Pirates of the Sorcerean - what the night hides

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Tanya answered the summons and found Fabian during his very.. odd rituals. She leaned against a mast, waiting for him to finish whatever he was about to do. Peering into the darkness towards land, supposedly where the Royal Navy would be some day's distance away, a smile appeared on her lips.

Like a falcon gliding through the dark, prior the final blow...

She straightened her back and turned to look at Fabien with a questioning frown on her pretty face as he treated the spyglass as a lollypop.
"Why have you called for me, steward?"

 

"They've taken the Pride o' Drentan," he replied. "Captain Peyweth is sending over some of the cargo. As soon as it's loaded, we have to be on the move - the navy knows we're here, if not exactly where. I'm doing what I can to keep us concealed, Ma'am, but speed is of the essence."

[ October 21, 2003, 15:04: Message edited by: Rallymama ]

 

As the pirates struggled to remain hidden the fleet of navy ships moved ever closer.

"They are diffinatly out there somewhere William. I just know they are," St. John said.

Just the fact that William allowed John to call him by his first name, was a clear sign of how much respect he had for John.

The voyage had gone all according to plan us to date. Nothing bad or unexpected had happened, until around an hour ago. The look out apon The Waitoa had spotted a ship on the horizon. Admiral de Trech had been called onto deck and had just given the order to sail onwards when the ship disappeared.

He had instantly send for John and ordered that they start to sail towards where the ship was last seen.

 

"Speed has always been of the essence, hopefully they wont be all night about it. I've full trust in Ariel and by my calculations we're at least a night or two away. If they're heading back here, I'm afraid we can't do much to hasten things. We could try and meet them, but it'd be risky as we might crush them beneath Ariel. Where are they coming from?"

 

(ooc, @Rotku: The Navy's Steward's name is David St. John )

Mister Fabian gestured with his spyglass as he finished the spell, splitting off a thread of his concentration to reinforce it. "The navy is that way, Ma'am, and they should be sailing circles around themselves shortly. As for hastening the longboat's return -" Mister Fabian strode to the opposite rail and peered out over the wine-dark sea "- let me see what I can do."

Spotting the longboat, Mister Fabian twisted a small piece of fishing line between his fingers as he spoke another spell. There was a small hook at one end; he twirled the line and made as if to throw it into the water. Instead, a shimmering green rope of magical energy extended from his hand. It caught the prow of the longboat and Mister Fabian began pulling it towards the Ariel hand-over-hand, as smoothly as any sailor might have done. Within a few minutes the longboat was being made fast to the Ariel and the crew was transferring the cargo on board. Mister Fabian bowed to Tanya with a smile, then returned to the other side of the ship to monitor the navy.

[ October 21, 2003, 15:24: Message edited by: Rallymama ]

 

Doing his magics, Tanya eyed the process with suspicion and interjected at the steward's statement.
"You navigate by compass and stars my friend. This fog will only be a lesser nuisance for the admirals of the royal navy, and unless you can carpet the sky and play with their compasses, I'd believe they'll be on their way towards the treasure double speed if sensing magics are about out here. They might be royalists, but I'd bet my share that at least one of their first ships will seek directly for the hoard of Ruthbarb, not stop and pay attention to mere piracy."

As the longboat came broadshide, Tanya called out for five different crew members to aid in pulling up the cargo from the boat. "Double speed, men! We have no time to waste if we are to have a share of the treasure!" and briskly walked to the rail looking down into the boat of loot. She called down seeing the returning survivors for the first time.
"Welcome home, gentlemen. Captain, how did it go?"

 

"Everyone's a critic," Mister Fabian grumbled to himself as he scanned the navy's position. Little did Tanya know of the magnet that rested in his pouch, for the express purpose of "playing with compasses." Well, if the confusion spell worked as he was expecting, it wouldn't matter. A crew that couldn't think straight wouldn't be able to follow any number of compass-readings - or the significant magical signature he was surely raising. He was risking a lot on the hope that St. John had concentrated more on toadying than on furthering his magical abilities while in the navy.

The navy didn't seem to be coming nearer, so Mister Fabian pulled out a white crystal with a pulsing purple glow in its core. "Nimue, what of our crew? Are there any injured?"

 

Nimue lifted her crystal with an easy motion and spoke into it from her comfortable position in the Pride's second-best cabin. "We're all alive," she replied. "Considering that every last man was asleep, it was child's play to place a Compulsion on the Captain and have him walk RIGHT into my arms, I mean my knife, I mean his funeral..." she laughs.

"We need to MOVE, Fabian," she sais irritably, glad that her Mentor's long familiarity with her would enable him to not take offense at her tone. "St John is moving," she adds. "I can feel him. He's not powerful, and he's not particularly skilled, but he's sly and arrogant - a dangerous combination. We need to move. And we need to do it FAST. Any ideas?"

 

Mister Fabian frowns to himself. He didn't always care for Nimue's methods, and she knew it. Then again, he didn't share her background, either. Perhaps he too would be more prone to violence if he had grown up on the streets, with only vague memories of his parents...

He shakes that thought away as the rest of her words sink in. "St. John's what?" He changes his focus from the ships behind them and scans quickly for the navy's Steward. Sure enough, while the fleet was making no headway, St. John was actively seeking the mage behind their predicament. Mister Fabian curses more vehemently than Nimue had ever heard him do.

"We'll have a bit of a lead, but when that confusion wears off he'll be on our trail for sure," he replies grimly. "I'll alert Captain Peyweth. And no more spells, for now. It's the least we can do to cover our tracks."

Breaking contact he returns to where Tanya was speaking with the Captain and interrupts politely. "Excuse me, Captain, Ma'am, but we've got to be under way immediately if we wish to maintain our lead to Sorrow's Rock."

 

Tanya nods, and gives a short sharp "of course.." then spins on her heel, and walks in fast pace towards the wheel.
Heading onto the bridge, her booming voice is heard across the deck.
"All men to stations! Let's fly Ariel out of here on the double. Captain, how many casualties on the merchantmen?"

 

It was late at night, and Nimue paced, restlessly. The Pride's second-best cabin was not terribly small as cabins went, but it nevertheless felt confining. The two ships under Captain Peyweth's command were streaming forward as fast as the salty sea winds could carry them, but Nimue could not shake the sinking feeling that they were not going nearly fast enough.

St John certainly had no fear of discovery, unlike Nimue and Fabian. The Waitoa streamed forth as if jerked by an invisible string, a puppet to the Navy Steward's half-trained and self-indulgent will, propelled by winds that had no origin in nature.

Nimue knew that she and Fabian could not afford to do anything without writing their magical signatures across the sky for St John to read; unfortunately for them, they had far more magical scruples than he did, for he was the sort that would do anything for power, and believed that power brought it's own morality. He could do far more with their signatures than they would let themselves do with his, for all that it left a glowing trail across the water leading back to Drentan.

Unless..... she remembered, and the thought trailed out, briefly lighting the dark recesses of her mind with fear and wonder. Oh, don't be silly, girl! You know that it's not feasible. You know that you've only ever read about it, and you weren't exactly supposed to be reading the Chronicles either.. It could be any one of the many wonders of knowledge that are lost, that we can no longer perform. It may.... Ugh. The question is, do we have a choice?

She grasped the crystal from her belt-pouch, worn as a piece of sea-smoothed glass from being clutched by its specific users, its heart attuned to the magical energy of one person. "Fabian?" she asked. She knew that he'd likely still be awake, although the raid was hours ago - sitting in his cabin clutching a drink of some sort and mulling over the problem at hand, unable to let it go when it had no satisfactory solution.

"Fabian," she continued hesitantly. "I thought perhaps...well. We need speed. There is a storm coming, it hovers in the air, it sings to me; we are both aware of it. It will be a huge hindrance to us...while St John, who does not fear to act, will have an enormous advantage. Yet, this storm is our opportunity - we NEED this storm. We can use it. I know I wasn't supposed to be reading the Chronicles," her stomach flipped at the confession, "But I did. All of them. And I know what we have to do. Stormriding."

 

Wahtever reaction Nimue had been expecting from Mister Fabian, it surely wasn't the hearty laughter that she heard. "My dear girl, do you really think you're the first apprentice to "sneak a look" at the Chronicles? I think the Elders made them mysterious and forbidden specifically to be sure that every apprentice gets the proper dose of history."

He pauses to take a sip from his leather jack of rum, and his tone sobers quickly. "But whatever else you learn from your covert studies, Nimue, Stormriding is the wrong thing to take to heart. It's nothing more than a theory born out of legend, and a very dangerous one at that. Haven't you noticed that Stewards can predict the weather, and make use of it in small ways, but can do nothing to control it?"

Mister Fabian takes another sip and continues. "What the Chronicles don't tell you is what happened to the people who tried it. A spirit set free to experience the power and freedom of a storm isn't always willing - or able - to return, and then the body is left an empty husk. Several promising apprentices have been lost that way. I'd rather that not happen to you." He hopes she'll realize the depth of the sentiment behind his mild words.

He breaks the connection after wringing from her a promise to not attempt Stormriding, but he knows the promise is half-hearted. Lounging back in his bunk, thankful that there hadn't been much healing for him to do, he tries to clear his mind and focus on solving the problem of St. John, but falls asleep instead.

 

Nimue sat huddled in her small bed, knees against her chest, sobs shaking her body silently, and her door warded against sound and interruptions. Only Fabian might be able to get in, and luckily he was on another ship.

Fear warred with necessity in her mind; once, she had thought herself brave enough to do whatever she had to do -- whatever it was! -- no matter what the cost was. All too often the cost had been to others, but she now began to realize that she had never recognized any cost to herself, and so her heart had hardened.

The dream that had woken her up lingered in her mind. She never dreamed anymore, except when her Foresight kicked in. Other than that, her nights were filled with peaceful blacknesss; she had not dreamed in a long time, until tonight.

She remembered: The Waitoa speeding across the sea against the storm winds -- the Ariel arriving at Sorrow's Rock too late, only to see St John returning to the beach carrying the precious lorebooks -- felt herself and Fabian bound with invisible threads of power -- the crew of the Ariel slaughtered -- magic unleashing the greatest storm ever across the land, extinguishing lives with the ease of snuffing candles, till nothing was left.

We have to get there first, she thought, We HAVE to get there first. But she had promised, however grudgingly. She had promised. To Fabian, who had never been anything but good to her, even when she had been a smelly street-thief that had decided to raid his house because it looked like easy prey.

Gulping, stood up and examined the piece of parchment and quill she had left on the table, awaiting her inevitable decision. As if she had not already known that, no matter her personal sentiments on the matter, no matter the price to her little honor, she would do what she had to do.

She was not unaware of the dangers of Stormriding. Unlike most Apprentices who read the Chronicles, she had actually realized how much even these most secret of histories omitted; after all, the greatest, but the most mortal, testimony to the past was in peoples' memories.

She uncapped the bottle of ink slowly, with great hesitation, and began to write on the piece of paper. Fabian, I'm sorry. I do only what I have to. Then she took a deep breath and wrote what she really needed to write.

This is the Death-Witness of Nimue, known as "the Cat", last name unknown, Steward-Apprentice to Fabian Cinque, in the year 113 after the Second War. Lost aboard the 'Ariel', attempting to Ride a Storm. All Stewards left a Witness when they knew they were going to their deaths. Maybe she would do some good with it.

Then she lay down on her bed, reluctantly, but with all the formality of a ceremony. Her consciousness flew from her body as easily as it always had, requiring no magical aid. She sought the storm, and merged with it.

 

"NIMUE!"

Mister Fabian's scream and the slamming of his cabin door are met with angry grumbling from the men whose sleep was disrupted, but he ignores them as he races to the deck, his head reeling from far more than rum and sleep. He grabs the arm of the nearest pirate.

"You, help me with the longboat. I'm needed aboard the Pride." The boat is lowered to the water. As Mister Fabian is about to climb over Ariel's rail, Tanya stops him.

"What do you think you're doing?" she demands. "You can't take the longboat out with a storm coming."

"The storm will be worse than you can imagine, Ma'am, if I don't get to the Pride immediately." Mister Fabian scans the skies - was it only his imagination, or were the clouds tinged purple? "Nimue may have put us all in grave danger. Prepare for a big blow." Tanya looks into his eyes for a moment, the releases his arm.

The trip is agonizingly slow. Mister Fabian can feel Nimue's aura all around him, so he decides to risk a spell. Releasing his oar, he pulls out the small fishhook; again, the line of green force extends from his hand and catches the rail of the Pride. When the longboat is against her hull, he scrambles up the magical rope without waiting to be made fast.

He shatters the wards on Nimue's cabin without a thought, and reads her note. "Not a Death-Witness, Nimue, not yet," he growls as he places both hands over her clammy forehead and prepares to follow her.

[ October 23, 2003, 18:28: Message edited by: Rallymama ]

 

The storm rolled around her. She spun around the storm. Like a planet on its orbit around the sun, she fell into its gravity, she merged. The storm was her. She was the storm.

Her clouds extended as far as she could feel, her consciousness now limited by its "belonging" to the storm, in a way it had never "belonged" to her body. In a very real sense she was more connected to the storm than she had ever been to her physical vessel.

She was the wind. She blew; she felt, as surely as one can feel the movement of her hands, the wind pushing the Ariel and the Pride towards...now she understood.

Sorrow's Rock was the epicenter of the storm, a storm that had no origin in nature. If the Rock had never been found, it was partly due to the Rock, which lay due south from the ships...which was the center around which her body of wind and clouds revolved. She tamed Sorrow's Storm; she used her winds to bring the two ships closer to her center.

The Waitoa floundered about, riding the crest of each wave and breaking with a thunderous splash; the only reason it continued was because of St John's urging, both magical and physical. She laughed, and her body, the storm, produced a thunderclap. She felt his energy. He was a target. He was a flea before her power!

Launching towards the Waitoa what seemed like a flurry of physical blows, she saw and felt the lightning crash on the ship, men screaming, men dying. She saw St John, beside a man that looked important, with trappings of rank the human part of her consciousness vaguely recocgnized; towards them she aimed her fury.

Lightning flashed and fell. Thunder boomed. But St John was not dead. A shield of red light engulfed his body, breaking the heat of her fury. She roared in anger. She then aimed the lightning at de Triste; it flashed, it fell, the deck turned black, but the Admiral had just enough time to duck under St John's shield, shuddering. His singed clothes exuded a definite odor of burning to her storm-enhanced senses, though.

She growled to herself, and the storm rumbled; she set out to damage the ship...this tiny annoyance before her immense energy...as much as possible. Fires burst out where her long arms of lightning fell. Most of the Waitoa's crew scrambled frantically to put them out, their lives at stake -- those that had not been fried or tossed overboard.

She, the storm, was satisfied with her work; the ship and its crew might survive, but they would be severely disabled by the lightning's damage. They would be delayed. The Lorebooks would be safe.

Her thoughts paused. Lorebooks? What did they matter to her? She was the Storm. But then...knowledge. Whoever she had been, that was what had always driven her. She wished to KNOW. Herself, and others, and the Mysteries. That was all she had ever wanted.

Come, the wind sang. Her wind. I will take you, I will show you...there are foreign lands beyond your imagining. Storms, they are everywhere. They see, they know - more than a human consciousness could ever teach you. Come with me, come to me, come unto me. We shall be one.

She closed her eyes, and was in another place. There was beauty, and wonder. She did not remember who she had been, but it did not matter; now she was the Storm. She had a greater kinship to it than she had ever felt to humankind; she had always been like a storm. Breaking in a pure blaze of fury, but with all too brief a lifespan.

 

Dante was lying on the deck of the Pride when Fabian came on board. Even as he gathered his things the Steward had gone below. Dante dashed after him, realising something was wrong. As he stood outside Nimue's cabin, he swore and took a step back, "Fetch the captain!" He screamed at the first person passing.

 

Below decks, the crew of the Pride watches a strange sight: Mister Fabian bending over Nimue, both of them motionless, his hands wrapped in a green glow. Faint threads of purple begin to flicker through the green, weakly at first but slowly gaining intensity. A few escape the green confines and entwine themselves around Nimue's head. More and more follow, until she is wrapped in purple blanket. Mister Fabian straightens at last and notices the crew. "Leave us alone," he orders. Although he doesn't touch it, the cabin door slams at a wave of his hand. Green sparks shower the passageway.

On the deck of the Ariel the pirates watch in horror as the strange storm comes over them out of nowhere. Never had any of them known a storm to arise so quickly, but they leap to, hauling the sheets to gather all the wind they can. Its unnatural force is quickly evident in the purple lightnings that batter the distant navy, in the laughter of the wind.

Gradually, the purple lightning fades and the laughter changes to a howl of fury as the storm blows ever more fiercely, seeking its lost plaything.

 

Tanya grasps the wheel fiercely, maneuvering the ship to optimize speed from the raging winds and crashing waves. Even though the storm is upon them in full force, Tanya manages to pierce the noise with her voice of steel.
"Let's ride it out of here, friends! We've had worse, and no bloody ghosts, storms, stewards, or royalists are going to keep us away from that treasure!"

For some reason the word treasure was a key word that inspired a bit of faith in the crew of their abilities. Most of the crewmembers she had sailed with before were hardy sailors and knew the drill of a storm, and quickly shook of their fears and dived into mindless obedience making the ship as stable as could be.
"Archer! Get Giorgio down from the mast!"

"Leonard! Secure all people, this could be our final hour!"

They scurried around the ship, following orders while Tanya remained stern and rooted to the wheel. There was no such thing as a storm she couldn't ride! Not in her life!

Magics.. never liked that silly nonsense! At least my father taught me something that can get me out of this mess!
She looked briefly over the deck. So many people, so many lives. The nagging responsibility only fueled her adrenalin even more as she gave out a maniacally laughter fighting the storm. It lasted forever, or at least so it seemed. Every second screamed to all of her senses, making sure that she wasn't caught unaware for a single second, which she knew could be a fatal one.

Fiery one, this... the goddess must be in a vile temper. We shall see who can endure the longer..
She smirked to herself, but felt the tiredness of the hours of fighting. The knobs of the wheel seemed to have formed shapes in her clenched hands and her muscles ached for all they were worth, though she wouldn't quit. She'd never quit. She wouldn't despair.

Constant maneuvering, all the while keeping the storm in check, it seemed an impossible fight.
Her mind went double-speed to find a solution, but they all ended down the same road, Ariel smashed once the crew had lost their strength. What could she possible do against the will of the Goddess?

Then finally, as a twist of fate, the caress of moonshine fell upon her fair face as a blessing and her spirits raised, bolstering her awareness. The storm had lost some of its intensity, it was the turn of tide... if she had enough strength left to ride Ariel and crew out of there in one piece.

 

"All hands on deck!" screamed Peyweth as the storm exploded into a fury around them. "Someone git to that bloody sail! She's gonna rip!"
The ship rocked violently and massive waves of salt water washed over the deck. Severl crew members were washed to the side, one nearly plunging over the side to his death in the rolling mass below.
Men tried to get the the sails above them, but it was impossible. The wind was simply too strong. The ship lurched over a wave larger than all the others that had come before it, a man rolled over the prow and splashed into the ocean below. The final wave signalled the end of the storms wrath, though far from the end of the storm itself.

Tanner cursed as the clouds appeared overhead. They should never have appeared so quickly, it just wasn't natural. He saw the ominous waves leer up before The Waitoa, and felt his eyes widen in shock.
"****!" he screamed, his voise coming out unnaturally high pitched. The first of many gigantic waves hit the boat. He grabbed onto a rope which was tied to the mast across from him. It was the only thing between him and a messy death on the decks below.
He dangled above the ship, sure that at any moment a wave would come that would send him flying from his tenuous position.
Then the lightening started.
Bolts of purple lightening flashed all around the ship, striking the scurrying figured below. Tanner fumbled with the knife on his belt, holding onto the cource rope with the other.
He got it out and hacked through the rope, sending him swinging through the air. His knife dropped into the water as he held on with both hands. The lightening chased his swinging form, and several times he almost lost his grip.
After what seemed like a lifetime the storm dissapitated, and he was left swinging many feet above the deck, looking down on the charred remains of what could have once been sailors.

 

She was the Storm, but there was a part of her which was not the Storm. A thin purple thread, shot through with silver, connected her to...something? But how could this be? She was only the Storm.

Forget, the wind murmured its lullaby. Follow. And she did, and she felt the thread snap, at the same time that something cool and green touched her, and for a moment she remembered.

I... (Individuality? Why? No. I am Storm. I am the essence of all storms.)
I am... (Existence confirmed, but implication of a separate entity denied.)
I am...Nimue? (Individuality. Existence confirmed. Separate identity established.)
I was...I am? Me. (That was it, the thing she had forgotten. Herself.)

Nimue fled the Storm; she realized, now, that the part of the Storm which had been not-Storm had been herself, and that thread...had been her link with her physical body.

Bloody hell, she realized. I'm Lost. Her connection to her vessel was just...gone. You knew that could happen, she admonished to herself. You accepted the possibility. Her thoughts wailed furiously, But I wasn't supposed to survive! I was supposed to do something heroic, that only I could do...it's true, though, she realized, only I could do it. But it was supposed to have been a blaze of glory...there weren't supposed to be any pieces left to pick up.

But the fact remained; she was Lost, but she had her identity back. Nimue had never been a damsel in distress; instead of bemoaning her fate, she preferred to DO something about it. So, she realized that she had to find her body back. Unfortunately, she was on the other side of the world.

She closed her eyes and focused: need. Where am I needed? *flick* She was above a village, burning, people being brutally slaughtered...but she could do nothing about it. Need: *flick* plague victims laid out on long rows of beds *flick* a child crying in the snow *flick* a lone tower, deserted, in ruins.... Something I can do, she thought. Something ONLY I can do.

*flick* She was above an island, more like an outcropping of gray and barren rock thrusting out of the sea, crowned by a fringe of stunted trees and with what looked like the ruins of a temple on its center.... She gasped to herself. It was Sorrow's Rock; but where were the ships?

Suddenly green threads came, and wrapped around her before she could react; they pulled her forward with force, and she was SLAMMED into something with tangible force. Her ears rang; her eyes swam; her head ached...and she was in her body.

When her vision cleared, she opened her eyes. Fabian was laid out flat on her bed, breathing shallowly, huge dark hollows under his eyes. Bugger, she thought, and did not think twice; she had little strenght remaining, but used what there was of it to tap into the line of force of air and water that was a current. Energy blazed into herself; she fed it into Fabian, as much as he could take.

His eyes opened, and Nimue felt relief; briefly, she also thought, I'm going to get one hell of a chewing-out.