"Are they pirates?" Emmaline asked, instantly worried after her previous encounter with slavers of the coast of Tilea. The Captain grunted and looked unwell. Ignoring the wizard for the moment he turned and bellowed to his men.
"Bring her about south southwest, keep her a point of the wind, lateen rigs don't handle that well. Get every scrap of canvas we have aloft, I want handkerchiefs flying from the ends of the yards yesterday, move you cursed fools!" he bawled before slaming his spyglass closed so hard Emmaline worried he had broken it.
"Not pirates," he said in a somber voice, "Elves."
Emmaline looked to Amal but he, like her, was literally at sea. There had been elves at the College of Magic, usually snotty and aloof, talking to the senior wizards and generally ignoring all other humans. Emmaline had never spoken to one before.
"If they are Elves why are we running away?" Emmaline pressed. Already Destrier was coming about, hardening up on a course back towards Lustria where her big square sails could catch more wind than the triangular ones of the ship that was apparently pursuing them. Canvas seemed to be sprouting on every inch of timber and the slap of wind blown canvas grew more deafening as more and more was rolled out.
"Not those Elves," The Captain said, thrusting his hands in his pockets to conceal visible shaking.
"The bad ones." Emmaline felt the blood drain from her face. There were tales of a dark strain of elves who lived somewhere far to the north, raiding and pillaging and carrying of whole villages for some unknown purpose. Rumors abounded of dark blood soaked alters and hideous rites to forgotten gods. It was a topic that wizards were advised not to broach with their erudite and cultured visitors though Emmaline didn't know why it was such a sore topic.
"Can we outrun them?" Emmaline asked nervously. The captain glanced back over his shoulder. Already the Dark Elf ship was closer and Emmaline could almost make out figures on its deck.
"I certainly intend to try," the captain answered soberly.
The Doomsayers spoke of the End of Days approaching the world, and though they had been saying it for generations, the news that traveled showed the claims had merit. The winds of chaos flowed ever more strongly these days, and there had been increasing attacks on shipping lanes and the shores of the Old World by the 'Elves'. In their haughtiness, the Elves of Ulthuan never made it public knowledge to the Men and Dwarfs of the Old World there had even been a Sundering. But some sailors who had to deal with Elves had heard tale of their dark kin, who were behind the treachery of Elven slave raids.
Of course Amal had only heard stories, and he wasn't privvy to world events. All he knew was there was a grimness to the air, as if death and corruption radiated off the ships that looked to be closing fast. As the men scrambled, Amal took off his hat, sliding it inside his belt. He placed his foot on the deck railing and kicked up to grab one of the ropes, climbing like a monkey up higher to get a better view (and to keep an eye on Emmaline).
"Haul on the main brace, lads!" The Captain cried, clapping hard as the Quartermaster literally kicked the ass of a slow sailor to get him moving. Bottles spilled as crossbows, axes, and firearms were handed out to any that didn't have immediate duties. A few mercenaries were standing on the forecastle, holding boarding pikes. "Ready with those guns and throw anything overboard we can't eat, drink, or make a profit off of! Go!"
"Sir, should we turn back!?" The Bosun cried, wringing a line of rope around the aft mast. The entire crew stopped at once and turned to look at the Captain, who seemed to be on the verge of considering that or jumping overboard. There was a beat, and then he growled. "The wind'd be against us ye slack jawed idiots, now move afore they catch us on the cross stream!"
Amal felt his belt as the ship began to luff with the wind and churn in the sea. He felt a bit better he had his pistol there, powdered and ready. He'd never shot a firearm before, but he'd been shown back in port reaver how to load one, and he'd seen them being fired before in Al-Hiekk. As long as he kept his hand steady, he'd do fine.
The clouds overhead passed them by and the sun began to shine again, dispelling some of the doom that the people onboard felt at their predicament. Amal had always loved the sun, even in a land of perpetual heat. He looked down and spotted Emmaline's golden hair among the men, and his eyes turned across the boat over into the water. His gaze passed over a large school of fish below sweeping below the ship, and then his eye caught the end of the long school to see a massive serpentine tail.
Amal's eyes widened and his heart lurched when he realized that wasn't a school of fish at all. The shape was dark and as large as a whale, moving with a cruel will that was now out of sight. Amal wondered for a moment if it was the sea serpent that had aided he and Emmaline those days ago to the shore, but his heart told him otherwise. He grabbed ahold of the rope harder and called down to the Captain below.
"Under the ship!" He cried, his voice lost over the wind. He saw Warhem and Emmaline look up at him inquisitively. "Under the ship! A beast!"
He hadn't even finished his last word before the ship lurched and grounded along something, as if they had bumped into a sandbar. The Arabyan was portside, and he turned to see if he could find whatever had been under them before an explosion of flesh and churning sea water erupted out of the water on the starboard side. The thing rose so high out of the water it matched Amal's level, and he guessed he was six meters above the deck.
"Hoog!"
A Sea Dragon of Naggaroth, limbless save fins and as thick as four masts together. It was as terrible to look upon as a Carnosaur of Lustria. The dull, sea colored scales shined brightly, nearly blinding Amal in the sun for a moment. Atop the beasts head was a figure, lithe and graceful. It was an Elf, with dark hair and a deathly ill pallor to the color of its skin. His features were chiseled and striking, and Amal saw an intense hatred in his eyes as he called out in a foreign tongue to the beast.
"Hoog!" The dragon growled gutturally, and slammed its head onto the deck, cracking timber and swallowing two of the crew members whole. Men wailed and pointed, aiming their crossbows and arquebuses at the sea monster. Those that didn't miss out of panic seemed like bee stings to the beast, only truly enraging it. Like lightning it struck again, its maw taking a screaming man and biting him in half, crushing two others that had been standing beside him.
Compared to the monster, Amal's pistol seemed flimsy. So he did the next best thing.
Emmaline stared up at the sea wyrm in horror. The mark of the Goddess was completely dormant and the fleeting hope that she might be able to exert some power over the thing faded before it had even taken root. She started up at in horror as blood jetted from its mouth as its jaws shredded the unfortunate crew members. The cruel looking elf sitting atop the thing smiled triumphantly for a moment before a bloody red splash appeared on his forehead and he toppled from the saddle, his body executing a quater turn in the air before it struck the railing on the weather deck with a crack audible even over the roaring of the beast. As the limp body tumbled into the surging water the beast went berserk. Striking out like an avenging angel at the ship which had claimed the life of its master. Lines parted like twine and masts shattered at their steps, dragging the sails in the rigging down in a tangle of utter ruination. Emmaline wracked her brain for some spell or incantation that might help, but fighting sea dragons hadn't really been something she had prepared for. Perhaps in the Golden City she might have done something, but out here on the open sea she was powerless.
"Amal we need to get the car..." she began before the dragon lunged at her, its vast fishy maw yawning. A falling spar fouled its strike but the sail attached to it caught Emmaline across the stomach and sent her sailing through the air. She grabbed at the bulwark and managed to hook her fingers onto it long enough to arrest her motion and leave her hanging over the side of the ship, staring down at the churning waters below.
"Help!" she yelled, but before anyone could respond the tail of the beast smashed the railing that she clung to to kindling and she plummeted towards the ocean. Strong hands grabbed her wrists and brought her up so suddenly it felt as though her shoulders were being wrenched from her sockets. Daring to open her eyes she saw the engineer, Makem, leaning out of a porthole and gripping her with both hands.
"Hang on missy," he told her, eyes wide with terror and exertion. With a few heaves he pulled her up through the porthole and she fell on her rump in the engine room. Despite the fact that the coal which had been used to fuel the furnace had spilled from its bins, there seemed to be little damage down here, which was a good thing given the pressure that the steam in the boiler was under. Emmaline stared up at the ductwork and then glanced to the porthole. Leaping to her feet she picked up a shovel and hammered the duct free then began to chant the words of a spell.
"What are you..." Makem began and then cringed back in horror as he realised she was working a spell. The ductwork seemed to sag, growing almost organic as it twisted to face the port hole. It grew rigid as the spell finished and Emmaline began another one, this one a simple party trick, dozens of balls of golden light spewing from her finger tips and out of the port hole. There was a roar from the dragon that made her guts clench and then its maw appeared biting at the porthole. Emmaline threw the emergency release valve and there was a roar like a thousand kettles coming to a boil at once and a great gout of steam exploded into the creatures open mouth. There was a roar of pain, so loud that it literally drove Emmaline to her knees, covering her ears to save her hearing, and there was a reek like crabs being boiled before a feast. There followed a tremendous splash, as the monster, its mouth and throat blistered an burned, dived back into the deeps.
The roar was at least two dozen feet away, and yet the powerful breath of the giant monster suddenly hit the thief with the force of a blow. He accidentally let go of the rope and plummeted, falling ten feet before hitting a rope below him and rolling to catch it. The burn of the catch seared into his hands, but he held firm and watched with satisfaction as the Sea Dragon sank beneath the waves to quench itself from what had to be a trick from Emmaline. That woman never ceased to amaze him.
Grunting, he swung his body backwards and then forwards, hooking his legs around the rope he dangled on to ease the pressure on his cut hands. He grabbed his saber hilt, unsheathing the blade and swiping it. The rope he held onto was cut in twain, sending him in a swing to land safely onto the deck with what remained of the ship and the crew. Water mingled with blood on the ruined wood at his feet, and every few meters there was a crack on the deck from the Dragon's strikes.
He saw the Captain face down on the deck, weakly placing his hands under him to get off his chest. Amal knelt down and helped him up as best he could. "That thing ate the Bosun," The Captain grimaced, making it to his feet roughly. "Damn, I'd call us to the lifeboats but Sigmar knows they'd spot and catch them too if the beast didn't come to devour them whole." It seemed a hopeless situation, and by Allah it likely was. The masts above were tattered remnants of what they once were and the ship seemed all too vulnerable now.
"Perhaps if we get the engine going again-" Amal began before a scything wind passed by him. He knew immediately it was no natural wind, and looked up to see the mast that had been wrecked was now completely cut in half. A small boom echoed in the distance, and both he and the Captain turned to see more of what had passed overhead. The dark ships, now far closer, began to unleash a barrage of kunai-like blades that spun in the air faster than the eye could see. One man was sliced in half like a sword cutting through a weed stalk, and the projectile continued until it cleanly cut through part of the deck and a bit of the railing behind the bisected man.
The first lateen sloop suddenly began to spin, having dropped the starboard anchor. The Destrier was still moving, but only out of momentum. Soon it would be merely adrift, and it seemed as if the Dark Elves were now showing off at the near stranded ship. "They're club hauling!" The Captain cried, looking around for the quartermaster, who Amal had the unfortunate experience to have seen eaten alive.
Knowing they had little time, he gave the order himself. Drawing his cutlass, he raised it in the air. "Fire cannons!" He cried. Silence on deck followed. Amal and the topside crew were disturbed at the Druchii's long, screaming faces as they came face to face along the starboard side of the ship. Somehow they were both beautiful and sinfully terrible to look upon with their too-long fingers and oddly high cheek bones, as if they were parodies of what the race of men might find sexually appealing. Amal knew he hadn't the time to reload his pistol and instead backed away to go and find Emmaline just as the Elves began to swing grappling hooks to board.
Horribly loud echoes tore through the air and billowing smoke shot out as what remained of the cannons were finally unleashed. Two Dark Elves exploded in a mass of gore just as their ship suddenly was pierced in four different places. It hadn't destroyed or even crippled the sloop, but what men were left alive in the Destrier cried out as their morale was boosted and they drew swords and ranged weapons, crying for the Elves to have a taste. Most of them didn't realize that the other sloop was quietly running around behind them. @Penny
Emmaline staggered up the companionway, her hair frizzled and her skin blotched with soot from the unplanned discharge of the steam engine. She covered her ears against the booming cannons, even though they seemed muted compared to the screaming of the scalded sea dragon. Screams echoed from the upper decks as the Dark Elves began to gain the deck, curved swords in hand. She reached the deck in time to see a six foot bolt pluck a crew member from the deck and pitch him into the churning sea arms flailing.
"Amal!" she shouted, scanning the chaos and ruin of the deck for her lover. Elves, armored in strange scaled mail, were swarming aboard. Heavy nets were draped over the arms of some which they began to cast over struggling crew members.
"No, no, no!" Emmaline cried, casting her eyes around desperately, finally she found Amal crossing blades with one of the corsairs. Snatching a belaying pin she hopped up behind the elf and swung the wooden club in a full arc that ended in the creatures helmet with an unhealthy crunch, sending the creature tumbling to the deck bonelessly.
"We have to find the carpet and get out of here!" she cried.
The Dark Elf was by far the best swordsman he had ever fought. Not that he had a lot of dueling experience himself, but he imagined wielding a blade for decades if not centuries made one very familiar with it. The Elf sneered mockingly, his hair tied in a bun to keep it out of his eyes. It took all of Amal's agility and cunning to keep the corsair's sword at bay, and good fortune along with Emmaline in all of her glory saved his life as the Dark Elf fell onto the deck without a sound.
Amal grabbed Emmaline's hand and turned, at the corner of his vision he saw the Captain get gutted, crimson colored entrails spilling along the wooden deck. "Come on!" He yelled, pulling her with him desperately. Amal knew the carpet was their only option of getting out of there as Emmaline said. Unfortunately for them, they only took 3 steps towards the stairway leading belowdecks before a net fell upon them. Emmaline screamed in distress and Amal reached for his blade to cut them out, but he found the net followed his arm and gave him limited range of motion.
To his horror, it clung to their skin like a spider web. A mad cackling erupted behind them as the two were suddenly yanked off their feet to hit the floor of the deck hard. Amal tried twist and keep Emmaline's fall from being as rough, but he couldn't move and they both found heavy bruises on their bodies. Beyond Emmaline he saw the last sailors being mercilessly slaughtered as the rest were cornered by net throwers. At first the Arabyan wanted to rip out of the strange net and loudly proclaim he would never be enslaved again. But he knew how best to act when it came to these sorts, elf or man.
"Emmaline," he said to her in a hushed tone as they began to get dragged. He didn't know if they were going to be put together or be apart. He didn't know where they were being taken. The thief only knew they had precious few moments before... "Emmaline, listen to me! Don't fight them. We'll get out of this. I promise." He said. "Do what they say and you'll live. I will get us out!" Dark Elven voices spoke beyond their vision in their strange, alien tongue. Some of them might speak Riekspiel or even Arabyan, but likely only the more educated ones and the slave drivers themselves, not these riff-raff. They knew only to capture and butcher whoever they came across.
"Look at me, Em...Look at me!" He cried hoarsly as he felt the feet of their captors approaching. He couldn't hold her hand but he tried to reach for her anyway. His fingers could only likely scrape the floorboard. Seconds before they were knocked out, his eyes met hers.
Emmaline awoke in darkness. Her first impulse was to reach for her magic but something cold burned at her wrists and the winds of magic seemed to flow around her as though she were a natural void. Tentatively she tried to flex her wrists but found they were bound behind her back. She was naked save for the bindings and she could feel the sea breeze against her bare bottom as she tried to sit up. It took a few moments before her eye adjusted enough to the darkness to make out vague shapes. She was in a hold, apparently alone and fastened to the deck by a chain connected to her cuffs. Of Amal or any of the other crew members there was no sign. Above her she could hear dimly muffled voices speaking what she presumed was the Elven tongue.
"Ranald, have mercy on thieves and rogues," she muttered in Reikspiel trying in vain to pull herself to her feet. As though summoned by the sound a door opened at the end of the hold and a handsome looking elf in fine silks stepped through, holding a lantern that cast a faint sourcless light from within its angled crystal facets. He crossed the empty hold to stand over her.
"So this is the mighty mage who killed Ke'redian," he asked in intelligible if strangely accented Reikspiel. He paused for a moment.
"Yes, I speak your tongue, does that surprise you?" he asked with lofty contempt.
"You and a hundred thousand peasants who can barely wipe their own asses," she replied, forgetting Amal's advice to comply almost immediately. The Elf started slightly and then slapped her hard across the face, stunning her momentarily.
"You will learn some respect! Ke'redian had swum these oceans since before your kind learned to build mud huts," the elf snarled.
"We all get careless in our old age I guess," she responded. Ke'redian was obviously the name these evil elves had given to the sea dragon. The blast of steam must have proved fatal, even if not immediately so, which she supposed was good news, though she could find little immediate comfort in the fact.
"Impudent cow," the Elf snapped, "You will soon learn some respect!" He grabbed her right nipple and twisted hard with his sharp fingernails. Emmaline screamed and tried to double up but the bindings prevented her from moving. Tears started in her eyes as she clamped her mouth shut determined not to give her captor the satisfaction.
"If it weren't for the fact that you are worth a fortune where we are going, I would cut pieces off you and feed you to yourself until you were nothing but a blind lump of flesh," the elf hissed, finally releasing her nipple and then patting her bosom like a farmer slapping a cow of which he was fond.
"But don't worry, I will make sure that your voyage is unpleasant enough that you beg for the hell I will sell you into when it ends." With that the elf straightened and sauntered from the room, closing Emmaline into the darkness once more.
First Amal felt the aching in his limbs. Next his head began to throb as he tried to move it. The Arbyan groaned and at last opened his eyes. There was a cough across the room and a small wail closer to him. He felt the chamber was both dark and yet too bright at the same time, understanding it was likely a side effect of him being clobbered on the head. Squinting, he saw the room was filled with men, and even some women, chained to the walls and bound by the feet. Above Amal on the opposite wall was a small opening that shined in the sunlight the soft sloshing of the sea as the ship sailed.
He felt wet on his feet and buttocks. At first he feared he wet himself but it turned out the entire floor was soaked with fetid seawater. When his mind caught up with him, he looked around for Emmaline, but to no avail. He felt a bit too weak to try and pick his way out of the manacles that held him, but he wasn't certain he could even if he was at full vitality. His fingers feeling about the lock told him it was an alien device that was much different than the ones in Araby.
"Satrap Ahar? By Sigmar is that you?"
Amal blinked and turned from where the familiar voice came from. As he lived and breathed, he never thought he'd see Sir Brenly the Empire man again. Amal's jaw dropped, and he had to keep himself from laughing triumphantly! The old codger was drenched and sickly looking, but he was alive. Chained just as Amal was, four prisoners down. His mustache was so drooped, he had the look of a downtrodden schnauzer.
"Sir Brenly? How..." Amal tried to find the right words. "How long have you been on this ship?"
"Since the sinking of the El Calgador, I'm afraid. Or a day past that. I was floating for awhile..." He said, and Amal was shaking his head. This old man had lived through the storm, the sea, and on a ship of torturous Dark Elves for near 10 days. Another drop of water splashed along Amal's head, causing him to look above him past a myriad of hooks with strange parchments hanging upon it. The Dark Elves likely kept the 'cargo' hold in disrepair just to mess with their captives. "It does my heart well to see you alive."
"Did anyone else live from the storm?" Amal asked him. All of the other prisoners were asleep or two driven by fear to speak, looking between Brenly and Amal with horror in their eyes. Amal was about to find out why.
"Yes, my lord." The old knight replied drearily. "Captain Diego and a few of the lads were afloat with me and ended up on the ship. They were in here same as us until the dark ones thought they might have a bit of sport. They..." Sir Brenly trembled, just after Amal had the theory that nothing could daunt the old man. "They did unspeakable things to them, my boy. Unspeakable. I almost wouldn't have been able to believe it myself even after seeing it, had they not left a reminder."
Amal's brow furrowed, confused. He saw Sir Brenly looking up at the center of the ceiling, Amal following his gaze until he spotted the hooks again. They looked like a crude chandelier with parchments hanging on the hooks. Parchments about headsized, with five holes in them and some protrusions. Amal blinked again and looked hard at the one nearest to him. The thief had seen many things in his life, but he felt a chill run down his spine when he realized what he was looking at.
He was looking straight at Captain Diego's shorn off face.
"We're heading north now, I believe." Sir Brenly said. "And once we reach the Black Ark they speak of...there will be no escape." @Penny
Despite his brutal threats, emphasized by her throbbing breast the Captain, as she assumed he must had not returned by the time night had fallen. How she could tell the sun had set she did not know other than that the quality of the light had increased in its blackness. Emmaline struggled futiley with her bonds but found that creatures so used to taking slaves had become exceedingly good at securing them. The manacles that bound here seemed to have small metal spikes which faced downwards like fishooks so they bit into her flesh if she tried to push the cuffs down. Bloodied and sore she gave the effort up after several hours and sat miserably, wondering if Amal was on the ship or if he was even alive. What had become of the carpet, or of her staff? Were they the treasure of some corsair now? Something slithered against he wrist and she looked down in shock to find the cobra nuzzling against her wrist. She blinked in confusion, in the past it had hidden itself as a tattoo though in the chaos of the battle she hadn't noticed what had become of it.
"Hey there," she whispered, leaning down no nuzzle the creatures hooded head with her cheek. She felt its tiny forked tounge flicker over her cheek and felt considerably better for reasons she couldn't quite articulate.
"I don't suppose there is anyway you can get these cuffs of me?" she asked, pulling vainly against the restraints. The cobra slithered around behind her and coiled around her wrists for a few moments before returning and shaking its head. She sighed, it was to much to ask, esspecially seeing the damned things seemed to dampen magic. She peered at her familiar for a moment. At least she could ask it to bite the captain if he came back, the elf likely had access of magic and anti-venom of his own though, so it probably wouldn't accomplish much. If only she could get these cursed cuffs off but there was no way to pull them down. Metal was supposed to be her ally wasn't it, she couldn't let a little elven craftsmanship defeat her. Emmaline sighed, she wasn't much of a wizard under the best of circumstances and right now her magical talents were utterly confounded. Well if not magic, then perhaps tricks of a different kind.
"Do you think you could find Amal?" she asked the serpent. The familiar lifted itself up and tasted the air with its tongue once more then nodded its head gravely. Emmaline felt immediate relief that he was alive even if it meant he too was in chains.
"I need you to find him, tell him I need chainmail, or some of the scaly stuff the elves were wearing, just a little, can you do that?" The snake nodded once more then sank to the deck and slithered off. How the serpent would convey the information to the thief she had no idea, but if he could help her, perhaps she could get out of this yet.
The day turned to night, and still Amal had seen hide nor hair of any Dark Elf. Soon he wondered if he would starve, but seeing as Sir Brenly was still alive, they likely fed and watered the prisoners on certain days. To his dismay, he discovered his feet were bound not by shackles but by the very stuff the net had been made out of. Either they had smaller versions of the strange item or they cut all of the net off of him save the trappings on his ankles and feet.
Off and on he found himself nodding off every so often, the world going from grey to darkness as the sun set. Unfortunately for his sleep, the ship had turned in the night and mannslieb shined through the upper window, spilling eerie light onto Amal's form, as if he and the two prisoners next to him were on a soft spotlight. He had tried for hours and hours to unlock the shackles to him with one of the many concealed pins he kept on himself. He felt he almost had it, but once he could feel the first mechanism springing, he realized he didn't know where he'd go from there. Better to wait until the Dark Elves are under the impression that no one had the will to escape, and then do his best to find Emmaline and if he could, help Sir Brenly escape as well.
As he closed his eyes once again, he found he noticed a small flickering on the light that shined in. He paid it no mind and did his best to fall back asleep, away from the aches of his current situation. It wasn't until he felt something small tickle his arm that his eyes flew open and he turned to see Emmaline's snake!
"What are you doing here(!)?" He whispered as loudly as he dared. The Cobra simply looked up at him, cocking its head to the side in an almost dog-like fashion. He didn't understand what was happening, but he could cry if he wasn't worried over being further dehydrated. Emmaline was alive and that was all that mattered. Perhaps if they could somehow find the carpet and whatever else Emmaline had, items no doubt stores somewhere in the ship, they could bust out of here.
"Look, go and tell Emmaline I'm thinking of a plan, ok?" He asked the snake, but instead of nodding it slithered over to his hands and flicked it tongue once more. Amal halted his thoughts.
"Why're...wait...are you wanting to unlock my shackles?" He asked, but instead the snake gently grasped the small iron lockpick in his hands. It was strange, but he wasn't going to argue. It poked the lightly woven chainmail he had on underneath his nearly torn tunic. Amal tried to look, not quite understanding what it wanted. "The lockpick? I need that." He argued quietly. It pocked his chainmail again with it, and tried to pry a bit of it off of him with its fangs. Realization dawned on him, remembering Emmaline's magical expertise.
"Just use the lockpick, it's iron." He told it, but the snake insistently yanked at the chain at his torso. "Ok ok..." He opened his hand to take back the iron lockpick. The snake dropped it in his hand and he began to carve a bit of the small steel rings off at the weakpoints, more unwounding them than cutting persay. Chainmail, as most things, could be unbound if you knew how. Silently the familiar grabbed a small 'chain' of rings and moved over to his lap and gave a bow to him, very formally. The snake had better manners than he did, he thought.
"Tell her I'll be ready when she is..." He told the snake, but it gave no indication it heard him.
It turned and made its way across the small pond in the center of the brig and slithered up and out the window once more, gone from his eyes. He slumped, knowing he couldn't possibly sleep after that. @Penny
Emmaline lay in a heap, attempting to curl up into a ball that her restraints made impossible. The beating she had received for biting the Dark Elf Captain had been severe. Fortunately he had been to angry to do a more thorough job of it and in any case after the first dozen kicks and blows it had all kind of flowed together. In the aftermath the pain and humiliation of it kept her conscious even though her body yearned for rest and oblivion. She had almost managed to pass out when a familiar hiss and a clatter of metal roused her. The cobra deposited the chainmail proudly before her and then slithered up over her arm and down her back, sinking into her skin to become the serpent tattoo once again.
"Thank you," she whispered and shifted her rump around so that her bound hands could take hold of the patch of chainmail. Slowly and painfully she pushed down into her cuffs, forcing the flanged metal to slid up her arm, scraping the skin raw. With slow awkwardness, she fed the edge of the chainmail into the small space between the rim of the cuff, wrapping it around her wrist so that the links foiled the sharpened points within the cuffs. The process took nearly an hour, but eventually she was certain that every point had slipped within a link. The process made the cuffs almost unbearably tight and blood ran from several gashes but she grit her teeth and continued. With the tips of the spikes wrapped she hooked the bottom edge of the chainmail to the stud to which she was chained.
"Ooooookay," she whispered to herself and before she could talk herself out of it she tried to leap to her feet, kicking of the deck with considerable force. Pain exploded from her wrist as one spike, less securely wrapped than the others tore into her arm but the remaining ones were yanked flush by the force of the links. She bit her tongue to avoid from crying out in pain, though tears started from her eyes. Glancing over her shoulder she saw that her efforts had not been in vain. The right cuff had slid down to where her hand flared out from her wrist. Carefully she pushed her hand down and slid the cuff a distance back up her wrist before pulling the chainmail free to give herself a few extra fractions of an inch, then pushed the cuff down again as far as it would go, rubbing her arm against her bleeding wrist to lubricate the process.
"Alright Apsath, a little help," she muttered and then yanked her left hand as hard as she could, skin scraped and she felt her thumb dislocate as the cuff slid over her hand and for a moment her vision wavered like a desert mirage, then, to her shock and surprise, her hand slipped free, minus a layer of skin in long reddish strips where the spikes had increased the pressure. Gasping in a combination of pain and relief she reached out for the winds of magic and found Charmon flickering weakly around her. Whispering a spell the touched the remaining cuff and the strange elven metal began to blacken and tarnish, a moment later it fell away into powder, centuries of decay exacted over a few seconds. Blood welled up from a long gash and dripped from her fingers as she shakily got to her feet. The first part of the plan was accomplished, but she still had to find some way to deal with a ship load of merciless dark elves. As though summoned by the mere thought she heard sudden footfalls outside the door and quickly flattened herself against a wall. The hatch opened and an elf, not the captain, stepped into the room carrying a bowl of gruel. His eyes widened in the brief moment it took Emmaline to place a palm against the side of his head and snap a word. The tip of a short lance of golden light erupted from the elf's opposite temple and he pitched forward. Emmaline caught the corpse and pulled it the rest of the way through the door, pulling the hatch closed as she did so, ear alert for an outcry. Fortunately a ship was a noisy place and even the sharp eared elven folk couldn't pick up every sound over the growns of timbers and the snap of sails.
"Ok, don't panic," she told herself. Methodically she stripped off the Elf's cloak and tunic, slipping them on. His trousers and boots she left as too ill fitting and it was obvious that any attempt to pose as an elf was doomed to failure. There was a hooked sword and a curved dagger as well maybe she could... Emmaline froze frowning. She was no fighter, and there was no way she was going to sneak past the crew to wherever Amal was being held. This battle could not be won by brawn. It needed to be won by wits.
"Alright," she said to herself and took hold of the elf, heaving him over to the single opening that gave vent to the hold in which she was confined. Glancing outside she could see it was dark, and that the sea was rising. Maybe it was luck or maybe Mannan was talking pity on her after so many nautical misadventures. Artlessly she stuffed the dead elf out the porthole, the splash of his body hitting the waves lost in the roar of the sea. She pitched his clothing after him, all save for the dagger and the sword. Crossing back to where she had been confined she scooped up the remnants of the magical chain and scattered them into the ocean as well. Then she returned to where she had been chained and whispered another incantation, drawing the blood by its core of iron up from the deck and into a ball that floated before her like an apple, with a wave of her hand she sent it flying out into the ocean.
"Asp," she called giving the cobra a name for the first time. The creature slithered up over her back with a questioning look.
"I need you to heal my wounds," she said, holding forth her torn hands. The snake gave her a reproachful look.
"I promise I'll learn the spell when I have a chance," she said defensively. The snake gave what looked like a long suffering sigh.
"Ok here we go," she told it and reached out, not for Charmon as she had been taught, but for the flickering ember of jade magic which had danced on the edges of her vision since she had adsorbed the Opal in the forbidden city. It was slick and difficult to grasp but she managed it, feeding the thin flow into the serpent as she normally would feed Charmon into an incantation. A cool feeling settled over her hands and she glanced down to find them restored, though the bruises and contusions elsewhere remained unaffected.
"Perfect," she beamed at Asp and then sat down where she had been chained. Once more she began to chant under her breath and the Elven sword dissolved and flowed into the shape of the cuffs sliding up over her wrists and locking them back into place. Asp gave an alarmed hiss.
"I know what I am doing," she said defensively. The snake did not look convinced.
"Just you wait and see!"
The storm was well and truly rising and the ship slid up and plunged down the waves as the storm wind drove it north at half the speed of a galloping horse, the masterful artisanry of the elves allowing the vessel to slice keenly through the waters like a black arrow. The night had grown very black as the dark storm clouds obscured the stars. Around Amal many of the other prisoners, unable to take the rough seas, bent forward to vomit into the sea water, doing nothing to improve their wretched conditions. A sudden brush against the thief's leg caused him to look down as the head of Emmaline's cobra appeared from the six inches of water which sloshed around the slave deck. It blinked its eyes closed and when they opened the serpentine pupils were gone, replaced with orbs of gold.
"sssAmal..." the snake hissed in the best rendition of Emmaline's voice its serpentine mouth parts could produce.
"ssssIam freeeess, when sss ssstorm, ssat sits sieght, toucchhhhs thisss to the sssteel," the serpent hissed, it blinked its eyes back to reptilian slits, looked irritated, then blinked them back to gold once more. It's tail lifted from the water to reveal an elven knife that had been rather crudely marked with Reikish runes. It slipped the knife back under the water and pressed it into Amal's hand before dissappearing into the murk of the bilge.
"What," Sir Brenly asked staring at the thief in shock, "in the name of Breton's Balls was that?"
A useful device among unsavory wizards, The Master Key is a binding of the essence of destruction and decay into a physical object, usually a knife or blade of gold or other noble metal. Touching a Master Key to another metal surface will empty the entropic energies into that object, causing it to rust away to ruin in a matter of moments. Unfortunately the Key itself will also be destroyed in this process, a rather useful side effect when explaining to the city guardsmen that it was like that when you found it...
~Bradigeer's Compendia of Magical Tricker, Vol II, Altdorf Press
Amal blinked, aghast. He took the strange runic knife and the advice, though it took all of his willpower to not free himself then and there to go and find Emmaline. He glanced at Sir Brenly, the old codger staring in shock at Amal and the snake, and for good reason. The others in the slavehold seemed to pay very little mind except for one or two, and they looked more curious than alarmed or animated in any real fashion. They'd likely given up on freedom days ago.
"Sir Brenly, I've a confession to make." Amal said in riekspeil as the storm roared over them, wetting the floor ever more with gentle streams of water ebbing down onto the bilge. Amal was used to lying to people all the time. In fact he found it quite charming that Emmaline had made a living off of it, as problematic as some might likely think on his tastes. But when it came to truly honorable aquaintences or even friends, he did feel just a small twinge of guilt lying.
"I'm not a Satrap. I'm just a lowly thief, named Amal. The Princess is aboard this ship, but she is not a princess. She's a sorceress and my girlfriend. I'm sorry to have lied to you, but we needed passage on the El Cargador. I don't know you too well, but you're a more honest man than I'll likely be." He said, having no trouble admitting it. Being a scoundrel was just too much fun, though sometimes he did feel envious of those people with impeccable codes of honor. "Emmaline and I are leaving this ship. Can I count on you to join us?"
The portly gentleman glared at Amal with judgemental eyes, weighing him for a moment. The Arabyan kept quiet as the man just looked at him, before Sir Brenly broke the silence.
"My boy, you could be Vlad Von Carstein and I'd still leave this hellhole with you." He said.
Amal smiled broadly as the storm buffeted winds hard against the hull. He looked to the small opening and realized with the sloshes of water pouring in that it was time. Amal slowly placed the knife's strange steel along the strange Elvish manacles that held him fast, and to his amazement the medal began to erode. It was a strange feeling as some parts of the iron wore off and others held strong stubbornly for a few seconds before they too dissolved.
"Allah be merciful," He muttered as he reached for his wrists and felt along them, making sure he wasn't cut too badly. The lack of blood flow was all pins and needles, but it was better than not feeling anything at all.
"Bloody brilliant..." Sir Brenly breathed, and Amal crept his way over to the older man to help him with his shackles. @Penny
Emmaline cursed herself for not having come up with some better way to time her actions with Amal, though it was hard to see what she could have done. She had remained in her prison for several hours and though the Captain hadn't visited her again, probably being too busy with his ship to sport with his captive, a guard checked in on her every so often. Each time she merely sat, glaring at them in her ersatz restraints as the storm worsened. Finally she could stand it no longer and came to her feet. Asp, still a tattoo seemed to slither down her arm, the moving ink extremely disconcerting till it settled around her wrist. She mumbled the counterspell under her breath and the restraints melted away, flowing back into the form of the elvish sword. Picking the weapon up she crept to the hatch and pushed it open, steading herself on the heaving deck as she did so. As she expected the hall beyond was clear, in weather like this she expected all hands to be aloft.
She picked a direction at random, belatedly wishing she had interrogated Asp more closely as to Amal's location. Creeping along the corridor she passed what she imagined were officers quaters and stopped in one to steal a long silken shirt to hide her nakedness. The thing wouldn't do as a disguise, or any real protection from the weather, but it offered the mental protection that clothing provided. Reaching the rear of the ship she found what must have been the officers wardroom and snagged a block of cheese from a cabinet. Hoping that Dark Elves didn't make cheese from anything particularly awful, she took a bite and found it sharp and agreeable, and a balm to her empty and now cramping stomach. The sound of wind suddenly increased and she ducked into the mess a second before a drenched elf came down a stairway, heading for her prison. She waited a moment and then stepped out behind him. The elf must have sensed the motion because he began to pivot in time to see her two handed stroke come down, the clumsy slash catching him between neck and shoulder. There was a jarring in her wrist as the razored elven blade bounced of his shoulder blade and the Elf reeled back with a gasp of pain. Emmaline delivered two more wild slashes at the crippled elf, managing to slice of an ear and gash him across the crown before she finally shove the point into his chest. Even so the elf didn't die quickly, his elegant hands scrabbling at the blade for long moments until blood gouted from his lips and he stiffened.
Without waiting to check the body she vaulted up the stairs and lifted the hatch cover every so slight. WInd and rain lashed in at her and she had a brief impression of wild rolling seas light by lightning. SHe was at the rear of the ship, below the deck where the wheel was located, if elves used such things. Along the deck she could see elves heaving at ropes and others skipping through the rigging. The second ship was visible ahead of them and off to port perhaps two hundred yards, a dark shape barely visible through the spray.
Amal wasn't entirely certain what Emmaline expected to happen; If she would appear in a puff of smoke or there would suddenly be an explosion on the opposite end of the ship. She hadn't told him to wait around either, so once he set Sir Brenly free he helped him up and made his way to the door. The old former knight rubbed his wrists and grumbled and bebothered. He might have once been a great soldier but the last decade or two spent in wealth had him mumbling at most things, from being free of Dark Elf chains to if he had gotten his supper a minute later than expected.
Amal found the elven steel door and attempted to open it, but it was locked. He cursed, knowing he would need to use the special key and knowing after that there would be no fooling any Dark Elves that attempted to come in, as there would be no lock to lock.
"Once we're out of this room, there's no turning back." Amal told the old man, who wiped his hands on his stained trousers and looked completely finished with this place.
"Let's go." He announced, and Amal found himself not question Sir Brenly anymore. He said it with such surety, he felt like what they were doing was going to work. The thief knelt down and pressed the key to the doorlock, and watched in awe as the iron fell away like black sand into the puddles of water below. Once that was accomplished, Amal grabbed the door handle and turned it slowly, not making a sound. He opened the door but a crack and peered through to see a far nicer and far drier corridor of the ship. There was no elf in sight. Just the flickering light of the lightning coming through other windows that were likely closed and sealed.
Satisfied, he opened the door and stepped through. His wet shoe crunched on the floor, puddles of water spreading on his feet. He didn't care, nor did Sir Brenly as the elder stepped out.
"Hey!" A voice rang from within. Amal spun to see a man with wild mad eyes staring at them. The thief knew immediately what he was doing. He wanted to get the approval of his masters by outing the escapees. "HEY! HELP! THEY'RE ESCAPING!!" Amal just grinned, knowing over the storm the man's plan had been flawed. Not only that, but he simply closed the door and muted the yelling to even them.
"Traitor," Brenly spat.
"Agreed." Amal said, not hesitating to begin looking in each opened door and wondering if he dared to open any of the closed ones. The ship was low in the sea but long as sloops often were. There was perhaps only one or two floors to traverse belowdecks. There was a cargo room filled with stacks of boxes and what looked like an eerily adorned messhall with malevolent iron carvings placed on the walls, showing screaming visages and torture scenes like they were things to emulate. Amal shuddered to think what would happen if they didn't get out of here soon.
A shadow was cast on the walls behind them as they reached the stairs, making the northern and southern men coiled to spring on whoever it was, only to see it was Emmaline stepping down from the high top of the stairway in nothing but a silk garment. Amal's eyes widened. Not only at the sight of her, but her bruises and cuts. "Emmaline!" He said as loud as he dared, rushing to her. One hand feeling her wrists and the other cupping her cheek, he shook his head. "I told you to comply with them..." He breathed, but was so relieved to see her he kissed her passionately in the middle of the hall. @Penny
"Well I never was very good at following instructions."
Emmaline nearly dropped her sword as Amal swept her up in his embrace. So relieved was she to see him that she momentarily forgot that they were on a ship full of murderous elves. The embrace continued until the older man beside Amal cleared his throat politely. Emmaline peered at him before the realization struck her.
"Sir Brenly?" she asked in astonishment. The older Knight performed a courtly bow. She couldn't fathom how he hadn't drowned when El Cragador went down, but she supposed if she and Amal had survived, perhaps others had as well.
"My Lady," he said with a grin that made him look a decade younger. She handed him the sword, the tip stained with drying blood, to the Knight certain that it would be more use in his hands than in hers. Brenly took it and glanced at the blood.
"You have already seen some of the enemy I take it?" he asked. Emmaline nodded, pointing back towards the door to the officers mess where a thin trail of blood dissipated into a cupboard. If she had time the might have used a spell to clean it up, but it seemed unlikely they would remain undiscovered long enough for it to matter. She thought she could hear a distant hammering on a hatch, but the storm was too furious to be sure.
"Do you have a plan?" Amal asked. Emmaline looked a little embarrassed though not as much as Sir Brenly who appeared to be trying to avoid looking at the rain soaked silk clinging to her body.
"Find the carpet and escape was about as far as I got," she admitted. In retrospect that wasn't much of a plan, even before there had been a third person involved, so far as she knew the carpet had been burned with the Destrier after the Dark Elves had looted her. Amal and Brenly exchanged glances. Emmaline folded her arms crossly.
"Well if either of you has an idea," she asked. Both men looked at each other in chagrin. What did they expect her just to fly them to saftey? Emmaline frowned.
"I have an idea," she said after a moment.
"A good idea?" Amal asked.
"Well lets not get ahead of ourselves," she cautioned before kneeling down on the deck and scratching a rough outline of the ship on the ancient timber.
"Most of the elves are going to be working the ship," she explained, quickly relating what she had seen when she had peaked out into the malestrom of the storm.
"If you two can get up into the little box just below the sail on the back mast..."
"The aftermost fighting top," Brenly added pedantically. Emmaline shot him a waspish look.
"Whatever, if you can get up there, I think I can get us out of here..."
"It would be better if I went alone." Amal said. "No offense, sir Brenly."
The northerner snorted, not taking offense but still wishing he could be anywhere but waiting here. Amal wanted the Knight to stay with Emmaline to watch her back, truth be told. That and the thief knew he could remain quiet and quick far better than with the old man. Emmaline shook her head, though. "No, I-" she began as the door next to her opened. The group froze as a Dark Elf holding a bottle of what had to be a type of Liquor stumbled out.
His eyes were glazed and clearly he was at least somewhat inebriated, but he blinked in recognition of the three non-Druchii before him. After all four of them were still as statues for a second, the Elf tried to scream and fumbled for his sword. The noise and movement were drowned out as Sir Brenly ran him through the neck with the sword. A gurgle escaped the dying elf's lips as blood bubbled from the wound and his mouth and he fell heavily onto the deck.
Behind the Elf, there was a small storage room of booty and treasure. On the floor of the room was the magic carpet, tied up by three ropes to get it from unraveling and flying. Leaning against the wall was Emmaline's snake-headed staff. Amal and Emmaline looked at one another, and almost laughed. Sir Brenly seemed not to notice, wiping the blood off his new blade. "I never thought I'd be killing elves in my retirement." He said.
"I'll grab our things. You both go...now!" The sorceress told them.
The two did as she bid, stepping up the stairs carefully and opening the hatch just enough to peek through once more. Amal could see rain and lightning washing over the deck, though he feared the storm might lessen somewhat soon. The waves were churning powerfully still, however, and the ship bucked and bounced as it tried to slid between the waves. In the distance he could see another shape past the lightning. At first he feared another sea dragon, but it was the other sloop at the fore. He didn't know if that was preferable or not.
Amal asked Brenly if he was ready, and with his nod they both ascended the stairway and found all wet and dark and cold by the chilled wind around them. Only a dozen feet away was the navigator or captain. Amal didn't know how Dark Elven ships worked with who controlled the ship's steering. His back was turned, corded but lithe muscles trying to keep the ship upright as the black water surged around them.
Quickly and quietly, Amal led sir Brenly to the mast just past the Elf's vision and began to climb to the fighting top. @Penny
Emmaline drew a deep breath. She realized there was a very high likelihood she was about to die. Ordinarily that would have scared her, but the thought of being enslaved again was more repulsive and terrifying than mere death. Long moments passed with no sound of alarm broke through the roar of the sword. She waited as long as she dared before taking a final deep breath and pushing open the hatch. An elf sailor stood in front of her, soaked to the skin by the rain, he froze in shock for the half second it took for her staff to fly up between his legs. The blow struck home and the elf doubled over in pain. Emmaline drove the top of her staff down onto his head with a crunch and sprang up the short flight of stairs to the quarterdeck.
The sea heaved mountainusly and the spray flew so thick it nearly drowned her. The heat of adrenaline warmed her like a fire against the icy chill of this northern sea and it kept her moving in-spite of her fear. On the aft deck was the wheel, where stood the eleven captain and another elf wrestling with the wheel. They looked up at her in shock and the captain opened his mouth to shout something but she darted past him to her goal. Atop a swiveling platform at the rear most extension of the ship stood a large bolt thrower. She grabbed the weapon and hauled it around as best she could. The Captain seeing her intent let go of the wheel and grabbed for his sword, the ship luffed alarmingly as it lost way against the wind and the cruel elf hesitated for a half second. It was all that was needed. Emmaline heaved on the firing lever and the repeating bolt thrower thumped like a slaming door. A razor sharp bolt the thickness of Emmaline's thigh punched the captain through the chest and hammered him back into the wheel shattering it in a shower of splinters. The ship yawed sideways as it lost way completely turning broad side to the oncoming wave. Emmaline aimed and fired again the bolt smashing the rearward mast step to pulp. High above she could see Amal and Brenly in the fighting top, staring down at her in abject horror. Abandoning the bolt thrower she screamed a spell and summoned forth an arc of golden light, slicing the remainder of the mast away and severing all but a few of the many cables that ran to it. The roaring wind wipped at the lateen sail, now connected to noghting more than the fighting top, its own yard and a few cables. Ropes parted with a crack like thunder and Emmaline dived for the nearest, catching it and wrapping her arm in it for dear life. The face of the wave rushed on, fifty feat of roaring frothing seawater, and if any Elves had taken their eyes from that she could not see them. THe final cables parted and the fighting top and the lateen ripped skyward under the titanic forces of the wind. Emmaline was yanked upwards so hard she nearly dislocated her arm as they sailed free of the ship and up into the storm tossed sky. Her last vision of the Dark Elf raider was of the ship going broad side as the wave plowed over it, taking the crew and the remaining cargo to Mannan's judgement.
Emmaline could see nothing from the driving rain in her eyes as she hauled herself arm over arm up the cable. Amal and Brenly pulled her aboard but they were already losing momentum from the gust and sagging back towards the roiling sea. Emmaline shook the men off and placed her hands on the heavy wooden yard.
"Haul in the cables and find something to tie them to!" she screamed over the roaring wind as she began to work the spell. It was possibly the greatest magical working she had attempted in her young life. THe wood around her hands began to change hollowing out and forming diamond hard mage glass. It was a trick for creating durable reagent bottles and never meant for anything on this scale, but she held on and kept chanting. Slowly their decent began to slow as hundreds of pounds of timber dissapeared under the effect of the spell. Amal and brenly hauled on the ropes till the Lateen made a triangular slightly slanted canopy above them, the top now light enough to be held aloft by the wind a few dozen feet above the storm tossed ocean, rocking and surging like the down of a thistle. The spell spread like an oil stain across all the timbered surfaces until it seemed they were held aloft in a tub made of glass.
"Should I cut the cables!" Brenly called, wild eyed at what Emmaline had wrought.
"No..we.. need the.. sea ancors or we will flip," she groaned hoarsely, pulling her hands free and ending the incantation. The magical effort had been immense and it had nearly been too much for the young wizard. Her eyes flickered with traces and sparks of gold for a moment and then dimmed.
"For my next trick.. I need a voulnteer," she gasped and collapsed into a faint.
The distant roar of the surf surged in the background, the only noise that could be heard beyond it was the whistling wind. Amal felt his muscles were as heavy and dense as iron, the aches along his body now an old friend. Beneath him, he felt soft earth and grass tickling his tanned body. In and out, he became aware of his breathing. Amal's sleep addled body stirred gingerly, and he couldn't quite grasp where he was or what had happened. All he knew is that he was cold.
He suddenly felt a jolt of energy when the world came crashing back into his mind. He knew he couldn't rest until he knew whether or not Emmaline was safe or not. Willing his body to move, he pushed his chest and head up off the ground. Even lifting himself that much, he felt the wind's intensity increase tenfold. He lifted his eyes and saw trees in the foreground around a mile away before him. Rolling hills of the grass swept forwards until they reached the trees, but after that he saw nothing.
He turned himself over and looked behind him. The thief almost yelped, his heart stricken when he saw the cliff edge just a meter away from the soles of his feet. He didn't peek over the edge, but it looked almost a mile in the air above the churning sea waters far below. He scrambled further inland away from the cliff face only to find his hand grabbed something soft and warm. Squeezing, he realized he had grabbed Emmaline's rump. "Emm!" He cried, pulling himself over her and turning her body over. Thank Ranald and Allah above, she was still breathing!
"Emmaline, wake up..." He called to her as softly as he could past the rising wind. Across a low swell of the land, the mast lay strewn in ruin. Beneath the fabric, Amal saw a man-shaped figure poking out. Scrambling to move the sail, once there was a hole in the fabric, sir Brenly's head popped out. Amal thought he had a grumpy way about him before, but the elder northman had an utterly miserable expression on his face. The Arabyan couldn't blame him. Even finding out they were all alive, they had somehow wound up in a cold, unforgiving land. What's more, he suddenly felt it beginning to rain. Just a drop here or there before it began to steadily shower. By Allah it was freezing! If this was Emmaline's land then she was made of sterner stuff than himself.
A fluttering was evident about him and he thought some of the sail had been torn off. Instead the carpet flew by, presenting itself in its full exciteable glory before flattening out to be ridden. Amal smiled, somewhat relieved. Maybe they could find some shelter somehow in the forest. @Penny
Emmaline awoke from a dream in which Amal was pinching her bottom while she tried to read. Amal pinching her bottom was good deal more engaging than reading so she didn't much mind. Wet splatters on her cheek bought her round as chilly raindrops began to fall. Sitting up she found herself sitting on a patch of dark grass beside Amal. Glancing around she thought she picked up the shattered remnants of her spell, though now it was broken the sorcerers glass was fading into vapor.
"Where are we," she asked, her voice gaining strength with each syllable and the realization that they weren't either dead or drowned, which, now that she had a minute to think about it, would just be a subcategory of dead. Amal looked incredibly relived when she spoke and she glanced down at herself to make sure she hadn't been wounded.
"I was hoping you could tell me," Amal said helping her to her feet and then enfolding her in a hug that crushed her too him, their lips meeting in a passionate kiss for a moment before the irritated snapping of the carpet bought them back to the immediate situation. The rug apparently didn't much care for being rained on, a reasonable enough outlook she supposed, though after a year and a half in Araby she was happy to see even this chilly rain.
"Well it dosen't look like anywhere I have ever seen," Emmaline admitted. The cold windswept coast might be anywhere on the Northern Coast of the Empire though the trees didn't have the overgrown and wild look of the Riekwald or the mighty Drakwald forest. Nor did they have the overly manicured appearance that the smaller growth of forest in Bretonnia typically displayed. She had no idea how long she had been unconscious but it didn't seem like they would have had time go drift all the way east to the Empire.
"Well wherever we are, we aren't slaves," Amal said with a confident grin, somewhat betrayed by the fact he was beginning to shiver.
"Well we are going to be dead from exposure if we don't find some shelter," she observed. In the distance she spotted Brenly and what looked to be the remains of the mast. She glanced over the cliff at the storm tossed sea below. They must have cleared the escarpment by no more than a few feet and she was glad to have been unconscious rather than uselessly terrified.
"Let's collect Sir Brenly and then maybe we can find some shelter in the trees, at least we can get out of the rain."
Sir Brenly could not help but hold on tight to the mast when Emmaline had worked her magic to save from the Dark Elves, but with the carpet? The old man refused to get on it outright and it only took a minute in the cold rain to get him to lose some of his stubbornness and reluctantly hop on to what he considered possibly chaos magic. The carpet went somewhat slow at Amal's insistence, though there was still a need to get out of the rain. Luckily they had cut a bit of the sail they had taken and rolled it up to possibly be used later. Unfortunately, a dense fog had risen up to block their sight as if the land wished to protect itself from prying eyes.
"Can you see anything!?" Amal called to Emmaline, squinting to get a better look.
Even through the fog, the rain splattered on their faces enough to keep their gazes downcast. Brenly held on to the carpet for dear life, not daring to look around at all.
"No, nothing yet!" She replied, holding her golden hair and keeping it out of her field of view.
The carpet rode the wind as steadily as it could, floating past the strange, sparse trees and rising up until suddenly they flew past the fog and drank in the land that lay before them. As far as the eye could see, the country was filled with bogs and fens and scattered woodlands that stubbornly clung to the land. Mountains rose in the distance, but they were nothing that could rival the range that protected Araby from the great southern desert, or any large mountains Emmaline had seen. Gripping the lower slopes were highlands and foothills of dark green and grey as boulders stood here or there like unwanted guests.
In the sunlight that poked out of a small fold the clouds, the land had a ghastly beauty about it. Small landlocked lakes within the foothills of the mountains stood calm just as small rivers below connected the marshes and bogs. Somewhere to the east, Amal spotted smoke wafting into the clouds. He followed its origin and saw a village or primitive town made of timber among the lowland woods not a dozen miles away.
"There's a village, I think we can-"
Brrrrrruuuuuuuuuuugh
The air thickened and sudden heat accompanied by a dank stench hammered them from below. Amal leaned over the side to look below them as the other two did, and they all began to cry out in alarm and fear when they saw the cause of the noise was a titanic, grotesque being clad in only a loincloth large enough to be a ship's sail itself!
"A Giant!?" Emmaline screeched as Sir Brenly yelled an oath. The thing was perhaps fifty feet in height with its arms adding another twenty, nearly catching hold of the carpet in its massive fingers. The trees it stood among only reached its swollen paunch of a waist. Amal almost laughed at the sudden turn of events before he quickly grew somber and took hold of the situation. He felt Emmaline wrapped around his waist like a vice, which he found worked.
"Hold on!" He cried, directing the carpet to fire forward like an Imperial rocket battery. A giant arm swung to block them, but the carpet was far too nimble. It twirled around the arm with ease and zipped away down below into one of the many bogs that lay stretched over the land. The giant might have a long stride but the carpet flew faster than a horse could gallop on its best day, zipping around trees and over fallen logs at just the last moment.
"Down sir Brenly!" Amal yelled as Emmaline tried to poke her head back up just as a branch flew into their way. Amal grabbed her head and pushed her back down, her face shoved into his groin and his torso over her to protect her from the leaves and twigs that scythed bits of his skin across his bare arms and neck. What seemed an eternity only lasted a few seconds before the carpet flew free of this set of trees and they found themselves within the rolling hills.
"Lad...were the Elves truly so bad?" Sir Brenly complained. @Penny
