A collab between
@Stitches and
@The Wyrm. (
@Tae and
@Hawthorne tagged for reference)
Location: Underneath the Avalon
Peregrin was tired.
As in, the sort of tired you’d get from travelling ceaselessly for...weeks, months, however long it has been since she left the decks of The Arcadia. Devouring anything that got in her way and living off the calories burnt from that. She was stronger and faster than your typical merperson because of the high pressure environment she grew up in, but even this was pushing her strength to its absolute limits. Nevertheless, she was under strict - and urgent - orders to keep going until she saw…
Peregrin craned her neck for the umpteenth time, noticing a cool shadow shift across the surface. A hull. Somebody’s ship. Her fingers gingerly rubbed her sash and the bottle neatly tucked and tied up inside of it. She took a deep breath and swam up to the surface, dreading that awful airyness, the lightness mixed with the sheer saturation of oxygen and how bright everything was. She squinted up at the sails and the flags as her vision slowly cleared and started to grow accustomed to the light (how she had to suffer, remaining so close to the surface just so that she could see better when she came across a ship!) and, in increments, made out the Imperial insignia. She waited until she was absolutely certain. It wasn’t as large as she expected it to be, which is what made her hesitate...but it was certainly Glasstonian in origin. Those gold trimmings and the overall cleanliness of the underside of the hull were enough to strongly imply these were not common pirates, at least. After drifting past merchant vessels, the odd pirate or two and a ship from some other country that she didn’t recognise, this one was a weary relief for her shattered spirits.
The problem now was how to approach it. She was far too small to be noticed bobbing around in the ocean, and even if she was - people like her weren’t well-received by navy vessels, given their track record. It was approaching quickly though, so she had a short space of time to figure out what to do, and ducked under to take a look again...there was one line dragging in the water.
The behemoth of a ship skirted right over her head as she kept pace for just a moment - one final burst - long enough to grab the line. Peregrin didn’t know how to get their attention though as she gasped and coughed, surfacing and trying to clear out her airways for oxygen. Out of habit, and knowing some basic knowledge about landfolk mannerisms, she began to knock on the hull as she was dragged alongside the ship. In between knocks she checked for the bottle. Still there, pristine and well-secured to her midriff.
“Belay that!” Bernor’s voice tore across the deck, bringing an instant halt to the rush of sailors bound for the line that had snapped. The line in question, a halliard for the mizzen tops, had sent on of the sails flapping in the strong breeze, the damaged portion trailing in the water alongside the
Avalon. Orders had been quickly issued to have the damage modified but now everyone froze as the Captain paced toward the side.
Is that knocking? Who in the nine hells knocks on the side of a hull… He was certain he could hear the sound, a gentle almost tapping sound against the hull. He was certain his crew had not given the noise a second thought but something about it told him it was not the day to day noise of the ship.
The water rushed by below him as he came to the gunwale, the deep blue-green turning to white froth as the bow cut through it. His hair battered his face for a moment before he shoved it behind his ear and looked down the long black hull. His surprise must have shown as two Marines hurried forward, un-slinging their rifles as they did so.
“Bless my socks…” He had found himself staring into the eyes of what appeared, at first, to be a small woman. She offered a weak wave and he shook his head at the marines as they levelled their weapons. “Stand down lads, I doubt a threat would bother knocking on the hull. Send for the Witch, the Princess, and pass the word for the Doctor.” One of the marines nodded and hurried below.
“Carry away that line! Gently now!” Bernor, his authority on the ship absolute, called out to the hands that had been reaching for the line. “With me.” He snapped to another pair of marines as he hurried toward the ladder leading to the gundeck. “The helm is yours, Mr. Stormhearth.”
As the marines hauled Peregrin toward the gundeck, it was becoming increasingly apparent that the Captain’s initial impressions of her were somewhat misguided. This was no woman; at least, the writhing greyish tail and leathery skin seemed to suggest that this was more of a creature than a woman. When she was level with the deck and a multitude of strong arms hauled her aboard, she was still wheezing and sputtering. Her tail had split down the middle and there were two legs inside, as parts of it sloughed away in viscous clumps of gelatinous matter. Her eyes stared blindly at the marines, fogged over by what appeared to be cataracts over the lens, but they were gradually starting to clear as thick tears slipped down her cheeks. Her gills flapped helplessly and as she grunted and panted, row upon row of sharp teeth were revealed in her tiny maw. “Messssage from th’Arcadiaa,” she rasped, her voice high-pitched and uncomfortable to listen to. Some other vocal chords struggled in tune with her own, producing odd gurgles and squeaks when she talked. “Where’s...Cap-tinn?”
“Clear a path!” The crew parted quickly as the Captain pushed through their ranks. A few look disgusted but the majority looked excited, the break from every-day monotony was certainly welcome. “Get the men back to work.” He snapped at a nearby boatswains mate and then focused their new catch as the crew was hurried back to their duties, leaving the Captain, his marine escort, and a bosuns-mate.
“A siren. Now you don’t see that every day.” The bosuns-mate muttered, staring down at the mess that had just been made on his clean deck. The Captain, at least, didn’t seem bothered by it, not yet anyway.
The Siren spoke again and the Captain, not having heard her the first time, felt something clench in his chest. He quickly knelt next to the creature, one knee sinking into the mess she had made. The marines loomed over his shoulder, both ready to blast the uninvited catch into oblivion if she went for the captain. The rows of small teeth caused him pause for a moment but his every instinct told him that this creature was not a danger to him, not at the moment at any rate.
“I am Captain Sarstina. What news do you have of the Arcadia?”
Peregrin fumbled with her sash. Upon closer inspection, Bernor could see that the thing was shaking with exertion; she could be no threat to anyone, only just able to prop herself on her elbows. If fish could sweat, she’d be drenched. The transition from breathing water to air was a rough one so she barely spoke but instead managed to free a small bottle, sealed in wax with the Glasstonian insignia stamped onto the top of the cork. Her shaking hand pressed it into his.
Bernors eyes bulged at the sight of the bottle and he stood quickly, the siren quite forgotten. For a long moment he stared at the seal and then, without a word, hurried toward the ladder leading to his cabin. He was halfway there when Aldan Stormreaver, the Sea-Witch, burst from below decks. The two men met halfway and Bernor spoke quickly.
“We picked up a siren, how she found us I don’t know. But she had this,” He showed Aldan the bottle and the mans eyebrows rose. “I must get below and examine the contents. Can I entrust her to your care?”
Aldan nodded and stepped past his captain, approaching the shaking siren with a calm step and small smile on his lips. He had met her kind before and knew them to be dangerous when cornered but this one looked mostly dead. He knelt and gently placed a hand on her shoulder until she looked up at him.
“Hello little one. I am Aldan, you are on a warship of the Glasstonian Navy. What is your name?”
Peregrin was splayed out in a pile of her own gunk, already stinking up the deck with the unmistakable stench of fish. Her fingers wiped down the gills and the mucous helped to seal them shut. In time, they would eventually shut properly in order to help her breathe properly, but it took a few hours for the transition to fully take place. She stared at Aldan in silence, still gurgling and wheezing. “Perry-...grin. Per-ree-grin.” Her mouth worked around the name. “Picked good ship, yes. Right ship….Help-...Arcadia.”
Aldan nodded. “Yes, you did. You will be safe here. Would you like us to help wash you off?” He was very aware of the smell and suspected that, while it might be normal for her, she couldn’t as she was.
She gave a small nod and he called for a deck hose to be rigged. Curious sailors hurried to complete the order, the long canvas hose quickly secured to one of the ships pumps. Then, unable to keep from grinning, willing hands fell to working the pump and directing the spray of ocean water onto the siren. The sea waste came away easily enough and was hosed overboard until the dark skinned creature was left sitting in a puddle of water, her white robe clinging to every part of her body and leaving little to the imagination. Still, the persisting inhuman qualities about her appearance were jarring enough to bring the men back to reality, especially when those pointed teeth glinted in the half-light. Every man on deck eyed her, without trying to look as though they were until a roar from the quarterdeck sent them hurrying back to their tasks.
Aldan knelt next Peregrin again and waited until she met his gaze once more. “Would you like to rest?” He desperately wanted to question her but she would need time to become accustomed to breathing out of water and, judging from the look on her face, get some sleep. He had seen the signs of exhaustion in enough beings during his days on earth to know that she was walking with death. Peregrin made another wet gurgle as her arms gave out and she flopped face-first onto the deck, eyes half shut. Aldan hefted the creature into his arms to swiftly transport her to the infirmary. She was small and light enough to lift unassisted and as she slipped into a dark and dreamless sleep, she blearily called out for ‘Sam’ again and again.
Mixtape Ghost N
