Pirates of the Sorcerean: No Peace on the Rock

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"It's the traps they fear, those that were put here to guard the treasure by the powerful Steward Perry. The treasure is just treasure, if there is one. No one has ever seen it, so it is hard to tell what to await."

 

"So we might be going on a wild goose chase. For all any of us knows there could be no treasure."

Meatloaf sighs and continues walking in silence.

 

The party continues climbing, and by the time they reach the peak of Sorrow's Rock, a silent evening has fallen; the silence just compounds the eeriness of the craggy landscape framed by skeletal tree branches and the broken pillars that thrust out of the ground like bones of the earth, reft apart in agony.

Nimue, taking her turn at leading the way, sighs and stops in her tracks as she untangles the last knot of warped magical energy and releases it into the earth, quite unwilling to take the corrupt flow into herself.

"It's safe, relatively" she sais. "There are no more traps in this...ruin. Looks like it was a temple of some sort. I think we should probably spend the night here...we're all exhausted with this effort, and we'll need to go into the Rock itself with our minds and bodies as fresh as they can be. Hmm, we have eighteen crew members...we should stay twelve hours, and set a watch; three should be awake at all times, and there will always be a Steward awake. Just because the traps here and now are gone that doesn't mean there are no dangers."

 

Mister Fabian chooses the first watch, knowing both that sleep would be slow in coming and that Nimue still preferred working nights. A few of the island's unnatural creatures are intercepted by the pirates but there are no magical assaults and he is able to shed some of the fatigue and agitation the day's labor had brought. There is some restlessness among the pirates, but he pays it no mind until one of them approaches him tentatively.

"Uh, Steward? Mister Fabian, sir?"

"Yes, Desmond, what is it?" The young man is obviously reluctant to speak.

"It's Jackie, sir. He was eatin' berries t'day, an' now he's not feelin' so very well..."

Mister Fabian scrambles to his feet and follows the young man to the ailing pirate, who is groaning and clutching his belly. He refrains from reminding the man that he had warned them not to eat the island's fruits, silently drawing out the toxins that were causing his cramps and fever.

"Rest easy, lad. Tell me, was anyone else eating the berries?"

Jackie nodded blearily. "Ol' Pete. He picked them first, then shared a few with me. He wasn' lookin' too good when he left camp 'bout an hour ago."

Mister Fabian hides his alarm from the sick man but draws Desmond aside. "We have to find Pete, and quickly. I don't know how long we have or what this place can do to him..."

It was Desmond, searching with a torch while Mister Fabian searches with Othersight, who stumbles across Old Pete's motionless body. He is stiff and his lips and hands are blue, but Mister Fabian detects a gossamer strand that still binds body to soul. The boy watches in wonder as the Steward holds his hand over Pete's chest the slowly draws it back, trailing a thread of green that is tangled with another of orange. Color suffuses into Pete's face.

"Let's get him back to camp, Desmond. He should be alright but I want to watch him closely."

Desmond returns to his bedroll, wondering exactly why his shipmates distrusted this man who was willing to give so much to save one of their number.

 

Blackness crept over Sorrow's Rock. The silence continued, broken only by the occasional splutter of the fire's embers. Nimue was awake, staring into the darkness that for her was almost as bright as daylight. She had chosen not to illuminate the camp with magelight, because it would make it far more difficult for the crew to see into the ghostly shadows.

Suddenly, the silence split like tearing cloth; one of the crew members not on watch - she thought she remembered him - had gotten up from his bedroll and was making his way towards her with an odd, shuffling gait. The crew members, seeing that the noise was due to movement within the camp, resumed their watch.

Nimue was nevertheless frightened. It was Ol'Pete, the one who had eaten too many berries and that Fabian had healed earlier in the evening. He moved mechanically, as if he was being danced by invisible puppet strings.

She blinked and her vision of the world was overlaid by her Othersight, something which she had avoided today due to the sheer unpleasantness of what that vision brought her. She could see once again the sickly colors of the warped magic in Sorrow's Rock...and the threads that ran through the ground, the trees, now flowed into Pete and met in a node.

Bugger, she thought, remembering her lessons about a host body, be it created or human, turned into a magical shell for another's will. Golem, she realized, just as Pete lurched at her. She had just enough time to surround him in threads of her own purple energy, fixing him to the spot, before the night exploded into sound and movement. Sorrow's Rock, furious at having its energies disrupted by intruders, was fighting back. They're here.

 

Tanya's eyes flash open upon the noise, and she jumps to her heels sitting with armed rapier in a defensive position not knowing what exactly is the danger.

"What's going on!?" she asks demandingly.

 

Dante sprang from his bedroll and his sabre seemed to jump from his sheath along with him, along with a his handaxe. Immediately he took a defensive stance, his eyes scanning for trouble.

 

Mister Fabian wakens with a start, disoriented between the malevolent auras of the island and his own deep dreams. His first reaction is to loose a blast of magic upon the nearest cluster of twisted beasts bearing down on him. When the fiery explosion clears, he is appalled to see the creatures absorb the energy and continue their advance. Rutting bastards! They're stronger than before!

The sleep-fog clears rapidly from his mind and he realizes that his only option is to meet them head-on, matching his energy against theirs until only one or the other remained. The first foe falls to him quickly but he knows that he'll have to marshall his resources if he won't be overwhelmed by their evil. As he prepares to meet the next, he feels a presence at his back and suddenly a cutlass flashes out, severing unnatural head from twisted shoulders. He turns gratefully to the pirate who bought him those extra seconds: Desmond, already facing a new target, gives him a quick, grim smile. Mister Fabian turns back to meet the island's revenge.

 

Nimue mutters a brief thought to the Lady of the Night, whose realm she now rather unfortunately found herself in, and her two long daggers leap into her hands, swiftly becoming outlined in purple fire.

If their connection to the magical energy of the island itself is what sustains them, she realized, to sever that connection would be to make them vulnerable. So she leaps into the fray with her knives in her hand, tearing not at physical targets but at invisible ones.

One crew member looks at her in dismay and mutters, "Can't even aim right...."

"Am I surrounded by fools?!" Nimue shoults back. "Magic is feeding them...I'm weakening them! Target the ones I've dealt with!" And indeed, as she slashes her daggers through the air around each twisted beast, they seem much less intimidating. She does not have time to notice this, however. She continues.

 

"Listen to her!" Dante shouted, slicing his sabre through one of the creatures with incredible speed, "She seems right enough!"

 

Meatloaf jumped awake at the sound of all the shouting. Out side the tent he could see lights moving around. After a few seconds of quick thinging Meatloaf decided to sit back down on his sleeping mat.

"Thoughs pirates will handle what ever it is," he muttered to himself. "No need for a cook to get his hands dirty."

After a few more minutes of yelling out side, curiosity won. Meatloaf slowly poked his head out of his tent and saw one of the sailors lying on the ground with some creature of some sort biting at him.

"I can't just sit here," Meatloaf thought, and dived back inside. After a few frantic seconds he found what he was looking for and went back out side. Walking up the the creature, who was to occupied to notice him, he swung his knife, completely seperating its' head from its' body.

Meatloaf bent down beside the sailor and pushed the monster aside. He quickly grabbed the sailor by his arms and pulled him inside the nearest tent. Once inside Meatloaf looked to see how injured the person was. Seeing only a few cuts, Meatloaf ripped up the sailor's shirt and bandaged up the wounds, to the best of his ability, which he had to admit, was good.

After he had finished with this person he hurried out side to see if there were any more he could help.

 

Tanya stood paralyzed by fear as she saw the men she recognized from the crew. The mere sight of the abominations pierced her heart and she trembled as they were dispatched. Death, death, death.

There had been only few so far, she pondered how many more would've been lost in the night.
What have I done...

As she stood with a quivering rapier in hand, she noticed a monstrosity coming towards her through the corner of her eye. Out of reflex she had kicked at its knee, splintering it under her heel making the already slowmoving abomination nothing more than a bag of flesh crawling over the surface. Another well-placed kick and a rapier through the skull finished it. She didn't want to look at it, at none of it.

Slowly she retracted her rapier, and looked upon the scene. A hoarse whisper in the back of her mind broke through her mental barriers of what she saw here. "They're all lost.. before the night they will all be walking unliving beasts.. come, come to safety at the hoard.."
She blinked and suddenly they were all monstrosities, walking among each other as zombies haunting some small prey among the tents. Blinking again, everything was back to normal, but Tanya felt like her head was about to explode.

Silently she slumped to the ground and whimpered softly for non really to hear "We're all gonna die."

"Yesss..."

 

After pulls close to a dozen dying bodies aside, Meatloaf had had enough. Ever since the sixth one, he had to tell him self "One more. Just one more and it will all be over." But now he had had enough.

"A cook shouldn't be doing this", he thought. "Oh how I wish for my kitchen back home. Why oh why did I even come on this dratted pirate adventure. I'm no pirate!"

He sat down in one of the tents, by a now dead body. There was nothing more one cook could do. He'd just sit right here and wait for everything to sort its self out.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~


The Wiatoa had spotted the island that very night. They had made quick time, William thought. Thanks to the quick repairs, some luckey winds and perfect weather, the Wiatoa just sighted the Rock before nightfall.

Not only had the Rock been spotted but a few other unusal things had been aswell. First of all was a light, way up on the top of the rock. This, William assumed was the crew from Tayna's ship. That storm must have pushed them ahead.
The second thing that William saw was yet another light, this one coming from what seemed like the only sheltered bay on this side of the island.

After some talking with Malcolm, William had decided to head towards that bay, but anchor just out of view, around the corner. And so they had.

Everything had gone just as William had wanted it to go. They had sailed up and dropped anchor with out any alarm, that they noticed, been raised apon this other boat. They had then lunched three rowboats, with totalling up to near 30 armed soldiers in, to 'investigate' this other ship.

William's rowboat was first there of the three and had a three individual rope ladders attached to the sides of the Ariel by the time the other two arrived. Once all three where in position they started to scale the boat

[ November 03, 2003, 09:17: Message edited by: Rotku ]

 

Nimue stares at the dead and wounded, her eyes filling with tears. The crew has lost maybe five men, bringing their number down to thirteen not including the Stewards. Unlucky number, she thinks briefly before stomping down on the thought.

Her mind reached around for a source of energy, any source. Fire has to work, she realized. They might be able to survive being stabbed clean through, but she knew well that nothing could survive fire. She reached out to Fabian. Work with me, she thought into his mind, and briefly showed him her plan.

The energy on Sorrow's Rock was tainted, and therefore could not be drawn into a magic-user without corrupting them from within. But two Stewards working together...there was a possibility. She showed Fabian how she needed to use him as a conduit, purifying the energy before feeding it to her.

She could not ask him to perform the major working himself, because his elemental affiliation was that of water; while hers was not that of fire but of air, at least it wasn't opposite to what she was trying to do.

The energy coming at her, pure, raw, like a hurricane, nearly knocking her off her feet. "Cover me!" she screamed at the nearby men, and began to make fire.

A ring of flame burst out from the edges of the camp and continued outwards down Sorrow's Rock, consuming everything in it's path, following the downhill slope of the Rock, straight down to the sea. Briefly glad that the Pride was anchored off the Rock rather than beached, Nimue wondered how strong the energy had to be after being purified, for the magic's effect to be so much stronger than what she had intended....

At least it had done some good, it appeared to her. She sees a few, maybe four or five, magic-warped monsters and animated corpses still fighting within the perimeter of the camp itself, but no more were coming from outside.

Then she sees ol'Pete. The threads tying him to one place had been snapped when she had recalled all her personal energy to work the fire-spell, and he is moving - still jerkily - towards her.

"Leave us alone!" she screams at him. "We are here to defend what you guard! We are not here to abuse it, we are not here to take over the world, we are not here to dominate or enslave or subjugate, or rape or kill or murder.... We're here to save the world from those who would!"

Isss that ssso, the thing that had been Ol'Pete asks her.

Dammit! Nimue screams. Angel's oath, Blood's honor, we are not here to hurt!

It'sss true then, Mayeral? the puppet-man asked softly. Are the threadsss coming together then? ...Ssso very sssoon? Aaahhh...." And he fades into the night, followed by the rest of the abominations, one with the charred shadows.

Nimue takes one look at the wounded and wishes she could heal. Ignoring the burning line on one shoulder and across her ribs, she moves to the first body, checks for a pulse. She finds one, and gasps with relief. "They're all in shock!" she sais, and mechanically tears off a piece of the man's clothing and begins bandaging up his wounds. Her eyes are wet.

 

Meatloaf blinked. Where had that fire come from? And where were those monsters going to? It didn't matter. They had been saved.

He jumped to his feet, for once greatful that he wore shoes, unlike those pirates, due to the hot ground. He walked over to where Nimue was and helped her bandage up the injured. By now, Meatloaf thought, he must have been an expert bandager.

 

George looked at the time and nodded. It was about time.
He approached the side of the ship and looked down at the rope ladders. Upon seeing William, he saluted.
"Sir, George Redeye reporting for duty!" he said, as he teared off the eyepatch on his forehead and adjusted one of his sword to the other end of his belt.
It's time to even the scales.

 

It seemed to Dante that everything had stopped so suddenly. He stared round and the still smouldering surroundings, and swore. Suprisingly enough, Dante had barely a scratch on him. His speed had saved him more than once, and his skill with the blade a score more. Slowly, he sheathed his sabre, and tucked the hand axe into his belt, and went to help Nimue.

 

Nimue tore and bandaged, then tore and bandaged some more. Her arms hurt; her movements were mechanical. She had already seen much of death, and although it never got easier, she had learned to dissociate herself from it.

For the first time, she wished that she could heal. She could see Fabian making his rounds from wounded to wounded, and when he touched them, she could see the energy he directed; they got better. She was glad that, of the men left, none were so hurt that all her Mentor could do would be to ease their passing. She let the energy tear through her, but much as she tried, it could not heal. She went on bandaging, and sometimes the bandages were wet.

 

Mister Fabian's magical senses are practically humming with renewed vigor. Nimue's fire had been exactly what he needed to release the corrupted magic he had absorbed in fighting the creatures; he hoped briefly that he hadn't overwhelmed her with its force. He quickly makes the rounds among the injured pirates, healing their wounds and making sure that the Rock's foul energy left no taint that could be used against them later. He stops when he comes to Tanya - her body is unharmed but her eyes are dull and blank.

She looks up vaguely at his touch on her arm. "More death awaits," she mumbles. "Must go inward... to escape..."

"Give me your vision, then rest," Mister Fabian says. He lays his fingertips over Tanya's eyes; she gives a small gasp then slumps. Desmond is waiting to catch her.

"What does that mean?" he asks, laying Tanya gently on her bedroll.

"She's being called deeper into the Rock," Mister Fabian sighs. "The island itself is telling her that safety can be found within the catacombs."

"Truth, or a trap?" Desmond frowns. Mister Fabian shakes his head.

"I don't know. I'm inclined towards the latter - based on the Order's lore, we've only seen the first of the perils to be found here. But there's no malice on her... could those legends themselves be another layer of the island's defenses?"

He looks up suddenly, turning back towards the beach. "There's trouble at the ship."

************

On board the Ariel, St. John slips away from the clusters of fighting. The pirates are fighting hard, but there are too few of them to overcome the Admiral's hand-picked raiding party. St. John makes his way to the second-best cabin, examining the wards carefully before bursting them abruptly.

Cinque. I should have known. St. John tried to keep up with gossip from the Order - never knowing just what might be useful when - but he'd heard little of Mister Fabian aside from some malicious tales about his personal preferences and the general knowledge of his sympathy for pirates. He was the son of career diplomats and steered a neutral course through the political waters of the Order, a path that a born meddler like St. John could never take. Only St. John's ties to the Navy kept from being even more tangled in the Order's business.

Yes, Cinque is definitely here, but this other aura... very strong, but still raw... an Apprentice? No, that can't be, no Apprentice could take on that storm and survive..."

A cold sweat comes over St. John as he remembers the storm. It's the same entity, for sure... helping the pirates against us?

He breaks that train of thought and hurries off to find the Admiral.

[ November 03, 2003, 17:00: Message edited by: Rallymama ]

 

Tanya awoke and looked around herself at the camp. They had all been killed or tightened and gagged by the royal navy. She saw them all, the faces. Nimue, Fabian, Desmond, Meatloaf, Dante.. they were all there in the claws of the navy.
The admiral William de Trinst himself stood above her, looking menacingly at her with a pointed rapier at her heart. His voice was cold and hard as steel, but it was not his voice, it was her own.
"Look at yourself, what you've become.. a pirate scum! You designed the deaths of civilians upon that merchantmen, many peaceful individuals that had every right to live as you might. What defense have you to say for this atrocity... murderer.."
William let the final word roll off his tongue, as had it been a slap in her face. Often she had found herself a decent person, but could not in any sense deny the accusation at hand. Her pleading voice had lost all sense of authority it might once have had.
"I.. I tried to compromise.. I didn't want them to die!"

He merely sneered at her, and began in a superior tone,
"I told my daughter not to seek this treasure. That in doing so she would find only misery and despair. That she might fall to the temptation of the lure that a legendary pirate has."
William sighed and looked mournful.
"I've raised a decent daughter, you know, but fate is as cruel as cruel can be. I no longer have a daughter, Ruthbarb has stolen her from me. She is dead."

Shaking in despair and misery, she cried out "Father! No, I! I'm sorry.. so sorry.. help me... please."
trying to look for any hope within the frowns of his face, she saw only a grim skeletal grin.
"You've admitted your crimes, thus death is the only answer."
His rapier pierced her heart and the cold laughter of her own voice shook through the dark night of Sorrow's Rock.

***

Tanya shrieked for the whole camp to hear and trembled as if in cramp as she awoke. Soaked in sweat, she felt the cold aura of the island chill her to the bone. "William! father!" in wild despair she looked around at the camp saw that all the crew were there and no royalist in sight.

"Fabian! FABIAN!" she called pleadingly, recalling no other whom she had allowed to be her close friend that hadn't been lost on the journey.