Closed Glorg’s Howl

[Tribal]

Winter 515 Main Event

Commencing early January 2016

33rd: A fleet of black ships anchor across the coast. Before the 5th bell the men from these ships manage to round up and steal approximately 300 Zibri, 50 Striders, 600 Drykas men, 180 women, and 40 children, and a large part of the winter food stores. Most of the adults were skilled doctors, hunters, labourers, watchmen etc, leaving behind loved ones that will struggle or even pass this winter due to their absence. No one knows where the pirates have come from or where they’re heading too. Not only is the city devastated by the loss of these people, but also by the deaths of almost 400 warriors who lost their lives trying to stop the pirates, including a handful of high ranking Drykas watchmen and women, clan officials, and old teachers. [Super Moderated Event]

Details

This is a two part event in that there will be two threads running simultaneously. One of the boats will be returning to Endrykas as noted on the calendar while the other is going to sail to another city (possibly two) and sell its captives as slaves. There may be a guest storyteller to run one of the ships.

Warning

These pirates are not friendly, your character will not have fun during this voyage, your character will not be treated fairly unless they manage to win favour with one of the crew members somehow (NPCs listed below). There may be some mature/adult themes, including but not limited to, addiction, alcohol, blood, crime, drugs, murder, torture, sexuality (fade to black scenes only), suicide, and violence. If you're uncomfortable with this but still want to participate please let me know via PM.

Options

1. Take the boat that returns to Endrykas a little worse for wear.

2. Take the boat to a foreign city and spend some time either travelling home over the next season or two, or save up to buy a ride back home by sea (alternatively you could stay in that city if you prefer and start building a new life for your PC).

3. Get thrown overboard (a short swim from Riverfall) and stay there until spring (or longer if you prefer).

Ship: Glorg’s Howl

Glorg's Howl is the biggest ship in the Painted Wolves fleet. The Galleon originally belonged to a wealthy prince who was overrun and slaughtered along with all seventy-eight crew members. It has since been remodelled with the shell stained black and white sails replaced to match the night's sky. It is fast, well gunned, well manned, and captained by a man who knows how to avoid getting caught. There are one hundred and thirty-four crew on board.

Captain Jacob Scar (Salt)	Finn Prisk (Fish)	Mae Craggs (Dagger)
Details	Details	Details
Age: 47 Height: 5'7" Hair Colour: Black Eye Colour: Brown Tattoos: None Scars: Whiplash scars on back, tribal scarring on chest, arms, and brow Languages: Myrian (fluent), Pavi (fluent), Common (basic), Fratava (bacis). Salt is one of the most feared pirates known to the fleet of ten ships that sail under his command, but it's lonely at the top and he finds it almost impossible to trust anyone. He is an excellent sailor and is said to have the ability to 'read the sea' often foreseeing bad weather long before it hits. He keeps a pet rat called Mordie with him at all times which some say is his brother, a man that was so addicted to morphing that he completely forgot who he was. Salt likes to wear a crown of elephant seal tusks, dark decorative beads, and brightly coloured powders or paints across his jaw.	Age: 27 Height: 5'5" Hair Colour: Black Eye Colour: Black Tattoos: Face, hands, and thighs Scars: Old stab wound on left shoulder Languages: Fratava (fluent), Common (fluent), Pavi (basic). Fish earned his nickname by diving great depths for treasure and swimming over to enemy ships during night raids to devastate the opposition in their sleep before they even knew what hit them. He is cunning, quick, and knows his way around a ship. Fish likes to muck around and make a joke of everything which doesn't always go down too well with the rest if the crew. His walk is very distinctive and often accompanied by the rattle of small seashells which he likes to stitch to his clothing.	Age: 31 Height: 5'4" Hair Colour: Brown Eye Colour: Brown Tattoos: Chest, hands, and lower back Scars: Cutthroat Languages: Myrian (fluent), Arumenic (fluent), Fratava (basic), Common (poor). Believe to be of Myrian descent, Mea earned the nickname Dagger for her skill with the blades. She has a small, compact frame that lends itself well to highly acrobatic movements that make her almost untouchable during one on one combat. She is quick, precise, and never takes no for an answer. Mea prefers to dress light in loose fitting, thin fabrics that make her difficult to detect when on the move. She almost never wears shoes unless visiting dry land and likes to dance with small golden finger chimes.
Skills	Skills	Skills
Sailing 81, Climbing 68, Camouflage 54, Stealth 66, Leadership 63, Weapon, Glaive 56, Swimming 40, Tactics 55, Escape Artist 51	Sailing 67, Climbing 43, Brawling 37, Negotiation 61, Shipbuilding 69, Stealth 44, Swimming 68, Weapon, Gauntlet 39, Medicine 16, Carpentry 31	Acrobatics 72, Weapon, Dagger 61, Dancing 37, Swimming 18, Storytelling 38, Subterfuge 33, Stealth 49, Sewing 23, Scouting 36

[Tribal]

They came with fire, oil, and steel; masters of stealth, tactics, and the blade. Their aim was capture rather than kill, though that did not stop them a lot of the time. In pairs they had managed to sneak through the campsites on the southwest side of Endrykas, where the majority of the Diamond and Opal Clans had set up their homes and businesses for the season. The Warriors of the Diamond Clan did not go down without a fight, though separated and cut off from the rest of the city, most were forced to flee, die, or be taken; for the Drykas, somehow capture was a worse fate than death itself as these were a free, proud race of men and women.

The storm was no match for their oil barrels and fire, the flames making short work of tents, belongings, and structures, causing animals to scatter and in some cases stampede; crushing anyone or thing that stood in their way. Most were taken from their beds, some on their way to work or home, and others were just in the wrong place at the wrong time.

When the city's defences rose in force and the men and women of The Watch gathered their weapons and took aim, arrows whizzing through the wall of flames to devastate the foreigners numbers, only then did the Pirates fold back, cut their losses and head to their boats with a bounty that would make history. They had taken doctors, tanners, smiths, teachers, warriors, hunters, and slaves. In less than an hour's worth of raiding they had managed to overwhelm the Drykas numbers, set fire to their city, and tear families apart.

As their ships raced away from the shore and the rain washed the blood of the fallen from Semele's skin, a strange quiet settled across the plain; a moment of sheer bewilderment, anguish, and loss shared by all. They would put out the fires, tend to the dying, pray for taken, rebuild, but never forget.

* * *

They were singing, merrily, as if none of them had a care in the world. The smell of liquor permeated the air, mixed with the salty sea spray that flew up onto the spar deck each time the heavy vessel fell down against the fighting waves. Unlike the small schooners that had followed the main ship away from Cyphrus and out to sea before going their separate ways, Glorg’s Howl had a different destination in mind, one that would take the ship only fifteen days to travel to.
“I’ve never been to the jungle before,” a strange voice chirped overhead, that of a woman’s.

Every now and then someone would speak in common but for the most part the pirates had their own language that none of the captives held down in the brig were able to understand. Most of the Drykas were free to move around, though many chose not to, having legs only for land. They had been split up and assigned to different parts of the ship. Shahar and Oliver would find themselves in the one of the holds that let some sunlight in, surrounded by at least thirty other people, mostly women and children.

Cowering at the far end of the brig, a group of women held stranger’s children in their arms, though one clutched her son, a young boy missing his twin; she couldn’t decide if she was blessed or cursed to still be with him. “Stay close,” she signed as the boy rest his head against his mother’s side and the two stared down at her injured ankle, “just a scratch,” she assured him, but left untreated the nasty cut might take her foot and later, her life.

* * *

By the fourth day they finally removed the dead, throwing them overboard to feed the fish. An odd smell lingered and some of the women felt they would never be free of the stink of rotting corn kernels and mouldy grain they shared a room with. There was a barrel of stale rainwater to drink from and by the morning of the thirty-sixth a sizeable rat that scurried down a length of thick rope to scavenge what he could from the grain stores, looked good enough to eat.

“Grubs up,” a lean man referred to by the others only as ‘Fish’ with fine, black markings on his face, lowered some baskets into the hold, “fresh from the ship’s galley,” he laughed as the food was anything but.
His common was good, though his attempts at Pavi left a lot to be desired, “Eat!” He spat before pacing across the desk.

* * *


NoteDate: 36th Winter. The ship has been at sea for four days (11 days till it docks at the edge of the jungle on the 47th). This is your PCs first meal; they have no idea when the next will come. They know only that they are heading to ‘the jungle’. Free feel to RP how your character was captured and treated up until this point (stripped of their belongings, etc). You’re encouraged to interact with NPCs and have permission to write anyone other than the captain of the ship. There is no posting order and the two of you (Shahar and Oliver) can post as frequently as you like (within reason). Enjoy, feel free to ask questions and above all, have fun!

[Colt]

The night had begun in calm and quiet, deceptive in its serenity. Shahar had returned home with the corpse of a wild dog that had once belonged to a Drykas, but had turned feral upon the long-past death of its master. The meat had been given to Snow and the cats, while the bones were left for the two pups to chew on until they exhausted themselves; the evening meal had been quiet and tired, but that was to be expected in winter. Their beds had welcomed them with warmth when the night made the cold all the more biting, although Shahar and Naiya had stayed awake for a while longer, wrapped up in each other as they tried desperately not to wake Seirei or the twins with their antics.

It was the pups that knew before the rest of them. True to their breeding, the Imperial Watchers had sensed the presence of something wrong in the camp. Something uneasy with the animals outside, something dangerous; their fear had woken Snow, whose sudden alertness dragged Shahar out of sleep. She didn’t know what it was, but she knew there was something; a deathly quiet had fallen over the Dawnwhisper camp, and the mark on his arm ached with something not right. Shahar had untangled himself from Naiya, pulled on the bare necessities to keep himself from freezing and slipped into the night to see what was wrong. It had been his fatal mistake.

They were waiting for him, with nets and metal and noiseless grins. Together he and Snow shouted out an alarm and moved to destroy the invaders, but the nets had cut them short and tangled them together, woven up with shards of seashell and glass that pierced and tore at their flesh. Their pain had alerted the others, and soon enough Akaidras was bellowing and bearing down with hooves and teeth, followed by the rest of the striders as the threat to the home became clear. And then the world was nothing but chaos and noise, and being dragged by glass and seashells, and he could smell smoke and hear screams, but he saw nothing––nothing but Snow, pressed and lashed against him by the net and unable to find the mobility to fight back.

They fought when the nets were peeled away, but were no match for the sheer number of hands and weapons bristled to keep them down. They were tied, pinned, immobilized by any means necessary, and by the time they felt the slimy wooden planks of the hold it was too late to escape. There was nowhere to go at sea, other than down.

– – –

The first sunrise was the day of merriment for the pirates above them. The slavers had done it; they had taken their prizes and escaped to the ocean, where the Drykas could not follow. Men and women and children, horses and zibri, divvied up into groups wherever the galleon had room.

With light came vision, although it also brought sickness; the rocking of the ship set Shahar’s stomach roiling, and he neither walked nor moved from his place against the wall, huddled against Snow as the winter spray of the sea bit into his bones. There was the seasickness, but there was also confusion, given form in a volatile mix of complete despair and utter apathy. How had such a thing happened so quickly? Why had such a fate fallen on them? Had Naiya and Seirei survived? What had happened after the net? What would happen to them now? Who would hunt for them? Who would keep them safe from spearback and wolves?

Who would kill the other spearbacks? Who would pull up the strangleweed? Who would cut down the tamarisk? Who would be there in the spring, to see the asps come out of their hibernation? Who would protect the snakes so they could mate, and make more snakes, and heal the wound that Clive and her tanners had left?

Grief and fear would take turns, trying to find an explanation for what had destroyed their lives so quickly. When the sun rose, though, he saw the faces of his cellmates––women and children, for the most part––and his confusion was punctured by a brand of searing, white-hot fury. How dare they? What gave them the right? Did the Drykas not have enough problems already? What gave the pirates the right to act as gods, and to tear apart the very fabric of a people?

With that anger eventually came clarity in his thoughts. When the initial blaze wore off, tempered by the reality of his helplessness to change the situation, it fell into a simmering anger that retreated to make itself comfortable at the back of his mind. This was unfair. This was undeserved. This was without cause. Yes. None of them would challenge that. But none of those facts had any ability to change their situation.

He couldn’t afford to be angry while the pirates still walked above his head. He couldn’t afford fair or unfair. There was no longer any right or wrong. There was no good or evil, moral or immoral. There was only life and death, survival or decay. There was necessary, and there was unnecessary. There were obstacles, and there were advantages.

And until they were home again, there could be nothing else.

– – –

The second day came, and the seasickness was less than it had been the day before. Shahar hadn’t moved more than a few feet from where he had been thrown in, although Snow moved to lap up some of the rainwater before returning to his side and tucking herself fearfully against him. She had no idea what was going on, and she looked to Shahar for guidance––guidance he couldn’t give, which scared her all the more.

Eventually, Snow couldn’t take the stillness anymore, and she began to pace. First it was the breadth of the hold they were trapped in. Some of the Drykas quailed before her, others reached out, and others didn’t move at all––and none of them were of any concern to her. She paced the walls, looking for an exit, and when she found none, she looked some more, as if looking long enough would cause a passageway to spontaneously manifest.

“I’ve never been to the jungle before,” someone said.

– – –

By the third day, it became obvious who was dead and who was not. The living slowly but surely made their ways to the barrel of rainwater, while the dead stayed put. Shahar managed to rouse himself from his malaise, drinking enough to slake his thirst but not enough to make himself sick. There were eyes following him as he made his way to the barrel, and one woman even paused in her approach to wait until he was done. The high majority were woman and children, with the odd male or two scattered about. But of the captives, Shahar was physically the largest, and beyond that, it was obvious to all the the pony-sized wolf belonged to him. The simple fact of his appearance gave him an edge of dominance, made all the more acute by the fact that the water would not last them forever––and that they had not yet been given any food.

Shahar made eye contact with those that were willing, although many lowered their eyes. And, like Snow, those that looked at him did so with mixed feelings; some hopeful, some fearful and some with no emotions at all.

Shahar looked at each person once, to see what he could see in their eyes, and then returned to his spot by the wall and sat back down.

And still Snow continued to pace.

– – –

The fourth day brought pirates. They came in and disposed of the dead, although they did nothing to take care of the rotting grain. Shahar wondered briefly if the only reason they kept it was to cause the captives discomfort. By now the scent was beginning to have less of an edge, although the rat that came to investigate caught more than one hungry eye.

The man called Fish called to them and lowered a basket with a cruel laugh, spitting out a harsh “Eat!”

There was a moment of caution as they all regarded the basket, wondering if it was a trick of some sort. A moment was all it took for Shahar to decide that wondering would do no one any good, and he hauled himself onto shaky feet and made his way to whatever scraps the pirates had chosen to give them.

A woman with a little red-haired girl stopped just as she was getting up to do the same. The basket was the centerpiece of the entire hold. Eyes were fixed upon it, and upon Shahar.

Snow padded over, equally curious to see what was inside and hoping for something to eat. Did they take it? Did they leave it be? Did they divide it amongst the others? Food was worth more than gold, and to possess food was to possess power. Shahar was powerful, and Snow was powerful, and if he chose to take possession of it, she would willingly stand to defend it.

Shahar turned his back to the basket, bidding Snow to guard it. He swept his gaze over the others, forcing down his anger in favor of logic.

“Are any of you nursing?” he asked, shoulders planning with a demand to know. Another time and place, perhaps he would have spared effort to be welcoming and soft, but that was not today. He suppressed his anger, and with that anger he also suppressed his concern, his worry for others beyond the logical reasoning of survival. One nursing woman could keep several younger children alive, and so his first instinct was to make sure they were fed first.

[Oliver Cleff]

The bow creaked ever so slightly as Oliver waited in the dark, dark depths of the ship. The deck above silent now due to the pirates departure, nothing more than a few footsteps here and there from the few left behind to guards the slaves and the occasional cough or whisper from the other slaves he shared the cargo space with. It was long was the hours of daylight and Oliver couldn't be more aware of this. Although he had not been able to gather much information about the pirates plans, having been sleeping most of his stay on the ship. However, one thing was for sure, they were on the look for either loot or more slaves. The latter being a good bet seeing as the ship was quite low on them after it's last trade.

Humming to himself Oliver would seem almost oblivious to the situation as he was quite cheerful after being on the ship for a whole three days now and being a slave for even longer. Although he hadn't seemed to be the least bit depressed or even angry over the situation he had gotten himself it, at least not on the surface.

Slowly his humming would become more faint until it faded completely. Instead Oliver would begin the sing a song in his native tongue, which would only sound like a serious of whistles and bird calls to others

"Sooooar....on the wings of the eagle.
As the arrow of light,
through the darkest paths.

Guided by the gaze of Priskil,
Lighting all roads ahead,
Overthrowing even Ionu's deceitful tricks"

Oliver would be cut short however by the sounds of celebration and merry-making as the slavers returned. While he wouldn't be able to make any actual words out the footsteps above coupled with the sounds of a struggle above him only meant one things. 'Oh goody new friends.', Oliver thought to himself in a joking manner as he awaited the slavers to fling open the doors to the haul of the ship and cram more unwilling 'guests' into their new living quarters.

Catching a glance of the one known as "Fish" in the dark of the haul Oliver would grin widely in the dark before deciding to stir up some trouble. "Welcome home, CAPTAIN!" While he knew very well this man wasn't the actual Captain of the ship Oliver had been teasing about just that ever since he got a feel of the ships hierarchy and didn't plan on stopping any time soon, even though it has managed to catch him two beatings by the slavers already. The beatings weren't too bad, but the latest one had managed to leave him with a rather sore nose and a slightly bruised left cheek. "Lots of new faces, I hope this doesn't mean you'll forget about little ol' me." As he spoke Oliver would grip the icy cold metal bars of his own private cell, one he had acquired due to his annoying nature (or so the pirates said), his face pressed against the bars as to poke slightly between them in an attempt to be as close to the slavers as possible.

While Fish would most likely just shoot a few words toward Oliver and leave it at that the other would chuckle at such behavior. Although if any other action was taken he would respond according to whatever Fish had planned for him. That time was neither here nor there though and would be handled when it were to occur. For now Oliver would simply try to toy with the slavers as much as possible, walking a thin line between annoying and angering them.

_ _ _

The night would come and go quickly with Oliver taking a few jabs at the slavers here and there, but nothing too significant as their successful raid had left them in such a good mood that little could disrupt their merry-making. The first day Oliver would not interact much with the new arrivals, as he figured that their panicked state would most likely make any conversation boring and even more likely impossible until a later time. Instead he would remain in his separate cell, sleeping the boredom soaked hours away as he awaited for something more interesting to pop up.

_ _ _

The second day with the new batch of slaves would be just as uneventful as the last. Although Oliver would actual attempt to talk to a few of them. However, he would be disappoint as most of them return confused looks or words the male couldn't understand. "Just great, another bunch of sods I can't even understand. They really know how to pick 'em don't they?" He would speak to himself before laying back down on the wooden floor of his cell and attempting to return to his slumber.

_ _ _

The third day would come and go just as easily, by now though Oliver would become hungry. Stirring quietly within his cell as he became a bit impatient of the pirates feeding schedule for them. Ignoring his surroundings Oliver would go to bed a bit grumpy, awaking early the next morning in hopes of being the first one awake when the food were to arrive so he could get first pick of the haul. Being a late sleep however would allow no such thing as he would long after the others, luck would shine on him thought as he was awoken just before food were to be brought to them.

Seeing Fish was the one presenting their food Oliver would smile widely as he grabbed the bars of his cell door, rattling the metal of the door as he shook it in his grasp. "Heeeey, ol' buddy, ol' pal. Did yah happen to bring me anything special? We all know how I'm your favorite and all. So do tell me there is a nice helping of fish for me, perhaps even some of the drink you and the boys could do without?" While his intention was to get a reaction from the man Oliver couldn't help but yearn for the taste of a nice swig of liquor right now. Oh what he wouldn't do to feel the warmth swell in his chest as he swallowed a mouthful of the fiery liquid. It had been far too long since he had gotten a taste of such a beverage and it was now the only thing he could think of currently.

[Erikal]

Erikal lay in darkness. His aches and pains a distant memory. The world rocked back and forth, forever it felt like. He slipped in and out of consciousness like clothing. He was only vaguely aware of others around him. The Pavi tongue was uttered, thick with despair and outrage. Muffled sobs and a death rattle for a cough. Then it was back to the nightmares for him. Though he knew it not, that nightmare had begun days ago......

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

He laughed at his father's joke. Not because it was funny, though perhaps once it had been, but because his father failed to recall just how many times he had returned to that particular well to drink. His mother humored him as she always did with a smile and a kiss. "What?? How could the man think his wife was a glassbeak by drinking too much?!" asked a perplexed Ru'Kal. The other Sunspears around the firepit shared in yet more mirth. Young Ru'Kal rose up beside Erikal to swing a stick at the blaze as if the fire were a glassbeak itself.

"Tell Ru about the time you caught that glassbeak dead in the eye a mile off, father," Erikal teased. Sure enough Telkar got Ru's attention when he closed his left eye and mimicked the pull of a bow string. "Two miles actually. I had the higher ground and old one eye was hunting in dryrock canyon...." Erikal stifled a yawn and stretched before signing good night to his family. "Oh you've heard this one before too eh?" His father asked with a sly grin that earned him a chuckle and playful punch to the shoulder. "Goodnight dear," his mother called to him. "Night."

That night was a bitter cold one to be sure. Erikal was more than glad to retire early to a warm bed and thick hides. But unfortunately, his rest came at a steep price and sleep was swiftly stolen when wild shrieks startled him awake. A woman yelled with high pitched dread. "They come! Awake my children! From sea of blood they come! Haskel! Telkar! Ndee! Wipe away the sand of rest. There will be no rest for us this night. Only blood..."

He realized it was his grandmother Glasena's hysterical voice he was hearing. This would not be the first time his grandmother had vision dreams. It seemed she was doing a lot more of that as Erikal got older. He had heard his cousin Gavaken say their grandmother had lost hold of her wits and that age was the culprit. Erikal believed that was the truth of the matter, but part of him wanted to deny such things could ever happen. He wanted to remember her as the sharp-minded granny that had told him bedtime stories as a boy.

Erikal knew something was truly wrong when he heard his Ankhal's baritone ride over Glasena's frantic warnings. "Endrykas is on fire! To your spears NOW!!" Erikal didn't have time to do much more than hastily throw on shirt and pants, slip a cloak about him and pull up his spear from where it lean against the canvas wall. The Sunspear pavilion was in complete chaos. His grandmother was begging his father not to leave. His father shrugging her off and taking bow in hand. He waved Erikal over to him. "Come on son! My brother will lead us to victory, like he always has. We've got work to do and family to protect. Stay close. Eyes sharp!"

Erikal saw a worried look in his father's face. That was something he rarely ever saw. The Ankal seemed less concerned though, even eager for whatever battle lay ahead, a twinkle of bloodlust in his eyes. For himself, he felt only confusion. Who had besieged Endrykas in the night? Would he have to kill men? Could he do it and put his doubts aside? Having his father close by buoyed his spirits though. His father was deadly accurate with a bow. Whoever sought to do them harm would be swallowing shafts before long.

Outside the clan tent he was greeted by a gust of cold air tinged acrid with smoke. Fires burned out of control wherever he gazed. Dark silhouettes ran in packs, bringing men and women to heel under a flurry of steel and ash. Erikal heard the screams of women and children. Weeping. Suddenly he, his father, and uncle were beset on all sides by strange figures in outlandish clothing and jewelry. They wielded curved swords and cruel words. His uncle roared like a lion and rammed his spear right through one attacker's chest, to explode out the other side in a cascade of blood. His father had no time to put shaft to string and settled on drawing his hunting knife instead. He had no more time to witness what the others were doing when a tattooed face came near, presenting him with a dangerous looking cutlass as well. "Put ye stick down boy. Surrender and jus' maybe ye'll see the morrow," said the man in Pavi, though with an odd accent.

It happened so fast. There was no time to wonder what he would or wouldn't do. Gripping his spear tightly, he let out a battle-cry much like he would at the beginning of any hunt and advanced quickly, thrusting his spear out to gut the man. He had practiced that very movement countless times in drills. Then it had felt so effortless and easy. Now it felt anything but. His action seemed to be mired in honey, taking far too long to complete and more clumsy than the artful precision he had imagined. The spear point was thrown off line by the man's sword hilt. He felt the bite of the blade on the man's back-swing, managing to avoid the worst of it by retreating backward at the last moment. Still, he could feel the trickle and sting of blood from a shallow incision on his left shoulder. But not before he had claimed his own prize. His wayward spear embedding itself in the man's thigh. He felt the plunge grind against bone and there it halted, the man cursed with a groan.

But it was another man's groan that caught his attention. His father. Erikal swung his gaze to where he had been. His father had fallen to his knees before a slim figure. Knife dropping to the earth with a low thud. Erikal could see his eyes wide in disbelief. The twin daggers in his assailant's hands dripped blood and far too much of it. Erikal heard himself scream in rage and yank his spear free of his current adversary, to spin around and charge his father's killer.

He came on ferociously with a series of sharp quick spear thrusts. All to no avail. The killer dodged his best attacks with ease and grace; even arching back to flip over. Then suddenly the tide turned and those daggers were like vipers, striking at him from every angle, and cutting him across the cheek, inside of his arm, along the ribcage, and various other places. The pain was there, but it had failed to halt him. He doubted anything short of a killing blow could have stopped him then. But he was wrong. He heard the man's voice at his back. The one he had abandoned to avenge his father. "You bloody bastard." Then something hit him hard in the back of the skull. Painting everything black....

But not before he caught a glimpse of the face of his father's killer. Not a man. A feminine face peered back at him. The last thing he heard sounded far-off. Like chimes on the wind......

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

The Nightmare was real. And it had only just begun...He opened his eyes to his present prison. A stinking watery hell he had thought was only hallucination....


.

[Colt]

Drykas were not the only prisoners to be found in this cell. One of the few men was clearly non-Drykas, in the cut of his clothes, the paleness of his skin and the stilt of his Common. He didn’t understand Pavi, and after the first days appeared to have given up trying to speak with his new cellmates. Still, he was bizarrely jovial for the situation, rattling the cage and grinning at their guards whenever the fancy struck him. He certainly seemed to be making a good deal of the noise in the cage.

One woman spoke up in response to Shahar’s question. A raven-haired woman that was not quite young, but still well within her prime; she clutched a little girl to her that looked at the world with empty, emotionless eyes. The girl was too old to be nursing, but whether or not the girl was hers in blood, she had taken guardianship of her.

“Yes,” the woman said. “I’m nursing.”

Shahar collected a helping of food and made his way over to her, while Snow continued to circle the basket protectively.

He sat down before the woman and offered her what he had, and after a moment of hesitance she took it. The stuff was neither appetizing nor pleasant, but the hunger of the past days made that unimportant.

“What is your name?” Shahar asked.

“Meela,” she replied. “Meela Silverhand, of the Opal Clan.”

“Opal. You are a healer?”

“Midwife. But also healer.”

“Can you nurse children who need it?” There was no need to dance around intentions anymore. Shahar had neither the time nor the energy for politeness.

“I…” She frowned. “Not many.”

“Can you keep them alive, at least?”

A pause, and then she nodded. “Yes. I can try.”

Shahar nodded with agreement, gratitude, intent to action and stood. Caiyha hadn’t wiped all of his culture-born values from him, and so he was inclined to follow the typical order of needs: women and children first, then men. Drykas first, then foreigners. He circled the room, searching for those children that would die without help. There weren’t many babies, and some of them were lucky enough to have been taken alongside their mothers.

In searching, however, he came to see a familiar mop of sandy blonde hair.

“Erikal?” He almost didn’t believe it. Coming closer, Shahar knelt and touched the Sunspear’s shoulder. “Erikal?” He was alive––he would have been tossed overboard otherwise––but hurt.

“Meela.” He gestured for her to come over. “Can you heal this man?”

[Tribal]

Meela got to her feet and assured Shahar that she would do her best for the man. At their backs, a creaking sound announced that the brig’s wood-iron doors were being opened overhead and the pirates threw down a net on top of long pole with nooses attached at their ends, fastened tightly around Snow’s neck. Fear, panic, pain, caused her to cower and shrink against the wall as the pirates above pulled her out of the hold, tail tucked between her legs.

Fish smirked once the dog was out of sight and threw the doors closed again, staring down at Shahar, who seemed the most distressed by the act of the dog being taken, “don’t worry,” he spoke in Common, “I’ll bring her back tomorrow,” he tugged on the rope that held the basket of food and laughed. To Oliver, Fish only offered a shrug and a few kind words before moving on out of sight, “perhaps the horsemen will share with, bard.”

It was to be a long, rough night at sea, everyone tortured by the howling and barking of the dog separated from her master, until the wee, small hours of the morning, when there came a high-pitched yelp, and all was silent. The sea was still, the breeze nonexistence, and the sun ducked in and out from behind the clouds; just another winter's day.

37 Winter

[Colt]

Meelah moved to help the injured man, and for a moment, Shahar regained a small glimmer of confidence. They could deal with this. They were Drykas. They could be strong.

The ceiling rattled as the doors to the brig were flung open. Shahar turned, not certain what to expect, just in time to see the rod and the rope.

“No!” he roared as Snow was taken from him, yanked off her feet with pained and fearful yelps. They couldn’t take his Snow from him! He surged from his spot and leaped to the basket, below the brig’s entrance, but he was too far and his body too weak. He jumped, reaching for her with a furious snarl, but he was too late. She was hauled to the topdeck and he couldn’t reach her.

“Snow!”

The man, Fish, he promised to bring her back. The look Shahar gave back to him was utterly feral. I will kill you, he signed. He didn’t know when, he didn’t know how, but a ship was a small space. He would get his Snow back, and he would wipe the smile from Fish’s face forever.

She howled for him, and he howled back. Hopeless on his part, but hopeful on hers––always hopeful, always looking forward, always trusting in him to guide and protect her. But his howling did nothing; all he could do was let her know that he was there, that he was still in the brig, that he couldn’t get to her.

But his howling was ultimately useless, and his hopelessness shredded it until he fell silent. Not her, though; she continued to bark and call for him, because she never gave up hope. Hope had been her first thought, and if she died tonight, hope would be her last.

When his voice became silent, it fell to his body to find a way to endure the agony of her cries. He paced, much in the way she had, outlining the walls of the brig to find something, anything that could give him a way out. And, like Snow, he found nothing. Once he circled, twice he circled, and then he circled a third time––all yielded nothing but the frustration of listening to his Snow as she was restrained where he could not reach her.

He didn’t sleep at all that night. When he realized he would find nothing, he turned his attention back to his cellmates, hoping that being productive would give him a distraction. He was no longer guarding the food. He didn’t care. The only thing that could draw his ire would be if someone prevented anyone else from reaching the food––an act he would do his best to put a stop to.

Erikal’s injury was not the only one to be had among them. A young woman, younger than him, clutched at her dark-haired son as she dragged herself unsteadily towards the food. Shahar saw, overtook her, picked up some of the food and brought it directly to her.

“What is your name?” he asked, the sound of Snow painting his posture with permanent lines of anxiety.

“Kyla,” she said, accepting the food gratefully. “Snowhunt. Of the Topaz Clan.”

“Your foot?”

“I… I don’t know. It’s wrong. Twisted up, I think. The cut doesn’t feel that bad.”

Shahar turned from her, towards the woman who had become the brig’s impromptu wetnurse. “Meela,” he rasped. “This woman is injured. Can you look?”

Meela rose in agreement, and then Shahar was no longer needed.

There was no rest for him the remainder of the night. He paced, he drank water, he ate the food just to pass the time, tasting none of it and finding no relief. He scoured his cellmates for signs of injury, and then asked for them to be seen to. As Kyla was being seen to, another woman arose, introducing herself as Nevin Riverheart––another Opal healer. She had muscled through the shock, and was just as willing to see to what welfare there was to be had.

Busying himself with the welfare of the cellmates brought only the most marginal of distractions, but it was better than nothing and so he continued. Injuries were tracked down. Toddlers passed to Meela. Their needs were basic, but he did his best to fulfill them.

Until the noise reached a crescendo, as the outside world was only just beginning to adopt hints of grey, and Snow was silenced by a sharp yelp.

The sudden quiet, unlike the noise, was not something he could ignore.

“Snow?” he called out, followed by a worried bark. What had happened? What had they done to her? Where was his Snow?

[Tribal]

38 Winter

And just like that a new day dawned. One of the women scratched another mark into the wooden wall of their combined cell, how many days had it been now? How many nights? It was easy to lose track of time, but those with their wits about them still, kept up the chatter and routine of Drykas life; they were, after all, a very social race.

The same woman who had marked the wall decided to sing, some hours after the last Shahar had heard of snow, a low tune, a song that was usually happy and brought good luck to their people, a song of Semele and her lover Zulrav; one every man, woman, and child in the brig seemed to know, all those who could call themselves Drykas at least.

Without a breeze, the boat would go nowhere, for the sea was as still as the dead wood of a naked Acklar tree, one known to their people for its healing properties. Their captors were signing again and by mid-afternoon, they were all drunk and roaring about some gambling game they had been playing up on the deck, which had just turned nasty. A stray, chipped tooth bounded in through the wood-iron grid to land in the cell and idly, the child in Kyla’s arms sat staring at it, unmoving.

Soon fish had returned with a lush, white cut of fur hung over his left shoulder. The pelt could have belonged to anything, a collection of rabbit skins, or a rare white wolf perhaps, but when he neared the pen he stared down at Shahar and smiled menacingly, like a young boy might smile at a helpless ant, trapped under his chubby finger, “Grub’s up,” he grumbled and pulled up the basket, replacing it with a new one that contain some form of meat, still hot from the boiling pot. Though a bit gamey and hard to swallow, it would restore some of their strength. As a parting gift, he spat on the food before lowering it and closed the trap doors.

[Erikal]

When he opened his eyes Shahar was leaning over him, calling his name. "Broth-er." His voice splintered, his throat raw. Despite that he smiled to see his fellow Drykas again. Just thinking on how he had come to be there gave him a headache. A fever still clung heavy to his mind, causing his thoughts to spiral to no apparent logical end. Still, the image of his father collapsing to his knees haunted him. He tried to howl in alarm, but it only came out as a strangled croak.

Erikal half stood, pushing himself woozily to his feet. He took a few hurried steps and tripped over something, managing to catch himself on a rain barrel and haul himself back up, water sloshing to spill onto the deck. The Drykas peered around him frantically, in an obviou state of hysteria. "Father! I'm coming!" His vision blurred and when it came into focus he saw many eyes watching him. Blank stares that had seen too much pain, like those poor souls he had helped recover from Zith slavery. But these were his people, he realized and he was among them.

Had Endrykas fallen? Was this all that was left of his people? "Shahar. Where are you?" He yelled in a cracked voice to the huddled shapes. "They killed my father. You bastards! Where have you taken my family?!" He roared up at the hatchway where a faint silver light could be seen and even fainter voices, heard. But he had expended too much energy already. The rocking stank environment suddenly whirled over and darkness claimed him once more.

He woke with a start to find a Drykas woman tending to him. He soon learned her name was Meela. He shivered despite feeling much better than he had the last time. "I-I need water," he said with a parched throat. Meela offered her support to aid him in moving over to a barrel in the brig that had caught rain water. He decided it was silly to argue that he could manage on his own when it would do little good and likely drain whatever energy reserve he had left. With her aid, he once again brought his hands to grasp the barrel's rim to steady himself. He vaguely recalled the water sloshing out in his fevered state. His senses were much more keen now though and he wished it was not so. It smelled awful. The sunlight above reflected off the sickly yellow tinted water within. But there was no help for it. Without water he would die. Thus he cupped his hands and drank his fill though he found little pleasure in doing so.

Erikal thanked Meela for her help and gazed over those he shared the prison with. Unwashed faces in various states of suffering. Many faces were dark purple with bruising or smeared with blood. They had not gone easy. An unfortunate few he noticed had twisted limbs, bloody and likely broken with no treatment to come for a very long time, if they lived that long. Erikal wanted to help, but he himself was in a poor state. He felt ready to retch up the liquids he had just put down. His stomach gave a nauseous flip and he clenched his jaw in defiance of the sea sickness.

Erikal naturally sought out his friend Shahar. The only one he knew of the batch that had found its way on this ship. His burly friend didn't look much better than him. His features were haggard and drawn and his eyes like that of an animal-- trapped and roving anxiously to find any escape available. But there was none. He watched his friend do a circuit of the place before greeting him. "Hello brother. The woman-- Meela helped me. I feel almost like new again," he said with a smile that lacked its usual vibrancy. Shahar's haunted stare alerted him that something besides their situation had the rugged hunter in a near state of panic. Then his friend enlightened him. "Snow? They took Snow?" he echoed in disbelief. He could scarcely believe the amicable wolf-dog had even made it on the ship.

Erikal raised his gaze to the hatch. It didn't look good for Shahar's loyal pet. But he said nothing aloud. Lending words to what they both knew was likely a grim ending for the wolf would be pointless. Instead he tried to draw the man's attention away from Snow by asking questions on what transpired since he had last been coherent. He soon learned of the pirate called, 'Fish'. Many of the Drykas that sat huddled in the hold were only all too happy to give credence to just what a wretched human being this 'Fish' was. And as if on cue, the hatch above opened in the wake of some cursing and the rattle of shells.

A lean man cut into view. His face held tattoos and it was not at all hard to hate the man. A white length of fur draped the man's shoulder and it took every last bit of self control for him not to attack the man that more like than not wore what was left of Snow. He felt the tide of anger rise in him. He could not imagine how Shahar must of felt. Knowing his friend might do something rash, he laid a restraining hand on his shoulder, whispering in Pavi. "He's trying to get a rise out of you, brother. Be calm. We will get our revenge in time. We must think of a plan."

Despite the great possibility that the meat lowered in the basket could be remnants of Snow, Erikal felt his stomach growl in hunger. He had not eaten anything in days. If they were to fight back, they would need every ounce of nutrition they could scavenge. Erikal followed the sudden lurch of humanity when food was presented. A backward look over his shoulder to Shahar. It was hard to keep a guilty look from his face.....

.