Lexicon — Roleplayer Guild

Storms
The Upper Deck to the Med Bay

“In case ye all are still wondering, I'm the cap'n here. Name of Vernon Conway: you listen to me or you go over the side. This may seem like the best time of yer lives, but mark my words, chummies: this is a dangerous expedition we're 'bout to embark upon. If'n ye decide to ignore me, odds are ya'll not live to see the end of it,” Captain Conway roared at the crew members gathered around him. Apparently satisfied with the stricken looks on most of the sailors' faces, he turned to shout instructions to one of the mariners near the outlandish craft on the Garrloch's landing pad. Even in the depths of the golvar, Sigrun could hardly hear what Conway was saying over the sounds of crewmen rushing to complete their final assignments before the ship departed. She doubted the captain was saying anything she didn't already know. 

Unlike the woman with the straw hat and drink lounging nearby, the stormborn knew this wasn't going to be a pleasant trip. The Garrloch was bound for uncharted waters, which were probably teeming with dangers beyond the experience of anyone onboard. And Sigrun intended to survive these threats no matter what. She turned around so her back was against the ship's railing and smiled at the helgus running around like chickens with their heads cut off, relaying messages to one another and tying down anything that might come loose. The whole panorama was hilariously reminiscent of the controlled chaos in the DOC, though there was an air of excitement here that the hustle and bustle of the outreach center had lacked. These men wanted to set sail. At least, most of them did.

Taking a few deep breaths and falling deeper into the golvar, Sigrun noticed one sailor, a red-haired brute with a cruel face not even a mother could love, whispering to a knot of his fellows on the opposite side of the deck. Sigrun casually moved in his direction, though she stopped and pretended to fiddle with her chronometer when the man's green eyes passed over her. Thanks to the "calm mind," however, she could hear what he was saying as clearly as if she was standing beside him. 

"Listen to me, Rast," the sailor snarled, a hint of irritation coloring his voice, "I know you're scared of Conway. Fuck, the man makes me want to shit my pants too. That doesn't mean I'm willing to let him throw our lives away on this insane voyage. All I'm saying is let's make sure he takes all the necessary precautions so we make it back to Dover in one piece. That's it. Nobody is talking about the 'm' word, alright? Not yet. Just stick with your ol' chum Danzig, and we'll be back in Tapper's drinking and celebrating in no time. Understand?" 

The skinny man Danzig was talking to nodded once and then darted into the mass of people preparing the UIS Garrloch for its maiden voyage. Danzig watched him go for a few moments, an unreadable expression on his scarred face, before gesturing for the sailors gathered around him to return to their duties.

Interesting.

Evidently, all was not well aboard the ship. Hopefully, this fear of what lay beyond the Ring of Thunder wouldn't bite the captain in the ass. Although she didn't know Conway that well, Sigrun could tell he was a man worthy of respect. Nothing seemed to shake his calm, not even the weight of all the hopes and expectations riding on this venture. A good leader needed to keep a level head no matter how badly a situation deteriorated. And no matter what surprises emerged to make things more difficult. Like a potential mutiny.

Suddenly, the sound of a horn blowing and bells ringing erupted from every direction, and the UIS Garrloch surged into motion like a hungover DOC attendant trying to stagger home after a long night. Grinning from ear to ear, the excited Ysmirod woman wondered if now was a good time to look for the medical bay, making a mental note to talk to Captain Conway about Danzig later. Before she could take one step, however, the captain's already familiar voice boomed over the ship's microphone. “Attention, everyone. This is Cap'n Conway. In case ya weren't aware, we are about to head directly into the Ring of Thunder. This won't be a pleasant cruise, so I suggest everyone tuck in befar we get too far in. I'd advise each o'ye to get belowdecks and lock yerselves in for a time. There may be somethin' to eat in the mess hall, if ye think you can keep down the meal."

Sigrun blinked. How long had she been eavesdropping on Danzig and his fellow mutineers? Surely the Garrloch wouldn't reach the Ring of Thunder so soon after their departure. As if responding to her thoughts, a light rain began to fall, though she could already feel it growing heavier. The sky rapidly turned the same color as the Garrloch's hull, and the damp smell of an oncoming storm filled the air. Standing on the upper deck in her new clothes, Sigrun tilted her head back and closed her eyes, relishing the feeling of the warm rain on her face. It reminded her of all the times her father had taken her to the summit of Mount Ebonhorn during a rainstorm. While it was much smaller than Ulfrang Peak, Mount Ebonhorn was one of the most beautiful places on Ysmir, providing helgus and stormborn alike with a breathtaking view of the Ring of Thunder's underbelly. Veins of black quartz, considered too fragile to be worth excavating, ran through the mountain, and they glowed with a faint purplish light whenever the storms grew particularly violent. 

Shuddering at the intensity of the memory, Sigrun opened her eyes just as the ship gave an almighty lurch. For a dozen heartbeats, she was airborne, but she quickly found strong, hairy arms holding her and her burlap sack. Sigrun took a moment to calm herself before glancing at her rescuer, immediately recognizing the slender build and pungent stink of grease on his tan coveralls.

"Thank you for catching me, Valdez," Sigrun said as the sailor lowered her to the rain-slicked deck. A blinding bolt of lightning streaked down from the sky accompanied by a boom of thunder and Sigrun said, her voice barely audible over the storm, "Perhaps you could do me one more favor? Take me to the med bay. I'm sure someone will need my attention before we pass through the Ring of Thunder."

Valdez smiled, baring a mouthful of green-stained teeth, and said, his voice raspy and carrying an unfamiliar accent, "Of course, Doctor Alfhild. Let's get below decks, yes? I believe the rest of the crew is gathering in the mess hall. But you are right. You should be in the med bay, preparing yourself for whatever might come. Follow me, doctor."

Deciding not to tell Valdez she didn't have a doctorate of any kind, Sigrun followed the tall, gaunt mariner into the belly of the ship, accompanied by a few sailors that hadn't been quick enough to get inside before the rain started. The stormborn found herself ignoring these stragglers and focusing entirely on Valdez. The golvar was picking up on some interesting traits her guide possessed. The tip of Valdez's nose was a bright shade of red, almost like he had a cold, though he wasn't sneezing or dripping mucous everywhere. His large, spidery hands were in constant motion, though the twitching occasionally subsided for a few seconds before starting again. Most tellingly, his teeth were an interesting dark green color. All these symptoms indicated that Valdez was addicted to witchroot, a tropical plant with narcotic and hallucinogenic properties. While Sigrun mulled this over, the twosome took a right down an empty hallway before stopping in front of a white door with the words 'Medical Bay' etched into it.

"Here we are, doctor," Valdez said, and Sigrun cursed herself for not paying more attention to the route they'd taken to get here. That was one of the problems with the golvar. Once it fixated on something or someone in particular it was difficult to focus on anything else. Sighing and inclining her head to Valdez in gratitude, Sigi started to open the door, but Valdez coughed and said, "Erhem...aren't you going to say anything about my teeth, doctor? It's the lothrax that did it, I'm afraid."

"Lothrax? What is that?" Sigrun asked as she turned to gaze up at the engineer's watery brown eyes.

"It's a...well, it looks like a little piece of black root with blue thorns growing out of it. The thorns are the best part, yes? They have a silver juice inside that you drink before you cut up the root. It...how you say, enhances the experience, yes? Your whole body feels like one big-"

"Ahhh, we call it witchroot where I'm from," Sigrun interrupted, not wanting to hear anymore. The Ysmirod tended to look down on addicts, viewing them as weaklings without discipline or self-control. Honestly, she just didn't care about Valdez's issues. She had work to do. "It's not my place or my intent to judge you, Valdez. I'm here to mend injuries and help fight if the need arises. That's it. What you do with your free time is your own business."

The wrinkled sailor tilted his head to one side, as if confused by this answer, and then smiled before bowing at the waist and walking back towards the mess hall. Strange. Was that some kind of helgus custom Sigrun hadn't learned in Highwall? Shrugging and pushing open the white med bay door, Sigrun looked around...and dropped her burlap sack in dismay. The chamber she stood in was roughly the same size as Svanrige's clinic back in Beggar's Row! At least the walls here were covered in gleaming white tile and detailed clinical charts. Svanrige's operating room had decaying wooden walls and a few scraps of paper with handwritten notes on them dangling from iron pegs. Picking up her sack and walking around, Sigrun felt her disappointment lessen when she saw three clean cots and a stainless steel injector table. Her mentor's injector table had been covered with rust and old bloodstains, but this one was immaculate. It was essentially a medical examination table, but there was a band of raised metal running around the edges with slots at different points where syringes could be inserted. It allowed for precise injections into affected areas. There were also three small cabinets on the far side of the room, each one containing glass vials of healing tinctures, jars of herbs and useful chemicals, and other necessities. One even had a polished human skull resting on its top shelf.

"Fantastic. There are no actual examination tables, but at least I have a skull to play with," Sigrun mumbled to herself as she set her burlap sack on a cramped black granite counter beside the cabinets and started unloading her supplies. She'd just finished laying out her pouches of plant cuttings when she noticed a folded scrap of paper on the other end of the counter. Frowning, Sigi reached out and picked it up. She unfolded it...and felt a shudder course down her spine that had nothing to do with her wet clothes. A single word was written on the paper. In blood.

Vrykul.
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