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Saint Mishra, a Cortosi merchant vessel carrying precious cargo and passengers alike, was hiding. Hiding minerals, ingots of silver, gold and gemstones, brought from the mines of Liadain to the opulent leaders of Cerak At'thul. That is, if she could make it there.
The captain cursed, while the Mishra creaked and groaned, spearing between reefs near the volcanic protusions of Ryan's Bane. Their cargo was invaluable - but the Mishra would rather see them dashed against the rocks than have them fall into pirate hands. The reasoning of her captain deemed that these reefs would cause more trouble for the warship on their tail than it had for their slim vessel.
Archanae knew the logic behind this deduction well, flawed as it was. It didn't account for the devil-may-care attitude of pirates or their voracious greed, and more like than not, in the span of some hours, they would come crawling among the rocks like starving crabs, when the daylight had fully dwindled and rendered the jaws of the sea invisible. Perhaps, if the passengers of the Mishra bristled enough weapons, fear might outweigh their greed. But she suspected that the privateers would far outnumber them in both arms and warriors.
All part of her design.
When the black flags and sails had appeared on the horizon, crew and captain alike quickly concluded the wind wasn't in their favour to outrun them. So through the subtle nudge of both runic spell and tongue, Archanae had bent the mind of the captain towards this cove. A cove that Archanae remembered playing amongst with fellow children of her Nazrani tribe, when she still lived under the bliss of ignorance.
If a confrontation was at hand, she would choose the ground of it. Better that than the open seas, where a sinking ship would mean a long, agonising death in the throes of the ocean.
Even here, the roiling waters lapped hungrily against the hull. The wind impetuously flung and tousled her braided hair, her bronze talismans and charms gently clinking. She gathered her bleached robes about her against the faint chill, the sand-coloured cloth whipping around her like a royal train kept aloft by invisible hands, shifting to reveal glimpses of onyx skin and cryptic, gold-coloured tattoos of geometric patterns, spiralling and circling her flesh like incomprehensible vows. Her four-fingered hand clenched tightly on the rail, watching the dark waters gurgle and reach out for her with fingers of foam.
She remembered when her childhood had ended here. When she had faced her own mortality, in the form of a sleek, grey fin drifting between the rocks. Though she had been quick, the beast had been quicker. Phantom pain shot through her stump where her ring-finger should have been, and pulsed down the old, teeth-marked scars on her wrist, underarm and side that time couldn't fully heal. It still sent shudders through her spine - the sudden splash, and the curtain of watery mystery parting to reveal a monster born of the ocean, all rows of teeth and black eyes promising a senseless end.
She could have been in the belly of a shark that day. Instead, here she was, fully grown, now flung back to this spot where the world had taught her its cruel lesson, by the whims of wind and sea. If there was anything she dreaded, it was the unknowable depths of the ocean - the black, gurgling void, endless and deep, shrouding terrors beneath.
The gods must have a sense of irony to return her here, she concluded. She could grant that much to the divine powers.
The fevered mumbles of a prayer caught her eye. A priest of the Radiant Church, his hands clenched together in supplication, on his knees, begging favours from his retreating sun.
Pathetic. Her amber eyes glared in incensed disappointment. The sight of him was enough to make her blood boil and stoke the coals of her old, slumbering rage. Such a futile action, begging favours from the gods - the same gods that allowed children to die every day, while arbitrarily sparing villains and criminals. But it was more than his vain prayers that angered her. It was the servile attitude, the crippled courage of leaving one's fate in the hands of supposedly superior beings. The same sheep-like mentality that plagued most humans.
She overheard a crewman swinging down from the mast-nets to report to the captain.
"Rocks. Rocks all around, port and starboard - we can only turn back at this point, captain."
The captain, still under the influence of her spell, had a glazed look to her. Her nod came a second too slow, acknowledging the report.
"Drop the anchors," the captain said, and Archanae's full lips followed, whispering barely audible words that the captain echoed loudly. "If they pursue us here, we will make our stand. Ready bow and arrow and round up anyone who can swing a sword. They want our ingots and gemstones, they will have to fight for it."
Even this sailor, his face exposing worry at the captain's strange demeanor, decided to trust in authority rather than his own sense. He carried out the captain's order without question. Another example of brittle weakness.
This trap set by the divinities of sea and sky could be transmuted into an opportunity. Her supply in sapphires, diamonds and rubies would be restocked from the shipments here. But she could use fresh material for the minds she would imbue into them. Her gaze lazily scanned her fellow passengers, the fires of their minds flickering to her sorcerer's gaze. Unfortunately, using the raw clay of these souls would raise too many questions - too many nuisances. But no one would miss the departure of a pirate, or indeed, anyone so wounded here they would be on the brink of death.
Her magic could save her chosen ones, where the gods opted for apathy. Well, partly, at least. Many minds broke and fragmented when imbued into her artifice, leaving great gaps in their former personality and spirit. She was yet to master the craft fully. But a half life was still preferable to non-existence, was it not?
A passenger near her intruded upon her attention. Different from these meek priests and sailors, certainly. She would test their resolve, glancing sidelong at this fellow traveller from the corner of her eye.
"Tell me. Do you also fear the approach of pirates, or the wrath of the seas?"
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