Alastair’s eyes sprung open as a gush of salty sea water swept across his face. His grey-blue eyes frantically dashed around as he tried to understand what was happening. He was lying on a soaking wet wooden floor just beyond the stairwell to the upper deck, and all he could really see were others rushing by him in one direction or another. He tried to climb to his feet but he felt dazed and slipped. The alcohol was still having very much of an effect on him, and the blood dripping down his forehead suggested that he’d had a nasty bump. “What the hell is going on?” he moaned as he braced himself against the wall, not for the first time that day. He could hear shouting and gunshots above, as well as the sound of something large thundering about. Then he remembered – the large ebony attacker. ‘Must have slipped and knocked myself out’ he thought to himself, now full of regret and annoyance.

“Come on! Hurry up!” came a gruff voice of a nearby sailor. Alastair turned to see a couple of burly men, both of whom he had drank with earlier, carrying the inquisitor down the steps. As the group passed Alastair could see that ‘Omero’ (if he recalled his name correctly) was clearly injured and was losing a lot of blood. Alastair went to follow them but hesitated. His healing skills were useful, but the doctor was probably best suited to deal with this kind of injury; especially because he doubted the doctor would be burned alive for his practice. Instead, Alastair decided that he ought to take himself. Ruffling through his leather satchel, he clumsily shifted through various vials, pouches, and scrolls until he came across what he was looking for: ‘Inntinn bhán’. He produced a small vial of what looked like old curdled milk, and which unfortunately smelled and tasted even worse. He popped the cap and downed the thick, lumpy substance, causing him to shiver in disgust. He went to curse the horrid stuff, but instead only acid puke poured from his gob.

BLEEERRRGGGHHH

“Fucking- fuck” he coughed as he watched the dark coloured substance mix with the sea water on the wooden decking. The potion that he had drank had the useful ability to clear one's mind, and was especially useful for making a drunk feel sober. The downside of this was the taste, the puking, and the knowledge that it caused hangovers to be much worse the next day. It was a price that he was willing to pay though, given the circumstances. He leant against the wall and allowed himself thirty seconds to recover, all the while having to listen to the chaos that was ensuing upstairs. He took in deep breaths and could smell the strong smell of gunpowder and burning, and it made his nose and throat itch. When his mind finally felt clear he removed his Khopesh and ran up the stairs into the miniature warzone. He was immediately hit by a shower of water that made him squint and he was unable to tell whether it was the heavens that had opened, or just the rough seas spitting over the deck.

“Idiot! This is not your fight!” screamed a Portuguese voice to his right. He turned to see a young woman yelling at an even younger boy. To Alastair they both appeared out of place and, from his previous experience, guessed they would likely get in the way here more than anything else.

“Listen to her!” He roared, his coarse voice straining to be heard above the chorus of destruction, “You both need to get to safety! Live to fight another day!” Then, without waiting to see if they were wise enough to heed his advice, he began marching towards the dark towering monster before him. The ebony giant was swinging wildly at Leonard and Emilio, both of whom seemed to be pushing themselves to the limit to dodge its attacks and land their own strikes. It seemed to be hurt too, with noticeable chinks missing in its otherwise indomitable armour. With a quick blink Alastair’s eyes turned a misty white, and his Raven’s Eye allowed him to see what others could not… although it certainly didn’t help in this particular case. The Harbinger before him glowed crimson with streaks of purple, white and red, and was almost painful to look at. It was like nothing he had ever seen before, which made him as weary as it did determined.

Leonard came to the top of the steps with a tired albeit straight-backed gait. The sabre held in his hand glistened a macabre pink as the Harbinger swung at Emilio; the light emanating from its very essence played on the folded metal through the thick rainfall.

“Shall I step in, Captain?” Leonard screamed through the wailing wind and sweeping of the masts.

Emilio wipes his curly hair from his face and back peddles further toward the stern. “I was just getting started!” He responds, a despondent smile growing on his face. It contorts into a gasp as he ducks from a claw strike, then ripostes an incoming punch to his abdomen. A flourish and a spin removes him from range of the Harbinger. A short jump into a roll separates him even more and matches him up with Leonard.

“I could wait.” Leonard said, leaning on the banister.

Emilio chuckled as he readied his scimitar.

The Captain glanced toward the poop deck and noticed a bright yellow hue coming from the figure of the woman. She seemed to have her arms outstretched.

“We need more time,” Emilio responded soberly. At that Leonard propped up from his leaning and fell in line with his sabre brandished forth. As if on invisible cue the duo sprinted forth as the Harbinger bellowed a harsh metallic screech, one which sent waves through their bodies. They powered through the horrible, nearly kinetic, noise and slashed at the body as they passed, making sure to dodge any of the clumsy oncoming blows.

Having come out unscathed Emilio felt a blush of confidence; that very quickly turned to pain. A blunt concussive force radiated through Emilio’s body as the Harbinger released a blindingly fast kick to the abdomen. The Captain was knocked back several feet and crashed like a doll into the short wooden wall.

“Damn you!” Leonard screamed at the Harbinger as he brought a sabre strike down on the thing’s arm. The Harbinger grabbed the sabre mid-strike and shook it loose from Leonard’s hands. And faster than any man can react the sharp-knuckled fists came down on Leonard’s face. As easily as that his body crumpled to the sea sodden deck.

Running up behind the Harbinger, Alastair hooked his Khopesh on its shoulder plate, effectively gripping the edge of it between the Khopesh’s blade and handle. Muscles bulging and chest pounding, Alastair pulled down hard and begun to pry the piece of armour off. The Harbinger was forced slightly off balance and had to take a step back, causing it to narrowly miss another swipe at Leonard’s head. The hard ebony plate bent and shook as the black smoke clung to the metal. The joint croaked under pressure and a bolt flew from it’s casting. It was a feat of strength that Alastair couldn’t have done without the combination of a distraction, uneven flooring, and the few injuries already administered to the monster.

The Harbinger shook vigorously before finally grabbing at Alistair’s clothing and tossing him over his head toward where Emilio lay. He landed with a tremendous thud, causing the air to be knocked from his lungs and one of the boards to crack beneath him. ‘I’m getting too old for this’ he thought to himself, but he unfortunately lacked the breathe to say the cliché out loud. Suddenly the deck was illuminated by what could have very easily been considered the "sun". It came from the east and casted defined shadows along the rest of the deck. If one were to dare peak at the sun, they would see a tremendous bolt of light extending from the very tip of the stern to the Harbinger’s half-wrecked form.

Luke took a deep breath, trying to steel his nerves, as he had been taught by his instructors from early childhood. "Fear and passion, serve only to betray you in battle." Were always the words that stung the most through any of his training, because it seemed the words were always followed by Luke making friend's with the ground beneath him. "The only way to prevail, in swordplay, and anything else you do, is to remain calm, rational, and level headed. If you let your emotions take the reigns, you will undoubtedly meet with failure everytime." Luke hated the redundancy of these words, but after being on his own for this long, they always managed to keep him alive. While reaching for his notched dagger clipped in a small sheath strapped to his left outer thigh, he was jerked back into the stairway he had just emerged from. After barely catching his footing and avoiding a tumble, Luke saw the source of his unwilling retreat. Without a moments hesitation, Luke was letting passion speak for him, "Que pensez-vous que vous faites ?"

Luke took a moment and spoke in the Portuguese he had picked up while spending time in Sintra, "They're defending us, and I must help them!"

The woman, now pattered with enough water to make the hems of her skirt and blouse heavy, merely rolled her eyes. Her tight hold on his collar hadn't flinched in the slightest, and with the same unkind strength it seemed she was determined to pull him all the way down to the lower deck. "Running into cannon fire is a lovely way to kill yourself, boy, not that thing tearing everything apart. Did you even think about where you were standing? If it had noticed you, it may have very well come barreling down into the ship where the injured are being taken care of. You're smart enough to know French--be smart enough to know how to stay alive."

Struggling to loosen the grip even slightly, Luke retorted in a sort of grumble, "Any able body should be out there defending the ship, if it doesn't make it, none of us will." Luke tried planting his feet, trying to stay grounded. "Before you decided to intervene, I way preparing to move. I won't let myself be killed here, or any where else." Luke felt around for something to hold on to, hoping that it might give him some leverage, any falter in her grip and he might be able to free himself. "Who are you anyway, and who do you think you are trying to stop me, i don't recall pledging any loyalty to you, or having any of your blood run through my veins." He began to contemplate escaping his shirt, then her hold on him would be broken.

Suddenly, the passageway was lit with the with what couldn't possibly, but seemed to be nearly indistinguishable from that of the sun. Sparked by curiosity, Luke made a last effort to escape, hand on Dagger, Luke spun  and severed the collar, freeing him of the women's grasp. "You can go back and hide, defend those who need it, but I'm going to lend a hand to those men out there, fighting for the ship and all it's passengers." Luke turned back towards the rain and unexplainable light that illuminated the deck and stairway, and as the two worked against his vision, he turned back once more to the lady who held his collar, "Just as others joined this crew, I chose to be here. I'm gonna go find out what's going on up there, and I'm going to help any way I can, if I can't fight, I'll at least be another body for that thing to be distracted by, there's only one of it, and the more of us there are, the more likely we are to land a decisive blow." Luke took a second to catch his breath, and thought to himself, "I'm a Du Sand, and we live by the idea, if you have the means to help, you are obligates to help."

The woman's hands rested on her hips as she stared at the boy, both amused and annoyed. "I think you might be on the wrong ship, boy--it's a place for liars and the hopeless, not heady heroes willing to crush themselves at the soonest opportunity."

Her eyes then squinted towards the deck. "There's not much for you to do either way."

Luke looked back towards the deck trying to see what the woman had when she squinted, "What do you mean, what do you see?"

The woman sighed, waving a dismissive hand. "You're going to run up and look regardless of what I say, boy. I'm done having my fingers nearly cut off by your foolishness, so you can join me down here or go play pretend up there."

"Don't mind if I do." Luke smiled as he turned and ran upstairs to where the action was. With the thought of what the lady said gnawing at the back of his mind he quickly ran behind cover and waited for a moment to strike. Noticing the man limp on the floor next to the heavy armor, Luke's eyes were fixed as he waited for an opportunity to help him, he didn't want to see anyone else hurt.

There was a rumbling. It broke through the rain and the fear, and concentrated minds fully on it.

Rain fell like fresh taps from a spring morning; like the impatient games of siblings waiting for breakfast.

It was like one of those spring mornings as Leonard awoke to the blue sky overhead, the smell of the morning dew rising in his perked nostrils, the tickling of the grass on his face. His vision of the sky was interrupted by blonde locks, tumbling waves of light crimson hair which draped over him like a willow weeps. He could smell the hay in her hair and he closed his eyes once more to take in the odor.

“Are you going to wake up now?” Her curt soft voice said as she righted herself, revealing her heart-like face. She was a child again, and so was Leonard. He’d slept out here all night, wanting to keep away from the ghosts in his home. As he sat up he could feel the wetness on his back. “Your shirt’s ruined! Mum won’t be happy about that.”

Young Leonard just stared ahead at a magpie leaning into a far off puddle. Prissy came into view again and pulled her hair behind her ear as she smiled at her brother.

“Leo, Lee…” she addressed him softly.

“Hmm.”

“Lee, I didn’t see any ghosts tonight. I… I slept in your room and there was no ghost. You can come back now.”

Leonard followed the motions of the magpie as it bathed in the puddle. His lips parted and he glanced at his sister. A pain erupted in his head and he could feel moisture coming from his eyes. A deep sadness overtook him and it was reflected in his face.

“What’s wrong?” Prissy asked, “what’s wrong, Leo?”

Young Leonard could hardly control his babbling, “I… I—it’s just…. It’s you, Priscilla. Yuh—you’re the ghost.” He said exasperated.

“It’s you! It’s you!” he screamed in the rocking caverns of the gun deck. The small bursts of consciousness Leonard achieved were generally filled with frightened screaming or gurgled cries. The doctor worked on him currently as several sailors kept Leonard in place.

“Is this normal doctor?” one of the sailors asked the punchy looking fellow with a slightly balding scalp and mutton chops; this was of course the ship’s very own surgeon Philipe de Alondorese.

He was an Iberian mutt with quick hands and a sharp mind. His built frame may confuse people into thinking he was a fighter or some sort of journeyman. In fact he was one of the leading experts on field surgery in the peninsula and had several published essays to back him up in that regard. He stitched Leonard as best he could with one hand, as the other held his dislocated jaw in place. Philipe’s dark green eyes moved over the tattered skin and bloody bones with a hesitant interest. He seemed like a man who had to temper his passions; even the mostly unconscious Leonard could see that.

“As normal as I could ask for in a situation like this. You said it’s a disembodied suit of armor then?” Philipe would rather be distracted from his current work than by it; it was simply a matter of preference for him.

“Yes, sir. As black as pitcoal, harder than diamond. It let off a red aura…” the scraggly sailor recounted from memory.

“And you say there was a light after that as well.” Philipe asked as he quickly hooked in another stitch and threaded it through.

“Yes, and the thing was encased in a bubble of light. It was the most spectacular thing I’d ever seen, the rays of yellow and red crashing against each other in the space before me. It was… it was magical. But we had to bring him to you so I didn’t see much else.”

Philipe finished the row and asked for the thread to be cut by his assistant, what seemed to be a young boy with chin length black hair. The assistant also took hold of the jaw as Phillip slipped away from Leonard’s body. He took a moment to clean his hands in a bucket of pink water and glanced at the tiny holes in the deck above them.

“There doesn’t seem to be a light anymore.” He said thoughtfully. “It makes you wonder what this trip is really about.”

The sailor nodded and looked up at the holes himself. Philipe turned in his stool to work on Omero again. He placed a bandage over a sealed cut on the man’s forehead and then tied it with twine.

---

There was a rumbling. It broke through the rain and the fear, and concentrated minds fully on it.

As the brilliant bolt of light shone from the hands of the woman on the stern she let out an inaudible shriek. As the light came into contact with the Harbinger, the metal suit was enveloped.

Red splattered against the inside of the bubble of yellow light and pounded to release itself. A low humming came from somewhere in the bubble as it slowly ascended above the broken roof of the navigation room. Suddenly the bubble expanded to double it’s size, nearly enveloping the people below. Just as suddenly, however, the bubble collapsed in on itself and imploded; leaving nothing behind but sparks of red and yellow. The ship shook a bit with the explosion and slowly rocked back into the metronome of the sea. The lance hidden under rubble disappeared and more of the debris collapsed into the captain’s quarters. It's proprietor would not be happy with that, though he could hardly complain with his life still intact as it was. He coughed a fresh breath into his lungs and groaned in pain as he released himself from the hole in the wall in which he was currently lodged. “Christ, that fucker can kick.” He said in a strained voice. All in all, however, he seemed fine. He helped Alistair up from where he laid, grasped his hand tightly after he was up. “Thank you” was etched into his dark eyes, though he never said the words. He hobbled away toward Epu and the main deck.

“Where’s Leonard?” was the first thing the Captain asked.

“Downstairs, being taken care of. Are you alright?” Epu asked incredulously.

“Yes, I’m fine. What happened to Leonard?” Emilio asked as he took a look at his broken ship.

“He’s battered and bleeding, has a broken jaw. Philipe said he should be able to fix it.” Epu rushed out, grabbing his captain gently by the arm, “are you sure you’re alright. I watched you get hit by that thing. It seemed like a force of nature.”

“And he hit like a thunder strike, too,” Emilio joked as he tried to limp toward the main deck.

“I’m not kidding.” Epu said quietly, yanking Emilio back. “You should have died.” He whispered.

Emilio could only glare at his friend. He couldn’t lie to him, but he didn’t have to tell him the truth either. “You should know more than anyone that I am quite difficult to kill.”

The two shared a moment of truth together, one of those moments which seeps into the fabric of time like cheap wine; it will always be there, but no one ever wants to talk about it. At that moment the woman draped in black sauntered down the steps from the poop deck. She walked toward the little group with a smile.

“Well done, Cicatrise. You managed to keep most of your crew members alive.” She said placing her hand on her hip. “I thought maybe you’d find some way to fuck it up.”

“Take a good look around. Some would say I have.” Emilio responded. Epu wanted to leave but could tell Emilio wanted him close by. “The deck is partly blown to hell. The navigation room is unusable.” He whispered these next words, “and according to you there’s a marauding ship somewhere between here and Morocco. How do you expect I feel?”

“You’re a talented man,” she responded cooly, “I’m sure the Dread Pirate Cicatrise isn’t afraid of some second rate brigandines.”

Emilio scoffed, “you don’t know shit, lady. This ship can’t handle a fight. Do you understand? The sailors need clear flooring to move and efficient organization. My boatswain has a fucking dislocated jaw and the main deck is battered to shit!”

“Who is this woman? Why do you need to explain things to her?” Epu asked.

“I just saved all of your lives, and it looks like I may need to do so again. So I’d watch your words, American.” She responded bitingly. Epu chuckled at her haughty ignorance and walked away. “I’m sure you can handle some holes in the ship and your communications, you’ve proven yourself to be resourceful."

“You know a fair bit about us, but I don’t even know your name.” Emilio said, frustrated, as he slicked his hair back again in the dwindling rain.

“Alana, does that make it easier?” she said with a smile.

“Not particularly, but it’s nice to know. We’ll have to speak about what you did to the Harbinger later.” Emilio said.

“No, we don’t have to, but I imagine that you’ll want to anyway. I’m sure everything will be clear to you in time.”

“In time I’ll be dead, and it’ll be all your fault.” Emilio said facetiously.

“Really? Hmm, you seem to be quite susceptible to life. And if memory serves, I can’t even get a scratch to stick on you.” Alana rebutted as she brought her hand to his neck, the same place she’d let her knife cut him before. There was nothing, no pain, no blood, no cut. “Spiritum Aeternum, Cicatrise. Your spirit is your body, and your spirit is eternal.” She said as she brought her hand to his chest.

Waves of fear and excitement and anxiety wracked Emilio’s entire body as those words were said to him again. His confusion turned into some degree of understanding, and he was resigned to annoyance instead.

“How long do we have?” he asked.

“Maybe a day. Perhaps less. I’ll have a better answer in a few hours.” Alana said as she walked back to the stairs to take a seat. The rain had begun to die down, Epu was guiding the sailors into position.

“It could happen in a few hours.” Emilio opined.

“Yes,” Alana admitted, “it could.” With no more than a second glace Emilio headed toward the gun deck to check on Leonard. On the way he asked a boy to gather others to fetch Pablo’s corpse from under the wreckage in his quarters.

---

In only a couple of hours most of the wreckage and debris had been removed from the ship, and some of the gaping holes had been covered with plied boards. It wasn’t perfect, but the Burned Bitch was in mostly working order. The entirety of the boat seemed alive in the twilight hours, even if that activity was muddled by dread and distaste. As the ball of energy and fire rose into the sky Emilio came back up from the gun deck, bags drooping under his eyes. The sun seemed to shock him as it illuminated the effects of the botched first night. He sat at one of the only undamaged tables and contemplated the business at hand; the herald of which was making her way over to the table. Alana leaned against the banister and glowed in the sunlight. Now that he could see her clearly in the light, Emilio noticed an eminent darkness about Alana. Her makeup was dark, but her pale skin seemed to accentuate the even darker tones around her. She had soft and round features which were framed by sharp bangs. She wore slick black leather armor from neck to toe, most of which was covered with pockets and belts. Her hands and parts of her arms were covered by a dark blue velvet, and the entire suit seemed to have an unearthly sheen.

“I’m almost done with the calculations, it shouldn’t be much longer before I have the information you need. I should say that I’ve been impressed by your crew. Not just your mates either.” She said in a slight sweetness.

“You’d be surprised what true sailors could do to keep a ship running.” Emilio responded from between his hands.

“Oh? It’s not all that different from what a man might do to save his own life. There is nothing surprising about situations like that in this world, and certainly nothing surprising about what one will do to release oneself from those situations. In fact, I think you might be surprised by how little surprises me.”

Emilio tried to wade through the cloudiness of his mind for something sharp, but gave up, “Of that I have no doubt. Surprise seems to be under your employ.”

“Perhaps you should take a page from my book then. For example, no one is expecting you to tell the truth.” Alana said with a devious smirk.

Emilio peered into her eyes, the rich amber hue calling out to him. He seemed to have a realization and went to fetch Epu.

The Incan warrior was busy detailing some boys on needed resources from the stores when Emilio interrupted him. “I need all non-vital personnel above deck.” He whispered to his confidant before walking away.

As Epu handled the arrangements of the meeting Emilio went to his cleaned out quarters. Some loose debris still littered the ground. Near the entrance was a white fabric draped over a frail body. Emilio dropped to the ground next to it. He’d asked for it to be left in the room in order to maintain some semblance of order among the crew, he wished now that he hadn’t. He brought his head down to the corpses chest, heard the silent echoing chant of the dead. Something uncurled in Emilio’s chest and he felt an onslaught of emotions lapping over the edge of the bulwark of his confidence. Like a tipping cup, there was nothing at first. It was only until the first tear fell that it all came out at once. He wept over Pablo’s body as his mother would, and he felt a certain reassurance in that. Someone would need to weep for this boy, and Emilio could only hope someone would do the same for him when his eternal soul was returned to the earth at last.

The smell of saltwater, latrine buckets, and the smell of blood hung heavily in the air inside the close quarters of where the Burning Bitch’s doctor worked over the Englishman and Omero. Artemisia had been shooed away from the operating area, and barred against re-entry by the sailors. They had more faith in their ship doctor than they did for a ragged barmaid. She paced the corridors fervently, worried about the commotion occurring over head. At one point in time, a bright light shone through the cracks in the wooden planks, causing Artemisia to gaze up in wonderment, and awe. What was going on out there?

After some time, Artemisia grew tired of pacing anxiously outside the door, so she went in search of the women's quarters who shared with the children. Upon arrival she found that the women had barricaded themselves inside, in fear of the fighting above deck. It wasn’t long after before she could convince them to let her in, as there were no more sounds of engagement of the battle. As she slipped inside the room, their eyes were large with fear and questions of what had happened. Instead Artemisia side stepped their questions by telling them the Captain would answer in the morning. She headed straight for an empty hammock and collapsed into it which much relief. All this time, Artemisia hadn't realized how fast her heart was beating. Her arms and legs throbbed with each pulse that sent radiating waves of pain. She let her head fall back into the canvas, and the sense of weightlessness soon clouded her mind as sleep over took her.

Her mind flickered with past images that only stirred her heart with agony as she slept.

‘The smell of salt filled her lungs as she had boarded the ship, La Galilea, with her other siblings in tow; Apollo, Vincenzo, Giada, Francesca and Anabela. Ahead on the boarding plank, she could see the captain of the ship. A frightening old man with a scarred left eye that rendered him blind. As she walked hesitantly over the boards, she cried out in terror as the height grew drastically from the edge of the port city and she crossed over the water and onto the Spanish galleon. A comforting hand caught her wrist to steady her, ‘twas her brother Apollo. He looked her in the eyes and said… something. She realized that she couldn't understand him, as if she’d lost her hearing.

Salt. And shit. And death. The smell stung viciously in her nose as the constant rocking of the boat miserably tried to lure her to sleep. A familiar hand, stroked her head as she attempted to sleep. ‘Twas her oldest sister Giada. Francesca and Anabela dozed in and out of sleep, the two sharing the only blanket they had.
“My sister, do not fret. This voyage will pass sooner than you can imagine.’Giada spoke, her voice clear in Artemisia's mind still, after all those years that had passed. Yet the only thing that troubled her consciously was the fact that she could not see the details to Giada’s face.’

Artemisia awoke suddenly with a gasp, her forehead slick with sweat from her troubling dream. With a shaky hand, she brushed away her black tresses that clung to her forehead like little black serpents. Her stomach growled fiercely as it did every morning, demanding food to fill the ache. She slipped out from the hammock, and departed from the room. Her head swam with the sea as the Burning Bitch lolled gently with the waves, causing her to feel nauseous. She groaned inwardly and placed a shaky hand upon the wooden wall and forced herself to walk, she hadn't made it far before she doubled over in pain. Panting heavily, she wiped the drool that dribbled down her chin. Righting herself, she forced her feet to make the climb to the top deck. They had survived the night, and that alone relieved Artemisia of her worries. Surely they must have slain the unholy knight?

As she ascended the steps to the main deck, Artemisia again could smell the salt in the air. Though this time it did not bother her as much. And then it struck her, the deck had been somewhat repaired, and it dawned on her then, how much damage the Burning Bitch had really taken. She made a beeline straight for the railing, moving as slow as a snail. Anyone who saw her, would see her disheveled hair and her sweaty face, and perhaps wonder if she was ill. That wasn't the case however, as her fitful sleep and ghosts of years past had made for a poor nights rest.

She neared the railing, and fell upon it as soon as she could allow herself, emptying the contents of the last evening meal into the water below. Artemisia remained leaning over the railing, her head pounding with a furious headache.

’Oh what did I get myself into?’ She wondered with misery as she laid a palm upon her feverish brow. Artemisia then pondered who all survived the night, she hoped that Omero hadn't suffered too much from the wound in his side. But what of the Captain and the Englishman, along with the rest of the crew? She turned about and watched the few sailors on deck, getting the ship in working order still and waited, for her stomach to calm down, or rather for someone else to come above deck. Silently, Artemisia longed for a cup of hot chamomile tea with honey. She knew the mixture would settle her stomach and nerves.

Omero walked out into the now destroyed courtyard. The vampire master and his three thralls had finally been defeated, the members of the Red Cross had all sustained injuries as they had predicted, but none that were fatal. Omero had lost his right eye in the battle, after it had been cut by one of the vampire thralls. Omero knew he was now going to be permanently blind in that eye for the rest of his life; though Omero had at least gotten his retribution by stabbing a stake into the monsters heart. Omero walked over to the stone alter in the middle of the courtyard where the peasant girl still lay. Though Omero’s face hid his true emotions, he felt a great deal of sadness. He was meant to have saved this girl, but he had failed. Perhaps if the Red Cross had prioritised the girl’s life over killing the vampire master, then maybe she may have survived. But it was too late now and Omero knew better than to dwell on the choices of the past. Omero knew what he had to do. The vampire master had drained her of blood and soon she would become a vampire thrall like the monster that had gouged out Omero’s eye. Omero looked at the girl one last time, before lifting the stake above his head and stabbing it into her heart.

Omero awoke with a jolt, sending a sharp burst of pain from his side to the rest of his body. Omero tried his best to ignore the pain and observed his surroundings; he was just below the top deck of the ‘Burnt Bitch’ in what looked like a makeshift surgery room. Giving that Omero was alive and the burnt bitch was still intact was pretty clear that the crew has somehow defeated the ebony knight. Omero thought about getting up to see what had happened, but he decided against it. If he wanted his wound to heal quickly he would have to avoid upsetting it. Omero looked up to see a man whom Omero assumed was the ship’s surgeon. He was currently healing a man who Omero soon identified as one of the captain’s officers, Leonard. Omero barely recognised the Englishman what with all his injuries. The surgeon looked more of a brawler than he did a doctor. However as Omero examined the work that the doctor had done it was clear that looks truly were deceiving. This man was extremely talented in his trait and giving the circumstances Omero couldn’t be better hands. Omero was about to ask the surgeon about what happened. However after observing the state that Leonard was in it was clear the surgeon had far more important things to deal with. Omero had so many questions, how did the crew manage to beat the ebony knight? How many crew members survived the attack? What was the state of the ship? Was Artemisia OK? Yet Omero knew the best thing he could do at the moment was to try and get some rest. All would be revealed in time.

As the battle reached its apex, Alastair was forced to pause and turn at the sound of loud screeching. A mysterious woman stood upon the stern, her features hard to make out with the bright light emanating around her. “Uh oh-” Alastair gasped before jumping to the side, narrowly avoiding the devastating beam that was fired at the dark monstrosity. He curled up into a fetal position, shut his eyes and covered his ears as the energy tore apart the Harbinger that stood a mere few feet away. He was scared, and with more than a few good reasons. Whatever this magic was, it was powerful, and Alastair knew from various experiences that it was a bad idea to risk getting caught in such a spell. As the bubble exploded the force sent Alastair rolling a few metres and the ship rocked viciously against a wave, causing the wooden hull to let out a long drawn out creek. Alastair opened his eyes and was relieved to see that their foe had been vanquished. If there had been any doubts in his mind as to whether or not this voyage would prove interesting, they were now laid fully to rest.

“Christ, that fucker can kick.” Came the nearby voice of the Captain. Alastair turned his head to see Emilio already standing over him, offering him a hand to get up. He gladly took the hand and pulled himself to his feet, his joints clicking as he rose. There was a brief moment as he came face to face with the Captain, a shared moment of understanding as they locked eyes and both were clearly thankful of the other. Alastair gave a small smile and a gentle nod before the Captain then made his way over to the others.

“I really need to learn how to do that” Alastair mused out loud as he spotted the source of the light beam, “…whatever the hell that was.” Without stopping to stand about and celebrate, Alastair slowly made his way downstairs. Fresh bruises already seemed to be covering his body from the fight and the various falls he had taken that day, and he winced slightly with every other step. Once he made his way back to his bunk he began to apply some balms and lotions to himself, forgetting his earlier apprehension about people seeing that he had medicines. At this point in time he was well and truly exhausted, and no sooner had he finished rubbing in the moistures did he slip into a deep sleep.

---

It felt as if no time at all had passed when Alastairs eyes sluggishly dragged open. Epu’s strong hands were firmly grasped on his shoulders, a small shaking motion ensuring that he did not instantly drop back off. “Wake up Welshman, the Captain wants all non-vital personal on deck.” Ordered the Captain’s man, a hint of sympathy on his voice.

“Eugh-ru-uhhhhh-blurrrr” Alastair incoherently babbled in response, but Epu had already moved on to wake others. Alastair struggled to keep his eyes open, and even when he succeeded they were slow to focus. The presence of sunlight seeping through the floorboards above suggested that he had managed to get some sleep, but it certainly did not feel enough. He tongue was painfully dry, as was his throat and skin. What little he could taste was the vile remnants of the alcohol the night before, it’s flavour now akin to mix of old badger piss and mud; the taste was so strong in fact that he could not work his nose. “I- hurrr- hate hu- hurr- hangovers” he grumbled to no-one in particular, feeling like he was about to puke with every word. For the second time in as many days Alastair found himself flopping out of his hammock, this time because he lacked the balance to even attempt a safe dismount.

“Humph. He obviously didn’t take part in the battle last night; he clearly hit the bottle instead.” Hissed a nearby woman holding her young child in her arms.

“A drunken old man like that ought to be ashamed of himself! He’d be goin’ to Hell had anything happened to us last night.” Chimed in another, equally displeased woman. They had clearly taken shelter the night before and really had little grounds to have a go at him, especially given that he had in fact taken part. He wasn’t going to argue though, and instead simply ignored them and tried to make his way to the upper deck.

Luke stood a gargoyle, as the light poured onto the deck and engulfed the armored titan, that nothing seemed to stop. For a moment there was nothing but the light visible to the eye. A bubble wrapped the armored foe, and then splatters. What could be mistaken as blood exploding inside the light, then it raised overhead and grew. For a moment Luke worried that the creatures energy would escape, and become an even more devestating force. Tightening his grip on his dagger and clenching his left hand into the sturdiest fist he could make, he prepared himself. Maybe this new form would be more prone to being pierced or maybe just a strong right hook would end it. Then it was gone. The bubble, the red stains inside it, the lumbering armor, all of it. Leaving only a brief light show, of two of Luke's favorite colors. His grip loosened, and he looked around the boat.

"What can I do?" Luke let slip from his lips, low enough that the words were indistinguishable. Luke saw the hole in the ship where the body of a boy lay lifeless and images of his brother washed over him. Taking a hard swallow, trying to wash away the thought, he wondered, "Is this how George would've seen me? The kid is no older than I was. Would he even have been able to stand, because all I can feel is a heaviness." Luke seemed to never really adjust to seeing people that way, dead, he always took the deaths personally. He knew he'd never really met the boy, but he still felt something.

Luke had remembered the man being carried off by some other crew members, and hoped that he would be alright. After all, he had just fought and defended the ship. He walked to the people who were speaking about what had happened. He kept his cool and stood far enough away to not get noticed. He didn't really need to hide, but living on the streets so long, Luke felt weary trying to join others in any conversation, let alone adults. On top of all the ones who'd saved the ship, however they did it. From the distance, Luke could make out the captain, of course he was pretty distinctive not to notice, then there was the crewman, or at least what he thought was one, maybe just a good friend of the captain, finally it was the women who fired off the light. He hadn't really seen the woman enough to distinguish any features other than her interesting clothing choices, and he wasn't sure he'd want to move in anymore, what with her defeating the armor herself. He couldn't help but feel his heart race when he thought of the power, and he couldn't narrow down whether or not he was scared or intrigued to find out how she did it. He noticed the man who had been knocked almost entirely off the side of the ship with the captain, head down towards the cabin. Luke also thought about the woman who tried to stop him from joining the fight, or succeeded, he wondered if she was alright and if she had seen the show. Then he questioned if she had already known about what was gonna happen, maybe she had some sort of future sight.

Luke was hammering away on the deck with the others, sailors, and civilians alike were working together to fix the ship. Luke wanted to help with repairs, he figured he could make himself useful somehow. He looked up and took in the sun that had opened up the sky. He didn't notice when the rain had stopped, only that it had, and that it made repairs much easier. Last night was full if excitement, last night no one knew if they were going to make it to the morning, and yet everyone seemed to pull together as if none of it had happened. Luke had taken a nap at some point through the night, everyone took a shift where they got a few minutes of rest, however brief. A group of cranky and sleep deprived sailors weren't going to help get anything done, at least not as effectively and as quickly as they could. The group of guys used Luke to hold up smaller parts and slip through small hole and crevasses in the ship to fix other problems that might be wrong. It all looked like simple patchwork, but the crew really knew their way around the ship, which impressed Luke more than he would let on. Shielding his eyes from the sun and then looking back at what used to be a giant gorge in the ship, the repair team all stood up and celebrated. They had done good work, and they definitely deserved to cheer a little bit. Luke always found it funny when the sailors got excited. They are easily excited, and ready to celebrate anything. It was refreshing.

Luke noticed the captain's good friend, Epu he had been called by the other crew members,  head into the belly of the ship to spread the news that the captain needed everyone to gather. What could the captain want to say. Maybe he wanted to reassure everyone after what had happened last night. Luke thought about the two men who had been substantially injured last night and thought about maybe looking in on them. He didn't want the people who fought for the Burning Bitch's to meet their end today and thought that if one person would keep them in thoughts maybe they would be kept alive by the grace of god. So Luke headed down to the underbelly of the ship, where he first sprang into action. He found the doctors makeshift surgery room, and peered in, noticing that one of the men had moved around. Which meant at least one of them was feeling a little bit better. Luke rested on the door and stood there for a bit before he saw the captain pass by him.

Ever curious Luke followed the captain to the captains quarters, and through the door he could hear the sobs of the captain. Luke knew that the boy had been brought to the captain, the lot who carried him away passed him as they had been repairing the ship. Luke needed to find out more about the boy, after all, he was the youngest one to leave them, and so early in their travels. Luke knocked and entered the captains quarters. He knew it was wrong to just barge in without proper permission, but Luke didn't want to miss his opportunity to find out more about the boy. "What is his name?" Luke asked as he slowly positioned himself up near the captain, and just far enough away from the boy's body. The dead like most things never got better with time.

Not even a few days out from the port of Sintra and the 'Burned Bitch', as Stefano later found out it was named, was already being harried by enemies. Stefano had guessed it might happen after a look at the grizzled captain and his accomplices, yet the thought of potential danger had not possessed his mind to the extent that his mythos-based Renaissance had. The learned Cretan held both his painting and his sack of currency on top of one another, as the ship and his susceptible body rocked concurrently with the wind. Stefano was positioned up the forecastle, away from the conflicts about the stern end of the 'Burned Bitch', so he had to squint against the darkness and the rushing bodies of the crew to eventually spot the vibrant colours and flashes that encompassed the fighting. Stefano heard shouts consisting of:

"Deus nos salvar!" And, "We're all going to die!"
He heard desperate cries of a macabre suit of armour, alive and active but also without a living body to guide it.

"Magic - Witchcraft!" Stefano cried to the runners around him, "It must be so. Perhaps another life-changing opportunity for myself and the arts..." Nobody payed any attention to his remark, they were likely too preoccupied with saving their own lives. Yet perhaps that was for the best, Stefano had known of certain discreet groups - in Catholic Italian territory - to preach and rave against all legends of magic and mythos so vehemently one would think they were in constant physical battle against them. If such a group were present during these times of creatures walking the earth, and Stefano having a new-found obsession with them - he might run into some trouble in his quest of ostentatiousness.

Stefano eyed the battle ahead as he struggled along the ship towards the stern. He had abandoned the sack of reais behind a hastily clumped together group of crates and boxes, the weight would have slowed Stefano down too much and he was confident of it's safety provided he reclaimed it after journeying up the boat. However he still fervently clutched the canvas, the art to his chest. He brushed past a young woman and a younger boy squabbling near the steps while some men and women urged at him to turn back. He ignored them with intent, grappling onto barrels and the suchlike as the deck attempted to floor him with slick wet water and debris. He had been moving forward for a short while, as fast as his not entirely fit frame could take him, when a blinding effusive light erupted high up on the stern. The colours seized Stefano's attention, distracting him from his epic battle with a crate full of salted fish (half of which were inanimately fleeing their prison) as they swirled and expanded in contact with the 'armour's' crimson aura. The light-show was profound yet it did not equal the otherworldly flame of the dragon from days past. Nevertheless, it was not a spectacle you would see commonly. Then, as soon as it had reached it's apex, it vanished with a large implosion.
Stefano paused as the commotion died away, then proceeded to the damage about the deck's stern, looking down on the rubble beneath. The purported armour was nowhere to be seen, though the evidence of it's existence remained in the utterly destroyed navigation and captain quarters, and the bloodied hand of a young body rising up out of the debris.


"Vlamenos!" Stefano cursed. "Vlamenos, vlamenos, vlamenos!"
His modest corner on the gun deck had been ransacked. The goat-skin blanket was gone with the linen sheets, and his wooden partition was lying wounded on the floor. Someone had clearly been searching through his belongings for the money, finally settling for the expensive blanket Stefano frankly needed to sustain his comfort. He cursed himself for thinking the painting and money were the only things needing surveillance. However, he already suspected the perpetrator: an ambitious thief / partition guard from earlier in the day. Stefano spun, a vigorous fury powering his body, and he barrelled down the deck - scanning faces and hammocks for his target.

"There!" Stefano, with only half a minute of effort this time, budged aside a box separating him and the Sintran thief. "Bastarde! I suspected you of treachery from the beginning, young man! Nobody bests Stefano Morosini! Not for long, at least!" He did not wait for an answer from the thief, though the man did look strangely desperate and apologetic. He grabbed the goat-skin blanket and the linen underneath it that lay over the hammock and tugged it away. But then he noticed something else, an assortment of dolls and wooden gladiators strewn on the floor beside the hammock. Stefano regretted the whole fiasco as soon as a twin pair of child's cries filled the deck. Four tiny hands clutched onto the sheets, and Stefano didn't know whether to sacrifice his precious luxuries or attempt to remove the children from the sheets.
Stefano tugged with decreasing effort, mumbling 'swines' underneath his breath. The twins' assumed father stood by awkwardly, looking incredibly embarrassed. Stefano turned to him, equally embarrassed, and almost asked him for help before cursing and trudging off towards his wrecked corner just as fast as he had left there, with no soft goat-skin sheets or obscuring partition to hide his chagrin.

A depressing half hour later, he remembered he had forgotten to retrieve his sack of reais from the top deck.

"Vlamenos!"


A bright morning graced the 'Burned Bitch' just as Stefano managed to drift off to sleep, after repossessing his thankfully untouched riches and degrading himself by hanging up a spare hammock from the rafters. He had not seen nor heard further from the Sintran thief or his two cursed offspring, and he hoped he would never have to see them again. Stefano rose after realising he would not be able to sleep in the circumstances, and instead stretched his legs outside in the fresh air. Refurbishment endeavours were well under way, and Stefano watched the workers with a content but apathetic expression of his face. He had always been a morning person, and despite his lack of rest and lack of resting equipment, he felt happy as the sun's rays visited his skin. He stood for a handful of minutes, blissfully ignoring a growing number of aggravated looks and murmurs directed at him. Eventually a lean woman with ginger hair shaped like the sprout of a carrot approached him.

"Are you not going to help?" She spoke in Portuguese with a heavy Angevin accent.

"It appears you are all doing a splendid job." Stefano retorted. The woman muttered to herself in French, ostensibly not noticing that Stefano could understand every word she said.

"You... you'll help." She struggled with the language, frequently going over synonymic sentences in French to match to her Portuguese.

"Allow me to relieve you." Stefano mused in fluent French. The carrot-haired woman had been muttering for a good half a minute, and looked furious that Stefano had not revealed his bilingualism earlier.

"You pompous oaf," She hissed, "Here we are, repairing this serious damage after an attack and you think you can sit idly by..."

"My lineage forbids this deprecating work. People of my calibre are more suited to supervising or directing..."

"Your lineage does not mean shit on this boat. I'll have you -"

"Excuse me." One of the Captain's men interjected. "The Captain wants all non-vital personnel on deck." He departed immediately after, presumably not wanting to take part in the argument.

"Bom! It seems your presence is required away from me." The Cretan said off-handedly.

The woman shot him a deadly stare as Stefano quickly hurried off towards the stairs, to make sure no further thieves stole the money that separated Stefano from the common rabble of the ship. He shuddered at the thought of the manual labour and social inequity that would come with it.

Everything flushed like a wave. The emotions and tears crashed against the shores of Emilio’s mind-beach, destroying any would be protection made from the sandy foundations. It crashed inward, and then outward. As the sudden, and cacophonous, wave receded from the dampened wood of the hull, back toward the sea below, the clouded assault against Emilio’s senses ceased. In his crouched position he rose ever slightly to straighten his back. The layers of colorful cloth, now mostly dampened in vibrancy from the relentless exposure to saltwater, twisted and creased as he moved. The room was eerily quiet for a long while. Emilio breathed purposefully, turned his head ever slightly to the right.

The boy behind him was young, though fit. He was handsome, though ambiguous. His voice held in it the shakiness of a second or third tongue, but it was more confident than expected. Emilio hadn’t heard him enter, of that he was worried. He’d lost himself in the corpse of the young man who’d sacrificed his life for the mission. Emilio turned around more, the tears visibly dried against his dirty skin. The boy looked familiar, but Emilio couldn’t produce a name or anything else which was relevant for that matter. A part of him recoiled on the inside and he felt like he might cry again. He staved it off but couldn’t help consider the meaning of the event. He realized now, in the sight of both this living boy and the dead, that he did not only weep for Pablo. He wept because he could see into the future, because he already knew the fate of so many others. Pablo was only the beginning, and this boy before him was a testament to that. Emilio recovered the few words he could hear from when the boy spoke, which he realized now had awoken him from his subconscious slumber.

He chewed on the name for as long as he could: Pablo, Pablo, Pablo, Pablo, Pablo, Pablo. He finally couldn’t say it. “He was a very brave young man.” Was what he settled on. Suddenly imbued with a seemingly unnatural energy, Emilio duck-walked his way over to the feet, wrapped loosely in hammock twine. “Help me carry him outside. He deserves a seaman’s burial, at the very least.” Emilio waited until the boy was grabbing at the shoulders and invisibly counted toward the lift. The body was lifted easily, and hung between them on the hammock.

“Hold the door open with your feet, if you will.” Emilio said motioning toward the door. They began moving gingerly through the crumbling exit. The door slammed behind them as they exited since it’d been torn off of it’s primary hinges during the fight. Though the noise drew everyone’s attention, the body kept it. Emilio directed the trio over to the edge of the ship, near where a girl was emptying the contents of her stomach. As he did he asked the living boy a question.

“What’s your name, lad?” He asked quickly and quietly.

"Luke." The boy spoke pointed and distant, Luke took a second to adjust his grip. He could see in the eyes of the captain as they held the hammock by the side of the ship. "He was brave, if he decided to come on this ship. I am sorry for your loss, captain. May we work to keep everyone else from the same fate."

The early sun rays danced across the azure orbs of Luke’s eyes, like pearls in the deep. The light settled somewhere in the center as the duo placed the frail and limp body against the bannister.

“No, Luke,” Emilio responded despondently, “I’m sorry.” The group Emilio had expected was now above deck, mulling around or working on repairs. Epu sat ready at the bow as he saw the coming moments, and all they could entail.

Luke stood tall as he looked upon the body, folded his arms and waited. He wondered what the captain had in mind.

Emilio grasped the rough hewn bottom portion of the port side jacob’s ladder with his left hand, hammock twine in the other. He pulled himself up onto the bannister and faced the crowd. The ship rocked beneath his feet with the tumbling waves. “Ho, all! Listen closely.” Emilio took a second look at Luke, briefly eyed the sick girl near them, saw Alana at the tip of the bow, with Epu not far away. A second glance revealed the gentleman who’d saved Leonard’s life before, the young woman Emilio had flirted with at the festivities, and the gamut of sailors and officers. He knew this is what he needed to do. For his sake, and that of those around him.

“We are headed to Morocco, but not only for aide, of which there is some waiting. The events for which this very ship is named, that which wretched you from your homes, I must say it has been a bountiful blessing for me. I would have been turning on the crooked man right now were it not for the Dragon which burnt your peaceful village to the ground. The cinders of your loved ones and your homes made way for my release. It is a terrible burden which I’ve held for so long here, one which perhaps no one deserves. I was not marked by God, and neither were you. We are merely pieces on the chessboard, today and forever it shall remain this way. I am sorry for having deceived you, and I am sorry that your sacrifice afforded me such a luxury as life today. But that luxury is not a promised one.

My mission was to go beyond Marrakech and into the Atlas mountains. To find clues which would lead me to this Dragon in order to strike it down. I don’t know how I expect to do this, but so it is, and so it shall be. I shudder to think that any more of you would die without this precious knowledge. If you can survive in spite of it, however, perhaps Sintra may yet have a hope. All you need to do, with the help of my esteemed friend Epunamun, is reach Marrakech, with the ship intact, and return to Sintra with the gold and resources. My actions beyond that will decide whether Sintra will be able to survive its own reconstruction. But that is my burden to bear, and none of yours. Verily, I couldn’t ask any of you to risk your lives any more than you already have by stepping foot on this vessel.”

Luke's eyes widened and he couldn't help but feel a tinge of fear and excitement as the thought of a dragon washed over him. He couldn't believe what he had heard. He had a suspicion that this mission was more than just for aide.

“This was Pablo. And in some ways it’s all that’s left of him. He was killed by what is known as a Harbinger. We should hope he did not die in vain. ” Emilio solemnly lowered his head and then peered out to the horizon.

“God grant that I may live to fish,
until my dying day,
And when it comes to my last cast,
I then most humbly pray,
When in the Lord's safe landing net,
I'm peacefully asleep,
That in his mercy I be judged,
As big enough to keep.” Emilio quoted in English.

It was a quiet, simpering affair for him as he remembered Leonard’s broken face in the deck below. Leo had taught him that prayer, and it felt particularly relevant now. “And so I commit his body to the eternal sea. Let go, boy.” As Luke released his grasp Emilio flicked the hammock twine slightly and pulled the top of the hammock outward, spinning with his momentum on the jacob’s ladder as he did. The sheeted mass furled in the wind as it plummeted from the ship and into the ocean. The body smacked against the surface and floated for a while before tilting over and slowly decending. It was made slightly more awkward by the lack of a weight. Eventually the ship simply passed the corpse by on it’s lowest speed.

Emilio turned back to the group and eyed everyone therein. “This Harbinger is a being of spiritual and corporeal energy, if my source is to be believed. And if that same source is to be believed,” Alana stepped up through the growing crowd of incredulous faces, “that isn’t the only risk we face on our way to Morocco. The dandy Ceasar Luna has damned us by reporting our existence to a local band of pirates. I’ve dealt closely with the likes of these before, and I know that they will find us on the open ocean, there is no doubting that. You can hang Luna by his cockles once you arrive safely back at the Sintra port. All we can do is be prepared, and outwit our attackers.

“Pirates are generally a bloodthirsty but lazy bunch, willing to pillage and rape; willing to steal something you’d spent your entire life building up to…” Emilio stopped when he realized that he was referring to his past. A chill crept across his shoulders and he wondered about the future, about what familiar faces he may yet see again. “In order to combat them we need the advantage of surprise, something we may very well have.” At that Emilio gestured to Alana in the group and she stepped forth. She spoke only to him.

“We have roughly a quarter of a day. Some time around sunset. They will be to our east. We’ll have the perfect advantage, and I may yet help more.” She said with a smile. As she finished she looked over at Luke, winked playfully. She stared out at the horizon and followed the ripples of the water as Pablo’s corpse drifted down, down, down.

“We have until sunset, and I have a plan.” Emilio dropped from the bannister and walked into the crowd, then toward the wheel. The Helmsman, a twenty-something year old Sintra native, followed instinctually behind. “I want every scrap of the sails up and blowing. Let’s make this bitch move for once!” Emilio hollered with a renewed energy. The sailors went to work. Those who didn’t received a tongue lashing from Epu as he made his rounds and finally ended up with the captain, the helmsman, and the navigator.

“Epu, my friend, our luck may have changed yet.” Emilio said as he looked over the map and drew on it voraciously.

Epu looked over, concerned, his brow slightly furrowed. He glanced over at the casual demeanor of Alana and felt something inside of him turn. “Perhaps it has.” he opined silently, “Perhaps it has.”

Minutes had passed before the pounding in her head had subsided, and just then, she saw the captain emerge from the lower decks with carrying a dead body with the aid of a fairly young boy, possibly 15 or 16 she assumed. Artemisia watched wearily from the railing as the captain proceeded to call everyone's attention to him. The others had assembled above deck, those of able-bodied it seemed.

Artemisia placed one hand upon her forehead in order to steady herself, as she found it hard to focus on anything in particular. She managed to pay close attention to the captain’s words however, and discerned that the actual reason for them going to Morocco, was to find and slay the dragon, in Makkarech, wherever that was.. So that was the real reason for the voyage then? For them to find, slay the dragon, and raid it's hoard of riches and use those resources as a means to rebuild Sintra.

And if it seemed as if it couldn't get any worse, it did. She was enlightened with the fact that not only was their ship not at full capacity, with the damages sustained from the harbinger; now they had a band of brigands after them thanks to a certain Caesar Luna. She gave an in audible groan at the idea of being attacked once more. At the end of his speech, the captain, with the aid of the young boy, helped lower the dead man’s body into the ocean below. The captain gave a small sorrowful eulogy, or perhaps it was a sailors blessing of some sort? She knew not. All that mattered to her, was quieting her wiry nerves and going to see Omero. Surely he was all right. Yet, the disturbing image of the man’s body sinking into the abyss that was the ocean bothered. It seemed a mournful place to be buried, where no one could pay their respects or remember the soul that passed.

Artemisia vacated from the deck, and headed below to where she had last seen Omero. The smell of water and wetness even permeated through the wood, and reminded her of the smell of the inside of a water barrel. It was almost an earthy smell, one she didn't mind so much. With weak footsteps, Artemisia found her way to the surgeons quarters. She found the door not guarded by the sailors, with the door open. Peering inside curiously she spotted Omero right away. From where she stood, she couldn't tell if he was sleeping or not.

Approaching him with caution, Artemisia ventured to his bedside, or rather his cot-side, and looked down at him. His eye was closed as he appeared to be sleeping. Gently, she reached out and touched the top of his hand.
“Omero…” Whispered Artemisia. If he slept, she didn't want to bother him.

Omero violently awoke from his sleep. Once again he had dreamt about the vampire's and the girl whom had fallen victim to them. Omero's eye rapidly darted around the room out of confusion of his surroundings, after a couple of seconds he came to his senses and quickly calmed down. He looked to his side where Artemisia was standing. It was clear that she was the one who had woken him.

Omero’s reaction to her whisper and touch startled Artemisia as well. She gasped loudly and leapt back with a laugh as she realized that she had only scared herself. “My apologies, Omero. I didn't mean to startle you.” She bowed at the waist politely, her nerves were stressed and she didn't want to offend anyone or argue at that moment.

Her eyes drifted to his side, avoiding his gaze to instead investigate his wound from the shrapnel the harbinger brought upon them. Not wanting to be caught for staring she inquired after Omero, “Your wound.. How does it feel?” Artemisia nodded at his abdominal region. She felt a pang of pity, and bit her bottom lip in concern, her black brows furrowed.

Omero looked down to his wound himself. Although there was still pain, it had certainly subsided since he had last woken.

"Well it certainly still hurts, but no where near as much as I thought it would. I must give credit to the ships doctor, he certainly knows what he is doing". Omero smiled. Despite the fact that Artemisia had only known him for a couple of days, she had taken the time to check up on him. It was a kindness that Omero wasn't used to.

"I apologise for my reaction, I hope I didn't startle you?"

She smiled softly at his last words, ”I hope I didn't startle you”. Artemisia gave a quiet sigh and offered an answer, “No, I was worried that the fall from last night would have injured you more than I thought. The doctor wouldn't let me in to see you after they brought you down. I had to sit and wait it out until morning.” Her voice trailed off as she recollected that perhaps it would be a good idea to tell him about what the captain had said.

“I think he was quite young.. The boy that died.” Artemisia looked up again at Omero, her gaze focusing upon his sole blue eye.

“There's more too…”

Omero listened closely to what Artemisia had to say, keeping eye contact all the while. So he was right, this mission was in fact in relation to the dragon. But he certainly didn't expect that it would involve trying to kill it. Perhaps this expedition tied in better with Omero's goals than he originally thought. Though it appeared Omero currently had more pressing concerns. According to Artemisia Ceasar Luna had reported the 'Burnt Bitch' to pirates and that they would be attacking soon. Omero collected his thoughts for a few seconds before talking.

"Does the captain have any idea when the pirates will attack"?

After she had explained to Omero what happened above, he had listened intently, his gaze locked firmly on hers. Finally he asked, ”Does the captain have any idea when the pirates will attack?” The entire time she spoke to him, her gaze had shifted about the room, occasionally focusing on Omero himself. When he inquired about the time when the pirates would attack, Artemisia focused her gaze upon him with a hard stare.
“Sundown. Perhaps even at night, if we're lucky, in the morning. Can you move at all or are you confined to this cot?"
Her eyes again looked to his wound and the bandages surrounding it. She was curious to see the wound below, see how bad it truly was, but she felt that was too invasive. Her stomach growled loudly with hunger. Her face coloured darkly at the sound, and placed a hand on her stomach from embarrassment.

"I've had plenty of time to rest and given my wound time to heal, I should be able to walk" Omero said as he sat up, the pain in his side was bad but Omero would be able to cope with it, after all he had dealt with worse pain in the past. Omero heard a loud growling sound to his side, he looked round and to his surprise, he found it was Artemisia's stomach. Omero smiled

"Hungry by chance"? Omero said teasingly.

The rosy hue already in her cheeks became more pronounced as Omero poked fun at her for being hungry. She grinned bigger and replied, “Well if you're strong enough, perhaps we could take a gander at what the cook has made for breakfast? If anything survived that attack of course.” Here she extended her hand toward him in case he needed to lean upon her. Artemisia couldn't help but to admire his lean torso, and could only feel the fire burning in her cheeks ever brighter.

“The fresh air will do you some good.” Artemisia added in Italian. Though he was of the church, his presence did not bother as much as she had first met him only yesterday evening. She knew this would be a long journey ahead, and she didn't want any enemies off the bat; that would only spell bad luck. Omero took Artemisia's hand and allowed her to help him up.

"I agreed, I would rather not remain cooped up in here for much longer". Omero reached for his black robe which lay in a crumpled mess by his bed. It had a large rip in the side from where the shrapnel entered and is was stained with dried blood, though Omero would have to find a spare shirt somewhere in the cargo on board, it would suffice for the meantime.

"Better get something to eat before the sailors eat what is left".

When Omero lifted his robe off the ground, Artemisia too, noticed the gaping hole from the chunk of wood that had torn through. She examined it closer with her free hand and clucked her tongue disapprovingly.
“I can patch this easily, after we get you food of course.” With that, Artemisia slipped her arm about him, across his shoulders and helped Omero up the stairs. As they emerged on deck, the sun had slightly higher in the sky than before. She took note that the deck was mainly empty save for a rotund man, the captain, and the native man, plus the sailors working still on the ship filling any gaps they missed.

Together, she aided Omero to the railing so that he could lean on it without support. With that she smiled kindly at him and queried, “Will you be ok here? I’m going to be right back. Is there anything you want specifically? Bread? Cheese? Some mead?”

Omero considered something alcoholic to numb the pain but decided against it. If he was going to have to fend off against pirates sometime soon he would have to do it with a clear mind.
"Bread would be more than sufficient if there is any" Omero said as he looked over the railing out towards the now peaceful ocean. It was difficult to think that the huge storm was only yesterday. Omero pushed himself off from the railing before turning around to face Artemisia

"I thank you for your kindness, if I can repay you in some way I will".

When he replied, Artemisia simply nodded. There had to be at least some type of bread in the galley below. Omero turned to look out over the ocean, and while his gaze was captured, Artemisia too, looked out to the blue waters and felt a strange sensation well up in her heart; what was it? Homesickness? She pushed that thought out of her mind as she scolded herself mentally, ’Quit feeling like that, Artemisia. You have no home. You never did, nor do you need one. You are your own person, an independent woman blessed by Gaia herself.’

Suddenly, Omero turned about and promised to repay her if he could, again she smiled and waved her hand at him, dismissing the thought. “That's not necessary, but thank you.” Her throat tightened at the kindness offered, a hard lump forming in her throat. “I’ll be right back with your bread.” And with that, Artemisia moved away from Omero swiftly, and made her way to the galley to see what the ship’s cook had in store for them. Perhaps she could even help make some meals for the sailors if he denied her bread, or if he didn't have any. The wooden steps creaked with every step as she descended into the darkness of the ships lower levels. Her hunger and nauseous pains never really went away, so she decided to get something for herself too.

Stefano walked, his precious possessions piled up on his plump hands. He did not know where he was going, only that he could not choose between the priorities of finding a safe place to store his wealth or satisfying his own growing hunger. It had slowly dawned on him throughout the morning that he had not eaten a substantial meal since a few days before - he had enjoyed a succulent platter of roasted duck, garnished with herbs and accompanied by a smattering of the native fruit named arbutus unedo. He recalled it's taste being somewhere in between peaches and lentils, sweet yet with a long-lasting watery after-taste. It had not been one of Stefano's favourite new cuisines since arriving in the wildlife-rich town of Sintra, yet his artistic associate and guide had blatantly insisted on his trying of the rare fruit.
Unfortunately, all the thought about food brought Stefano around to his second priority of sating his peckish mood. He found himself traipsing around the main deck as the remnants of the captain's latest speech, which Stefano had unfortunately missed while ridding himself of the carrot-haired woman's ceaseless griping, departed towards the stairs and the ends of the galleon. The Cretan targeted an unoccupied sailor sitting close to him, accosting him with ravenous intent.

"Sir! You will heed my request and direct me seamlessly toward this ship's galley, I hope? It has been too long since the silk-laden touch of a smooth, tasteful chicken or a segment of warm, baked bread have graced my throat and stomach. To disparate a privilege-entitled man from his most appreciated bounties is to separate a strumpet from her nudity! And I do say -"

"Down t'steps, right t'bottom, through second door. Follow the scent o' your 'warm, baked bread' an' you'll find it. Eventually." The sailor said laconically with an apparent look of bemusement and amusement on his chiselled face.

"Ah, excellent. I shall follow your directions with unrivalled meticulousness." Stefano left with a patronising nod and trudged down the steps close by to him. Down t'steps, right t'bottom. He repeated the sailor's words in his mind and visualised a scent of his favourite delicacies to spur him forward. Surprisingly, Stefano ended up heading directly for the galley. Perhaps the power of hunger was a force higher than the whims of man after all.



Artemisia had found the galley rather unoccupied, save for the ship's cook. She popped into the room with a smile, as the cook turned about and greeted her with a simple nod of his head.
"Buenos días señor, que tienes tu para hoy?" Good morning, sir, what do you have for me today? Her spanish was a little rusty, but she had learned enough to communicate with the skeletal structure of the language. The robust tanned man with a black receding hairline chuckled and waved her over.

"Que quieres comer? El pan? Quizás sopa? O quieres la torta?" What do you want to eat? Bread? Maybe soup? Or do you want a pastry? His voice was husky, like that of a bear. He had an easy going attitude that Artemisia found exceptionally pleasant. He reminded her of La Vida de Agua, the owner Roberto.

She placed her hand upon her chin and thought about what she wanted, "Quiero el pan, por favor. Como te llamas?" I want bread, please. What is your name? The cook reached over and handed her a bread roll, still warm.

"Me llamo Alfredo Sánchez, y tu también señorita, como te llamas?" My name is Alfredo Sanchez, and you too miss, what is your name?

"Me llamo Artemisia de Valleños. Soy de Italia." My name is Artemisia de Valleños. I am from Italy. Alfredo the cook nodded his head approvingly and began to start on another dish, pouring flour into a large mixing bowl. She offered to help, but Alfredo gave a raucously pleasant laugh and shook his head in decline of her offer.

"Soy la cocinero por un raizon, que no?" I am the cook for a reason, no? He patted her shoulder affectionately as he gave her another bread roll. Now she had one for Omero and herself.

It wasn't a second after that that an overweight man garbed in expensive - if not a little tattered - clothes blundered in, a sack of something heavy perched on top of some obscured piece of canvas, and a look of pure excitement and anticipation on his face.

"How delightful! The curt sailor's instructions proved ample for my quest, and thus I am here for said quest's alluring reward!" He sung in Portugeuse, laying his items down with great care in the corner of the galley by some stocked crates. He then slid over to where Artemisia and Alfredo stood conversing and gracefully inserted himself between the young woman and the food that the cook was working over.

"Now, it appears my stomach shall not wait a minute more. I humbly request your finest meal, sir...?"

"Tonto." The cook muttered under his breath.

"Is that an obscenity, and of Spanish origin no less!" The well-spoken man seemed unperturbed by the insult blatantly thrown his way, and with a clearing of his throat he instead converted to a Spanish dialect, "Me llamo Stefano Morisini, soy un hijo modesto de un señor, de una isla de Creta. Y tu eres?"

"Alfredo." The cook grunted, with much less loquaciousness than what he had provided Artemisa with.

Artemisia looked swiftly to the paunchy man who entered the room in a flamboyant fashion. She cocked an eyebrow as she tried to decipher exactly what he was saying Portuguese, something about the sailor's directions that proved most useful.

"And, my dear Alfredo, what is on the proverbial menu this fine morning?" Stefano's tone grew more saturated with desire by the minute, it seemed that in not too long a time the man would be slobbering and begging on the floor like a mistreated dog.

The cook simply rolled his eyes and ignored him, continuing vehemently with his craft. Stefano rapidly became hysteric and he swung his gaze to Artemisia, whom he had rudely interrupted before.

"I beg of you, senhorita," He spoke in Portuguese again, his face split between a look of disdain for the slightly unkempt girl and a need for the sustenance that he was being refused. "Talk some sense into this crass man."

The disarray the man seemed to be in, only made Artemisia chuckle quietly to herself as she watched Alfredo deny the rotund man his food. She responded to his pleas with a loud laugh, causing her to grin wildly, "Sehnor, I would perhaps use the word, please, when talking to the cook. After all he is the one in charge of filling that belly of yours." She gave him a wink, teasing him, but not insultingly. Her eyes kept wandering to the strange canvased object that he had set down near the crates. Over all, she could tell this man was quite wealthy.

"You said your name was Stefano Morisini, and that you hail from an island of Crete, no?" Morisini, the name alone sounded familiar, giving her chills that inched up her spine. The pronunciation of her Portuguese indicated that she was not a native speaker, nor very fluent. Alfredo the cook, continued on, making a large pot of stew. As he diced potatoes and carrots up, he still listened to them converse. Surely this rather intrusive man had better sense than to come storming into his kitchen demanding his finest meal with nothing less than a please or thank you? Only a nobleman would address him in such a way. On a ship, everyone became of equal standing, even the common passenger. And manners were certainly apart of Alfredo's galley.

Stefano observed the woman fling witty remarks at him, prompted by his most gracious plea. Frankly, he was shocked - having never recieved anything close to this calibre of conversation from what appeared to be a common working girl. She used the same tone and mannerisms that a travelling troubadour and poet often used that Stefano had travelled with over much of France. Stefano had recieved his clever banter with open appreciation, yet he did not know whether he should do the same in this case.

He ignored her first statement in a fit of unease, yet she thankfully provided a follow-up question that was simple enough to answer.

"Stefano Morisini, yes - middle name Pietro. My father is closely related to the current Duke of Candia. One of the main reasons I departed was because of the political drab that accompanied my important position - not to mention the position of the Ottomans in accosting my dear homeland. Enough of that, though, I forget common courtesy!" He grinned at the girl, seemingly forgetting all about the pending food behind him, and the social class of the girl before him. It seemed she had broken through many of Stefano's social barriers with little more than a sentence - a feat achieved by few, though the situation of hunger, required aid and impending pirates may have encouraged the acceptance somewhat.

"My dear, I would like to know all about you! Perhaps we can sit and talk whilst being served our fresh bread and scrumptious native commerce? Excellent, let us do so!"

"Ah, so it would seem. I have heard of your surname." She mumbled more to herself than to him, yet she listened all the while as he spoke of himself, and why he had come aboard. To her, his reason seemed to be as nonsensical as her own. When he informed her of his desire to know more about her, Artemisia seemed apprehensive in any case. Yet, she figured that it would not hurt her to tell him a bit of who she was. Artemisia turned to Alfredo and asked, "Senor, may we have but a bowl of soup? I promise we will be out of your hair for the rest of the evening."

Here Alfredo looked past her shoulder to Stefano standing behind her and gave a solemn grunt before dishing out a bowl of stew and gave her another bread roll. With that Artemisia turned about and handed Stefano the food. "I would say that this is the best you will get till we reach port. Let us head above deck, I came down here to fetch some food for a friend." She moved to the door and held it open, and then nodded at the object he had sat down near the crates, "And bring that too, lest he spills soup on it." Artemisia gave a chuckle before continuing, "I am Artemisia, I hail from Florentia, Italy. I came to Sintra many years ago, I have had made my living as a songstress, a bard, and as an entertainer. I travelled with a band of troubadours called, Le Troupe de Vie. Other than that, there is not much else to know." With that, Artemisia moved down the hallway, a bread roll in each hand.

She moved off away from the galley as soon as she finished speaking - leaving Stefano to strain a hurried, 'Pleasure to meet you!' between his frantic sipping of the stew.
His hunger was not entirely satisfied, though the stew had some texture to fill his belly, and he did not think it best to stay in the galley for much longer. Stefano slurped through the meal quickly and stood as soon as he had finished.
Moving over to his sack of coin and canvas, Stefano threw a glance in Alfredo's direction.

"Thank you. The stew was..." He started, and with a childish chuckle as Alfredo glared at him, "Mediocre." He rushed out before the angry cook could accost him.

Luke stood at the side of the ship and couldn't take his eyes off the ocean water beneath him, he kept envisioning the boy. They could've been friends in another life. Luke never had any, being cooped up in house Du Sand most of his life save for the little events here and there, the family was obligated to attend, and most other noble families were so strict the children would never think to speak at them. Living as a street urchin didn't make things easier, no one wants to talk to the dirty little thief, and the baker family had no children of their own. He wished he could've spent more time, or anytime at all with deceased.

As his mind drifted from the imaginary to reality, Luke's mind became all a flutter with thoughts of dragons. He had always dreamt of what it would feel like to fly through the air with the with the wind in his hair, riding on the back of a dragon. Turned out that dragons were more destructive and vicious then he had imagined. He wondered how the Dragon might look. It must've been huge to destroy the city. He wondered if he decided to stay on this journey, when they did find the Dragon, would they even be able to damage it. He began to wonder weather or not he would continue the mission with the captain who's ship had been destroyed, without realizing he'd been climbing all the while.

The net to the crows net was easy enough to get up, or at least he figured it must've been considering he made it all the way up obliviously. Luke looked out on the horizon and wished he could stay up this high, far above everyone else, he couldn't help but look down at all the people milling around. Crew members working to ready themselves for the coming pirates, and everyone else trying to deal with the coming threats on top of trying to cope with the idea that there is a beast out there who could tear down cities by itself. Luke was shocked at first, then he was lost in amazment. Luke covered his eyes with his palms and let out a shout that hurt his throat a bit and caused people below to spin around in search of the sound. "This is crazy. We've been out here only a couple days, and we're fighting mystical creatures, pirates, and on secret missions. Everyone who stepped onto the ship was cursed the moment they boarded." Luke spoke to himself. "How are we to defend these people. They can't defend themselves as we've seen." Luke felt his dagger on his outer thigh, and remembered the ping of his throwing dagger off the suit of armor, and now he thought of the pirates on their way.

With his adrenaline pumping through his veins, Luke looked up and smiled at the cool blue sky. "It's sort of exciting isn't it. How could I leave knowing that I might fight a dragon. Maybe a baby dragon would consider me it's master." Luke lost himself in thoughts of dragons and magic that he couldn't feel the thickness of the air as people below continued to worry and mill around. Which generally how Luke dealt with worry. He stood in the crows nest and began to run cadences in preparation of the coming ambush.

"Bring it on pirates, I'm ready for you." He thought out loud as he threw a small piece of wood that he carved off of the crows nest as if it was one of his flying daggers and it sailed out of view as Luke continued drills with his dagger.

Artemisia's boots padded softly up the hewn wooden stairs to the upper deck where she emerged from the dimly lit underdeck into the brilliant afternoon sunlight. With the sun shining, she couldn't help but feel dread as the thoughts of the band of brigands that swam thru her head. She spotted Omero near the railing still and approached him with his bread roll that she had gone to the galley for. The wind whipped her black tresses about her head as she strode over to him, as she did so, Artemisia took note of the captain and the native man on the main deck. Artemisia offered out the bread roll to him with a complacement smile, "Here, you are. I ran into a funny man downstairs in the galley there. I'll tell you later about it as I noticed that the captain is on deck and I want to go speak with him while I have the chance." With that, she promptly departed and made her way over to the captain.

As she approached, Artemisia sized up the captain and once again couldn't but help to admire his lean body, tanned skin and shiny black hair. The native man, even with his hooked nose like a hawk was still attractive to her, especially in the exotic taste. The captain was alone asides from the native, making it easier for her to approach him.

Clearing her throat, Artemisia began with a calm, inquistive statement, "Captain, if you don't mind, I would like a word with you in regards for tonight." She glanced at the even darker skinned man and nodded politely at him. "I don't believe we've really met, but I am Artemisia. I was the one in the crow's nest last night chucking pebbles at that...thing last night; I believe you called it a harbinger this morning if I'm not mistaken." Artemisia extended her hand for the captain to shake, in turn, she would also introduce herself to the native man so that she could both learn their names.

"...That was precisely my thinking, Yanci." Emilio began with a low hum. He stroked his faint beard and glared toward the southern horizon. Peaks and valleys appeared just over the rim surrounded by clouds and mist. "If we could bypass them entirely, that would serve our purposes much easier," he continued, "but the waters would be even more dangerous on the journey back."

"And that's why I suggested that we need to take them out tonight." Epunamun chimed in. "Otherwise we run the risk of having our plans revealed by someone in Essaouira, and we'd be little more than bloated, floating ducks at that point."

"The only option in that case is to meet them with our port bow, captain." The Navigator, Yanci, finally said.

"Yes." Emilio responded, distracted by the flurry of ideas running through his head. "We'll need a boarding party, we'll let the boat down on the starboard side of the ship, row in under the stars. Find some men, Epu; strong, and smart men."

A curt, attention-seeking noise came from somewhere behind. Emilio twirled around to find a familiar face. It was the girl who'd started the jovial atmosphere of the first night. She was familiar, yet unfamiliar all the same. He couldn't place a name to her face. She introduced herself. Armetisia. The name came through like a wave. It washed reality from his vision and conjured memories of the room where he took his studies. It smelled of lilac from the garden below, and whiskey from his father's bar. He remembered the Greek and Persian Histories he learned, he remembered imagining he was on one of the Halicarnassus wing vessels; riding the Mediterranean waves behind the white clothed Artemisia I of Caria. He could practically smell the bronze in the air, even now. It brought a smile to his face.

He took the hand offered, peered into the crystalline eyes which caught and mingled with the sunlight, and bowed to kiss where the fingers met the hand. "Your namesake moves me." he said honestly as he rose again. There was a certain rush which came with this new brand of honesty, it was exhilarating and embarrassing all at the same time; and for that it was almost passionately intimate. Catching up with the rest of the dialogue he stepped aside and glanced over at Epu, who had his arms crossed, still watching the map. He gave the girl a halfhearted acknowledging smirk along with a nod, and continued with the map.

"...Yes," Emilio covered the silence, "A Harbinger. I don't know much other than it was probably summoned here through magical means, and possibly on behalf of someone else. I'm afraid I can't really answer any questions about that though, I know as much as you do about how all this magic is supposed to work." Emilio glanced over to Epu, remembering the mission, who in turn glanced over at him. "Artemisia," Emilio said with a smile, still looking at Epu. The native man looked at his Captain and the girl intermittently. Emilio turned his attention back on who he was addressing, "if you aren't busy, perhaps you'd like to hear about our plan to deal with these pirates. You say that you were helping fight the Harbinger last nighy? Well, maybe you could even help us then, how would you like that?"

Epunamun chimed in there, "Captain, maybe you're getting ahead of yourself."

"I don't think so, Epu." Emilio chided childishly. "Anyone with the name of one of the commanders at the Battle of Salamis ought to be considered for a navel mission, out of respect for the ancients."

"If that were true you'd have to accept a jaguar as your yoeman if I recommended one." Epu responded coldly.

"And I would too, if you ever did. That would have to be one hell of a jaguar. But until then, we've got our own lioness right here." With a slap on the shoulder Emilio shook Armetisia, "isn't that right?!"

The captain spun about, startling her. Instead of shaking her hand like she had imagine he would do, he chose to kiss her hand. Electricity shot up from the very tips of her fingers all the way to her neck, leaving goosebumps like a trail. She gently withdrew her hand from his, her face flushed red with surprise and a bit of shyness. Artemisia fumbled for the next words but found herself stuttering.

"Well...ah...I..." Your namesake moves me... His words echoed in her mind like a faint bell tolling on a misty morning back in Florentia. Personally, Artemisia never bothered to pursue romantic adventures of any kind with anyone. She didn't have time for love, as life was too fleeting to be concerned with the feelings of another; or at least so she believed. Mentally, Artemisia dismissed what just happened, and convinced herself that Emilio was just an eccentric fellow, much like Stefano.

She closed her mouth and let Emilio finish speaking. The native man looked at her with but a smirk and a nod, making her wonder what he was possibly thinking. Did he think that she was inferior to him? Her eyes narrowed as she studied him closely for a moment or two before returning her gaze back to the captain. As he spoke of the harbinger, Artemisia believed it to be true, that whatever it was, was indeed a magickal entity. She simply nodded along as he spoke, and then he said her name again. She brought her silvery grey eyes to meet his, the way he uttered her name made her feel weak in the knees; for the reason why, she could not say. He offered to have her listen to their plans on what to do about the looming pirate attack, though his companion seemed less enthusiastic about receiving her help. A devious gleam appeared in her eyes as the desire to prove him wrong rose up in her chest like a burning candle flame.
Suddenly, he slapped her on the back, claiming that they had their own lioness on deck. Here Artemisia smiled widely, "Aye! I wouldn't mind taking a gander at what you have planned, I'm no military strategist, but I certainly have an open mind; and a fresh eye wouldn't hurt at all. What do you have planned so far, Captain?"

Emilio grinned.

"We plan to slow our approach, and come in the night, perhaps drawing them toward us. We'll turn off our torches, lower our sails, and blend in with the sky and sea. We'll drop a boarding party into a dingy, and they'll make their way around the opposing ship as we make our approach, quite loudly I might add. Hopefully, with a little timing, and admittedly near-perfect maneuvers, we could synchronize our attacks to overwhelm them, boarding them before they have the chance to get their boots on. We have plenty of guns aboard, and we should be able to take them at close range. There's more to the story, of course, but that's more than you would need to know."

Emilio let the information sink in. He needed to let it do the same for him. For some reason, and there was no word he could recall to properly describe what he felt, there was a burning impulse within Emilio to ask this girl to risk her life. It wasn't out of malice, though one could never truly discount that, but it wasn't out of pure necessity either. It was a kind of curious spirit in him, one which --as far as he could remember-- was always there. Part of it, Emilio rationalized, was how enthused she seemed about the whole situation. How would someone like this fair in an environment such as that?

"Could you envision yourself on such a mission?" Emilio asked.

Artemisia listened intently to the captain’s words as he spoke, describing the details of the plan to her. He told her of how he planned to extinguish all the lights aboard The Burned Bitch, and wait for the cover of nightfall to board the other ship and commandeer it, she wondered if he intended to kill the other people above the ship, since he mentioned that they had plenty of guns. She stared at the toes of her boots as his last question hung on her conscience. ’Could you envision yourself on such a mission?’
Seven years ago, when Artemisia first met Lorenzo de Las Manos, she had learned how to listen for the jingle of coins in a person’s footfall. The louder the noise, the more coin they carried. She could never forget the lesson Lorenzo bestowed on her one night in the dark alley ways of Sintra. The two of them, dressed in black to blend in with the shadows, lurked silently in the darkness off a main road. Lorenzo spotted a young farm girl walking alone towards the city gate and prodded Artemisia sharply in the side.

“That’s your mark. See how she has her coin purse on her hip? You can either rob her upfront, or you can cut the purse without her knowing.” Lorenzo was blind in one eye, and it had turned to a milky white colour, his face leered out at her even in the cover of the shadows. His breath rank of mead, garlic and cheese. Artemisia looked hesitantly at the girl as she passed by their alley way, and darted after her. One would not recognize Artemisia in her guise, as she had wiped ash through her hair to grey it; a false nose tip, and some cleverly applied mud made for a mole. To others, Artemisia appeared to be a hobbled old beggar woman.

“Dearie! My precious girl, I think you dropped this.” Artemisia called after the girl, who only looked to be in her early teenage years. Extending her hand out to the girl, she displayed a simple golden locket in the palm of her hand. The girl halted and whirled about, looking at the old woman curiously as her hand went to her throat.

“I must have forgotten that I was wearing it! Thank you oh so much!” The young girl plucked the locket out of the palm of Artemisia’s hand and eyed it closely before slipping it inside an inner pocket.

“Oh you’re very welcome, may God bless your soul precious child.” And with that, Artemisia hobbled away again into the darkness.
Once she had returned to the cover of night, Lorenzo snatched Artemisia by the arm, hissing with menace, “How dare you not do as I say! You simply gave her the locket! You fool!” He raised his arm to strike her when she pulled away from his iron-like grip.

“Don’t always assume Lorenzo!” Artemisia threw the coin purse down at his feet with a haughty look in her silvery eyes. The older man gasped with surprise because he had not witnessed her taking the coin purse. Lorenzo began to chuckle as he opened the purse up and started to count the coins inside.

“You my girl are very clever, more than I thought you to be.”

Artemisia looked at Emilio, the same glimmer in her silver eyes had returned, not to rob, but at the chance to learn a new lesson. She smiled brightly at the captain and exclaimed, “I know I can, the only thing that would be a problem are my clothes. I would be easily spotted in firelight wearing this. If I can find some black garments, perhaps even a cloak with a hood would suffice, I believe that I could succeed in the task. May the Goddess stop me if she desires.” Artemisia looked quickly to the sky and pressed a fist to her lips before looking back to Emilio. “Will you stay aboard here or will you lead the party personally?”

Emilio smirked as he glanced at Epu, who'd been watching the exchange intently. The American's chissled fingers clasped at his freshly shaved jawline with anxiety, and exasperation: he appeared as a man at the end of his rope. But with Artemesia's answer Epu seemed to find some solace. He let out an inaudible chuckle when Emilio looked toward him. The looks they exchanged toward one another was one of assurance, it was one of success; they'd shared it many times before.

"I couldn't leave the Bitch at such a dire time, I need to lead her into battle. This, however, is Epunamun's speciality. He'll lead the aweigh team as my first officer, and hopefully find some success." With that Emilio directed Artemisia's full attention toward Native man behind her. He was a man stuck between worlds, with the beads in his hair, and knots in his hands. The collar of his overcoat brushed ever slightly with his chin and the bone necklace tied around his neck. He smiled as if it was the first ever moment of relief he'd had on the journey, as it likely it was.

"I'll take care of your needed attire, milady. Meet me in the gun room after supper and I'll see to your basic arms training, as well." Epu said in a clear Spanish, the next best language he knew next to his mother tongue; he only hoped she understood. "For now, you should help your friend feel better. If he's in fighting form by tonight, we'll be taking him too."

A moment of silence passed and so Emilio spoke up, "That is all. Go prepare now, girl." It was a curt, dismissive order, and may have even come off as abrasive. As Artemisia stepped away the two friends smiled at each other. Emilio gave a wink before meeting Epu in a handshake.

"Well caught, Captain." Epu said in English.

"Ah, you've always been an excellent lineman, Epu." Emilio responded as he watched Artemisia walk away. A glinting from somewhere in the corner of his vision beckoned him, and he realized it was Allana's eyes glistening in the sunlight. "Excuse me for just a moment," Emilio said to the navigator in the defaulted Portuguese as he crossed the deck to meet with his mystic ally.

Unfortunately, though for the better, Emilio informed Artemisia that he would have to stay aboard the ship, yet his companion would be leading the boarding party. The native man, whose name was Epunamun, spoke to her in perfect Spanish, causing her to furrow her brows; making her listen to every word. At the end, she raised her brows in ease and smiled at him,
”Muchas gracias Epunamun, te veo anoche.” Thank you very much Epunamun, I’ll see you tonight.
With that, Artemisia turned on the heel of her foot after Emilio dismissed her and headed back to the railing where she had last saw Omero. Yet when she reached the railing, she found him to be nowhere in sight. She assumed he had headed below deck, maybe to retrieve his clothing at least. If that was the case, Artemisia could fix his robe for him like she had promised.
Telling time was never easy for her, to her, it still seemed to be midday, just past noon perhaps. Then again she never bothered with time, except for when the sun set or when the sun rose.

{Credits @MacabreFox @The New Yorker }

Alastair leant against one of the ship’s sides, strategically placed so that he could lean over and puke if he suddenly had the urge. The wind was fairly soft that morning but carried with it a surprisingly cold chill despite the open skies. Typical sea weather. It actually felt quite nice to Alastair, with the breeze on his skin giving him a slight feeling of sobriety. He let out a nasty burp and held his stomach, but luckily nothing appeared to follow it up. “Definitely not drinking again… not anytime soon anyway.” He grumbled to a nearby sailor, earning the slightest of smiles in response. With the sudden appearance of Emilio and the young man’s body, Alastair quickly straightened up his stance. He watched quietly as the captain performed the ceremony for Pablo, and felt a rather overwhelming sense of empathy. He knew all too well the pain of losing others – he had lost his family and, over the years, most of his friends. He felt his stomach sink and knot as he held back his own tears, forcing his memories back down into the recesses of his mind.

“We’ll make those responsible pay tenfold for the blood that was spilt last night.” Hissed the nearby sailor, thankfully interrupting Alastair’s thoughts. This time it was Alastair’s turn to give a slight smile in response. He might have thought of something to add but instead his attention was turned back to Emilio and his speech.

He was fascinated by talk of the monster from last night, this ’Harbinger’. He had heard the name before, but never attached to a being of this description. A being of spiritual and corporeal energy? That went some way towards explaining why it looked so fascinating through his Raven’s Eye, but still left him with far more questions than answers. He wished there was some remains of the Harbinger for him to study, but either others had quickly cleaned it up or it was entirely destroyed by the magical blast. In fact the mage who destroyed the Harbinger was just as fascinating to him. He looked over to the young woman who was now warning the crew of the impending pirate attack, and wondered what her origins were. She clearly possessed a kind of magic that he was entirely unfamiliar with, and he pondered whether or not she would be familiar with his. The only thing worse than not knowing a potential opponent was a potential opponent knowing you. Not interested in getting to work on repairs like many others, Alastair then considered sneaking back off towards the lower decks. He would go and try to seek out Leonard and make sure that his fellow Brit hadn't passed away during the night.

As he waited for Artemisia to return, Omero took in his surroundings. The burnt bitch had sustained heavy damage during the fight with the harbinger but the crew had done a good job with repairs. The various crew members were preparing themselves for the imminent pirate attack and were rushing to and fro to make sure preparations were complete. However Omero sudden realisation of the intense heat from the sun distracted him from his observation of the ship. Omero silently swore to himself. Perhaps if the monks and nuns had allowed him outside more often has a child he would be able to cope with the sun better. Though Omero could deal with the heat he knew that his very pale skin would not endure well in this sunlight. Given his current circumstances the last thing Omero wanted was serve sunburn and the only thing that had prevented this previously was his cloak and hat. Both of which had been left down in the ship’s make shift surgery. Omero begrudgingly decided it would be best to collect them now rather than later. At that moment Artemisia approached him and handed a bread roll which she had been carrying in her hand. Once Omero took the bread Artemisia started to speak.
"Here, you are. I ran into a funny man downstairs in the galley there. I'll tell you later about it as I noticed that the captain is on deck and I want to go speak with him while I have the chance." Omero didn't even have a chance to respond before she had made her way up to the main deck to where the captain was. Clearly something had gained her attention. Omero started to eat his bread roll as he slowly made his way down to the surgery.

As Alastair carefully crossed the deck he caught sight of another man walking with equal caution and stiffness. The man ahead of him seemed to be suffering from injury rather than a hangover though. On closer glance it appeared to be the inquisitor whom Alastair had been content to avoid so far. "Better him than me." he grumbled under his breath, finding it hard to feel any sympathy for the man. Alastair had seen first-hand what the order, and any religious zealots for that matter, were capable of. He took a deep breath and forced his mind to block out various memories from surfacing, yet he could still feel a tearful glaze fill his eyes regardless. Not wanting to slowly overtake the man and risk a conversation, Alastair unintentionally followed 'Omato' (or was it 'Ormelo'?) from a short distance. It was an uncomfortable walk and Alastair was dismayed whenever the inquisitor took a turn that he himself wanted to make. Unfortunately the two of them clearly had the same destination and Alastair found himself reluctantly entering the surgery after him.

As Omero made his way down to the surgery he took note that his wound was certainly getting better, he was now walking again without much difficultly. Omero breathed a sigh of relief; if the pirates were to show up then Omero was confident that he would still be able to fight. As Omero continued on his way down, he quickly realised that he was being followed. Whoever it was, they were carefully keeping behind Omero and trying not to be noticed. Unfortunately for them, Omero had a lot of training and experience for identifying when he was being followed. As Omero entered the surgery he sharply looked behind him giving a cold stare to the man whom had been following him. The man looked like he was in his mid-forties and had grey hair with a somewhat neat beard. His presence made Omero suspicious, as far as Omero knew he had no purpose being here.
“And why are you here, if I might ask?” Omero spoke politely, yet he also placed a tone of authority behind his voice.

Alastair let out a long internal sigh as the inquisitor confronted him. It was inevitable though. "I've come to check up on Leonard," he replied with a nod in the aforementioned's direction, his tone slightly dismissive. "I believe he took a beating in the fight last night. Just wanted to make sure he was ok."

"He's out at the moment. I'll be able to better evaluate his condition when he comes to." Interjected the Surgeon. Alastair eyed up the large mutton chopped man, slightly surprised at his appearance. The surgeon did not say anything more however, seemingly too busy with other matters to stop and chatter to the pair.

"In that case I should probably take my leave." he said politely to them both, not wanting to be questioned further by the inquisitor. Besides from that, the surgery was not the most pleasant of places. The stench of blood and vomit forever lingered around the room, their sources forever stained on the wooden floors despite whatever cleaning efforts had been made. There was also something unsettling about seeing men cling onto life; it reminded onlookers of their own morality. For someone of Alastair's age, that was something that he needed no reminder of.

"How exactly have you come to know 'Leonard'" Omero said as he walked over to his hat and cloak that still lay in a crumpled mess on the floor. Though the man's excuse for being here seemed genuine enough, he suddenly seemed quick to want to leave once Omero had seen him. Though having thought that, Omero reflected that the Surgery wasn't exactly the nicest place to have to stay.

The dreaded follow up question. Of course leaving wasn't going to be that easy.

"We drunk and fought together last night." Alastair replied with a shrug, realising that he didn't really know Leonard. A few drunken stories hardly gave a full picture after all. "Besides from that, it's only right that we look after one and other... we're all on the same side after all?" It was a rhetoric question, but Alastair was still interested to see how the man would react. If he was going to be drawn into a conversation with this man, he would at least learn more about his intentions and demeanour. He glanced at the mans clothing, recognising the cloak. He was familiar with the attire, knowing it signified a specialist group within the Church, but knew little else.

"A fair point, though perhaps a naive one, afterall, wasn't Ceasar Luna suppose to be on our side"? Omero said as he let a small smile come to his face, "and we know how that turned out". Omero started to put on his cloak and hat, as he lifted them he saw that his rapier and crossbow were underneath them. It appeared that the sailor's must have brought them in here as well.

As Omero innocently picked up his rapier, Alastair found his own hand subconsciously reaching for his weapon. His hand settled lightly on the cold bronze pommel of his khopesh, ready to quickly draw the weapon should the need arise. A bead of sweat began to form on his hairline. It wasn't that he didn't trust the inquisitor (although he didn't), but he found himself cautious whenever anyone nearby drew a weapon. He had enough experience to know that even the most innocent of people could turn nasty in the blink of an eye.

"A fair enough point." Alastair admitted. "So what is your business aboard the Burned Bitch Master...?" he paused for a moment but did not give the recipient a chance to respond or give his name before light-heartedly adding: "Not conspiring with Luna to bring us all down I hope?"

Omero gave a light laugh before answering
"Certainly not, despite both of us being from the church, Luna strike me more as a man who is more interested in serving his own selfish will than he is serving the will of god”. Omero paused for a minute before continuing. “Unfortunately I find that description now seems to fit a lot of high ranking members of the church” a sudden pang of sadness hit Omero as he reflected over his last comment. Had his faith in the church truly fallen so far? But now was not the time to ponder such things. Omero had to answer the man’s first question and Omero had to come up with a good enough lie to convince him.
“My name is Omero by the way, and as for why I am here, I am simply a preacher trying to proclaim the word of the lord to the people of Sintra. Afterall their faith in god will now be low after the pain they have suffered at the hands of the dragon”. Omero paused before changing his demeanour to a more humorous one. “Or rather claws instead of hands or maybe talons…”

Alastair was slightly intrigued by Omero's apparent lack of confidence in his superiors, and wondered for a moment whether he was as spiteful as others in his order. Then again, his disliking of his superiors could just as easily be down to him finding them not zealous and punitive enough. "I'm afraid I didn't get a very close glimpse at the beast's feet. All I saw that day was fire and death." Alastair's somewhat grim response counteracted Omero's humorous tone, although it was not intentional. "...I did get a good look at the Harbinger though. Tell me, have you ever come across such a monster before?"

Omero had finished putting his on his cloak and hat and was now strapping his rapier to his side as he turned to face the man.
“I am Fortunate to say I have never come across such a creature before” Omero said. In fact that was the truth. Despite his many years with fighting against the supernatural the Harbinger had been something of an anomaly.
“Forgive me, what did you say your name was again”? Omero said trying to divert the attention away from Omero on back onto the man. Omero could tell that this man had a sharp mind and that if he continued to ask Omero questions he would soon realise that Omero was lying. That is if he didn’t know already.

"Alastair." he replied with a small smile. "May I ask what brought you to Sintra?" Alastair was as keen to divert the questions back to Omero. Alastair did not like lying, and in situations like this he simply tried to avoid saying much at all. As the inquisitor began to reply Alastair subtly moved back into the doorway, leaning up against the rough wooden frame. He felt a few splinters pierce his jacket as he rubbed against them. Not only did moving provide him with a bit more stability as the ship rolled over the waves, but it was his way of slowly creeping away from this uncomfortable encounter.

"A group of cultists were causing havoc around the Portuguese countryside. I was sent to help those who had been devastated by the carnage. Once the cult fled into Morocco I decided to stop off in Sintra before heading back to Rome”. Omero noticed that Alastair was slowly edging towards the door. It was clear that Omero’s presence made him feel uncomfortable. Did he who Omero truly was? If he did then it was suspicious how he was behaving. However Omero had more important thing to have to worry about at the moment, what with the approaching pirate attack.
“Anyway I am sure you have more important things to attend to rather than waste time talking to me” Omero said. “Hopefully we will be able to continue this latter considering we survive the pirates”.

There was a short but lingering pause.

"...Yes, I should begin getting ready myself." Alastair replied with a tiny shake of his head, as if he were suddenly awoken from a trance. There was a suddenly a new look his eyes, a mixture of both fear and curiosity. Without saying anything else Alastair rolled off the doorframe and begun silently walking away, deep in thought.

Artemisia trotted down the steps into the underdeck, scouring for Omero. She double checked the galley first, to make sure he hadn't gone back for more food. With no luck, Artemisia headed for the operating room where she had found him this morning.
She stepped into the room and smiled brightly as she found him. "Well there you are!" Artemisia exclaimed as she approached him, looking him over to see if he felt worse or better.

"I spoke with Emilio, our captain. He wants me to be apart of the boarding party tonight. How are you feeling? He said if you felt better, you could come with me, or stay here on board."

"A boarding party"? Omero had been taking slightly by surprise, he had only just finished his conversation with Alastair and was about to head up to the top deck. Now he was being told that the captain was offering him to take part in a boarding party. But why? Omero hadn't even spoken to the captain let alone demonstrated his fighting skills. Even more puzzling was why he would have chosen Artemisia to take part. Though she certainly didn't lack the bravery needed, to Omero's knowledge she didn't have any combat experience.
"Why would he choice either of us to go on a boarding party"?

She heard the doubt in the voice as Omero spoke, causing her to furrow her brows until he finished. Finally her face relaxed, and again she grinned.
"Well if you're feeling strong enough that is, if not you'll stay behind. On the other hand, we're not going back to Sintra any time soon, so I might as well do something interesting. When opportunity calls, I have a tendency to take it." Artemisia placed a hand on her hip and shifted her weight.
"As for why us, I think the captain is just looking for any willing participants to be able to board the ship and take it over."
"We'll go in under the cover of darkness, drop the sails, extinguish the lights and drift towards them. I guess the idea is to take them out before they take us out." Artemisia added.

Omero paused and started thinking to himself, the strategy itself was a good one. However if something went wrong then the boarding party would be in most danger, was it worth the risk? Though Omero could tell from Artemisia's demeanour that she was going regardless of how dangerous it was. A half hidden smile appeared on Omero's face. She had saved his life, and at the very least he could return the favour by looking out for her now. Besides Omero was never one to hide from a good fight.

"Well then, I suppose we better prepare" Omero said before changing his tone to a more serious one "Have you ever been in a fight before"?

Her silver eyes flashed in the darkness of the doctor's operating room, as Omero questioned her about her fighting skills. It was followed by a deeply engraved frown as she recalled her former glory days as a pick-pocket and thief. Quite frankly, Artemisia had never taken a life, though she had threatened to. She had been in countless bar brawls with other drunken performers and vagrants, but never had she pushed a blade into a living being.
At least Omero had chosen to come along, "No, I haven't been in a fight before. I've been in a couple bar brawls, but never have I taken a life. It is not in my nature to do so. If I needed to, I know enough to defend myself, but I wasn't particularly trained to kill by any means." Artemisia answered, her eyes lingering above, studying the shafts of light poking through the floorboards.

"In which case let me tell you this now" The calm and light-hearted tone in Omero's voice was now gone; replaced with a much colder and heavier one.
"When in battle, do not let honour or mercy get in the way, otherwise you are dead". Omero stared firmly at Artemisia, he needed to make sure this message got through to her. Too often he had seen honourable fools or idealistic amateurs rush into battle believing their will and morality somehow made them invincible, and they were always the first ones to fall because of it.

Listening intently to his words, Artemisia couldn't avoid his firm, stoic gaze that locked her in place. There was a skip in her beating heart that made her palms sweaty, like the way the captain made her feel as he held her hand. She righted herself and nodded vigorously at Omero, "Aye."
"I do not desire to take leave to life so readily, especially in a fight like this." Her husky voice had changed, matching Omero's tone, changing from a light hearted one to a tone that meant business. The gypsy woman valued her own life much before that of others, but yet, she couldn't help feel a twinge of caring in the pit of her stomach.
"Your wound... Will it hinder you tonight?" Artemisia asked softly, biting her lip after she spoke.

"No. I believe it has healed sufficiently enough" Omero said as he looked down to his side. The pain had already greatly dulled since this morning.
"Besides, I have fought with worse injuries before" Omero said as he pointed to the scar over his eye.

Her face flushed red as Omero pointed to his eye, she had wondered what had taken his eye, but Artemisia had never bothered to ask. She took the chance to ask now since Omero gestured at it, "What...uh...exactly happened, if you don't mind my asking?"
In her mind’s eye, she could picture only a fantastical creature tearing out his other blue eye, perhaps with vicious talons or even a hooked beak. She shivered violently at the thought alone.

Omero paused for a moment. He couldn't exactly reveal the truth about what happened; all missions involving the Red Cross were meant to remain confidential. At the same time lying to Artemisia just didn't sit right with him.
"Let’s just say the person who did this to me was more creature than man". That was the best Omero could do. "Maybe some point in the future, when I am ready, I will tell you the full story".

She let out a gasp, a slow and momentous one as her eyes widened in curiosity, as Omero gave her only a mere idea of what possibly happened to him. A being more creature than human, she could only wonder at what that entailed. Perhaps a man with a deformity and an ill-mind, or perhaps even a night walker.
To Artemisia, night walkers were creatures of the unimaginable that stalked the night hours, be they human, pure magickal, or even a monster in itself. The idea itself seemed fantastical, but she decided that waiting would only provide the truest answer. Only a tale that Omero could tell, and Artemisia would have to wait.

Nodding with a sigh, she let a small smile come upon her face, as she muttered dreamily, "A tale best left told when circumstances are better, and mayhap with a mug of ale in hand and sitting about a fire." There was a strange twinkle in her eye, one that reflected the desire to know more. Stories were always her favorite, they offered an escape from reality, and the one of mythic tales entertained her mind the best.
Omero smiled again, as he returned to his regular light hearted self. He was glad that she had not pressured him to tell her more, but he could tell from the look in her eye that he was going to have to reveal it at some point.

"Now that is an idea I like" Omero laughed. "Perhaps we could continue this conversation on deck" Omero said as he once again realised the smell and surroundings of the surgery. "After all the surgery room certainly isn't the best place for small talk".

Artemisia brushed back a few strands of black hair that had fallen loose from her hapless braid, she nodded, only now regarding the smell, which reminded her of the times when the priests would visit their home in an attempt to faithlessly heal one of her siblings. The smell of struggle, the struggle to cling to life and survive is what caressed her nostrils.

"If you want I can mend your clothes as well, so you at least have something to wear for the engagement tonight, but you're right. The smell in here is far too pungent. I hadn't noticed because I wanted to find you right away. Let us go above deck where the air is cleaner." With that Artemisia looked to Omero and then proceeded out of the room, waiting for him to accompany her to the upper deck.

"I would greatly appreciate that" Omero said. Omero took one last look around the room making sure he hadn't left anything before he too proceeded to leave to room alongside Artemisia.

---

Emilio was handing out a pistol when Alana came from the bow.

“We’re close yet, and we may be in luck for it looks like a heavy mist is coming in.” She said with a distant gaze, and an even further off smile.

Emilio looked at the sky with some amazement. “Was this you then?” He asked.

“No,” Alana responded with a revitalized humor. “I can take no credit for what Nature does herself.”

“Well, if it’s any consolation, I feel you may have won my trust today.” Emilio stuck out his arm to shake, she took it and they shook and smiled. “How long do you think you’ll be staying with us?”

“Not very long,” she said, distantly again. “I want to catch up with Luna, don’t you?”

Emilio smiled, “yeah, but I’m afraid you’ll beat me to it. Have you forgotten that I have a task to accomplish?”

“No. Have you?” She asked in her dusky voice.

“How could I?” Emilio responded with a gesture to his blouse, the scar underneath.

“There are many ways to forget, Pirate.” She said over her shoulder as she walked away, back to the bow.

At that moment a trio of bodies came from below deck. New leather holsters held brandished firearms on the collection of forms emerging from the wooden floor. Epu cleaned and tested the edge of one of his throwing axes as Artemisia came behind him with her new armament. She was sandwiched between the Native and the darkly clad Inquisitor Omero. Epu handed the girl the axe he held as if in accordance with a plan.

“Don’t lose it,” whispered the American as they walked up.

“Very nice!” Emilio applauded as the trio came up. “How does this strap fit you?” Emilio asked as he heedlessly pulled on the belt which kept the holster strapped to Artemisia’s body. “It fits pretty good,” he answered himself as he looked over at Epu, who concurred with a nod. “I thought maybe she’d be too thin.” The Captain noted to his first mate as he pulled and prodded at different parts of Artemisia’s newly modified outfit.

“She has plenty of muscle on her bones, enough to protect them from breaking at least.” Epu reported with a huff. The trio had been doing some exercises below deck. Learning how to fight with a gun, learning safety techniques. It wouldn’t be enough to make Artemisia a fighter, but she could hold her own and that’s what mattered.

“Alright, head over to the dingy. Your men are waiting for your orders, Epu. I’ll be over to lower you down in a moment.”

As Epu led the trio away toward the Starboard side, set against the inky darkness of the star-speckled sky above and beyond, a thumping came again from where the deck gave way to the stairs below. A gruff, splintered set of fingers grasped on the sodden wood as they heaved the body underneath above the deck. Singed, curly beard hair splayed under a fresh white bandage upon the tanned olive skin. Leonard moaned as he rolled his shoulder like the waves underneath, half his face covered in a tight bandage. In his other hand was clutched the flintlock carbine which he’d trotted across the world, and he checked it as he crossed the deck.
“I’m ready, Captain.” He said with a little grogginess.

“Not quite,” Emilio responded, only slightly exasperated. “You should stay below deck for this one, old man.”

“I can still shoot, you damn boy.” The carbine sat snugly under his shoulder, “So I’ll shoot.” And with that Leonard hobbled his way over to the stern as he checked his sights. After a few moments the signal came from the crow’s nest, it meant a ship was approaching. A low whistle jostled everyone on the ship into a nervous gear. Emilio couldn’t help but chomp on his lower lip as the aweigh team was lowered into the brine. They had their orders, as did everyone else. The pirate ship would need to burn.

As the dingy crashed into the water Epu could still make out the orders Emilio screamed out above deck. “Pull the rutters!... Don’t touch the main sail yet! Load the cannons!”

Two of the sailors who’d come along rowed the boat away from the ship, they hummed gently as they did. Epu stared intently at the space between the wood that made up their vessel as they came around the bow spirit of the Burnt Bitch. As they broke through the mist they could hear murmuring and movement coming from the opponent ship. They crossed the chasm of water and now water lapped around their boat as Epu stood with his boarding hook. He spun it briefly, then let the rope fly from his hands and wrap around the banister perfectly. His leather boots thudded against the hull of the ship as he began to climb. Arduously, the group of six climbed their way up the side of the hapless vessel. Once aboard Epu waited behind barrels as the others made their way up. Within moments of the last man coming aboard the sounds of cannon fire rang out. It struck true on the hull of the enemy ship and shook it viciously. As Epu rose with his axes in hand he saw, through the mist, puddles of blood pooling around the creases and cracks in the deck. Epu made out an arm holding a sword, gore, a torso with a huge gaping bloody hole in it, and at his feet, near the barrel, was what seemed to be a half eaten human head. It was hard to verify, but it seemed as though a great deal of the crew had been eviscerated.

Another cannon crossed the misty darkness and struck at the hull again, this time driving everyone to the ground, tilting the ship very slightly, tossing barrels and boxes toward the port side. Epu was launched end over end and hit his head against one of the fastened crates. When he gained consciousness again he saw a fire engulfing the stern of the ship, torn and burning pieces of human flesh strewn across the floor. A figure emerged from the stern stairs and was backdropped by the rising flames. It’s body was that of a women, Epu could make that out clearly, but her lower torso and legs were indistinguishable. The fire danced off of her lower half like they were playing off of gems, their light reflecting majestically. Epu lost consciousness again.

This time waking to the screaming of familiar voices, frantic bootfalls and shooting as he was lifted from the ground. Looking behind him he glimpsed Omero and Artemesia embroiled with a human-like serpentine figure, which he now recognized as a monster of some sort. Epu was lifted from his weak feet and transferred over banisters before being placed on the wet ground again.

When Epu woke for the third time he saw Leonard’s bruised and bandaged face hovering over him in concern. “You’re going to be alright.” He said in English, slapping the American’s face. Epu rose and looked about the deck. No fire, no monsters, no enemy ship. He found Omero and Artemisia among the group and noted their blackened, soot covered faces.

“What happened?” Epu asked with a cough.

“The ship was harboring a monster of some sort.” Leonard answered as a mother would. Making Epu lay back down, he spoke as smoothly as his voice would allow. “They were dead before you even got aboard. If it weren’t for the twins over there,” Leonard gestured to the recovering Omero and Artemisia as he referred to their new nickname, “We may have all suffered the same fate.”

“I suppose I should be grateful.” Epu said with a sigh as he tussled his hair.

“And not just to them. Alistair helped bring you aboard, we all held the beast off while we escaped. The Captain made some quick calls leading to your rescue. You might want to think of seeing him.” Leonard added.

Epunamun tried to chuckle but ended in a painful moan. “He’ll just say he told me so.”

Leonard could laugh, so he did. “He said you’d say that.”

There was a chuckling among the slightly rattled crew as the Bitch slid across the ocean surface, ever nearer to their destination in Morocco.

Night had fallen faster than Artemisia would’ve liked. In that time, she had sewn Omero’s torn robes back together, and the two had gone to see Epu to be outfitted. The American had found her a black men’s blouse and trousers, surprisingly on the smaller side, although the clothes were still baggy on her limber frame. The only thing he had to show her was how to load her gun, how to point and fire it. Thankfully she had a decent aim for never wielding a carbine before, yet the kickback in the weapon scared her thoroughly. Shaking his head in dismay, the American decided that instead of wasting his time teaching her the finer points of firing the carbine, he could at least give her a run down on how to take care of herself in a fight, which meant an hour’s worth of sparring with the American before he was satisfied that she could defend herself. He gave her a leather holster in which to put the carbine, and she tied it about her waist.

With that the American, Artemisia, and Omero made their way to the upper deck. She inquired shakily, whispering to Omero, "Are you ready?"
Her limbs trembled fiercely, as if caught with a sudden cold. In truth, Artemisia felt more scared about boarding this other ship than she did about fighting with the harbinger, or taking the leap off the crow's nest from the previous night to save Omero. As they ascended and reached the upper deck, Epunamun turned to her and handed her an axe.

“Don’t lose it.” His words were no louder than a whisper as he gave it to her. The axe had a wooden handle with what appeared to be an iron or steel blade. She took it with sincerity, and felt safer immediately than going in armed with the carbine and her stowed daggers.
Epunamun led the trio over to the captain, and he seemed delighted that they had found something for Artemisia to wear and assembled said weapons for her. Emilio tugged on the belt at her waist, asking her how it fit, but answered himself anyways. She gave him a half shrug with a lopsided smile, “It’s better than nothing.” As the captain looked over her outfit, his fingers poked and prodded at her, seeing if anything was loose. She wanted to shy away from his touch, but stood her ground. It reminded her of the slaves she had seen coming up to the auction block in the old Sintra town square; how the slavers would grab and squeeze the meat on their limbs, peel back their lips to check their teeth and so forth.
The only emotion she showed was when Epunamun mentioned that she had enough muscles on her bones so that they would break; her face flushed deep red, but in the darkness of the inky black sky, she doubted they could see that. Emilio then directed the trio over to the dingy that was waiting for them on the side of the ship.

Artemisia headed over to the boat, and climbed in, checking once more that she had everything with her still. She sat inside, waiting for the others to join her. As Omero and Epu climbed in, they all waited for the signal to be lowered into the water below. When the low whistle came, the dingy was lowered into the dark waters below. Just a few feet from the surface, the pulley caught, suspending them for a moment in time, before it splashed loudly into the water. With that, the sailors that had come along with the party rowed the dingy toward the ship. An eerie fog had settled over the ocean’s water, making it hard going, but the sailors that accompanied them knew where they were headed. It wasn’t until ten or fifteen minutes later, that the darkened outline of the other ship came into view.

“Are you ready?”
Omero could sense the fear in her voice. Not that he could blame her. If anything he was grateful she was afraid; it showed she was not unaware of the danger she was heading into.

“I’m ready, just don’t draw attention to yourself and remember what I told you”.
Omero couldn’t deny that he was impressed with the progress that Artemisia had made. Given the short amount of time she had to practise, her aim with the carbine was impressive considering it was her first time. As they made their way to the top deck Omero noticed the captain making his way towards the trio. Omero realised that this was the first time he had seen the captain this close up; on closer inspection of the man he noticed he had a huge scar across his chest. The scar looked as though it had been burnt into his skin but was far too neat to have been a simple accident. Omero decided to look away to avoid drawing attention to himself. Not that it mattered much, Emilio’s attention was fully focused on Artemisia and he appeared to be ignoring Omero. Not that Omero minded much; if gaining the captain’s attention involved being poked and prodded the same way Artemisia was Omero was quite happy to be ignored.

Omero boarded the rowboat and waited for it to be lowered into the sea. As the boat splashed loudly into the water the sailors that had come along with the party rowed the dingy toward the ship. Omero wondered how they even knew where they were going given the thickness of the fog. But Omero’s doubts were soon put to rest as the outline of the pirate ship came into view.

The sailors rowed the dingy closer to the ship, and when they were close enough to reach out and touch the ships hull beneath their fingertips, Epu raised up his boarding hook, and let it fly. The rope wrapped around a wooden banister above, giving a sharp tug, the American was able to determine that the hook had caught. Before Artemisia could blink, Epu was half way up the side of the ship before she followed suit and grasped In the cover of darkness, the six members climbed over the edge of the railing and dropped onto the main deck.
Artemisia crept up quietly behind Epu and crouched down behind a wooden barrel so she wouldn't be spotted. Suddenly, a loud BOOM rang out as a canon released fire, striking the ship. Oddly enough, Artemisia felt a strange impression growing in the gut of her stomach, an impression that no one was aboard this ship. Epu stood up from behind the barrels and raised his axes, when again, another cannon struck the ship. This time it knocked Artemisia backwards from her crouching position.

When Artemisia stood, the barrels and crates were thrown to the port side, and Epu appeared to have been thrown, and struck his head upon a fastened down crate, for he remained unconscious on deck.
Immediately, her attention was captured by the smell of smoke which came from the stern of the ship, and it was there in the dancing firelight that she knew of the carnage that she had sensed.

"Goddess protect me." She whispered to herself, and clasped her hands in front of her chest and kissed her knuckles. Artemisia whirled about to search for Omero and she spotted him less than three paces from her.

"Look!" She hissed and pointed to the blood on the floorboards that glinted in the firelight, to a gnawed on foot, a hand with no fingers and what looked like to her, a decapitated head caved-in where someone or something had eaten half of said victim's brains.

As Omero looked over where Artemisia was pointing, he soon realised the reason for the fear in her voice. The deck was littered with countless gnawed body parts. As Omero briefly surveyed the rest of the ship he soon realised that there was no one on board, other than the boarding party, who was still alive. Whatever had caused this carnage was not human, that much was clear. Omero's attention was soon turned towards the stern of the ship where a fire had started to engulf the ship. The fire has started to quickly and too unnaturally for it to have started via cannon fire.
A figure emerged from the stern stairs and was backdropped by the rising flames. The creature had the form of a woman but it's lower body appeared to be made of fire. Omero identified the creature as a dark Naga. He had fought such a creature before alongside the Red Cross in France. He knew better than anything that this monster was a force to be reckoned with. As the Dark Naga approached them Omero turned to Artemisia.

"Get behind me and give me support with that" Omero said nodding to the carbine in her hands "I would much appreciate it if you don't shoot me by mistake" Omero finished as he drew his rapier and headed towards the Dark Naga.

With a grimace more than a smile, Artemisia nodded vigorously, silently promising not to fire the carbine if she needed to. She hadn't spotted the creature yet, as Omero stood in front of her, but as she peered curiously over his shoulder, the glinting off firelight sparkled like gems from the creature's lower half. As it inched its way towards the duo, Artemisia compared the creature, with the torso of a woman, and its serpentine like movements to that of a snake. And it was then that a large knot began to form in the pit of her stomach.

Immediately her hand went to her hip where she had fashioned the axe, and hoisted it from its holster and grasped it firmly in her right hand, meanwhile her other hand traveled to the carbine sitting in another holster and rested there in case she needed to grab it. Cautiously she crouched down and whispered to Omero,

"I'm ready when you are." Again fear had crept into her voice and she could feel the blood drain away from her fingertips.

Omero slowly approached the Naga as it started to increase it's speed; approaching both Omero and Artemisia much faster than it had previously. Omero knew that the Naga's strength would prevent him from being able to counter it effectively, but he also knew that Naga's were not particularly fast; this one in particular moved much slower than ones he had fought previously, most likely the result of exhaustion from the previous battle. Therefore he would be able to dodge the creatures attacks without too much difficultly.
As soon as the Naga got in range of Omero it lunged forward while wildly swinging it's claw like hands at Omero's head. Omero dodged under the naga's claws while also slashing the creature across it's back. Instead of blood, what looked like molten metal poured from the wound. The naga let out a scream of agony as it violently spun round slashing wildly at Omero.
Once again Omero dodged the attempted attacks and this time managed to wound the Naga's hip. Omero jumped back from the crature as it once again tried to strike him; though it appeared that Omero had the upper hand he knew that it would take a lot more then a few stab wounds to defeat it. One of the sailors who had previously been cowering behind one of the barrels saw an opening; the Naga was currently facing away from him and attention was focused on Omero.
The sailor decided to take advantage of this and blindly charged towards the naga with his hand axe raised above his head, screaming as he did. A foolish move; the naga heard him before he was even close and with one powerful strike cut the man in half.

By distracting the naga, Omero was able to inflict some wounds upon the fiery creature. She moved like a woman, but the naga had scales that coated her entire body, with black reptilian eyes that reflected in the firelight. At her hips, she slowly changed from a womanly figure into a serpentine like body with a massive, muscular tail. With his clever thinking, Omero gave Artemisia enough time to circle around the duo and get a better shot.

She crept around the wooden barrels and crates, noting the other slain sailors dismembered bodies. Forcing herself to keep her lunch, Artemisia found a hiding spot behind a large crate. She jumped, and hoisted herself up, lying down on her stomach and pulled out the carbine.
She let her breath fall quiet, as she cocked the carbine back, and felt the weight of the trigger against her fingertip. Artemisia counted her seconds breathing in and out, before pulling the trigger.

The carbine sounded off with a loud [b][i]BANG[/b][/i]! Artemisia swore as she missed her aim, a shot meant for a head strike on the naga, however the bullet struck the naga in the shoulder. Rolling off the top of the crate, Artemisia dropped away into the shadows, and quickly moved herself away further into the depths, making sure she wouldn't be caught immediately.
Quickly, Artemisia moved to the other side of the ship, her heart pounding vivaciously in her chest, screaming to be let out. Her eyes burned with tears, afraid that she would fall to the naga as she hurriedly fetched another bullet from her pocket, and slid it into the barrel.
Finished with loading the carbine, Artemisia cocked the carbine and lit the fuse and aimed again. This time she aimed again at the naga, but lower. Artemisia aimed for the naga's chest, who was in a crazed search for her, wailing loudly across the other side. She fired again, with her finger on the trigger, and the bullet struck the naga in the throat. Still the horrid beastress did not die, only fluids the colour of the fire itself poured from the creature's wounds.
Now the naga paid close attention to Artemisia and slithered inhumanly fast across the deck of the ship, closing the distance between the two; her deadly claws raised with her fanged mouth open, ready to tear into Artemisia.
Thinking quickly, Artemisia grasped the axe Epunamun had given her and slung it at the Naga's head. The strike hit soundly, as it cleaved the head of the naga partially, leaving to naga hanging upon her axe blade, not quite dead.

"Omero! Help me! I don't think she's quite yet dead." She struggled to hold the heavy naga away from her. Half of the naga's face had gone limp, yet the other half still displayed angry emotions, gnashing teeth and a furrowed brow with a twitching arm.

Omero was running as fast as he could to help Artemisia, the Naga had slithered it's way towards Artemisia at such a inhuman speed Omero was unable to keep up with her, but now that Artemisia was holding her in place with the axe that Epunamun had given her he could finally deliver a killing blow to the monster. Once Omero was close enough he used all the force he could muster and swung his sword driectly at the naga's neck.
The neck had already been weakened by the carbine bullet that Artemisia had fired and provided much less resistance than Omero had anticipated. The head of the Naga came clean off as molten liquid started oozing out. Omero grabbed Artemisia and pulled her away, trying his best to prevent any of the molten blood from coming in contact with her skin.

A thickening SWOOMPsounded as Omero jerked Artemisia back from the naga, sending her dancing backwards on the toes of her boots. She dropped the axe as she did so, and gasped in horror as he decapitated the naga with a finishing blow. Standing quietly amongst the flames, Artemisia suddenly declared, "Agh!" Whirling about, she darted over to Epunamun, where she found him still unconscious.

"I think that thing, whatever it was, killed everyone onboard, Omero. We need to get off this ship soon before it starts taking on water. There might be something valuable in the captain's quarters that Emilio might want. I'll go look if you help get him onto the boat below." Artemisia looked around for the other sailor, and didn't see him anywhere.

"He might be in the dingy still, the other sailor." She wearily said as she glanced over to the captain's room. It was always easy to spot in large ships such as this, because it was on the uppermost deck with one door. A perfect view of the ocean and easy access to the wheel. There might be letters, or maps, or even gold or trinkets in the captain's quarters.

"Your going to go in there"? Omero said as he looked towards the burning stern of the ship. It looked as if it was going to collapse at any minute.

"Are you mad? How will you even know what you are looking for"? Omero exclaimed as he lifted Epunamun's over his shoulders; the American was much lighter than Omero had originally anticipated.

"I have to try!" Artemisia cried defiantly. With Epunamun over Omero's shoulder, Artemisia took off for the stern. The fire had grown horrendously hot in a short amount of time. The flames were tall and licked at the masts above. She skittered over broken, charred planks and emerged unscathed at the captain's quarters. Reaching out, she felt the heat of the fire through the door and lifted the hem of her trousers to turn the knob. The door swung inward, revealing a dead, and badly burned captain sprawled over his desk, blood pouring from his ear.
The smoke was thick as Artemisia covered her mouth, coughing as she went. She glanced at what she grabbed, several letters with an envelope seal stamped with an insignia, and anything else that looked in important, and mainly anything that wasn't scorched or turned to cinders.
Just as she was making her way out of the captain's quarters, with the fire raging around her, a beam from above broke away and struck her squarely in her arm, sending up a shower of bright orange coloured cinders. Artemisia yelped aloud, and gritted her teeth, she pushed onward, racing across the deck to get back to Omero and Epunamun. When she reached the side railing, a board had dropped across, linking the two ships together.
Tucking the papers into her corset, Artemisia took her first step onto the plank one of the sailors held it place, she could actually see onto the deck of the other ship, they were so close. Her face was covered in ash from the fallen beam, and the look in her eyes read of hope. Her eyes were red and bloodshot from the smoke, and the look on her face suggested she was more tired from their excursion with the naga encounters.

Omero turned to the one sailor still on deck, "Help me carry him across, the last we need is dropping him in the water." The two men came together, carrying the wild American between them. Once on the other side Omero waited for Artemisia to cross. He heard a shout go up, and turned his head to face Artemisia; her eyes were blood shot and face was covered in soot as she came across the boarding plank. She held one arm tightly against her torso, signifying she had hurt herself in her escapade.

"Artemisia, I need to take a look at your arm"

Artemisia grimaced weakly as she stepped of the plank, but she did not deny him. She rolled her shirt sleeve up herself as gingerly as possible, and displayed the wound to him. Artemisia could see the shadow that fell across her arm, and tipped her head back to shift it, "Look, tell me quickly, is it bad?"

Her voice trembled as she spoke, the throbbing from her arm would have to wait for the doctor to treat it. Her silvery eyes were shut tightly in pain as she waited for Omero's diagnosis.

Omero observed the wound; Artemsia's arm had been badly burnt and severely bruised. The wound wasn't fatal but Omero knew that Artemsia was in a lot of pain.

"The wound maybe painful but it's not going to kill you" Omero said light-heartedly; trying his best not to worry Artemsia, "Just rest and keep still until we can get you to the doctor

Once he told her that she would survive, Artemisia relinquished all feelings of despair and fell against him, exhausted. Right now, a drink of cool water would quench her thirst.

Alastair spent the day away from other members of the crew, taking refuge in one of the lower levels of the ship where he could find solace. He found himself tucked in a corner, surrounded by barrels of salted meat, where he was well hidden from view. It wasn’t the most comfortable or light of places, but then that seemed to suit his mood. He sat with his back uncomfortably propped up against a rough wooded beam with his leg bent and his right stretched out.

“Could he be after him?” he asked himself, his brows furrowed in frustration. He let out a sigh and let his head gently fall back against the beam behind him. He let his eyelids slide down and encase his world in serene darkness, a small comfort at times. Alastair doubted that the inquisitor knew who he was and therefore could not see why Omero would lie, but he knew better to trust his kind. He had seen their evil for himself…

---

Nérac, France – 10 years ago
“Ah! Alastair! There you are!” came a frantic and withered voice from the darkness. Alastair carefully placed down the heavy sack of grapes and turned to see William, the owner of the vineyard panicked and covered in sweat.

“William? What’s wrong?” Alastair asked as the man caught his breath. He was concerned to see the man that had given him work, food and a roof, in such a state. He had been working on Williams farm for a couple of weeks by that time, and had quickly quite fond of his host and his family.

“Maisy! Have you seen her? She went out to play with Louis, the neighbours boy, this morning but has still not returned.” It was only as he explained the situation that Alastair could fathom the fear in the man’s eyes. It was a fear that he himself knew. “My oldest boy thinks he might have seen her go into the forest, so we’re heading out there now.”

Alastair placed his hand on his friends shoulder to comfort him as he spoke, “It’s OK William, we’ll find her. You know what kids are like. Have you spoken to Louis’ father? Made sure that the kids aren’t on his farm?”

William shrugged off the hand from his shoulder, although not in anger. “Yes, they are not there. Robert’s at the gates; he’s going to go into town to look for them whilst the rest of us scour the forest.”

Alastair rubbed his beard, his calloused hands much rougher than his wiry greying hair. “I’ll go with him; I don’t know the woods enough to be of much help. And it’ll take more than one man to give the town a good searching.”



“That’s a fire! Do you think the towns under attack?” Robert was a large man, the epitome of masculinity with a low gruff voice. But in that moment he seemed as fragile and vulnerable as the youngest of girls. “My son could be in there!”

Alastair stared at the small glow in the near distance. The flame itself was not visible, and only a small trail of smoke was beginning to form in the sky above it. “That’s no large fire. Maybe a small house fire at best. If the town was under attack we’d hear the commotion from hear.”

Robert looked silently into Alastairs eyes for a moment as a strange sound carried over the wind, “…All I hear is cheering?” The two quickened their pace towards the town, breaking out into a light but manageable jog. As they drew ever closer the unusual sound of cheering grew louder, filling both men with a feeling of uneasiness. They were but a hundred metres away from the town’s closest buildings when a small boy appeared from the bushes and began to run towards them.

“Louis!” exclaimed Robert, his eyes tearing up. He held out his arms before embracing his son in a tight hug. The young boy was covered in dirt and had red around his eyes from where he’d obviously been crying a lot. “My son, what happened? Where have you been?”

The young boy took a couple of minutes to subdue his crying enough to let his words out. “We-we went to town to see the market. Then we started playing hide and seek.” the boy’s sobbing intensified for a moment before he continued, “Maisy was looking for me when this man grabbed her in the alley. He started hitting her and taking her clothes off!” At that the boy once again broke into large sobs, his breathing becoming difficult. Alastair’s fists clenched in anger, his knuckles quickly glowing white.

“Louis, what happened to Maisy? Where is she now?” Alastair didn’t mean to be insensitive, but they needed to find the girl.

“The man’s wife caught him with Daisy! He said that she made him do it – he called her a demon! He dragged her to the priest!

That was all Alastair needed to hear to piece the rest together. His eyes opened in horror as he looked back towards the town, the flames and the cheering. “No…” he whispered before his voice turned into a roar, “No!” Alastair’s legs began sprinting as hard as they could towards the commotion, with each powerful stride carrying him at an almost painful speed. It wasn’t fast enough though; it never could have been. As Alastair turned the last corner and found himself in the towns square, he saw a sight that would forever be etched in his memory. Atop a small mound stood a tall flaming pyre, with a small blackened figure fastened to its base. Beside it a zealous priest in an inquisitors robes bellowed out the ‘words of God’ to his fanatic audience, denouncing the ‘succubus’ and any other demons that tried to tempt the innocent into premarital sex or adultery.

“What have you done?” thundered Alastair, causing the crowd’s eyes to fall onto him.

The inquisitor smiled in response, the firelight dancing off his face giving him a menacing look. “We have killed a demon my child. A creature of evil!”

Alastair drew his khopesh in a slow motion and begun slicing into his skin, ensuring that everyone could see what he was doing. “I’ll show you a creature of evil…”

---

Alastair stood with the other able members of the crew on top the main deck of the Bitch as she sailed closer to the burning pirate ship. It was hard to see what was happening with the great flames dancing in the otherwise pitch black expanse of ocean. What was clear however was that the enemy ship carried with it death; the horrid stench of burning flesh and hair swept across the air and brought back the fresh memories of Sintra to many on board. Alastair narrowed his eyes to try and better see what was happening, but could only make out distorted silhouettes. He would have tried to use his Raven’s Eye were he not surrounded by so many people.

“Get some boards ready!” he yelled out as a thought crossed his mind, “If our comrades are still alive they’ll need a hasty exit!” Although he certainly held no position of authority, those nearest to him quickly shuffled away before laying some boards beside him. He nodded to and clasped the shoulders of some of the men in gratitude; some of which he recognised as drinking buddies from his first night aboard the ship. Alastair spun his head in search of the Captain, and saw Emilio barking orders to those responsible for steering the ship. Alastair noticed that many kept their eyes on the Captain, waiting for the charismatic leader to give fresh orders and walk them through what was about to come. Turning back to the enemy ship, Alastair was finally able to see what was causing such chaos – a Naga. He knew of such monsters, although he had not encountered any himself.

“Get these boards across!” Alastair barked yet again as the other ship got within range, leading the way with one of the boards. It was clear that the Captain was shouting out similar orders as other groups did the same. Between the dark of night, the crashing on the waves against the ship, and the flames ahead, it was still hard to see exactly what was going on and what the best course of action was.

“They’ve killed it!” yelled someone with a better view.

“Don’t board their ship! Their coming back across” yelled Leonard, who suddenly appeared beside him.

Moments later Epu, Omero, Artemisia and another sailor appeared on the other side of the board that Alastair had helped push across. When it was clear that Epu was injured Alastair quickly dashed forward and scooped up the man’s legs, making it easier to carry him back to safety. It seemed like only seconds passed before the Bitch was suddenly moving again and drifting away from their would-be attackers. Alastair turned and assessed the other two. Omero seemed mostly fine, with his blade covered in what must have been the Naga’s blood. Artemisia seemed injured and was now occupying the aforementioned’s attention.

“Let me take that for you.” insisted Alastair subtly, relieving Omero of his rapier so that he could tend to the young woman. Luckily it seemed like the inquisitor was more concerned with her to take too much notice of Alastair, who quickly disappeared with the blade and the monster’s blood.