultice materials, styptic herbs, some cleansing herbs for wounds.” She avoided giving him a specific list; it was unlikely any of the plants she normally worked with would be found in this region. She was also genuinely curious what sorts of substitutes were used here.

“And…” her voice quavered slightly as she cast an uncertain glance at the wrapping on her right hand. She had to know, even if it turned out to be an answer she didn’t want to hear. “Well, I have a rather unusual wound of my own that I would like your professional opinion on.”

Garrod Arlette​

 
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"Make that tea for two, Viktor, if you would be so kind," The young healer called out over the steady drone of the lighthouse's old gears.

"Yeees," croaked the mono-eyed being from the distance. "Master," the sound of pots and pans clattered, and tin rang with a thump against soft wood.

"Forgive me, um, yes," the young man moved to a shelf, and with one hand he fiddled with small wooden boxes, with the other, he grabbed up some glass jars. With an arm full of things, he came back to a mostly empty counter, and let the containers fall there. "Herbs for a poultice," he said to himself, and nimbly put forward one wooden box, then another, each a little larger than his open hand. "We have yarrow, and horsetail to aid with bleeding, and..." he grabbed up another one, opened it, saw nothing that pleased him, closed it up and grabbed another. "And some neem leaf, and oil from the seeds," he happily pushed that box forward, and looked over at the glass jars he had placed down, gabbing one up. "Are you practiced in creating extractions and tinctures, Miss..." he stopped, looked up at the elf and came to a realization, his hand let the jar of clear liquid back down onto the counter. "Oh, I haven't gotten your name," he blinked again, and frowned, "Nor have I given mine, my, how horrid," his eyes seemed to gloss over, a well of tears there across their surface. He cleared his throat, and bowed to her profusely. "I am William von Hammersmark," he rose up, just as Viktor brought about a tarnished silver tray, upon which two porcelain teacups, with colorful flowers illustrated along its sides, rattled, full of a dark colored tea. A little bowl of sugar cubes sat between them. The red glow of the lighthouse's lamp flashed across the tray in murky reflection.

"Teeea," the one eyed hobbler sounded, voice sharp as a rusted knife.

"Thank you Viktor," William said, with a nod of appreciation, and picked up one of the cups, and blew across its surface.

Viktor placed the tray at a small corner table, and waddled away.

"You mentioned a peculiar wound?" William asked, as he took a sip from his drink. "Oh, Viktor," he said with a tightness to his face. "You forgot the sugar," he grabbed up two lumps, and let them fall into the dark liquid. Took a little spoon rested there beside the bowl, and stirred at his beverage. "Well, I would be happy to give my professional opinion," he said, all too happy as he stirred his drink, over and over.

The red glow of the lamp grew brighter, shined against the metals in the room, and faded.
 
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Whatever William may have lacked in experience, he made up for in fervor for his craft. Elinyra was quite impressed with his selection of herbs, most of which were at least familiar in name. A relief, also, because the meager contents of her coinpurse couldn’t afford any exotic herbs anyway.

“Please, there’s no need to apologize – really. It is nice to meet you, William von Hammersmark.” She bowed in turn and introduced herself simply by name. She didn’t suppose an outdated title meant anything anymore, particularly not in the middle of a swamp.

The comforting scent of hot tea reminded Elinyra that she hadn’t had anything to eat or drink since the remains of the Sea Demon had made port, and she helped herself gratefully to one of the pretty little cups. Her gaze flicked again with a tentative wonderment at William’s strange servant until it scurried out of sight. She dropped in a single cube of sugar and watched it slowly melt.

“I have some experience with the use of herbal medicine, yes, but in the old ways. A few tinctures, rarely, but nothing so...elaborate.” she inclined her head thoughtfully, considering how someone with so many mechanisms around him might view the plants that supplied him with their medicine. Perhaps as mere mechanisms themselves.

She sipped the tea – A bracing, earthy flavor. The crimson light above flashed all around them for a moment. She closed her eyes against the intrusion until it passed.

“I’d appreciate it,” she replied to his offer to look at her wound, though she hesitated for a few moments before setting the teacup down and gingerly unwrapping her right hand.

It looked perhaps slightly better than it had before; the open wound had formed a blackened, scabrous scar over itself. In the reddish light of the room, it was difficult to tell how irritated the surrounding skin still was. She held the hand out for him to see.

“It was an old wound. I thought it had healed until it started hurting again recently. Then, this. It doesn’t hurt at the moment, actually, but-” she paused as she realized that although the wound didn’t hurt, it felt… like something. The softest tingle in her fingers like they had been numb for awhile.

She didn’t finish the statement. Instead she waited to see what the healer had to say.

Garrod Arlette​

 
  • Ctuhlu senpai
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William stared wide eyed with weird excitement shining there in the whites of his eyes as Elinyra unwound her bandages. After all, it was not every day that a stranger came to visit, and less common still to have said stranger ask for his professional opinion. He would have told her that, but he had a feeling it would ruin the excitement.

"Oh ho," he tittered, put his cup down on a nearby shelf, and drew a step, then two closer to the wounded druid.. "My, what a most peculiar wound," he confessed as she held it out to him. "You thought it healed, and then... a renewed sense of pain," he drew closer to it still. Too close to be comfortable. "Along with a most peculiar discoloration. Unnatural even. Disgusting, most would say... near... no no… necrotic." But what did comfort have to do with medicine? Little and less. "It seems," he said, getting a fraction of a hair closer. "Yes, like it may be... of magical nature," he eeked out and popped back up, back straight, a too pleasant smile spread across his lips. Maybe it was attempt at instilling confidence? Comfort. "I have specialized tools down in the workshop that will help me better diagnose this all too mysterious affliction you currently suffer from, Lady Elinyra," he said with nods of assurance. "Viktor!" he all but shouted, his voice hot and hoarse.

The sound of steps near-dragged across the floor came from around the bend. "Masterrrrr," the hobbling thing replied as it shuffled into view. "Yes?"

"Viktor, I am going to fetch my tools, please do make sure our guest, well," he laughed with a bubble of pride as he stepped toward a heavy wooden door that looked sturdier than the wall that framed it. "Our patient is comfortable, yes," he swung the door open, and vanished into its shadowy maw. The door stayed ajar.

Viktor shambled closer to Elinyra. "Coookies?" he asked, and held up a little plate with surprisingly fresh biscuits there upon. They even looked buttery and crisp as they jostled and shook upon the plate grasped by his strange grey hands.

Elinyra
 
  • Nervous
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Elinyra ignored her sudden desire to step away from the healer as he inspected her hand, even if his presence seemed less reassuring by the minute. She wasn't quite sure what to make of William's rather animated response. He was an intense young man.

She mulled over what he'd said after he left. Necrotic. Of a magical nature. Glancing at her hand, she felt a slight revulsion herself. She wondered what sort of 'tools', exactly, William was fetching.

"Cookies?" the servant offered. By the Awen, was she hungry... The druid thanked Viktor and took one, nibbling on it with her eyes glued to the dark doorway where she swore she could hear clanking and groaning - though it was hard to make out anything above the incessant groaning and whirring of the gears driving the light.

The light shone its warning light on the open door as it passed again. Something compelled Elinyra to investigate further. She took a couple leisurely steps towards the door in the guise of just looking around at the little lamps above the plants, the odd collection of things shelved along the walls...

Garrod Arlette​

 
  • Devil
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The cookie would taste of a gentle sweetness. Hints of honey that mingled with the savory notes of rosemary herb and well salted butter. Viktor's large eye squeezed with delight.

"Good?" it asked her as she stood by the door way.

Through the portal of the frame, her eyes would see red glow along stone walls that curved down along the trace of a staircase. Down into a depth unseen.

The sounds of clattering, and jostling and tinkering and tankering echoed up from down below. The red lights, magick spheres inplace of torches, were ever-present in their burn.

"No go down," Croaked Viktor. "Come," a slimy hand clasped around whichever wrist was within reach. Cold and clamy, absent of life's warmth, Viktor held her with a clumsy strength before he tugged her back. "Sit, be... comfortable." he rasped.

"Where is it, where is it?" came an angry whisper from down below. A shout. Loud and shrill with anger. Something crashed against a wall with a crack. "Oh!" William said, joyed. "There you are," Quick steps, across a room unseen.

Red, burned the walls within the lighthouse, and on did the wheels and gears churn. Each revolution, on the brink of instability. On the edge of breaking. The steps drew up the stairs. The wheels turned and the red light faded from the walls.

"Ah, Lady Elinyra, my apologies," came the placid candor of young William as he came through the door, a fine wooden box cradled in his arms. "But!" he said with some excitement as he crossed through the doorframe. "I've- Oh," he blinked, and looked past the druid. "And who might you be?"

There at the door, was the white haired monster hunter. "Uh, yo," he said with a concerned eye turned to Elinyra, and the strange creature at her side.

Elinyra
 
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"Yes, very good," she agreed with a tight-lipped and anxious smile. It was actually delicious, but some taste of unease deep in her throat countered the honey sweetness. Reluctantly, she came along with Viktor to one of the cushioned chairs along the inside wall of the lighthouse and sat down.

She kept her eyes on the interior door until William returned with a strange box in hand, of the kind someone might store artisan's tools in. His eyes drifted past her, and she turned to see a familiar face - much to her relief.

"Garrod! What brings you out here?" she asked, turning her right hand palm-down and holding it out of sight between herself and the arm of the chair.

With a waddling gait, Viktor left his current ward to slink towards the open front door.

"Guest...?" the servant croaked with what might have been glee and blinked at his master, who seemed less pleased.

Garrod Arlette​

 
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Garrod's eye followed the short creature that waddled up to him.

Strange as it might have looked, it seemed... innocent enough. His green eye scrolled up to find the young man with the thin box. "I'm just here to, uh," he had his greatsword hung on his back, but the weapon was sheathed. "Call you for lunch," he added simply, eye moving from the odd young man to the druid. "Everything alright?"

William's eyes squinted testily at the newcomer. "Yes, quite alright... Garrod." he replied, and huffed out a breath. "You'll forgive my apprehension, when a man with a sword arrives at my door, well, it rarely signals good tidings," he shook his head, but moved to Elinyra's side. "Viktor!" he called out too loud, and the thing with its one large eye seemed to perk up at the call. "Please, help our new guest with anything he needs,"

Viktor's huge eye turned to Garrod, slowly blinked, and crinkled with a smile. "Teeeea?" it asked with a hint of pride.

A strange gurgle came from Garrod's stomach, and a queasiness, almost green, seemed to twist his features. He smiled weakly at Viktor. "Tea sounds good,"

"Teeeea," Viktor croaked happily, and shuffled off.

Garrod blinked, and he followed deeper into the lighthouse turned healer's hut.

William cleared his throat, and turned his attention back to Elinrya, placing the long and elegant box down upon the table beside her. The red glow of the lighthouse beacon gleamed in violent streaks across its polished surface as he unlatched the copper clasps with a click-clack.

The top swung open. William's eyes were aglow with delight, reflecting the the crimson light as it passed along fine glass and clean metal. It near burned in the medic's eyes before it faded. Gingerly, William lifted the object that was within the box, a pleased smile spread wide across his face as he held up the tool. In his hands was a long silver syringe, intricate and fine in its construction, with a needle nose like an impossibly thin dagger that glint with the moons' cleansing silver, and the vial of cold glass, so carefully caressed by bands of delicate metal.

Garrod's eye went large as he watched William hold up the eerily elegant tool, and he stopped

"Well, yes, right, where were we?" he asked as he set down the long needle. "This will help me get a better sample of the affected area," he said coolly, and took out a small glass vial that rest nestled inside the box. A clear liquid went tilt and ripple inside the vial's clear walls, until William stood the vial up in a thin metal holder there at his desk.

Red blurred past, slow as a ghost, reluctant to leave, before it bled away.

Elinyra
 
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The object in the box was unfamiliar to Elinyra, but something about the sharp, gleaming needle and the reservoir attached to it reminded her of a ritual implement of the sort dark cults used for sacrifices to their bloodthirsty gods. A half-eaten cookie dropped from her fingers to crumble sadly in her lap.

“This seems unnecessary. Surely you can take your sample without the use of such a-” she again eyed the large syringe, glinting with cold menace on the table. “-dangerous weapon?”

She glanced back over at Garrod with mixed feelings. The monster hunter’s presence, and moreover his apparent concern for her, alleviated her anxiety about William’s strange mannerisms, but she was reluctant to let any of her temporary travelling companions know about the wound until her suspicions were refuted.

“Lunch sounds lovely,” she replied to Garrod with a soft smile that quickly faded. “Perhaps after I’m finished here? This is somewhat of a… private matter, you understand.

“Viktor here makes excellent tea and biscuits, in the meantime,” she added with an encouraging nod towards the hidden room the cyclops had made off to, where a teapot now gave a shrill whistle.

Garrod Arlette​

 
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Garrod looked to the druid, a hint of confusion there behind his eye as he stared at the needle and the odd man who held it. "Right," he agreed. "A private matter," he nodded and followed off into the room Viktor had vanished into with slow steps. The red lamp of the lighthouse whirred about, and its blood colored light filled the room.

As Garrod's footfalls faded away, so too did the crimson.

William sneered as he watched the the hunter disappear from sight. "Oafish brute," he muttered beneath his breath, and his eyes turned back to regard Elinyra. "Now," he said as he cleared his throat, and adjusted his seat. "Lady Elinyra," his fingers tapped, one after the other, along the delicate side of the ominous tool he held with such care. "I assure you, it is no weapon," he smiled, attempted to be warm. It made him look colder. More awkward.

"May I remind you," he began, and his smile faded as quickly as it had appeared, his look serious. "You sought my professional opinion," he adjusted his seat as to scoot closer to her. The needle's point that much closer to the druid. "And it is my professional opinion that we secure a sample using the best tool available to us." he nodded. "Of course, if you would rather leave my diagnoses at a simple matter of necromancy, then by all means, you are free to go on in your blissful ignorance," he closed his eyes and turned his head away.

Metal went on working, and the light returned, bright along the walls as it passed.

Elinyra
 
Elinyra was giving William a reproachful look when he turned back to her. She wondered if he was even aware that he’d insulted her acquaintance right in front of her. Something about him seemed different; unpleasant, as if an artfully-woven basket had been opened to find a viper inside.

She recoiled in the face of the awful instrument drawing closer. His words held a venomous logic that burned her intuition. Until he mentioned -

“Necromancy…?!” The word fell from her lips like a quiet curse. What would the path of the dead have to do with healing anyone? She wondered darkly, her eyes narrowed at the ‘healer’.

“Thank you for your hospitality, but I believe it's best if we go now,” she said hastily, gathering up the bandages and moving to get out of the chair. She didn't need those herbs as much as she thought she did, after all.

Garrod Arlette​

 
William's eyes narrowed as he watched the druid gather her things. Where he was stoic and serious, now he looked cold enough to burn. "Necromancy, Lady Elinyra, yes, a most serious matter to find yourself afflicted by," he said without missing a beat. "Your wound, is magical, and necrotic, something that leads me to believe it is a product of a curse, or hex, common tools in a necromancer's kit," he went on, like the teeth of those gears that went on turning, his voice stayed cold as the room spread with red, the long needle in his hand, statue still. "It could be infectious, for all we know. It could be, that foul mark spreading across your flesh is a contagious curse..." his eyes were fixed on her wound. Wide as they took in every detail they could. "Walk away now, and it could be that your choice here may see it spread to those around you, like the man taking tea with Viktor."

A tea kettle whistled in the room over.

"But please," he smiled with a saccharine sweetness. "Don't let me keep you if you truly must be going,"

Elinyra
 
Elinyra stopped in the middle of getting up, her breath caught in her throat at the gravity of his words. She didn’t like it at all, but he was right about one thing; she didn’t want to consider the consequences if her affliction could, in fact, spread to others.

A moment of recollection brought her back to the night she’d received the wound, ten years ago. The stranger cloaked in a darkness that defied moonlight, the dagger… he might have been a necromancer… but why the attack? She’d never been able to make sense of any of it.

She settled back into the chair to glare at him with a grim determination.

“All right. Do it then.” She forced herself to open her hand to where the wound was accessible to the instrument. Red light flashed across her blackened palm. The wound was aching again, as if in response to the current battle between Elinyra’s sense and intuition.

Garrod Arlette​

 
William nodded. as the red faded.

There was no hint of pleasure behind his stony mask. He set the syringe down on the table once more, and took out a pair of clean black gloves from the kit's box. Slipped them on over his fingers. They were fine things, skin tight. He nodded, and scoot in closer to the afflicted patient. His hands daintily took up a vial of the clear liquid he had set down earlier, and a cotton cloth. Quick work of his hands saw the cloth dabbed with the liquid, the smell of strong, burning, spirits filled the room, and he wiped down the tool's long nose first.

"I will clean the wound first," he said to the patient. "It will help prevent any further contamination of the afflicted area," he dabbed more of the clear spirit into the cloth and then gently dabbed across the wound. His blue eyes wide as they watched how the skin and its discoloration may have reacted. "Does that hurt?" he asked as he pressed firmly with his cloth-wrapped fingers. The vapors of the clear solution wafted about between them.

Elinyra
 
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