Smuggler's Cove, off the coast of Skyrim/High Rock border
0330, Last Seed 7, 4E 205
Keegan decided that Ariane was right; all Nord men were indeed the same. Ariane said there were multiple Nords that that tried to get too close to her in taverns, and she had to cut off some of their arms with her bound sword. On the listening end, Keegan wasn't sure what's creepier, the fact that so many Nords had bothered Ariane, or how she casually cuts off their arms. What he was sure was that the Nords here on this ship, the shit eating bastard Dumhuvud, the rich snob Gustav and the whining brat Hargjorn were all petty, rude and flat out confrontational. Still, they were professionals, unlike the drunks at the Winking Skeever. It also helped that these Nords payed him (in theory); the Skeever customers rarely tipped him, even though they practically threw coins at Nord entertainers.
Being an Altmer born and bred on the Summerset Isles, Keegan was no stranger to strict rules. However, those rules of the Altmeri society derived from certain reasons, no matter how absurd the reason was, there was also one. This mercenary company, on the other hand, had no reason what so ever. He had experienced it first hand with Dumhuvud, having been the victim of random scoldings, and a savage beating, in the last month. Of course, one of the first person Keegan met returning was none other than the Cat-Kicker himself.
Was it too much to expect an apology? Maybe something along the lines of "sorry I took your letter" or "I shouldn't have given you a concussion by kicking your head with a steel-toed boot". No, he was welcomed back with the suspicion of being a spy. Really? Him, the awkward juggler of this company, a spy? It was so absurd that Keegan actually laughed in front of the Cat-Kicker's face. Dumhuvud didn't find it funny, and if it wasn't for Ashav's timely intervention, he would have lopped off Keegan's head with his axe.
That wasn't the end of Dumhuvud on the 5
th, oh no, he was just getting started. Gustav asked him to check on his laundry, and as the Cat-Kicker soon found out, said laundry was not getting any cleaner, it was getting dirtier. He glanced between a tired Dough-Boy, who had been exhausted to the bone running errands, hauling crates and now vigorously scraping vomit in front of a seasick Khajiit. Dumhuvud was no genius, but it didn't take a genius to put the pieces together.
"What the fuck is wrong with this ass licking cat?!" He yelled at Dough-Boy and Dar'Jzo. Before either had a chance to reply, he was already shoving Dough-Boy out of the room.
Coming back a second later, he found Dar'Jzo still as dizzy, and useless, as before. "So you want to be a lazy prick, huh?" Dumhuvud hissed. Out of nowhere, he punched the old Khajiit square in the jaw, knocking him over. Then grabbing Dar'Jzo by the back of his head, the Cat-Kicker smashed the Khajiit's face straight into a bulkhead, and down into the floor next. As he fumed with rage, Dumhuvud dragged Dar'Jzo over the soiled laundry basket and threw his bloody face straight down onto it. Like everyone else, Dar'Jzo instinctively reared up for breath, but Dumhuvud stopped him by stepping on his head, forcing the Khajiit down and giving him a face paint of blood and puke.
"I hope you're finding motivation now." Dumhuvud sneered. "By the way, welcome to the company."
Keegan had seen it go down. It was bad. He almost felt sorry for the new Khajiit. However, his own seasickness was sorry enough for him to deal with. Unlike the Winterhold rescue journey, Keegan managed to hold in his food for at least six hours. He did eventually puke on the night of 5
th, and then two more times the following morning. Thankfully, he did not have to do any work. For some reason, the leadership flagged him as an infantry this time around. It made no sense, as other "infantry" were strong, thick and armed to the teeth. Keegan knew he wouldn't last long on the frontlines with his dwemer staff and his barely protective clothing. He dreaded the thought of actually fighting enemies such as the Kamal, and it almost prompted him to ask Ashav to change his rating. What kept him was the fact that the combatants of the company had no labor expected of them on the ship, so Keegan supposed he would enjoy the quiet and switch roles when they near a battle.
A day since they departed, on the noon of the 6
th, Keegan was finally getting used to the sea. His stomach settled, his nausea lightened, and he could finally catch up on the sleep he should have gotten last night. So he slept through the second half of the 6
th in a beat up sleeping bag, in a secluded corner of the common quarters.
On the early morning of the 7
th, a great quake woke Keegan.
The days were long and nights were short in the northern summer. Combined with the calm weather on the 5
th and most of the 6
th, the
Kyne's Tear was able to sail fast and continuously. The sun shone bright for eighteen hours in each of the first two days, accompanied by a steady breeze westwards. It was the ideal sailing condition, that was, until clouds rolled in late on the 6
th. By the time Magnus had set at midnight, the entirely sky was overcast. Wind picked up speed and changed direction to southeast. Soon, rain started to pour, waves rocked the ship back and forth more than anyone liked. Karena and Hargjorn, the captain and first mate, respectively, of the
Kyne's Tear, decided to find a place to drop anchor for the night. The sailors and mercenary laborers had been taking shifts to ensure they moved west non-stop, and they wanted a break. However, there was no port towns between Solitude and Jehanna. The closest harbor was a secluded cove used by smugglers. Karena announced her intention and her familiarity with the cove, which was quickly followed by Hargjorn accusing her pirating pasts (and going on his typical tirade of how
Kyne's Tear once belonged to him). Ariane found it amusing (and hypocritical) that her "assistant" was none other than a proud pirate. She left the senior commanders to argue among themselves and returned to her own cabin.
Ariane hasn't had the chance to speak to her assistant much; she only asked Maj to sort her notes and soul gems. Some saw her as cold and distant, but in reality, she was just busy. She didn't expect the brutes to understand any of the magical weather theory, or how there seems to a grain of truth to sailor's tales of the "Golden Slug" (aerial travel and the manipulation of sea creatures are more plausible than one may think). Ariane did try to strike up conversations during dinner in the officer's dining room. That didn't work, because only Gustav stayed and chatted. Being a businessman, Gustav mostly talked in ledgers and transactions. That didn't mean he was an average man, no, it was him that soothed the crew of the
Steelhead when they complained about mercenaries hijacking their ship. Not only did Gustav talked the
Steelhead into forgiveness, he somehow also obtained one of their two ballistas at a bargain price. Ashav, Edith and Dumhuvud, on the other hand, were busy doing whatever they had to do. The newly promoted lead scout, Sevine, whom Edith spoke highly of, preferred to spend time with the company medic.
When nautical twilight of the 7
th came, Ariane had spent all of her short night attempting to perform research. The sea didn't let her; it rocked the ship with increasing force. The storm, thunder and waves were especially violent in the last hour, that led to her putting her work on hold for the night. Ariane went to check in with Ashav before going sleep. As she spared a quick glance outside of her cabin porthole, and saw the narrow entrance of the smuggler's cove on both sides of
Kyne's Tear. The cove was protected by tall, jagged and mossy cliffs of ten storeys high; they hang apart like a gaping maw. The lagoon inside contained dark water, above which blanketed mist so thick that the navigators could barely see several meters ahead. It was a claustrophobic setting, but a welcomed reprieve for those tortured by the angry sea. Ariane was fortunate to not get seasick, and could sleep rather well in the comfort of a private cabin. In fact, Ashav objected to her sleeping too much. She sighed; she'll have to let him how vital sleep is to the regeneration of magicka.
As she emerged onto the deck, Ariane felt mist vapor clung to her robes and the pungent smell of sea creatures assaulting her nostril. Lamps were lit to help with steering, but even then, the Kyne's Tear barely avoided several jagged rock formations. Leif was up at the crow's nest, trying his hardest to spot danger in the fog. Hargjorn steered the ship, with Karena right beside him. Both of them were tense, yet they still managed to argue like an old couple. Gustav stood right underneath the bridge, fully decked out in steel plate armor that appeared way too shiny to be practical. He was worried, but he smartly got out of the sailors' way and let them do their things.
A tall wave suddenly splashed onto the deck, nearing Ariane. She raised her arm and repelled the salty water with telekinesis.
Kyne's Tear keeled to the side, and as Ariane grabbed onto the side railing to steady herself, she could swear she saw a giant red jellyfish, the size of a medium length crate, float by. She continued forward carefully, with one hand gripping tightly to the railing and another holding her hood over her head.
"Where is Ashav?!" Shouted Ariane, as she came near Gustav. Despite her shouting, what she said was drowned out by the water and wind. Gustav said something in response, which was equally lost to the ambience.
Ariane repeated herself, determined to find the company commander. "Where is-"
Thud.
Boom!
An explosion ripped through bow of Kyne's Tear, stopping the ship's forward momentum and tipping it starboard, the opposite of where the explosion occurred. Both Gustav and Ariane were knocked onto their back. Panicked screams reverberated throughout the ship. Thankfully, someone reported that the damage was moderate. The
Kyne's Tear was reinforced up front with steel plating, designed to break ice during winter months and ram vessels of hostile intents.
"It's the jellyfish!" A sailor came running towards the bridge. "We smashed into it and it blew up!"
"Wait, how?" Gustav puzzled. He attempted to stand up, but was put back down by his heavy armor and the slippery deck.
Ariane got to her feet without too much struggle. Once she was on her feet, she cast a feather spell on Gustav to make his weight less bearing. They both scrambled toward the staircase leading up to the quarterdeck; questions abound in their heads and concerns clear on their faces. Meanwhile, Edith had emerged from her quarters, Dumhuvud roused sleeping mercenaries below deck and some were wondering where Lead Scout Sevine was.
"Keep going!" Ariane could hear Karena shouting.
Hargjorn immediately shot back. "You're kidding me, stu-"
Then the calamity was abruptly interrupted with a piercing beam of light from above. A deep mechanical whirl echoed off the walls of the cove. To those that had experienced Bthamz, it was just like the dwarven steam engines. All of a sudden, it was as if the waves and wind themselves stopped in anticipation. Sailors and mercenaries froze in their tracks and gazed further in and above, where the strange presence drew ominously closer. Hargjorn furiously wrestle the wheel (and cursed), but his beloved ship was slow to respond in the aftermath of the explosion. Besides him, Karena silently gazed upwards with a spyglass.
"Tsun's balls..." She lowered the spyglass, disbelief overwhelming her.
"What's happening?" Gustav asked with fear in his voice. He and Ariane were now on the quarterdeck. They could see better here then below, and as they turned to where Karena was pointing, something colossal flying out of the mist blocked the faint moonlight that barely gave way to their sights.
It was a giant balloon, with an equally sizable gondola attached underneath through cables, ropes and beams. On the nose of the gondola was the search light that initially shone at
Kyne's Tear. A pair of back swept wings of wooden framing and canvas skin were located on the rear of gondola, faintly moving with the wind. Several dwarven pipes emitted steam exhaust from the back. The gondola itself appeared wooden. It was clad in metal, not in dwarven brass, but in what seemed to be plates of pure gold. It initially flew above the cliffs, but as it loomed near
Kyne's Tear, the object descended so that it fit neatly in the cove.
The exploding jellyfish, the airship, it all made sense to Ariane now. They were all signs of the golden slug, and if recent tales were to be believed, what came next could only be...
Chains. Four great golden chains shot out from circular openings on the airship. They smashed into
Kyne's Tear, clawed tips burying themselves deep within the sailing ship's timber. All of Hargjorn's maneuvering became weak once the chains settled.
Kyne's Tear was no longer leaving, instead, it was being dragged further into the cove.
"You hold the wheel, pirate scum. I'm going to untangle us!" Hargjorn spat. He unsheathed his falchion and marched down the steps. Sailors were already at work removing the chains, though their efforts were severely hindered by the weight and sturdy build of the chains. As Hargjorn tugged on one claw of solid gold, a chittering sound above became increasingly louder, coercing him to stop in order to pay attention. Then the source of the chitter nearly knocked him flat on his ass; a chitinous claw smashed down alongside the golden chain, narrowly missing his head.
Four-legged beasts with sharp teeth, claws discharging lightning and glistening chitin shells dropped down onto the deck of
Kyne's Tear without regard of height. Their plated skulls almost uncannily humanoid and emotionless. Hargjorn recognized them as land dreughs, except these particular ones seemed to be outfitted with golden prosthetics. As members of the crew prepared to face against the half-crustacean and half-insect monsters, a shrill, sickly howl came from above and led both parties to pause in fear.
A werewolf leaped down from the airship, piercing the mast and sliding down from it with one clawed hand,. It landed on all fours atop an unlucky crew member, crushing the lad's chest in the process. The beast was rotten and waterlogged, made into an undead thrall, with its claws replaced by blades of gold, and its snout linked to its ears via golden chains, almost in a macabre allusion to Elsweyri belly dancers and Minotaurs of the Alessian Empire. Veterans of Windhelm would recognize it as the werewolf form of Relmyna Vibato, somehow acquired and made into a personal plaything by whatever it was that mastered the airship above.
After a moment of both parties gauging one another in reservation, the werewolf jumped into the
Tear's crew with an ear-piercing roar, leading the dreughs to charge in in its wake, and painting the entirety of the top deck into a scene of gory combat.
"The
lupus mortuis is punctiliously synchronized to a negatively effervescent nexus above." Ariane suggested to Gustav amid the chaos. "We should sever this link."
"I agree." Gustav waved her off. While he was a well-read man, Gustav had no idea what she just said. "You go do that; I'll get Ashav."
While Ariane marched to find her assistant, she also thought about the exploding jellyfish from earlier. There were a few floating not far from the ship; they could catch these with sticks and nets. As long as the jellyfishes weren't pierced, they should not explode. Then it would only take delivery specialists to transport their improvised explosives up to the airship to destroy it. It would be just like the strike against the Kamal frigate, and she could even use the same personnel; Sagax and Roze. Ariane only wished they still had the much more stable arcane charges. Oh well, not everything goes perfectly.
Ashav left the door to his quarter half ajar, the meager light of a dying candle glowed within. Upon entering, Gustav found the Redguard laying in front of his bed, with his legs propped up on the bed itself. A bottle of Blackbriar mead, one that looked suspiciously like it was out of Gustav's locked containers, nested in his hand. The room smelled foul, but the most foul matter was the sorry state Ashav resided in. Gustav was more than a little irritated to see Ashav absolutely not combat ready. Hell, the man was in his underwears; his pants had a large brown stain on it. To be fair, Ashav had the right to be whatever he wanted at this hour, as he was usually sober by noon. However, as Gustav sat Ashav up against the base of his bed, he had to snatch that bottle away for the commander's own sake. Alcoholism destroyed lives.
"Fuck off, mate." Ashav pulled the bottle tight in defense.
"Cut it out," Gustav went after the mead again, "we're under attack!"
"But I've almost achieved CHIM..." The Redguard commander whined.
"You're not Talos. Get yourself together."
Gustav grabbed the bottle forcefully, but Ashav ripped it the away and swung it at Gustav face. The Nord jumped back.
"You keep saying how out of touch I am, and here you are, drinking yourself dead in our hour of need." Gustav slammed his armored fist into the bed table. "Why don't you actually do something?!"
Ashav's reply was throwing the bottle. It was too sudden for Gustav to dodge it. Glass shattered against his chest plate, and if weren't for his reinforced collar, some shards would have buried into his neck.
"Fine, so this is how you want to do things." Gustav huffed and nodded angrily. He took a breath of the toxic air in this horrid room and thought back to what his prophet had always told him; those who see misfortune in situations will lose from them, while those that see opportunities from them will benefit. It was hard right now to see anything but misfortune from Ashav, but Gustav had to act; somebody needed to be out there directing the battle.
"I'll do it myself, and you're fired."
The deck was pure chaos when Gustav marched back outside. Men, elves and beasts battled dreughs and the reanimated werewolf. Although the dreughs were dangerous, the mercenaries and sailors handled them reasonably well. Undead Relmyna, on the other hand, was a problem no one had figured out. Armed with razor sharp golden claws, it had already killed two and was well on its way to increasing the tally. Werewolves were already freakishly strong and fast, and undeath only made this one stronger and faster. Killing it was near impossible, though Ariane suggested that a necromancer on the airship was enhancing the werewolf. If they go up there and kill the necromancer, the werewolf should be weakened, if not dying altogether.
Hargjorn had already settled on climbing the chains before Ariane did. He couldn't detach the chains, the dreughs kept dropping down and they were slowly being pulled to gods know where. He tried the ballista; it couldn't be angled to shoot up that high, and using it to shoot the chains may damage his precious ship by accident. Up was the only way to go. He was used to defending the
Tear in boardings, and this was only a matter of translating horizontal tactics to vertical ones.
"Let's take the fight to them!" Hargjorn rallied those around him with a coarse roar. He would rather die than see this ship taken by whatever monster laid above. "Climb up the chains. We must ascend from darkness!"
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