Journey: Claimed Sea

The blindfold is wrapped tightly around your head, pinching your eyes shut...

You are on your knees, motionless with your hands bound behind your back. You hear men weeping on either side of you as a soft breeze blows your hair back.

You can reach your back pockets with your free fingers from here, but who knows who might be looking at you. In front of you, you hear the rabble of a crowd of people who seem to have come to spectate you.

A raspy man's voice begins to read off a list of names, your name being at the top of said list. The crowd boos and throws things on stage. Several objects collide with your face and torso.

Suddenly, you are lifted up from your underarm by a large firm hand, you can smell the onion scented breath of your captor as he escorts you into the unknown. He stands you straight and fastens a noose around your neck and then proceeds to do the same with the others.

What do you do?

i wriggle violently enough to drop my blindfold down off of my face and look around the crowd before i begin begging for an explanation as to why i am in this situation

You kick your feet and scream to the guards dismay. Several men begin grabbing you and trying to hold you still. Suddenly you hear a lever get pulled and you fall through the hatch at your feet, the rope slipping off of your neck. You land after a particularly frightening and far fall on your back. You are still bound and blindfolded and can hear the stomps of loud feet jumping down after you.

What now?

i sprint as fast as i can , heading the opposite way of the sounds, trying to struggle against my bonds as i run.

Your hands bound tight behind your back, you roll to your feet and start to run. You shake your head violently until the blindfold slips off of your eyes and falls around your neck. The sun is falling in the sky. Before you have time to think, you find yourself running headfirst into a crowd of Rathmen (Also known as the Paegia, A sentient race of human-like beings with skin made of wood, and thick flavorful syrup blood, native to The Heart of Paegia and The Rathmapolis Isles.) Their emotionless stairs all fall upon you as you barrel through the crowd, the orcs still following close behind.

The streets of Thieves Landing stretch out before you, flooded with a slew of different races from all over Miglia, each one of them hardened criminals, here for a reason, to watch the executions, or die with the rest. The Paegian empire holds a "Finishing Day" on August 5th every year; an event in which all convicted criminals are marched through downtrodden cities to their deaths in a hope to deter crime and violence, today is that day.

Decrepit houses run down each side of the street leaving only a few open alleys between the tightly packed buildings. A small encampment comes into sight a few hundred feet up the road ahead of you filled with the sounds of laughing and cheering; possibly a Finishing Day celebration. On the horizon you see the silhouette of the shipyard, the only way off of the island.

What do you do?

I dash through the encampment, attempting to rush through a tent in the encampment to shake the orcs that follow me before i head towards the shipyard. I scan the environment around me for anything to cut my bindings with while i run.

You dart through the nearest tent to the dismay of the party goers. Their cheers quickly turn into boos and complaints. You reach your fingers into your back pocket and find a small shaving razor and manage to free yourself of your wrist bindings.

Free of your restraints you speed up your pace and rush for the shipyard. You stand on the dock and gaze out at the recently dispatched fleet of ships that are embarking. To your left you hear the complaints of a Human ship-captain.

"...They won't let me sail without a first-mate to take charge of the ship's deck department, manages the ship's cargo, and be responsible for me ship and crew. But nobody around here is willing to take a trip all the way to Mig on short notice."

A small bar sits to the left of you with a map of Miglia  pinned to the wall. The bartender solemnly wipes the bar down without looking up as you pass by. You glance over your shoulder and get sight of the orcs who are now tearing apart the camp searching for you (Orcs aren't very smart).

I approach the captain and bluff that i have a bit of sailing experience. I tell him that id gladly be his first-mate but only if we can set sail "right now seriously i got like an hour at most".

The captain speaks,"Well, lets not waste any time! me crew be waitin' on deck, expectin' me t' show up with me first mate any minute now, we can leave starboard away!" as he rushes off down the dock.

I look around the ship, examining the deck and the crew.

You step out onto the deck of she ship and are met with the suspicious glares of the crew; a hardened lot of mostly Rathmen, all at least in their thirties. The tree creatures continue readying the ship for sea as the captain climbs aboard and commands them. The crew works in unison, with the exception of two out of place ship hands who fumble about with the cargo, shouting to each other in a foreign tongue over the roar of the ocean.

The minds of Rathman are intertwined, allowing them to communicate with each other without speaking, but these two extraneous crew members were not that of Rathman, but of two other separate races. The bigger of the two of the two is the first to pass you by, bearing a pair of menacing curled horns and carrying a large wooden chest in his lean hairy arms. He is an Agassi . A near extinct race of satyr that once reigned supreme in Paegia and Brackdoom but had now been reduced to ash by the ever expanding Paegian Empire during the great Agassian war. A large scar stretches across his right eye, preventing hair from growing back over it.

The second hand makes himself known as he emits a noxious fish odor about the boat. Despite the Agassi's incredible sense of smell, the goat-man ignores his companions stench, and walks close by his side. You see the short, naked creature's back as it disappears into the cabin; a powerful set of gills rest on his sides, sealed now by a flap of skin that could later fold back to allow under-water breathing capabilities. This was aSampras . A deep sea-faring race that is famous for their horrid smell, and disregard for clothing. This particular Sampras however, seemed to have a keen appreciation for headbands, as he wears his black leather headband proudly.

You breath a sigh of relief as the fish smell vanishes from the air and follows the hands into the cabin. The captain makes his way above deck and begins barking his orders to the crew. In a matter of minutes the boat is sea-bound and venturing into open ocean. The wind blows the sails softly as a muscular Rathman hand steers the boat to the north toward Mig. The captain returns to the deck and points to the cabin.

"Thats goin' t' be yer home for t' majority o' our voyage. Ye be t' sleep with t' men, work with t' men, and above all, make damn sure they don't fuck anything up! Can you manage that? Aye, I know ye can do it." The short balding captain ushers you forward before returning to the above deck.

What do you do?

I try to approach the nearest crew member and ask their name.

"Northward! Avoid the deep until nightfall, We'd best not to pass through Sampras territory with them awake." A stout young Rathman shouts first, only to be echoed in unison by all other Rathman onboard, "Northward! Avoid the deep until nightfall, We'd best not to pass through Sampras territory with them awake."

You attempt to grab the attention of the young man, but he ignores you and continues with his work securing cargo for the journey ahead.

The captains voice comes booming from the upper deck.

"First mate! What are you doing? You really think I need you to look after the hive mind? The crew I had in mind when I asked to make sure they didn't fuck anything up, are currently in the cabin unsupervised!"

Now what?

I rush off to the cabin to meet the "crew", berating myself for trying to do something so pointless.

You step into the cabin and again are met with the awful fish stench. A dim light shines, illuminating the small candle lit cabin. You immediately see the Sampras and Agassi from earlier, sitting atop the wooden crate actively conversing and laughing in what sounds like Sampran (Sampras tongue).

In the shadows at a small table beside the candles; two human males in their early fourties, one bearing black hair the other white, playing a foreign board game that you don't understand.

The crash of the door slamming behind you brings all attention of the room to you. The scent grows stronger without the presence of outside air and with it an accompanying silence fills the cabin.

"Keep the door shut." The black haired man says.

"Open the door a crack." The white haired man says.

The two of them start to talk at the same time and look at each other frustrated before grumbling and returning to the game.

The Agassi speaks with a thick accent, rolling his A's and and dragging O's on for longer than necessary.

"Oy, Yah get used to it. Ain't a worry brother. Come first mate, I am the one that is called Orion. This is my squishy fishy brother from another mother, he is called Phirrushuu, but he is just called Phirru by me. Won't the first mate introduce himself?"

You step forward into the light and can see your reflection from a decorative hanging window leaning against the wall.

Who are you?

Cuervin Regent, Male, Thieve's Landing, Human

I was born into poverty in Thieves Landing, brought up by my mother to steal and lie to survive. I made quite a bit of money for myself, but still kept low. My mother and I bought a small house in some coastal villa. She died when I was about 19, some horrible disease came through town. I moved into one of the bigger cities and went back to thievery. One day an orc approached me, draped in heavy armor, flanked by three or four men and xuag also wearing armors made of leather and iron. He asked if I wanted to start making the big bucks, start earning an honest living. Next thing I knew I had my new blade on a kids throat, he couldnt have been older than me, he was my first kill. I'll never forget the fear in his eyes as he bled out in that old ruin... He may have been my first but he sure wasn't my last. That orc turned me into a killing machine, using me to take down bounty after bounty, at least that's what he told me. After we were captured in the wilds, I found out the people we were hunting weren't bounties, they were the old orc's enemies, he had tricked us into becoming his pawns. That's how I ended up on the gallows, nearly dieing as a piece in another man's game.

Energetic, eager, thrill seeker, flexible acrobatic fighter, extremely deft hands.

Chaotic Neutral

dark, nearly black hair, medium length. small scar above my right eye, cutting through my eyebrow

"My name's Cuervin, and it's good to meet you guys." I reply, leaning back onto a wall. "So where exactly is this ship heading, again?" I nod at the goat man.

"May his light shine on you always first mate Cuervin. Oy, the ship be porting in Mig where we get to offload some cargo and pick up some more cargo and then come back! Fun!" Orion jokes.

The white haired man and his black haired double laugh sarcastically in unison. Something about the Sampras shows that he can only half understand English, the only internationally spoken, and most widely accepted language in all of Miglia.

Orion quickly translates the joke into Sampan and Phirrushuu explodes into laughter, and shooting out a raspy retort from his lungs.

"Nire zalantzan nire asmoak, zure anaia ek uste dut, fecit iocum!" The Sampras spouts in his obscure tongue.

After a few minutes of small talk, the white haired man slams his hands down on the table in defeat and steps away from the board game. The black haired man looks up at you and motions toward the bizarre board game consisting of rocks, sticks, dice and a game of mouse trap.

"Know how to play?"

Now what?

"No clue," I say as I approach the strange man, "care to teach me?" I sit down where the white haired man was, curiously examining the game board.

The man slides a handful of rocks toward you on the table and begins to line the sticks up side by side. Once three rows of three, five, and seven sticks are created.

"This is an ancient game, dating back to before the full exploration of Miglia, created by our ancestors. Some say this is the first ever recorded board game in all of existence! It's name is debated, but I can tell ya the plain hard truth - It's called Checkers". The rules are simple really --

The man goes on to explain an incredible intricate and outlandish game. You find it strange to never have heard of such a game, growing up in Thieve's Landing, the worlds mixing pot. You play along with the game, but never fully understand how it works.You wind up losing every single rock from your side of table and the black haired man slams his hands down onto the game board , dropping the cage and capturing your mouse.

"Woo! Undefeated!" he shouts

His white haired counterpart rolls his eyes , "We had better get to work moving these crates below deck before their weight throws us off course."

The Sampras and Agassi pair ignore the human's suggestion and continue to converse. The white haired man shrugs before pulling grabbing a crate and hauling it over his shoulder to hike down the stairs below deck.

The black haired man presents a flask and from his waist and takes a long swig. His face in grimace he holds the flask out toward you in a commonly known human gesture of friendship; drinking.

What do you do?

.

·         1x shaving razor

I grab the flask and take a small drink. Then I ask the man "Is there anywhere on this ship where I could get some more proper equipment than these old rags I've got?"

The black haired man nods. "The captain should probably have a proper first mate jacket for you if you go to his cabin. Besides that there's an old stockpile of garb in one of them crates below deck, ain't nobody would notice a few pair o' slacks missing." He winks at you.

Now what?

I might as well get some work done, I pick up a crate and head below deck, looking for the white haired man as I go.

You climb down the stairs to the bottom deck and are met with unnerving darkness. As you hit the floor panels, you sink into 5-6 inches of water covering the entire floor of the ship. You hold the crate up higher to avoid getting it wet and strain your muscles.

You dart your gaze across the darkness until you see a glint cast off of the white haired man's head. Pail in hand, he is scooping water off of the floor and throwing it out of the ships port hole.

Now what?

I ask the man, "Hey! What the hell's goin on?" My arms begin to get tired and I lower the crate. "and where do I put this stupid crate?"

"Just put it anywhere. A little water won't do much harm." He motions toward a table beside the stairs. "Would you give me a hand?"

Atop the table there is a a pail, a candle and a box of matches.

What do you do?

The crate splashes into the water as you release your grip and pick up the bail. After a few minutes of working, the white haired man turns to you and attempts to strike up conversation,

"So where are you from first-mate Cuervin? You a local?"

"Well, yeah, I've lived in Thieves Landing all my life. Complete shithole of an island. I just needed to get out, see new lands, seek new fortunes. This was really the only way I could think of to leave without having to resort to less... savory approaches." I keep trying to bail water.

As the white-haired man throws out the last bucket of water he turns to you and smiles, "Well at least someone around here is doing what they are supposed to. It's great to meet you Cuervin. My name is ---" The ship is rocked and you are lurched forward, causing you to collapse onto the hard damp floors.

You hear chaos break out on the deck above as the ship seems to veer off track. The crew is yelling over the sound of the waves crashing against the ship, but not loud enough for you to make out what they are saying.

The white-haired man looks to you expectantly, "Well lets go see what all the fuss is about then eh?"

"Alright then." I run up to the deck to check out the problem.

As you reach the top of the stairs you see the crew of rathman standing confused. Their gaze is met just on the horizon where the sun met the waters reflecting a warm orange hue that burned the night away. A dark sailed unmarked trireme floats listlessly without aim or control just past the sun three hundred meters out. All of the oars sit motionless, but you can see the hands of some of the unmarked crew resting on the handles.

The captain is nowhere to be seen on deck, and the rathman seem uncapable of coming to a consensus on their own. In need of direction they turn to you as soon as you make your way onto deck, followed by Orion and the white haired man, the black haired man and Phirrushuu the sampras.

What do you do?

"wheres the captain" I shout to the crew as I stride across the deck, feigning confidence.

"In his quarters" They speak all at once pointing toward the

cabin on the port-side of the ship.

"Baach tuzch mæle! A messanger of sol." Orion speaks.

The black haired man is quick to contradict him "Ain't no 'messanger of sol'. That there's a rouge Prybarrion naval ship."

"How would you know!?" White haired man interrupts.

"My uncle fought the orcs in the battle of Dirk, so I know a lot about these kind of things" He gives a smug grin and crosses his arms. "See how they painted the sails black like that? Its to send a message that they aren't under Prybarrion law."

What do you do now?

I dash across the deck and burst through the captain's door. "Captain! We have another ship in sight! It looks to be a rogue trireme!"

The captain is found sitting on his bed facing the wall as you burst in. His hand between his legs and pants around his ankles, he jumps up in surprise.

"What the hell are ye doing burstin' in 'ere like that?!" He scolds you as he pulls his pants back up and buckles them around his waist. He pauses for a moment and then looks at you. "What did ye say? a rogue trireme? Who in nine hell still uses a trireme beside the... Prybarrions..." he stops to think before putting his red lace captains hat atop his head and rushing over to you.

"They be flyin' black sail?"

You nod your head.

"Aye, then tell the men flag them down, if they respond aggressively have them steer the ship into the deep. Those prybarrion rebels can be dangerous."

I walk back outside. "Alright you salty fiends, someone flag down that ship, helmsman be ready to steer into the deep. Is there an armory or anything on this damned ship? We could have a fight on our hands."

The helmsman is a middle-aged rathman but he steers the ship with the agility of an adolescent in the prime of his life. He brings the ship to an idle drift, avoiding the trireme's direct path and slowly making its way closer to the deep. The rest of the men run to the deck and wave their hands toward the horizon in an attempt to make peaceful contact with the 'damned ship'. If it continues on course it will pass by the ship in no less than five minutes.

The white haired man is the first to acknowledge your request to arm the crew. "Why in nine hells are you suggesting we fight them? I myself have no fighting experience... I can't speak for the others but they don't exactly look ..."

"Get on with it." Orion pressures the group. "Spirits here are foul friends."

The white haired man continues, "Very well, I imagine we might be able to fashion some crude weapons from the cargo below dock. Would be better to use a little than lose all of it."

What now?

"Well then let us get to it." I say as I dash down below deck and search through the cargo for tools and something to possibly make into armor.

You begin run to the cabin leading to the bottom deck, making use of the short amount of time you have before the confrontation. Before you can reach the door to the cabin the black haired man stops you.

"Hey look, Cuervin was it? I've told you there ain't nothin' but clothes down there, it'd be a waste of time to go searching through those crates lookin' for a weapon." He runs his tongue along the front row of his teeth before scanning the crowd around him and lowering his voice so only you can hear it, "Tell ya what, I reckon you've noticed that the men around here are pretty hard, especially for rathman, pardon my word play. I'm willing to bet most everyone onboard is packing some kind of weapon, they just be hidin' it and afraid of getting quartered below deck. Why don't ya have an ask around, you'll scrounge sometin up faster that way. Less'n you wan't to go search below deck, go right ahead."

The trireme draws nearer with no sign of recanting.

What now?

"Thanks for the tip." I approach the nearest group of rathmen "hey you guys, youre gonna want to either turn over whatever weapons you got or be prepared to use em on these rebels if shit goes sour."

The group immediately shifts their attention from the approaching trireme to you. Their unwavering gazes rest on your face as they listen to you patiently. Silence hangs in the air as the the three rathman stare at you with unblinking eyes as they send telepathic signals to one another in an attempt to decide how to react.

One man finally steps forward, the most stout of the lot, without saying a words he shoves a grubby wooden hand into his pocket and draws a knife. The others sit in silence for the smallest of moments before they uniformly reach into their coat pockets, boots, under their hats and draw some form of a weapon of their own.

The stout rathman fixes his glare back upon you, a woodmite crawls across his dry cracked skin and into his mouth, but he gives it no notice and instead begins to speak.

The voice of the rathman is truly a confusing thing. They all speak in the exact same way, a monotone frequency they have devised to mimic human speech patterns. Some say it's beautiful, to others it may be terrifying.

"We always have weapons." He pauses, "... For us"

It would appear that you have been left out of their knife club. First mate or not, rathman do what rathman want. Now here you are, still unarmed and in prison-garb, on a ship, in the middle of Miglian deep with an unidentified, possibly hostile prybarrion trireme on the approach.

What do you do?

I ask the group of non-rathmen if they have any spare weapons for me, then I check around below deck in the cargo bay, seeing if theres any boxes I can pry open.

As you approach Orion and the two human men you take note that the headband clad sampras, is nowhere in sight. The ship shifts slightly and you almost loose your balance. Regaining your composure, you hear the helmsman call out to you "That is us officially entering the deepest part of the ocean. Take heed men!"

Orion the agassi, a species known best for their ability to maintain their balance on nearly any surface, helps you stand straight on your own feet that of which have no such luxury. He looks you up and down inquisitively then stretches his mouth open to speak, "Haven't you got your sea legs laaaddie? For a first-mate, you sure fall down a lot."

Cuervin asks them for weapons

"I carry no weapon for I follow tuzch-maele , My soul submits." The agassi is the fist to speak.

The black haired man is quick to interject,"Cut it with that 'messangers of sol' bull shit. Everyone knows that the arrival was nothin' but solar fluctuations! It's been proven in a thousand studies in labs all o' Miglia. T' sun be just a star, not some phony god."

The agassi shrugs and resigns to flagging the ship down with the rest of the rathman crew. In his wake, the white haired man berates the black haired man for his insensitive behaviors. The white haired man turns to you and with an assertive but patronizing voice. He is the next to respond to your request, "Like I told ya before. If you can find anything useful from below deck and bring it up here to me, I might be able to make you some sort of -"

"Can it, ya mop head." The black haired man speaks up, going unchallenged for title of most interruptions in one message. He approaches you and wraps an arm around your shoulder, "Tell you what Cuervin, I got me one of them real fancy steel spitters, a handful of steel bits, and more then enough gunpowder in a pouch to fire em' all. I'm more of a sword man myself..." He mentions as he pulls his jacket aside revealing not one, but two blades secured to his back, crossing each other in such a manner that they are least noticeable. " All this, on one condition; I need you to get me something. You're the first mate, so you can probably get in and out of the captain's cabin easier. That ol' miserable idiot has more mead then he knows what to do with in that wine cabinet. I saw it in his quarters when he was off looking for ye. If you can snag a bottle from his cabinet and bring it here, - One really, just one bottle. - then It's all your's.

Cuervin goes below deck in search of boxes to pry open.

You go below deck, now contemplating the new choices that had been presented to you by the two men. As you step into the bottom of the ship, the water appears to have risen to twice that of before, now filling the bottom deck up to your ankles. You wade through the water, past the table with the pail, candle and watches to the first box.

The box is strong, and specifically designed not to be broken into by thieving individuals like yourself. You manage to slip a finger between the thick board and pry the top of the box off after much pain and struggling. Dust fills the air as you cough and squint to look at the bounty you had earned for your hard work. The dust finally clears and examine the boxes contents; the box is full of women's clothing, mostly designed for the middle class inhabitants of Mig.

A splash draws your attention away from the crate to the darkness that lies all around you. It isn't until the moment that the darkness truly becomes present to you, as it diminish your vision of the unknown. Perhaps a threat lied beyond the shadows, or maybe it was what you came looking for, or maybe, most likely, it was nothing.

What do you do?

I reach into the box and pull out a long dress, then I use my shaving razor to cut off two strips of cloth and properly wrap them around my fists, padding my fists for more solid punches. Then I take another strip off of the dress and tie it around my head, making a makeshift eyepatch for later, but for now it's a headband. I call out into the darkness, "Hey, is there anyone down here? If you're a stow away do not worry, you can come out, we need as many men as we can get. The ship may be under attack soon. It might be in your best interest to join in defending your vessel."

A familiar face emerges from the shadows and presents itself to you. Phiruushuu stands at the base of the stairs, a shadow cast covering half of his face. Clasped in his left hand is a small assembly hammer, he brings his other hand to his mouth and extends one finger over his lips.

"Eh Nirz cava hagur ? Nirz malaj Sampan eh?" He waits a moment expectantly before looking away from you and shaking his head and walking back into the darkness.

Now what?

I look at the sampras quizically, "I don't understand your language, I only speak the common tongue." I lower my voice, "Do you even understand what I'm saying?"

He seems to ignore you as he swims back into the shadows. All is silent for a moment until you hear the smack of Phirruushuu's hammer on the dense surface of a crate. It cracks open revealing an assortment of kitchen utensils; spoons, forks, butter knives, plates and bowls.

The sampras climbs down from the crate and gestures towards it before quickly swimming past you and darting his way up the stairs, leaving you in total darkness with water above your knees.

What now?

I follow the Sampras upstairs and put my headband over one eye, securing it around my head, then I march straight toward the captain's quarters and kick his door in. "Captain! I don't care if youre still yankin' it I'm taking a bottle of this fucking mead!" I walk over to his liqour cabinet and grab a nice cold bottle of Mig Mead[1]  , then I walk over to the black haired man and hand it to him.

You kick the door as hard as you can, but the doors on the ships are built to last a storm, so your kick does nerry a scuff to the paint. The kick knocks you back onto your backside and you are forced to look upward as the short balding captain steps out of the cabin.

"What be goin' on in me ship?! Have ye all gone mad?"

What do you do now?

"Well shit, that didn't work. So, captain," I stand up and brush myself off,"might I borrow a bottle of some of that fancy ale you've got back there, I need to loosen these men up some if we are getting into a fight."

The captain cocks an eyebrow at you as you stand up to face him. He has to look up to you, but he leans on the ends of his feet to make himself as tall as possible. "My classic Mig Mead? In ye dreams laddie, that mead been aging for twenty years, their worth at least 20,000 paegans each. You think I'd be so inclined to give it to you?" he shoves past you and steps out onto the deck to get a better look at the trireme.

As the ship drifts slowly beside the now idle trireme, a familar stench lifts into the air, it burns in your nostrils and chokes you. The fishy smell is now stronger than ever, far overpowering that of simply being around Phirrushuu. The oars of the trireme sit lifeless, dragging the ship to a gradual halt. A hand that once powered this boat is visible in the same state as the ores hanging from the side of the ship.

What now?

"Well, sir, do you have any ideas about what to do?"I pace the deck, "That smell is getting awful, and I bet it's coming from whatever is on that ship."

The captain stands at the ship side and leans over the side watching the trireme float through a cloud of fog twenty yards from you. "It ain't my job t' be tryin' t' risk blood and wages to rescue some rogue prybarrions. " He sighs at last, running his fingers through his thin hair, piling a layer of grease onto his hand.

The white haired man steps forward and makes his side of the argument heard, "I apologize for interjecting sir, but if I'm not mistaken, the prybarrion rouges capture men, women and children and bring them along in their nomadic escapades. Their could be innocents aboard that vessel that are very much in need of our help. Who would we be to turn them away?"

Following in the footsteps of his white haired counterpart, the black haired man steps forward, also presenting his case, "Sir, imagine the spoils that be aboard a ship like that? Surely such a ship has seen, and won, many a battle. It would be unwise not to at least give the ship a once over."

Being presented with a tough decision the captain does what any captain would do in a time of need in which their were unsure on what decision should be made and turns to his first-mate, "What have ye to say first-mate. Shall I tell the men to leave it be?"

What now?

"We should leave it alone for now, but keep an eye on it." I look to the helmsman, "Get back on course! I have a bad feeling about this whole situation." I knock on the wooden railing of the ship.

Everyone is still for a moment, unsure of what judgement call had been made. The captain looks around at his men before he speaks up, "You heard em' boys! Get this ship back on course and get back t' work. We need t' work doubletime if we be expectin' to make the Mig basin by next month."

The men grunt and get back to their positions as the excitement of the unknown slowly begins to die down. Perhaps the mysteries this ill-fated trireme held would go unexplored for now. The captain begins to trudge back to his quarters before he turns to address you, "That sure was a lot o' hard decidings. I do need t' unwind wit some booze. Maybe I'll crack just one bottle open. Besides, what'll twenty thousand paegans really get me? A cheap whore and night in Bich! Care to join me first-mate?

Now what?

"I might as well, Captain." I follow him back to his cabin and grab a glass from his bar, then I relax in a chair.

You find yourself in the captain's luxurious cabin, glass in hand and ass in chair. The twin moons are just replacing the sun in the sky as darkness rolls around and the captain follows you into his quarters. After shutting the door the captain notices you waiting patiently with the glass and laughs, "Tough first night eh mate?"

He moves to his desk to retrieve a key before using it to unlock the cabin and retrieve a tall bottle of Mig mead. He closes the cabinet and tucks the key into his pocket before bringing the bottle out and filling your glass. Once his own glass is filled he takes a seat beside and draws a long gulp out of the bottle before setting it beside on the table beside him.

"I don't know a lot about you. I've gathard from t' men that yer name be Cuervin, but other than that you remain a mestery. I like that about ye honestly. Keeps ye interestin'." He pauses and takes a sip out of his glass. "Do tell Cuervin, how have the men been doing. Did all the the cargo get put away safely below deck?"

What now?

"Last time I checked, it was all fine," I take a swig of the mead," But there seems to be a bit of flooding down there."

The captain chokes on his mead and looks up at you, "Needn't worry too much about that, It's just an unexplained happening what happens when a ship sails into the deep. They call it Eliikretuu's revenge. Claim it's a curse - the sampras gods getting back at man for all of their wrong doings." The captain puts his head back and drains the glass before bringing it down onto the table with a slam. "Them crates are built to last some water damage, so the cargo isn't much of a concern to me anymore."

As the captain begins to speak again, he realizes the severity of the story he is about to tell so he pours himself another glass. "I been a ship captain for thirty years now. Thirty years. That be a good deal o' time for a mortal man. Ye can bet I know my way 'round a ship, well as how to handle a crew wit confidence. But it hasn't always been like that; there was a time, when I was but a young lad in my twentieth year of life. I'd been sailin' all me life, but this was the first year that I was the captain of me own ship. The men of me crew then were mostly all human. This was before the rathman started dominating the work force about ten years back of course. The rathman work for less and it seems sometimes like they work twice as hard, what with t' not needin' sleep and all... aye does get lonely though, commandin' a crew o' mindless dolts like that. You'd t' think with all them heads thinkin' together they'd be real smart, but that ain't right. They don't get jokes and I ain't never seen no rathman that could sing." He lets out a chuckle and looks out the porthole past your head.

One more breath before he continues, "Cuervin, the second I stepped on this ship for the very first time thirty years ago I fell in love. This ship is the one thing that matters most to me in my life. Don't got no family, no wife, never had no kids. It's just been me, the ship and the sea. I was scared at first; being around so many people, commanding so many people, but after so many years of being responsible for the lives of me and me crew, it just becomes easy. First mates come and go, my crew changes constantly, not that I get to know any of 'em anyway. I guess what I'm tryin' t' say be that it be your duty, t' make true t' sanctity o' me ship, because my ship is like my bride." He finishes his long pointless ramble and puts the half bottle of mead into your hands, "Here, take this away from me, have it be in my sight I would drink myself stupid. Go now to your sleeping quarters and share with it the others. Consider it a welcoming gift."

He smiles and retreats to his chair, "Unless ye have any further need of me,leave me for Vashira beckons to me with her siren calls of sleep." He waves you away and closes his eyes.

"G'night, Captain" I close the cabin door on my way out and head down to the crew's quarters. I open the door and look around for the black haired man, once I see him I walk over and hand him the bottle of mead and sit down on a bunk.

The black-haired man greedily grabs the bottle from your hand as you offer it out to him before collapsing onto your cot. The material is thick and rough, made from the furs of a pechora no doubt. You are almost engulfed in the dense furs, but you still see the black haired man lit by candle-light, his face twisted into a cringe of disgust, "You expect me to be able to sell this? The deal was one bottle. Not only one blasted half! There's even lip prints on it, nobody in all of Miglia will buy this." He slams the bottle down onto the table in the middle of the room and lays back onto his own bed.

The daft hands of Phirrushuu quickly snatch the bottle from it's place on the table and bring it close to his face. He smells the bottle and peers inside before locking eyes with Orion.

"Buzcha!" they shout in unison before bursting into their strange foreign fits of laughter. Orion takes the bottle from Phirrushuu and turns to you, "First maaate Cuervin, maay we taste of your alcohol?" The agassian man asks you with a tilt of his head and a twitch of his scarred eye.

What now?

I smile, "Well of course, I thought he was going to drink it anyways. You gentlemen can finish it off." I roll over in my cot and drift off to sleep.

The white haired man makes himself appear as he steps into the cabin and closes the door behind him.The black haired man rolls over in his bed and begins to mumble angry complaints to himself. You close your eyes and the world goes dark. The last thing you hear is the strange alien languages that are being spoken just behind you by a soon to be drunk sampras and agassi.

Sleep is but a blink away, as your greasy hair lays in the same furs that it would every night for the next twelve days. You work hard with the white haired man, proving to be a competent first-mate, while also occasionally participating in the black haired man's shenanigans. This new adjustment to life proves to be a test, but soon you get your sea legs and things start to fall into place. While the rathman still may not look to you for leadership, the others grow to respect you as their first-mate.

...Twelve days and nights later...

You are awoken by a pair of hairy three fingered hands shaking you by the shoulders. Orion stands above you, the candle light of the room shines behind him causing his body to appear silhouetted , "You slept through your morning shift first-maaate Cuervin. Needn't worry, agassi cover for their friends. Come now, the captain calls for you."

What now?

"Thanks, Orion" I say as I climb out of my bunk, "Wheres the captain at?"

"Captain is on the deck. Captain tells me there is storm on the way, needs someone to help him ready the sails for a crosswind." Orion smiles and his eyelids blink horizontally.

Now what?

Thanks again, friend." I wave to the Goat man as I run above deck over to the captain. "Captain!" I shout "I'm here, point me in the right direction and I'll help set sails."

Orion waves to you and sits in the middle of the room with his legs crossed and he begins bleating in harmony with the sounds of the ocean. You pass Phirrushuu on the stairs on your way up and he offers you a passing greeting in his native tongue, but you are in too much of a rush, and stand to high above his head to hear it.

On the deck you are met with fierce winds and a cold dark sky. For mid afternoon this is not the typical climate that you would expect to face. The captain takes notice of you and makes his way across the deck to greet you, "Cuervin!" He shouts over the winds as they pick up and whistle into the cold air. The sad black clouds hang low in the sky and compliment the similar black bag beneath the captains eyes, "We ned somun' to climb up to the high mast. T' crosswind sails are caught and the only way to get em uncaught is to pull em down manually."

He holds a small 5 inch blade out to you by the hand and points to the top of the tallest mast in the middle of the deck. "Id'a done it myself in my earlier years, but those days have come and gone. You feeling up to the challenge?" He cocks and eyebrow and holds the handle of knife out in front of you.

What do you do?

I grab the knife and begin climbing the mast, doing my best to keep looking up and towards the tangled sail, when I reach the top I reach out and try to untangle the ropes.

You start the daunting climb as much of the crew gathers around to watch you attempt such a feat. You grab hold of the of the first of the ladder rungs extending from the side of the wooden mast pole and pull yourself up. You are off the ground, but now is not the time to look down, you keep your eyes on the goal, the tangles sails, so far above you now, but in time you would surely reach them. With a grunt and another lunge of your arm your pull yourself higher and higher up the ladder rungs.

The wind picks up as you climb higher flipping your hair about your face and slapping your eyes. The gap between you and the sails gets smaller and smaller as you begin to close the space between you. One last pull brings you halfway up the mast when a strong gust of wind rocks the ship and tilts it thirty or some odd degrees, forcing you sideways enough to force your feet to slip off of the rungs, leaving you in open air half way up the mast. You are left to think on a moments notice.

What now?

I the knife and drive it into the opposite side of the mast to anchor myself, then I wrap my arms tightly around the mast and swing my feet back into the rungs. I pull the knife from the wood and continue climbing up the mast, making sure I have my footing.

The knife sings as it glides through the air and plunges into the mast holding you in place. Your feet dangle and you hold the knife tight as you use the forward momentum from the wind to wrap your legs around the mast and reassure your footing. The winds calm and your pull yourself higher until you are just below the sails. With a final pull you make your way to the small walled area at the top of the mast for standing.

The source of the tangle in the masts becomes obvious to you and it comes out after a few quick tugs. As the full sails recede and the triangular sails take their place a sense of accomplishment hangs in the air. You feel a smile creep its way onto your face as the wind whips at your face and makes your eyes water.

Before you can start your celebration you notice a boat on the horizon. The crew beneath you become frantic as they run to the side of the ship to get a better look at the boat. The sails are clear as day as the snow white sails pull the trireme along. The familiar symbol of the mother getsioto shines bright on the sails and forces it's way through the thick clouded air as the oars at the ship's base work feverishly to assure the boat keeps a good speed through the waters as they grow harsher.

What now?

I shimmy down the mast, being sure to take my time, and as I land back on the deck I look around for the Captain and the non-rathman crewmembers.

You make your way to the bottom of the mast, knife in hand. Everyone seems to be crowded to one side of the ship. You can hear the captain ranting at the black haired man, " I don't give two shits if yer uncle fought fer the prybarrions, ain't be giving me no means to slow this ship for em."

The crew of the other ship come into clear sight as several of them seem to be attempting to signal your ship by waving colored flags off of the head of the trireme.

The black haired man sees this as uses it as evidence to further his point, "They clearly aren't an immediate threat to us. They could be trying to warn us of a threat, or bring us news of great fortune. Besides, are you really going to try and outrun the prybarrions in the direction of their own harbors?"

"You have a point... fine... Slow the ship men! Prepare to make sea commerce. Ready the planks, and someone go find Orion and that fish friend of his!"

What now?

I shout from behind the captain "I'm right on it, cap'n" I rush below deck and search for the two beast men.

Away from the deck and back to the sleeping quarters, you rush off of the deck and make your way down the stairs to retrieve the sampras and agassi. The room is dark as it should be, but you can still make out the figure of Orion, legs crossed, still in the same place he was when you had left him this morning.

Phiruushuu nods at you as you enter before getting back to shining his hammer with a length of cloth. The room is silent save for the roar of the ocean and the occasional grunt or moan that would come from the agassi in his state of meditation. You attempt to tell them to come with you above deck but Phiruushuu can't understand you and Orion is unresponsive.

Phirruushuu sees you observing Orion's strange meditation ritual and chuckles, "Orion mediataz Jeez-mil yolak cappa solia" he shrugs slightly before finishing with his signature catch-phrase "fecit iocum."

From your time spent around the pair, you have come to be able to understand bits of the language, but this particular sentence was proving quite challenging. He had told you something about Orion meditating a certain amount of time per month. But besides that, the linguistics remain a mystery to you.

What now?

I point to Phiruushuu and look at him, speaking slowly and motioning towards the deck while I talk, "We need you right now."

"Nir malaj. Nirzoip haerpaz." He chokes out before jumping down from his bunk to the floor. The boards creak on impact but you don't feel any vibrations in your feet like you would expect. His black beady eyes jitter as he looks from Orion to you. He puts up his soft webbed fingers into an open palm, the way a master would communicate to a dog that was doing something it shouldn't , and gets between you and Orion. He shakes his head at you before gesturing toward the stairs and skittering past you onto the deck.

What do you do?

I turn around and walk up the stairs back to the rest of the crew, ignoring the aggassi.

You make it to the deck just in time to see the captain talking very slow and loud in a demeaning voice to Phiruushuu.

"WE NEED YOU SWIM. YOU SWIM TRIREME. YOU SEE IF THEY FRIEND? OKAYY?"

The Sampras sighs and pretends not to understand him. The captain notices you and his face lights up. "Thank god, wheres Orion? I need someone that can communicate with that thing."

What do you do now?

"Orion's down below deck, I couldn't break him from his meditation. That sounds like a bad idea anyways."

The trireme pulls closer on through the ocean and you can soon begin to hear the voices of the crew as they call-out. The shrill feminine shouts take you off guard as a ship full of men is typically the norm.

"Damn, Prybarrion bitches. Can never tell what they be wantin'." The captain grumbles under his breath before putting on a fake smile and waving back in return. Phirrushuu disappears from sight once again as you turn your attention back to where he stood.

The white haired man makes his way onto the deck from the cargo bay, visibly covered in grease and black smudges from one of his unorthodox projects. He wipes his forehead with the back of his wrist and squints against the roaring winds, "What in the nine hells is going on out here? The ship is going off course!"

The captain keeps his smug smile spread across his face and scolds the white haired man through his teeth, "Watch yer tone boy. I could have ye thrown overboard for questionin' me, remember that. We got another Prybarrion war ship. These idiots are tryin' to flag us down in the middle of a storm, gonna get us all killed. Be more dangerous ta ignore em though. Do me a favor would ya, and take Cuervin to ready the planks. They'll have t' board if they be wantin' to be heard over this storm."

The white haired man nods nervously and turns to you, "Well let's get to it Cuervin. Follow me" He finishes before making his way up the stairs to the upper deck.

What now?

I follow the man up the stairs and help him prepare the boarding planks.

On the upper deck you find a thirty foot boarding plank. The white haired man gestures to one side and moves to grab the other. "On my count, alright? 3... 2.. 1. , Lift!"

You strain your muscles lifting the dense board and balancing it against the strong winds. The winds are only proving to get worse as the white haired man begins to walk down the stairs backward to the main deck. A sliver of the board comes loose and pierces your hand, causing you pull it away sharply. The board tilts and the white haired man begins to loose his balance on the stairs.

What do you do?

I quickly try to grasp the board again, pushing through the pain of the splinter. I pull the board towards me to try to hold more of the weight and keep the white haired man from falling. I shout. "I've got you, man! Just focus on staying upright!" then I let out a light chuckle and try to descend the stairs and set up the board.

The white haired man regains his balance and gives you a reassuring glance before reaching the bottom of the stairs, board in hands. Together you hoist the board the the low part of the side guards and lean half of it over the side. The approaching trireme comes to a slow close beside the ship and the white haired man latches the board onto the side of the guard rail.

The boarding plank of the prybarrion trireme rises and meets with your own,locking into place and allowing for a straight path across. Everyone in the crew takes a few steps back and watches as the first figure crosses the plank. The legs of the prybarrion dance gracefully across the plank even through the raging storm, and in a matter of seconds, five of them are standing aboard your ship.

"Lets make this quick aye? This storm'll sink both our ships if ye tarry." The captain pleads with the army that has just boarded his vessel.

The shortest of the bunch steps forward and unwraps a portion of the burqa that envelops her body to reveal her face. She is a woman in her early fifties, but she wears her years with a certain grace that makes her seem almost ageless. Her pale white skin is surrounded by the total blackness of her hair only making her skin look all the more colorless. Being a woman who has clearly had to adjust to many things in her life and overcome many obstacles, her face is full of strength. She is full bodied and muscular, but her lean body shape makes it seem so unobtrusive it's unnoticeable at a first glance. Her bearings and attire are decorated with bold golden trim and the blade on her hip glimmers of pure Mig steel, a blade only a noble would carry. Her speech on the other hand is not nearly as precise. Instead, when she speaks it is a mixture of many different things; clearly a well educated women, native to the common tounge, but her tone is permeated with a midwestern vibe. A small bit of the south wins out her inflections with a soft slurring that transforms her use of vowels.

"Yes, of course captain. We will make ourselves as brief as possible. Let me be the first to introduce myself - I am Lord Jamelia of Berenhal, daughter of King Agnes, and protector of the realm. These are my loyal gentries, sworn to defend me and fight by my side should something go awry. We have stopped your vessel today on a matter of great importance that we believe you may be able to assist us with. A rebel faction has commandeered one of our vessels and was last spotted in open oceans headed in this direction. We asked around thieves landing and came to learn that this was the only vessel that could have possible crossed paths with it in the past fortnight. I come here humbly to ask if you or your men have possibly come into contact with them in some way. Well." She finishes, "Have you?"

The captain is hesitant to answer.

What do you do?

I turn to her, "Well... We may have seen your vessel recently... Would it happen to be another trireme? If so... um... The entire crew appeared to be dead by the time we crossed paths with it... I'm very sorry for not being more helpful..." I hold a worried look on my face and await her response, avoiding eye contact with any of the others. These women are very intimidating.

The short woman turns her head to face you as you speak. She remains silent and respectful, only nodding her head in a manner to let you know that she understands, and realizes that there is nothing you could have possibly done to prevent their unfortunate demise. She looks inquisitively between you and the captain, before she finally raises her head and presses her chest out toward you.

"So I take it that you are the captain then? Sorry for addressing this officer so formally in front of you in such a manner. It is a true shame to hear about the fate of those aboard our vessel. But it only helps to raise yet another question in regards to what happened and where the ship is right now. There was some very ...erm... valuable cargo aboard that ship. But where are my manners? Your name is?"

The captain steps forward, obviously taking offense at Lord Jamelia's inability to recognize his authority. He pushes you aside and stands close to her face, "Watch out Cuervin." He points his finger in her face "Look lassie, this here be my ship, and I reckon it's just about time you had got off it!"

The woman's cheeks turn a bright shade of crimson and she offers the true captain an awkward curtsy. "My apologies captain. My intentions are nothing but pure I can assure you. I would much appreciate it if you would not use such demeaning words... I can't promise you that one -or all- of my gentries won't be... triggered..."

The captain steps back, seeing that a line had been crossed. He apolagizes and goes quiet again. The threat to his authority set aside, he allows you to help continue the investigation.

Jamelia asks for your name once again, but before a chance to answer presents itself, the black haired man emerges from the back of the crowd and throws his arm around your shoulder. He puts his lips close to your ears for a brief second and you can smell the thick scent of his cologne that is just barely drowning out his overwhelming body odor. He whispers softly into your ear, "You see that ass on the third one from the back!? Been too damn long since I been with a women. Not only that, but the short mean one said there really was treasure on that ship, and you just let it pass by! I have a plan, just roll with it, alright?"

He pulls you forward and steps up to the prybarrion women. "Hello my esteemed equals. I shouldn't have to tell you, but I am of prybarrion blood myself. My family migrated to the east twin 1 years ago, and since then, I've become the second in command of this fine vessel!" He turns to you, "Id'nt that right Cuervin?" He leans off with his hand over one side of his mouth and says, "Cuervin's the first mate, if you hadn't already guessed."

The short woman smiles and offers a hand out, "It's a pleasure first mate Cuervin."

What now?

1 The east twin is the eastern of the two twin islands in the Rathmopolis isles

I shake the woman's hand and nod, giving her a polite smile.

The woman gives you a pleased smile and shakes your hand firmly, "My my, A leader and a gentleman. I am sure you keep this crew of oakies in check quite nicely. They seem to be respectful of a woman's boundaries." She mutters as she frees her hand from yours and rests it on the hilt of her blade.

The crowd of rathman stand silent with their eyes locked on the prybarrions.

The black haired man pulls his arm off of you and moves toward the group of women, with a sway in his step, he lands just short of Jamelia and grins from ear to ear.

"Hear me sisters; would you not stay and dine with us while we weather the storm? I would lower the boarding planks, and order a rathman to follow your ship. No big deal."

"No, no, we must not stay. Finding that rogue ship is of the utmost importance to us right now. A delay in our quest would surely mean failure."

"Oh, come on, let the ladies stay! It's been too long since I have been in the company of other prybarrions! We could treat you to a fine meal of hardtack and wine!"

"You would try to bribe my women with alcohol?" Her grip tightens on around the handle of her blade. "To what aim?! Would you have your way with them? You call yourself a prybarrion and yet you have no respect for women!" She spits at his feet and unsheathes the blade slightly, just enough for it to make a noise. The black haired man steps back, hands not raised in defense, but instead crossed, reaching at his sides beneath his long coat. The gentries draw their blades and the captain takes a stance beside the black haired man.

What do you do?

I ball my hand into a fist and as I pivot quickly toward the Black haired man, I extend it into a punch with all of my weight pushing on it. As the Man lies on the deck, dizzy from the shock, I reach into his coat and disarm him. I then turn to the Captain and give him a stone-cold glare. "Control your men, for fucks sake. These women have buisness to attend to and they don't have time to scrap with you idiots." I turn back to Jameila, "I apologize, Your Royal Highness." Then I nod to her guards, "I apologize to you fine women as well." I toss the gun down onto the deck.

The sound of a fist colliding with a face is so much more organic than one would always expect. Regardless of the noise it makes, in most cases it carries the same effect - this was one of those cases. The black haired man collapses to the ground clutching his face. Blood begins to escape from the cracks in between his fingers as he squirms on the ground cursing.

Your knuckles feel slightly sore but unbroken, as the padding allowed for your fist to avoid full contact. A small splotch of fresh blood stains the back of your hand wraps and you can feel the wet spot when it touches your skin.

The white haired man and the captain help the black haired man regain his balance and he scrambles to his feet. His face bloodied and nose mangled he grumbles and spouts gibberish as the captain tries to talk sense to him. He pushes the two away and tries to take a step forward but his balance is off and his eyes sway back and forth disoriented before he collapses to the ground again.

"Argh! Who the fuck hit me!?" He manages to formulate his speech into coherent language finally but his eyes are still pinched shut against the flowing stream of blood.

The sun has disappeared from the sky entirely by this point, covered now by a shroud of black clouds proving that darkness is only the absence of light. A collective sound of swords being sheathed and tensions absolving rings out into the thick foggy air.You can hear the prybarrion gentries begin to giggle while some hold their mouths, surprised by your sudden explosion of action. Jamelia steps back among her ranks and looks at your curiously. Her hair is whipping around through the high winds so she wraps the nijab back around her face securing it in place.

The white haired man rips his shirt off and kneels by the black haired man's side. "I've gotta stop this bleeding or he could go into shock. I need you to hold still, alright mate?" He balls up the shirt and holds it to the black haired man's nose. The black haired man complies and quickly goes quiet.

The gun smacks against the hard wood of the deck and everyone joins the black haired man in his silence. The crowd of empty faces stare up at you, eagerly waiting for you to speak.

"Control your men, for fucks sake!" your voice comes loud and firm, the captain bows his head ashamed like a child that had been caught stealing candy. You continue to make your point heard "These women have business to attend to and they don't have time to scrap with you idiots." You turn to face Lord Jamelia and shift your tone from one of authority to one of respect. "I apologize, Your Royal Highness." and you offer a slight nod to her guards, "I apologize to you fine women as well."

You can't see her face, but as you look into her deep blue eyes they light up you can tell that she is grinning beneath her face coverings. She waves to you as her women rush quickly across the plank back to their trireme. "It has been a most interesting encounter first-mate Cuervin!" She shouts over the strong winds that only seemed to be gaining strength as time progresses. "If you ever find yourself in Berenhal, be sure to ask of me! I will remember your name, and I never forget a face. Until next we meet, fare well!" She disappears off of the ship and is across the boarding plank in an instant. Seemingly in the next instant the boarding planks are lowered and the prybarrion trireme is once again out of sight.

But the end of this encounter does not mark the end of your problems as the storm rages on and the winds begin to be wettened with the thick layer of rain that had started to accompany it. The black haired man lies injured and groaning on the floor, the captain won't break eye contact from you and his ill intentioned glare burns on the back of your neck. Phirrushuu is still nowhere in sight, and Orion had stayed below deck throughout this entire ordeal. The crew of rathman don't act.

What do you do now?

I look to the Rathmen and tell them to get back to keeping the ship afloat. Then I take the wrapping off of my left hand and walk over to the captain and the black haired man. I kneel down and examine his injury, then I do my best to tend to them. "Don't do stupid shit in front of royalty, I won't have you sullying my name because you want some damn tail." I scold the man and turn my attention to the Captain, "You look like you've got something to say, Captain." I keep a calm look about me as I heave the black haired man upwards, trying to get him to walk while using me as a crutch. "Nevermind, just tell me once we get inside, this damned deck's not a good place for bitching right now." I take the man into the crew's quarters and sit him down on a bunk.

The once white rag is now a deep shade of crimson, stained from the resultants of your outburst. The white haired man presses it harder against the injured man's broken nose to stifle the bleeding. "I'm going to need to set the bone, it looks like he could have quite a few pinched, maybe even severed blood vessels in there." He reaches down and unties one of his loafers and stuffs it into the black haired man's mouth, "Bite down hard on this. On the count of the three your gonna feel some pressure, hear a pop, and then you should feel your airways open back up. Ready? One. Tw--" He doesn't get to three before he realigns the nose.

The black haired man howls but the white haired man only pushes harder. A series of loud pops can be heard before the white haired man drops his hands and grins. "All done!" He laughs as he wipes his face, unknowingly smearing blood across his cheek and forehead.

With you under his right arm, and the white haired man under the other, the black haired man manages to get inside the crew's quarters and collapses onto his bed. "Someone get me a fucking bottle of rum!" he bellows, his voice still sore and cracked.

Orion is in his place in the middle of the floor with his legs crossed, still bleating and humming in his incantatious way. The room suddenly begins to fill with stench and Phirruushuu climbs up the stairs from below deck. He greets everyone in his native tongue and reminds them not to interrupt Orion's meditation before climbing up to his bunk beneath the lone porthole and laying down.

The ground is suddenly ripped out from under your feet as the ship rocks violently from one side to the next. The last thing you see before your face makes contact with wooden floor planks is Orion opening his eyes and being tossed to the back of the ship, crushing your bed beneath his weight. Phirruushuu is propelled past your head and rockets out through the lone porthole in the cabin and the captain winds up on top of you. The world goes black.

The lack of light that was bothersome at first, just became inescapable. The world is now etched in charcoal, the once vibrant hues of the cabin are no more than a vivid dream. It was as if a super-massive volcano had erupted, leaving the world under a blanket of ash and cloud. There is no more direction and the only discernible direction is down. It is a pull not a push, just below your chest a pair of tiny devil hands pulling you down.

The devil hands speak in their devil tongue and you cannot understand what they say. Not a true language being spoken, even though no true language exists in your mind at this time. Your brain is a jumbled mess and nothing makes sense, but the sensation of your brain being there suddenly makes itself known. Pain. Pain in your head.

You open your eyes again to the headband clad face of your savior, Phirruushuu, who stands contented above you "Nirz uklay Kwarveen?" his bastardization of your name would almost be cute if he wasn't so damned ugly.

What now?

"I'm fine, Phirruushuu..." I push my eyepatch up into a headband and slowl open my eyes, expecting to see light, then I attempt to stand up and look around.

The dark room quickly becomes visible as your eyesight had grown more adapted to the lack of light as a result of being blanketed by your eyepatch. The wreckage of the room is quickly apparent, the others lying in a crumpled heap, just now begging to rise up.

The black haired man is first to jump to his feet as his nose had once again begun to weep blood. He rips a portion of your bed sheets off and uses it as a nose plug. "Sorry Cuervin, but that royal bitch knocked me good. This suckers gonna keep actin up and that was all I could find to stop it." He says while stepping over an overturned basket of washrags. The white haired man, seemingly unharmed from the fall, tries to help steady the black haired man, but he pushes his arms away.

The captain jumps down from atop of a bunk and stretches his back before immediately moving toward the porthole and the looking out. "Yar! It be comin' down hard out there. Gonna be tough gettin' back to me cabin..." He grunts as he makes his way to the cabin door.

Orion lets out a squeal and throws his hands up to the sky "Sol, why have you interrupted my meditation? What is needed of me?"

What do you do?

I go about the room, tidying things up that have fallen and cleaning up the things that have broken. "What's this 'Sol' character you keep going on about?"

The Agassi's face lights up at your mention of his god, "First maaate Cuervin, You know not the word of Sol? Tuzch maile! this must be the reason for the interruption to my meditations. Surely one of Sol's children couldn't go about living beneath his infinite glory without hearing of his teachings. Come, listen, I will tell you."

The captain makes his way out the door followed by the white haired man who has a hood thrown over his face. As the door opens an emormous gust of wind blows throw the cabin. Rain pours in hard and fast like a thousand enemy arrows all intent on sinking your ship.

The black haired man lies back on the crumpled wreckage of his own bed and crosses his arms over his battered face. "Keep it down with that fucking nonsense would ya? If I don't get some rest now I'm gonna wake up in the 8th realm of hell." The crumpled mess of broken wood and box spring clatters together as he readjusts his body.

Phirruushuu sits beside you and his ears fold open more. He smiles at you and then looks at Orion, intent on hearing him speak.

What now?

I sit down next to Orion. "Alright, good man, tell me about this 'Word of Sol.'"

"Sol is the father. Creator of all and bringer of light. You see him above you every day, but you call him the sun or a star and know not of his true beauty. Before the arrival,there was only Agassi. The ancient Agassi followed the old ways - a despicable way of the life where the weak were crushed and the strong could have his pick of the world. Even then we knew the words he spoke of a land where our brothers would forever be happy and content in their afterlife and of another land where wrong doers would be reborn and forced to re live the horrors of their sins. Our ancestors sailed throughout the oceans for generations in search of these lands, until one day they were found. Indeed, half the land was prosperous and ripe with everything an Agassi would need for to live a full and happy life. But the other side of the island was littered with raging fires of death and misery. Our ancestors parted these lands vowing never to return to the islands until the day of their deaths.

We, the Agassi, always strived for peace, but there was evil among us. War had become commonplace. Done for sport. and done for greed. There was fighting for hundreds of years over disputed territory and varying reasons. Agassi against Agassi. Friend against friend. Brother against brother. And so Sol spoke again, and he sent his messengers down from the sky to show us the error of our way. Sol was blocked out by the messengers for seven days until the Agassi could come to a peace. On the seventh day the darkness that had covered Sol exploded into a fireball and brought all of the other magnificent animals you see today as a final gift, and a curse, to the Agassi.

And it is for this reason why I meditate for seven days each month. And it is for this reason why we Agassi are so few, and they are so many. And it is for this reason why all Agassi are brothers and sisters! And it is for this reas- " He doesn't fully stop, but is merely spoken over by the black haired man, who can be seen peaking out from under his arms with one eye.

"And for this reason I can't fucking sleep." He mimics the Agassi and grins.

"Yes yes. I apologize. You must rest."

The cabin becomes completely silent for the briefest of moments until the silence is broken by the shrill voice of the white haired man calling out against the violent winds. "Captain, grab my hand!". Night becomes day as lightning cracks through the sky and thunder pounds its drum.

What now?

"Shit! It sounds like there's trouble above deck!" I dash above deck to see what is going on.

Orion nods as you dash out of the room, understanding that your duties as a first mate would be held above respecting his religion. You hear the black haired man call for you to wait just as the door closes behind you.

On deck the storm is worse than ever; It's as if the clouds are at war with each other, firing their thunderous cannons and erupting plumes of smoke into the air. The wind and rain join forces and allot their efforts to soaking your clothes through to your skin. The waves slam hard against the side of the ship, first on one side and then the other, consistently rocking the ship back and forth like a mother would for her toddler in an effort to suppress it's ceaseless sobbing.

The white haired man's shrill voice is the first noise to break the formulaic drum of rain against the sea and thunder in the sky. "Captain, I must insist that you give me your free hand!" He beckons to the captain who can be seen dangling off the ships rails by the first of the three rungs with a single hand.

"Nay! Me hat's slippin' from me hand!"

You can see his black captain's hat dangling from his one free hand as the sea slaps against his back and tries to pull it away from him. Desperation is the only emotion shown on his face as he clings with one hand on the hat, and the other on the ship.

What do you do?

I run over to them and offer a hand to the Captain. "Grab my hand!" I yell, "I'm not gonna let you die over your stupid fuckin' hat!"

The captain pulls away from you as you reach for him.

"Hands off, Cuervin! Can't nobody be touching this but me." He suddenly seems to have the energy to pull his arm away from the waves and place the hat atop his head. With his palm freed he accepts your extended hand. The white haired man grabs his other hand and together you heave the captain back onto the deck. He shakes his hands away and marches toward his quarters. The white haired man turns to you and grins between labored breaths as the captain's door closes.

The brief moment of rest comes to pass and mother nature picks up on her merciless assault of the ship. A large wave rolls over the ship from back to front and washes the elderly helmsman into the open waters, leaving the steering wheel unmanned. The black haired man comes rushing onto the deck shouting and waving his arms. You can hardly hear him over the winds, but the message gets across,

"Below deck is almost completely flooded! Cargo is floating into the crew's quarters. What do we do?"

A second large wave slams into the ship and pummels your bodies into the hard wooden planks of the ship deck. The black haired man readily takes hold of the ship mast and keeps himself upright but the white haired man is tossed like a ragdoll to the opposite end of the ship. A secured cargo container breaks free from its bindings and rolls across the deck, and ultimately ending its journey by crushing two of the rathman to death just a few feet from your head. Their hot syrupy blood sprays across your face and runs down your neck.

What do you do?

I start running towards a group of rathmen "Hey! One of you go man the wheel!" I point at the ship's wheel and then begin walking towards the Captain's cabin, then I bellow as loud as I can "ANYONE WHO IS FREE AT THIS TIME NEEDS TO GO BELOW DECK AND BAIL WATER! WE NEED TO KEEP THIS VESSEL AFLOAT!" I step into the Captain's room. "Your damn ship is about to sink, sir, wheres my mate's jacket its damn cold outside," I rummage around his cabin until I find it, "Oh yeah, and the helmsman got thrown off the boat so you might want to see if you remember how to steer this thing." I put on my jacket and head below deck to check out the situation.

The stout young rathman heads your orders and rushes his way to the upper deck of the ship. The others are quick to make their way below deck, bails and troughs in hand. You see the burning eyes of the black hair as he trudges to the captains quarters beside you. His face is red and puffy and deep purple and yellow lines have begun to form beneath his eyes. He grins at you, oblivious to your role in putting him in this condition.

The door is no obstacle, it falls away before you as you march into the captain's quarters. An air of serenity fills the air within the cabin and it becomes clear that it has been untouched by the storm. Spared by the encroaching armies of thunder and lightning. All of the furniture is bolted down and the shelves well organized. The captain, occupied writing something in his captain's log, briefly shifts his gaze to you as you enter.

"Arr, don't be touchin' anythin' in err. Your soaked through, the both of ya!"

His needs aren't met as you proceed to rummage through his cabin, dirtying all that lay in your path. The jacket calls to you from the closet and you find it almost immediately; a slim red button up coat with a beautiful black crow, wings spread, embroidered between the shoulder blades. As you pull it down over yourself, the sleeves seem to suck your arms in - a perfect fit. The collar rides high on your neck, and when you stretch your arms out at either side of your body, it gives enough slack to reach just above the drawstring of your tattered pants. A compact breast pocket calls home to the left side of your chest - surely the extra storage space would come in handy at a later time. For further proof that this jacket was the one for you, a small black stitching beneath the breast pocket reads "FIRST MATE".

"Ay, Captain!" The black haired man addresses the captain.

You choose to waste no time and speak ahead of the black haired man, but as your words come out, they merge with his and your voices act as one.

"Your damn ship is about to sink." "Sir" The black haired man emphasizes his sarcastic inflection on this word. "

The two of you look at each other for a brief moment as the peculiarity of the moment sinks in. The black haired man offers his cheesy grin again and turns away from you, intent on berating the captain.

"Men are dying out there! Are you seriously just going to sit in here, from the safety of your own---"

You turn away from the squabble and head back onto the deck to address the situation. His words fade away as the door shuts behind you. The whistling of the wind blasting against the sails reacquaints itself with your ears,if it could feel it would be finding itself liberated, like a shoe-crab reclaiming it's home from an intrusive human foot.

The white haired man hobbles his way toward you, squinting against the rain, and clutching his hip with his hand. "Cuervin! The rathman will get this ship back on track, G'vara willing, we'll make it through this don't you worry! We just gotta get down there with the others and bail water! Elikretuu's gonna have to work a hell of a lot harder than that to sink a stubborn crew like this'n!"

What now?

"Off we are then!" I say as I rush off below deck to help the crew bail water.

Hours pass it would seem, as you and the crew are set into a relentless struggle to fight against the forces of nature. The more you bail the more it seems the water keeps rising. The men grow tired and frighened and look to you for support. Finally, after a glorious battle was fought, the slightly damp wooden pains at the bottom of the lower deck prove your victory.

All around you lie the collapsed and tired bodies of those who had fallen and succumb to the teeth of the tempest. Your shoulders are like two clouds, gently lifting the rest of your muscles and leaving you weightless. Your legs feel like they could give out from beneath you at any moment, and your breaths are fierce and labored.

The white haired man gently pats you on the back and speaks in a series of wheezes, "We did it!" breath. "Yay Cuervin!" breath. He smiles and collapses on the ground at your feet. The rocking of the ship seems to have slowed and the drum beat of the storm has ceased.

What now?

I look at the man with weary eyes that stare past his soul and crawl over to my bunk before I fall over into it. "This was fucking exhausting, don't wake me up unless something else goes to shit." I say with eyes shut, just hoping for the tiniest bit of rest.

Sleep finds you immediately. The heavy weights that were your eyes are no match for deep darkness of slumber. You enter one of the deepest sleeps you've ever experienced. Your body relaxes completely and your muscles thank you for releasing them from their torment. Dreams are just beyond you, and the subtle whir of the ship seems to usher your forth into another dimensi--

"FIRST MAAATE CUERVIN! FIRST MAAATE CUERVIN! YOU MUST COME QUICK!" The familiar voice of Orion calls to you from the deck at the top of the stairs. Your rest interrupted, seemingly before it could even begin.

What now?

I slowly get out of bed and wipe the crusties from my eyes, then I turn to Orion. "wh- huh? whaswrong?"

"The messenger! The messenger of sol has returned to us!" His words flutter to your ears, carrying their blissful ignorance.

What do you do?

"wha... that ship tha the old pyrabr.. pryba... that prince lady was lookin fer?" I lean against a wall and let out a groan. "Sorry, I'm tryin ta make mself wake up."

Orion nods and ushers you forth, "Yes, yes. The captain has asked not to be bothered so we need you to direct the crew. They won't listen to anyone but the both of you."

A cold gust blows through the room and a silhouetted figure appears beside the pile of rubble you had been calling your bed. He takes a few steps forward and his battered pale face and black hair become visible. The voice of the black haired man comes out, hoarse but with the air of unmistakable arrogance that always accompanied his speech, "Is that so? Nobody on this ship can boss those oakies around better than me! We don't need Cuervin's help! He can go back to bed!" The black haired man offers you a cocky grin before making his way up the stairs, past Orion and onto the deck.

Now what?

I brush my matted, messy hair out of my face with my hand and stand upright, exuding confidence as I turn to look him in the eye. "You couldn't direct an orc through a straight corridor with a raw deer flank, pal, I'll go up there and handle this myself." I walk up the stairs and beckon Orion to follow, "Besides," I slap the embroidered lettering on my jacket pocket and let out a hearty chuckle, "I AM the first mate." Then I walk out across the deck and up near the helmsman so I can look out upon the whole crew and see my... I mean THE ship in its entirety.

The black haired man's face brightens with the proposition of a new challenge. As the two of you race past each other onto the deck the winds are blowing in soft gusts and the temper of the weather seems to be exemplifying its sobriety. The crew is patiently waiting, watching over the rails as the dreary trireme drifts by without purpose or motive.

You suddenly notice Phirushuu, who had been standing beside Orion the entirety of this interaction. He grins at you as you notice him, and his sharp monstrous teeth glisten in the early morning sun. The black haired man shoves past you and clears his throat.

With his hands raised above his head, the black haired man calls attention to the crew, "Alright men! Ready the boarding planks, we are going over there. Those Prybarrion bitches promised there would be a fortune aboard." The men rush to obey this order as you make your way to the upper deck and stand by the stout Rathman who had been commanded by you to be the standing helmsman. Orion and Phiruushuu follow suit as you take in the beauty of the glorious system of laborers that is laid out before you.

"I know what you are thinking."

He rests his gaze on you and patiently waits for your eyes to meet. He stays still for a moment before giving up and continuing with what he has to say, "Do they even know what they are doing? Do any of them even care? I like to think that they do. I think that they all care about everything we say. I think that they care more about what is going on around them a lot more then any of us do. They just don't go about showing it in the same ways. I wonder what goes on in their heads. Do you ever wonder if they think about how we think the same way that we think about how they think?" His voice trails of before he lets out a hearty giggle, "Need not any of that worry you. Just the ramblings of an Agassi sailor left with too much time to do a whole lot of useless pondering."

The Agassi turns to speak to Phiruushuu, allowing you time to conduct your business.

What now?

A soft smile crosses my face as I entertain the thought. I cast my cool gaze over to the trireme and another thought crosses my mind. "How did this thing get here? It doesn't appear to be manned..." I look over to the the dark haired man and say "Something's not right, how did we run into this damned ship twice if it doesn't even have a crew to steer it?"

The ship draws up beside the trireme and the smell of rot fills the air once again. The men ready the boarding planks and in a second the ships are linked. Everyone aboard immediately steps away from this new doorway created into the unknown.

"That storm moved a lot of shit around! Took us damn near two days off course. Who knows what it could have done to bring that damned ship back upon us." He spouts in reply from the deck just below you.

Orion begins to say a silent prayer, suddenly less welcoming of the 'messenger' , as he is driven back like the singe of a hot flame. Phirushuu is not as easily deterred, instead he sprouts an odd look of curiosity and makes his way down the stairs to the main deck with the crew.

What do you do?

I make my way down to the boarding planks and stand next to Phiruushuu. I rub my hand along the scrappy beard I've gained through my weeks at sea. I need to go about this situation wisely. I look at the Sampras and query him "I don't suppose you'd like to go first, would ya?"

His eyes widen and the short fish man gazes up at you. He fights back the urge to smile, and modestly pats himself on the chest as if to say "Me?" Once he sees in your eyes that you were truly addressing him he nods eagerly and rushes off to the rails where he stops. He stands still for a moment before lifting the headband off of his head and handing it Orion. Orion stuffs the headband in the front pocket of his pants as Phiruushuu dives headlong over the side of the ship into the black depths of the water below, completely disregarding the boarding planks.

The boards behind you begin to creak and a pair of feet plant themselves by your side. The white haired man lets out a yawn and stretches his arms out high above his head. His face is droopy and stolid, and his eyes dart around from one crew member to the next in confusion.

"What's going on?" He begins to speak while pulling the white greasy hair away from his eyes, "Is that the rogue trireme those Prybarrions were after?!"

The black haired man can't help but to chime in, "Damn right it is! And we are gonna get that treasure for ourselves! We can split it three ways without the captain ever knowing!"

Orion clears his throat, "And what of Phiruu and myself? Are we to assume that we would be left out of this deal?"

"Fuck, fine. Five ways. Just don't speak a word of it to the captain. If we find gold on that ship, we tell him it weren't nothing but dirt. Y'understand?"

"Aye. I wouldn't dare sully my lips by speaking your deceitful tale a second time. Just leave me out of it."

The black haired man smirks and turns back to you, "Well. More for the rest of us, eh Cuervin?"

What now?

"I'm fine keeping the treasure, but don't be so sure that the Rathmen will be. Just keep quiet about it until we know exactly what's on that ship." I test the creaky board with my foot, "Alright then, men, let's go see what awaits us on this strange ship." I walk across the boarding plank and hope that whatever is on that ship is damned valuable.

The two men follow closely behind you as you approach the daunting pair of boarding planks, laid out before you like two great pillars, supporting the weight of the lifeless trireme and promising an unexplored world. Orion peers over the railings and watches uneasily from afar.

From the dark abyss of shadows that engulf the trireme comes a flicker of motion. A brief moment of activity draws the focus of your eyes. There was life aboard the dead ship.

Phirushuu steps forward out of the shadows and makes himself seen aboard the trireme. The men look at each other, then back to Phirushuu. Not eager to take another step further, the white and black haired men shout in unison;

"Is it safe?"

"Is it worth it"

Phirushuu stands motionless, a deadpan stare resting on his face. The men realize the error in their ways and turn their attention to Orion. Once again, their voices are like two verses of the same song.

"Can you translate?"

"Tell him what we said!"

Orion nods and calls out across the gap to his 'squishy fishy brother', "Ek hertzlaz iocum?!"

Across the gap Phirushuu smiles and nods his head, "Nir uklay, nire hertz!" he calls in reply whilst cupping the air and pulling it toward him before running off to explore the rest of the ship.

"He says everything is under control. Feel free to cross. May sol watch over you brothers as you venture into the dark mouth of the messenger."

The second your boot hits the drooping wooden planks of the desolate trireme a chill runs up and back down your spine. Something about the fact that you were probably the only human to set foot on this ship in months is unsettling. All at once, before the thought can manifest itself in your head, a convection current carry's a scent from the cargo hold and slams it into your nostrils. The smell drives the white haired man back, but the black haired man seems to be having no trouble thanks to his deviated septum.

Overall the ship is rather spacious. An eery forbidden mystique establishes itself around you, and shadows seem to be birthed from nothing. On your left, below the class wood steering wheel which likely control the tail rudder, rests the door to the captain's quarters. On your right is the door to the cargo hold, and the ladder to the rowing bay.

What now?

I adjust the knife on my belt and head off for the captain's cabin and search it.

The cabin is dark, damp and smells like old vomit and whiskey. The trireme captain lies dead, merely a skeleton of it's previous self. Around the wrist bones are two iron shackles, once connected, but the chain had been broken long ago. Still clenched in the skeleton's right hand is a rusted steel scabbard, miraculously standing up against the forces of time. Once you are behind the trireme captain it becomes clear how it has met it's demise; A crude stone dagger buried deep in the back.

A folded piece of paper extends from the pocket of the skeleton's coat, lightly yellowed and water damaged, ink smeared through the paper. A large locked armoire stands latched to the wall beside, though the wood looks aged, and could easily be breached.

"That must be the escaped rebel prisoner that Lord Jamelia spoke of..." The white haired man observes.

"Who the hell ya figure killed em? That kind of blade craftsmanship... could be orcs? My uncle always said they didn't use nothin but sticks and stones." The black haired man adds.

What do you do?

I pull the letter from the spooky ass skeletons pocket and read it.

The paper is damp to the touch, and upon unfolding it, you find it difficult to avoid a few rips and tears. The note lays open in your hands, gently dancing in the air currents of your every breath, eagerly waiting to be read. The words are blurred together, but you are able to make out a brief love letter;

Katrin,

My dearest ...... my heart is yours for the taking, for my mind you have set free...

............ our plans to ............................ never go the way  we want them to.

....................ust bring it to D..... in ...........................................

.............................so much power...... I should have been more caref.........

.................was lucky..........................................................

........................................................................................

......................................................wouldn't change a thing..........

.......................................................................With love, .... ...

It stops there, without any real ending. You look up from the note and see the two inquisitive faces of the white and black haired men. Like clockwork they speak one after the other, first the white haired man and then the black,

"What does it say?"

"Are you done reading yet you nerd?"

The soft pitter patter of feet run past you and out of the cabin. You notice that the rank smell is both a combination of Phirushuu's pheromone and ... death.

"Where is Phirushuu?" someone asks.

"He was just in here a second ago, don't worry about it." someone reassures.

What do you do now?

I put the letter back on the desk and walk over to the dresser. "There's definitely something important on this ship," I tap the side and notice how rotted the wood is, " Would one of you mind helping me open this thing? It could have something in it." I look towards the men and gesture back at the old piece of soggy furniture.

The black haired man steps forward, snatching the rusted scabbard away from the dead captain's hand "It would be my pleasure, first mate Cuervin" He sneers as he drives the blade into the side of the armoire. With a couple quick jerks he pries the board free and snaps the sword in twain. Dropping the hilt of the blade, the black haired man begins to pull boards loose until the inside of the dresser is exposed;

The armoire is filled with fishing bait and tackle. Several boxes of chum, crumbs and other forms of bait stack atop each other reaching the middle of the cabinet. Two containers of 50lb test fishing line lean against one another, supported only by the weight of one another. A hook extends from the top of the back board, supporting a small, round, gold locket with a crude picture of a brunette women sealed neatly away behind a piece of crystal.

"Just a bunch of junk..." The black haired man exasperates, disappointed for having allotted such effort in opening the container. The shadows move like a fluid all around you - seeming to watch intently, waiting for you to make your next move, like a thousand patient fans cheering on their favored competitor.

What now?

The shiny locket catches my eye. I grab it and turn it over in my hand before shoving it in my pocket. Then I head out of the cabin and search for Phiruushuu.

On the back of the locket you see an inscription; two letters - K and G, intertwined with one another, all of their ends looping around and meeting back together in a spiral. The black haired man notices you as you pocket the jewelry and winks accordingly at you before turning and walking back onto the deck. The three of you make your way to the deck in search of Phirushuu.

Through the shadows you toil, in search of Phirushuu, or anything else of value. Several cannons and cannon balls can be found in rear of the ship, lightly spattered with light from a gap in the wall planks. The beams break past the hungry eyes of the darkness and offer a glimpse of the weapons of war. The black and white haired man meet you in the middle of the deck once again, with no sign of Phiruushuu anywhere on deck.

What now?

I head to the below decks of the ship, in search of valuables.

Upon entering the cargo hold below deck you immediately can't help but to feel ... out of place. The shade offers you innumerable mysteries and riches, and in return, you offer nothing but the tendency toward detriment. The hard wood floors are surprisingly not subject to the curse that had damned the other vessels who dared pass through the Miglian deep.

Thankfully, your clever impromptu eye-patch pays off once again, and upon switching eyes, the shadows lightly recede away around you. Your enhanced sight gives birth to a new world; dozens of wooden crates and chests, all packed densely together and bound with rope. All bound with rope save for one; a small iron box, padlocked and chained to itself, lonely in the farthest side of the room.

What do you do?

I take out my knife and begin prying at the nails holding on the top of the crate nearest to me.

The lid of the crate breaks away with little resistance and crashes to the wood panels at your feet. The box appears to be completely filled with sacks of gunpowder and cannonballs.

Now what?

"Hey, did either of you follow me down here?" I shout at the stairs that go up to the deck. "We've got a bunch of powder and cannon balls down here."

The silence that meets your ears acts as your answer. The smell of dead fish and piss lifts from the walls and the floors and floods into your nose and your eyes. The encroaching darkness closes in on you, and the nothingness forms just around you and the iron box. The stairs seem far behind you, and soon they too will disappear into the sea of darkness.

What can you do now?

"It reeks like hell down here, Phiruushuu are you with me?" I start picking at the other boxes and looking for more doors

The other boxes prove to be more of the same. A few are filled with hardtack and wine, some others with rough clothes similar to the cargo of the captain's ship. A sound begins to rise from the iron box. The noise is undiscernible at first , but soon it begins to become all the more clear. Voices. No, more than voices. It is music. Something within the box is playing faint music. So soft, and delicate, like the last snowflake at the end of winter.

What do you do now?

I take one of the bottles of wine in my hand and put another in the deep pocket of my coat, then I cautiously approach the iron box. I crouch down to look at the lock and tap the box with my knife, then I put the blade back in its sheath.

The upbeat tune rings out as you get closer and tap the box. The box is thick, but the vibrations from the tap create an echo and distort the music.

"Ooooonly youuu, can ##CHK## this world seem right... Oooooonly you##CHK##uu, can make this darkness bright... Oooonly youuu, ##CHK## you and you alo---"

What sort of magic could make a box play such music so perfectly? It was as if an entire orchestra were condensed into the confines of a small iron box. The music grows quieter and is soon drowned out by the whir of the ocean and a pair of approaching footsteps descending the stairs behind you.

"Cuervin! You find anything good!?" The black haired man asks eagerly.

"Cuervin! Are you alright? You've been down here for hours." The white haired man grows concerned.

What do you do?

"There's some old booze and some dry powder down here," I say as I shove the music box into my pocket, "I'll bring out what I can." I walk back over to the crate, still pondering what had happened. How could that box have encapsulated me so? What was it saying? Was I really down here for that long? I grab as many bottles of wine as I can find and carry them back up to the waiting arms of the two men.

The black haired man is ecstatic and eagerly eases your burden of alcohol. He raises two bottles above his head and begins to move his way up the stairs but is suddenly stopped. A dark figure stands, silhouetted by the sun shining in from behind. A mere waist height individual, but still holding an air of intimidation.

"Phiruu, buddy is that you?"

No answer.

From the shadows beside where the first figure stands, comes two more... three more... four more... five...

A ring of horrendous smelling fishermen suddenly forms around you in a matter of seconds. The push forward from all directions, driving you, the white haired man and the black haired man all inches away from one another. Soon you are enclaved by dozens of sampras, all holding knives and spears.

The tallest of the group steps forward and pats himself on the chest, introducing himself as an officer, or commander of some sort. "Nire makka ek Palihaertei."

The black haired man pulls away from the group, dropping the bottles to the floor where they shatter, and clutching at his blades. "The fuck do you muck breathers want?"

"I speak the commons" Palihaertei steps forward, unblinking, stolid and authoritative. "Our eyes saw your hands take our magic box. Give us it back, and more, give us all your things... then maybe you live." He doesn't flinch. Nobody moves.

What do you do?

I drop the bottles and pull the rag down around my neck to give me full vision. I step forward to the fish man and take out the strange box. "I wonder why this is so valuable?" I toss the box between my hands, "What magic does it hold?" I keep a smirk on my face as I glare down the short man.

The sampras commander doesn't even blink. He only smiles and steps forward, brandishing a knife. "Do not play stupid boy. There was never a time when I wasn't watching from the shade. I saw it call to you. I saw you answer the call. This power is something beyond, we know it, and you know." Palihaertei drags the blade of the knife across your shirt, ripping it open and exposing your flesh. "Why would you think such a power was deserving of some ... how you migs say ... 'wimp?'" He looks to you for confirmation in his literary prowess, but is met with cold stares. The black haired man however, still grinning like an idiot, nods his head and speaks in a raised voice, "Yeah. That's right fishstick. You know your swear words real fucking well. Now how's about, you move the fuck out of my way, before I fucking fuck you the fuck up?" Both blades drawn, tensions rise and defenses go up. "You ready to do some killing boy's? Let's hope you can keep up Cuervin."

"Osom Puulu hop aninotu, Hm dut cappa luuz!" Palihaertei commands before a flurry of spears quickly rise and place themselves at you and your accomplices necks. The commander locks eyes with you and issues you a warning, "The box is to be in the hands of the Sampras people! We shall use it to speak to the heavens and bring about a world more fit for us! Hand the box over now, and you and your friends go free. That is, unless you wanted to support our cause..." The sharp end of a spear digs itself just beneath the skin and a small trickle of hot blood runs down your neck.

What do you do?

I tighten my grip on the box, an idea comes to me. "What makes you think I'm not worthy of this box?" I back up and stand closer to my men. "I'll have you know I'm royalty!" I reach for the locket in my jacket pocket, "Do you know what this is? This is a favor of the Prybarrion king! It was given to me by her! I am her first born son, if you kill me she'll find out, do you want to be responsible for starting a war?" I look over the fish men's heads and towards my ship, seeking Orion's eyes.

You cling tightly to the box, and the box clings to you in return. The sampras back up, surprised at this revelation, but not letting their guards down for a second. Palihaertei scans the locket carefully - obviously being from an underwater colony, he is quick to recognize and understand written languages. He takes immediate notice of the inscription on the rear of the locket.

"K... G... Be this the sign of your king?"

The white haired man who had been quiet, standing solemnly with his arms crossed in front of him, and his head hanging low, allowing his hair to drop in front of his eyes, raises his face and opens his mouth to answer for you, "Yep! That's the one, King uh ... Gold... Yeah that's it: King Gold, the most powerful mig women in the eastern world! Her armies are unbeatable, and her navy - top of the line!"

"I've seen no ship in these waters flying her banner that my warriors could not sink." Palihaertei boasts.

The black haired man turns his grin into an evil sneer and locks eyes with the Sampras commander before coldly letting his response be heard, " I've not met a fish I couldn't fry."

Paying no attention to the black haired man's threats, Palihaertei continues, "Perhaps then you are more valuable to us then a mere box eh? I imagine this 'King Gold' would go to great lengths to see you returned safely. A ransom will be payed by your elder - only then can you go free."

"Wuun eur umpaztu eh?" A Sampras warrior questions his commander in their native tongue.

Palihaertei, in an effort to make sure you understand what he is saying, replies in the commons, "What of the others you ask? They are of no use to us. We kill them along with the rest of the crew."

The white haired man swallows deep and the black haired man's face grows ever more determined.

What now?

"You dare threaten my crew?" I puff out my chest and glare at the sampras. "I'll have you know that any damage done to me or my crew will be reported directly to the king!" I ball my hands up into fists. "If you let my friends and I go now, this will all go unheard of and we will leave you alone," I relax my gaze and my posture, "I'll even give you the box."

A twinkle of light shines from the wide eyes of the Sampras commander, "Oh no. I am very scared." He wheezes and snorts a terrible laugh before regaining his composure and straightening his face, "This is what they call 'sarcasm', eh? You see, my commons are very good."

He shoves your puffed chest back, forcing you to stumble into the arms of two more eager Sampras warriors. The warriors hold you tight with their webbed fingers, their stench working it's way into your pours. Another pair of hands shoots from the darkness and pulls at the box firmly.

"You are mine now, 'Cuervin', son of King Gold. A prisoner until such time as you pay the tribute you owe us. Now, hand over the box, do no make us take it." He looks you up and down and then grins, "Also, I want the jacket."

What do you do?

"Agh, I warned you." I let go of the box and flop backwards into the arms of the two sampras, not resisting any more. "You can have the box but the jacket isnt coming off, it's a bit chilly down here." I cross my arms and lift my legs off the ground, putting all of my weight onto the arms of my slimy captors.

The box makes a loud metallic clank as gravity whips it to the floor. Eager hands are quick to reclaim the box, and pull it into the shadows. The Sampras warriors that had been holding you up crumple beneath your weight and fall flat beneath your back. Seeing their companions struggle, several more Sampras spring from the shadows to support your weight.

"I have just one more thing for you to do... Go up there, tell them everything's fine, then lower the planks and come back down. If you try alarm them , this one dies." Palihaertei finishes as he prods the white haired man's gut with the point of his knife. "This ship is headed for our colony in Newland. Once in safety, we can begin negotiations with your elders. The jacket is yours ... for now."

What now?

I shoot out of my captors arms and back to my feet and in one deft motion, I draw my knife, slash across Palihaertei's face, and dash up the stairs, "Hey!" I shout across to the other ship, "Shit's going down! Bring swords!" I tighten my grip on my knife and face the stairs leading back into the cargo hold, keeping a solid stance while keeping an eye out for the other sampras'.

Rising to your feet, the Sampras warriors reach for you but they underestimate your speed as you fling yourself forward and begin to lunge with your knife. The commander is quick aswell, but perhaps at last outmatch as the end of your blade meets with his eyes, leaving a waterfall of black blood in it's track. Palihaertei clutches at his bloodied face with one hand and begins stabbing blindly into the darkness in search of your stomach with the other.

In immediate retaliation to the attack, the Sampras lunge their spears at you and your black and white haired counterparts. Just inches short of plunging into the white haired man's neck, the spear drops to the floor, it's wielder, crying out in great pain.

A familiar Sampras can been seen pulling his hammer from the collapsed skull of the fallen spear wielder. The familiar sampras turns to you and winks, his eyelids closing inward from the sides, before swinging his hammer wide and clashing it with the side of yet another Sampras warriors head. Without his headband, Phiruushuu is nearly indistinguishable from the rest of the warriors you realize.

The black haired man twists his hips and raises his leg to chest height with Palihaertei, in one quick push, the commander is toppling over backwards. The white haired man rushes ahead of both of you, up the stairs, trampling over Palihaertei on his way out.

The three of you stand on deck and begin to wave your arms, drawing the attention of your crew. Orion is reluctant, and chooses to make himself useful another way by rushing to inform the captain. The Rathmen obey immediately, their weapons drawn, and their eyes cold and unchanging like those gray stone walls that made up the prisons in Thieve's Landing.

Phiruushuu fights his way to the top of the stairs, his muscular body drenched in black blood - hopefully none of it his. A steel tipped spear rips through the air at Phiruushuu's face but he quickly moves his head and grabs the spear out of the air. The momentum of the spear pulls him backwards onto the deck, landing on his back. As the last of the warriors begin to file out of the cargo bay, the Rathman reach the end of the boarding planks, and begin to cry out, in one, nonfluctuating battle-cry.

The first Sampras warrior on deck propels himself high into the air, sword in hand with the blade pointed straight at Phiruushuu's chest. Before the Sampras warrior can bridge the gap between mid air and wood panel floor, he is skewered like a rat on the end of the of a spear. Phiruushuu clings tightly to the spear as the warrior slides down, eventually stopping just short of him. Phirrushuu lets out a sigh and rolls onto his side out from under the carcass of the fallen warrior.

Five of them are left. They stand close together a few feet in front of the stairs, their spears outstretched, forming a nearly impenetrable line of defense. They growl and snap at you and your crew as you stand in anticipation, brandishing your weapons on the opposite end of the deck. Orion and the captain make themselves seen on deck, still avoiding the boarding planks like fire.

"Aye! Thatta-boy Cuervin! Ye show em good!" The captain yells from the other deck before retreating back into his quarters. Orion shrugs and leans over the rails to watch the action.

Now what?

"I don't suppose any of you speak commons?" I ask my adversaries. I stand up straight, flanked by my crew. I don't dare to let my guard down around these fish-men.

Your question goes unanaswered and the wall of spears only gets closer, the Rathman rear their blades and prepare to attack. The middle warrior of the five, the scrawniest and palest of the lot, begins to spout incomprehensibly in sampran, "Nirz pai muunaba?! Nirze cuuka ek blech! Uzte puunu zaep jalla buupaz blech cuuka. Amoan piir eh nahikoa txarra nirzu blech huumans laj rathmin pagwa; nertaz niruze a carscada niruze jampor a hoopla nirze verra eur zocitty. Nirz eh bong ahkee! Nirz pu vihara nalung rattaz - niru pu hm gaur , niru pu heciten sans eur sans haf laj hmen nee eur niru nalung niruze!" He finishes before they all step forward together one more step closer.

Your crew stands dumbfounded, unable to comprehend a word.

What now?

"Orion!" I shout, "Get the fuck over here, I need a translator!" I keep my knife at the ready and glare down at the Sampras warriors. "You better hope he gets his furry ass over here fast, or your heads will start rolling."

Orion is taken aback as you shout to him. His eyes stare blankly, not at you, and not at the snarling Sampras warriors, but at the sun. He crosses his hands on his chest as he approaches the man made gateway into oblivion. A quick prayer rolls off of his tongue and hangs loosely on his lips before he reluctantly places his first foot down on the ill-secured walkway.

The boarding planks creak with the wails of a thousand dubious infants, grasping at their mothers breasts and gaining a clumsy insight on the gruff reality that they had been thrust into by virtue of their birth. In a matter of moments Orion is on the deck, a mere arms reach away from you. His hands hang loosely at his sides now, unsure of themselves. He turns his head to you, as if you to ask for direction, although in his eyes, it is clear that he knows what he must do. His head slowly bobs up and down before he steps forward to the Sampras, opens his mouth and begins to speak. His voice is soft, like the flutter of a birds wings, and it flows in rythm with each ebb and bay of the Miglian waters, without pause for worry of error nor pronunciation.

"Nire zalantzan muulu nirze hagur! Niru anaiaz chuff hmaz."

The pale Sampras cracks the slightest bit of a grin, but fights it back with power equal to that of the unrelenting tempest faced by you in the late hours of yesternight. He takes one last step forward and mutters under his breath, just loud enough for Orion to hear.

"eh, niru copp ehp anaia chuff hm." The pale Sampras responds. With that last guttural burst of mysterious language, he draws a line across the planks with his foot, and then collectively crosses it with the other Sampras in toe. The Sampras raise their spears higher, not in an act of defense, but instead, in a pure act of malevolence.

Orion does not cry out, nor does he even whimper as the spears crack through the air and move through his body with ease. He only looks to the sun, and with one last, final smile, he crumples to the floor, and is motionless. The Sampras draw their spears back, and a sickening pop can be heard as the pressure on Orion's vital organs is relieved.

Blood pools around the dead Agassi's body as Phiruushuu cries out in a universal tone of loss. You needn't a firm grasp on Sampran to understand the pain that wells up in Phiruushuu's eyes, and heart, and very being. He drops to his knees on the deck, and closes his eyes, his lips contorting from a state of despair to one of complete determination.

The Sampras warriors laugh as Phirruushuu mourns, completely lax of empathy, their minds fueled by nothing but greed, and the penchant toward violence.

What do you do?

Tears begin to well in my eyes as my visage contorts into one of furious rage. I push down on one of the spears and turn my head to glare into the face of the pale Sampras. angling the spear eye-level to him and ramming the back straight through his eye and making a squishy thunk inside of his bald, slimy head. I turn to the next sampras and draw my knife. I unsheathe it with a flourish and then drive it into his skull from above. I turn to the final three as I tear my weapon from the dome of my adversary, tears trickling down my face.

Fueled by a burning passion and a blind rage, you are quick to lunge forward, grasping an outstretched spear with your hand, allowing it to tear into the flesh of your palm, splitting veins and pouring a waterfall of blood onto the deck. With a pulse of energy the size of the burning sun above, you force your hand against the spear, driving it into the soft skull of it's wielder.

His balance compromised, the Sampras pirate topples backwards, rolling headlong down the staircase back into the dark abyss of the cargo bay. Your hand hangs open loosely, like a fresh cut of red meat, fluttering in the salted sea breeze. Before the comprehension of pain can reach your brain the remaining Sampras attacks relentlessly.

You are very fast - that is a given. Having grown up in Thieve's Landing, you developed a keen mind and a daft sleight of hand. But even the fastest of men would stand no chance when blinded by emotion and facing a well trained band of levelheaded foes.

The first spear to hit you comes from the hands of the pale Sampras; it rips the shoulder seem of your jacket open, revealing a bloody patch of flesh, barely scathed by the inaccurate attempt on your life. The next spear hits you in the thigh, going deep and scraping against your femur bone. The final two spears plunge into the soft tissue on either side of your stomach. A rocket of pain crashes into your body, stealing away your other senses and momentarily erasing your memory.

The Sampras pirates try desperately to retrieve their weapons - three of which are embedded in your soft, pathetic body, but they are cut down - The black haired man spins gracefully into the scene and slits their throats, spilling their black blood across the deck floor. A cacophony of screams breaks through the air as twilight begins to fall around you. The world goes into sepia and consciousness begins inching, farther and farther away from you, accelerating your demise each second.

You can't fully remember falling to the floor, but it definitely happened. Your life blood oozes from you, mixing with the blood of the Sampras and making a cocktail of red and black.

"CUERVIN!!!" Someone yells.

"Get him out of there, he's gonna die!" Someone yells.

"Kill those damned pirates!" Someone yells.

"Their still coming! There's more of them! Vishara's blessing, we are doomed!" A final voice yells.

Over the rails of the trireme come hands, out from the depths of the colorless sea. More. A seemingly endless swarm of Sampras begins to fill the ship, snarling, and surrounding you and your now outnumbered crew. Who knows how many could be down there, below the surface, waiting, ready to pounce - a hundred? a thousand? No. It was more than that, far more than that. You try hard to fight the encroaching darkness; blinking fast, gritting your teeth and focusing only on the immense pain.

It's no use. Darkness becomes your reality. The shadows engulf the world, you included. They had won.

Black.

Black.

Black.

Black.

♫

♫ ♫ "Sunday is gloomy, ♫ ♫ [1]

♫ My hours are slumberless.♫ [2] [RES ignored duplicate link]

♫ ♫ Dearest, the shadows♫ ♫ [3] [RES ignored duplicate link]

♫I live with are numberless.♫ [4] [RES ignored duplicate link]

♫ ♫ Little white flowers♫ ♫ [5] [RES ignored duplicate link]

♫ Will never awaken you.♫ [6] [RES ignored duplicate link]

♫ ♫ Not where the black coach♫ ♫ [7] [RES ignored duplicate link]

♫ Of sorrow has taken you.♫ [8] [RES ignored duplicate link]

♫ ♫ Angels have no thought♫ ♫[9] [RES ignored duplicate link]

♫ Of ever returning you.♫ [10] [RES ignored duplicate link]

♫♫ Would they be angry♫ ♫ [11] [RES ignored duplicate link]

♫ If I thought of joining you?"♫ [12] [RES ignored duplicate link]

♫ ♫ Gloomy is Sunday, ♫ ♫ [13] [RES ignored duplicate link]

♫ With shadows I spend it all.♫ [14] [RES ignored duplicate link]

♫ ♫ My heart and I, have♫ ♫ [15] [RES ignored duplicate link]

♫ Decided to end it all."♫ [16] [RES ignored duplicate link]

The soft, heartfelt music box sings out, full and uninterrupted, no static, and no interference. It seems like an eternity you spend, waiting shapeless, without form or location, experiencing nothing but music. Reality calls you back as a flood of color washes into your world. You see the sky above, a deep dark blue, the sun retreating from the sky. It would be night soon.

The blinded face of Palihaertei can be seen emerging from the bottomless pit into abeyant blackness of the cargo hold, clutching the music box in his hands tightly. All around you the battle rages on. The Rathman fight desperately against the ferocious horde of Sampras pirates hell bent on hijacking your ship, and killing your crew.

Though your skin is battered and broken, you feel no pain. The spears protruding from your body serve only as obstacles in your path now.

What do you do?

If I can't survive this, sure as fuck you wont either! I think to myself as I lean up against the railing of the ship. I take a step towards my diminutive foe, grasping one of the shafts protruding from my stomach. My knuckles turn bright white as I pull at the spear, trying to dislodge the head from my stomach. A wretched scream escapes my mouth. I keep pulling. The spear is planted so deeply in my flesh. A flash of self-doubt crosses my mind. My grip on the spear relaxes.

What if this is the end for me?

I tighten my grip and stand up straight.

No, enough of that shit, this isn't over until I say it's over

I use my good hand and pull. A bloodcurdling scream is let loose from my mouth. I pull again, and again. I pull with all of my strength, pushing through the immense pain.

The spear releases its grip on me with a sickening POP

I step forward once again, spear in hand. One foot after the other. I lean on the spear as I walk, using it to push me forward. I begin to gain speed as my limp turns into a stunted jog, which in turn forms into a malformed sprint. I raise the spear to waist height and ram it diagonally through the soft underside of Palihaertei's jaw.

Your skin pales, but is darkened with the deep stains of red and black. With every step a cannon goes off in your leg, but you push forward, dragging the leg along like a haunch of dead meat. The battle slows down around you, and for a moment, nothing else exists besides you, Palihaertei and the box.

He turns fast, sensing his impending doom. His mouth widens and he squints at you through the corner of one of his mutilated eyes. The music box clatters to the floor and the music stops.

Palihaertei hangs firmly off the end of your spear by his head, skewered like a rat. The music box rests solemn at your feet, waiting to be claimed.

The white haired man cheers you on from a crouched position behind one of the cannons, while loading a powder charge into the giant gun.

The black haired man takes notice of you and shouts across the battlefield while plunging his blades into the stomach of an attacking Sampras, "Ey Cuervy, save that'n, we'll cook em up, have us a fish dinner tonight!"

Beside Orion's body, A familiar Sampras picks through the loot before pulling out a small piece of leather and wrapping it around his forehead, creating a headband. Phiruushuu, having retrieved his head band turns around slowly and glares at the black haired man, he speaks, his voice is gruff and thick with accent, "shut ... UP!"

Shellshocked, the black haired man offers his form of an apology, "Shit! I didn't know you folk could understand, let alone talk like normal!"

Phiruushuu marches forward, blood soaked hammer under his arm he jumps into the fight with a bang, crushing the skull of a pirate with ease, before swing wildly into the crowd. He begins to scream out in a fierce battle cry as he chops down pirate after pirate, heads caving in seemingly before he even hits them. He has death in his eyes, and lets it flow throw the thick plates of his hammer.

The rathman push forward, throwing the sampras back into the sea, cleaving them in twain and leaving piles of mutilated bodies all around. They let out a uniform cry, and like clockwork raises their weapons into the air.

You stand before them,bloodied and exhausted, music box at your feet, and finally, the eyes of your crew all fall upon you. The Rathman drop one by one to their knees and bow their heads in your direction. The nonpaegian members of your crew smile at the gesture from the Rathman, and soon join in, bowing their heads at you in a sign of respect.

What now?

I bend over and grab the box. I look down upon it, curious about what I have just set in motion by grabbing this thing. I look back up to address my crew.

"I'm gonna need some booze and some medical attention." I say as the adrenaline from the fight begins to die down. I keel over, still clutching the box tightly in my arms.

You lay on the floor of the deck once again, face planted in a pool of blood. A pair of gentle hands quickly roll you over and you are face to face with the white haired man. His white haired glistens in twilight creating a gold ring above his head. He smiles at you, and say's something, but you can't hear him now. All you can hear is  the soft and wise voice of your mother, "Happy birthday Cuervin! Eighteen? My, my, practically a man."

What happened next?

She had awoken me from my unsound sleep. It was nice to be greeted with a smile for once. She had a kind grin on her face,  she always loved birthdays. We didn't even have a house at that time, just a shed in a back alley. It wasn't much, honestly. All of the essentials were there, a couple beds, we had a stove outside, and a big mess of random crap that we had picked from the pockets and buildings of the city.

She was sitting on the edge of my bed and had placed a small parcel by my head.

"You didnt have to get me anything, mom." I say as I sit up.

"What, do you think I bought it or something?" She let out a laugh, more of a cackle, actually. Mom's laugh always used to irritate the hell out of me.

I cracked a slight smile and picked up the small brown box. I carefully opened it and peered inside. There was a small necklace in it. Thin, braided leather with a little golden bird dangling from it. My eyes lit up at the thing.

"It was your dad's," She said, "He gave it to me on \*my\* 18th birthday."

I grinned as I took it and tied it around my neck.

"So, are you ever going to tell me about him?" I looked at my mom and stood up. "You can't keep secrets forever you know."

She let out a small sigh as her grin turned into a small frown. "Look, honey, I can't tell you, He's not a good man-"

"Really? That's your reason? If you haven't noticed, we arent the best of people, we steal for a living ,mom!" I still remember the feeling of frustration, and I regret it so much.

"Cuervin! You don't understand! He is not a person you should get close to, he isn't the same man I fell in love with... He's the reason we are out here and not living in a real fucking house. He's the reason that we have to struggle to get by!"

"You always say that but you never say why!" I rip the pendant off of my neck and throw it on the floor. "Come get me when you're ready to answer my damned questions for once." I opened the door and ran... somewhere... I didn't come back until about a week later... Mom was never the same... I didn't know what was so wrong, I was still a stupid kid... I learned eventually though, I never appreciated her until she died. She never did tell me who my dad was, my only clue was a note I found in the house after she passed. It was an old piece of paper, it probably came from my dad, all it had on it was a single messily written sentence.

\*Name him after me.\*

The sun's Light floods in from the porthole and scolds you for having been away from it for so long. Your eyes flutter against the suddenly illuminated world, and you feel a soft hand grip yours firmly before dropping it. The owner of the hand stands up, over you, the same sappy grin spreading from ear to ear, his wild white haired matted and bunched together in little colonies that couldn't agree on which direction to lean.

"Cuervin, you're awake! Thank Vishara! How are you feeling?"

You feel the comforting metal of the music box still clenched tightly in your arms.

You're awake, what do you do?

I blink hard a few times, then I sit up.

"I forgot your name," I say, "Like I honestly remember you and the black haired fellow, but I can't remember your guys's names... In fact, I don't really remember anything after that fight..."

I lie back down and groan loudly in pain, still hugging the music box.

The white haired man laughs and leans back in his makeshift chair, a conglomeration of a broken bed frame and cloth.

"Oh Cuervin, always the sense of humor. Of course you know our names, don't be absurd. I did a kick ass job at patching you up. Besides, you were only out for a couple days..."  His smile fades and he points toward the box in your arms, "So what are you going to do about that? I tried to get it away from you in your sleep to no avail."

The black haired man makes himself known as he speaks from behind you, "Yeah, what \*are\* you gonna do about that box?"

What now?

I look at the white haired man and respond.

"I'll hold onto it for now, I think it's pretty valuable."

I look down at the box and examine it further.

The cold metal of the box resonates with energy and makes your hands feel like they are being barraged by pins and needles with every touch. A lock and chain snake through the handle of the box keeping it sealed, as if to hold back some dangerous beast.

The black haired man cringes at your comment "Keep it? Like what? You're gonna split the profit with us eh? I fought my ass of over their, risking my damn life for that thing, and you're gonna say that you are going to 'hold on to it'?"

The white haired man shakes his head and places a palm against the black haired man's chest, " Calm yourself. We all lost a friend back there, so I understand what you are feeling. But that is no excuse for us to attack another!"

Swinging his hand down, the black haired man swipes the white haired man's arm away and storms toward the door to the cabin before looking back over his shoulders, "You're \*\*not\*\* leaving this ship with that thing under your arm. I'll tell you that now Cuervin." He finishes before marching onto the deck and slamming the door shut behind him.

The room goes dark and the white haired man exhales deeply, lowering his head. "Sorry about that Cuervin ... You know how he is. But trust me when I say this, he is about the only one who feels that way. I know the captain will side with him if it comes to that, but for now, he doesn't even know." He stands up from the chair and moves to the porthole, gazing out across the vast sea, "We'll be there soon y'know... the coastal village of Portsmyth where we are meant to make our delivery. It's unreal to think that in just a few days, the first half of our journey will be over..." He keeps his gaze on the horizon as the sun gingerly rises above the sea.

What now?

"I don't mind those salty old bastards," I say as I relax my grip, 'I can understand their disappointment, not getting anything from that dirty old ship."

I suddenly sit up as I recollect what had happened and begin to examine my injuries.

The white haired man shakes his head and without turning away from the porthole he utters a question, "What are you \*really\* here for Cuervin? Ever since you got on this ship a fortnight ago you've seemed so out of place - Like a koalko loose in the sub-Paegian tundra." He finishes and looks back at you through the corner of his eye while keeping his face in the porthole, blotting out the sunlight with his head.

Your gut rings out in pain as you sit up, sending shock-waves up and down your spine where they meet at your right thigh and left shoulder. A tight cloth bandage is wrapped around your mangled hand, and ripped bed-sheet clings to your shoulder holding up your arm in a sling. You test your footing on the floor and are able to support your weight, although with every attempt at a step, a fire ignites deep within your femur bone.

What now?

I sit back down on the bed.

"I just needed to leave that place, too many bad memories, toxic people; I want to make something of myself." I say as I sit on the bed.

I idly thumb around in my pockets when I notice the locket still in there. I take it out and turn it over in my hand before trying to open it.

"Hey, do you think it was the pirates who killed that guy on the ship, the one in the captain's quarters, or do you suppose it was somethin' else?"

The same K and G as you had expected to see are still etched deep into the gold of the locket. You twist the nob on it's side and it pops open in your hand like a mother clam offering her pearl out to you. Some talented artist had taken his time to draw a miniature portrait of a beautiful brunette women, appearing quite esteemed and noble, and had sealed it away behind a thin cut of crystal. Whoever had gotten this made obviously spent a lot of money to make sure it was perfect.

The white haired man drops his gaze from the sea and slinks away from the porthole back to his chair. He drops down into it beside you and lowers his voice, "That's odd ... I had just been thinking about the same thing. By virtue of knowledge It would be safest to say the pirates \*had\* done it. But there is a side of me that feels some of it doesn't quite add up. That man was killed by a stone dagger - and basing my knowledge on what I pulled out of your body; the Sampras use spears, made of lairanite, not surface stone."

He suddenly stops and takes notice of the locket in your hand. He points to the drawing " She's quite a looker. Probably dead though. No artisan in Miglia has been able to reach that level of skill and dedication in at least a hundred years." He claps his hands together and then rises to his feet, "Anyway, we can walk and talk, let's see if we can get you moving!" He offers a hand out to you.

What do you do?

I put the locket back into my pocket

"Got anything I could use for a cane?" I ask as I stand up, putting my weight on my better leg.

Your left leg supports you as you step gingerly with your wounded extremity. The locket drops into the depths of your tattered pant pocket,resting near your wound and bringing a strange comfort.

The white haired man chuckles before dropping his hand and using it to pick up one of the broken spears off of the table. He hands you the long bloody wooden shaft and shrugs. "I pulled this out of your leg. It sure did a number on you. I suppose it owes you one now."

What now?

I take the shaft and use it as a cane. I climb the stairs to go see the captain.

"Woah woah woah! Slow down there buddy." The white haired man stammers as he moves in front of the door to block you. "Take it slow, this isn't a book, and you're not the main character. We can handle things on our own out here. Why don't you just stay here while you recover. I'm going to go up on deck and make sure everything is under control. Why don't you give me that box, sos nobody is tempted to steal it from you. I know of a few good hiding places on this ship."

What do you do?

I stop and turn my head towards the man,

"Sorry pal, I'm very particular about keeping my belongings close to me at all times. I know thieves, and I know that there are people on this ship that would gladly take this off my hands for different reasons."

I shift the box under my arm and climb the stairs before heading to the Captain's Quarters.

He sags his shoulders and steps away defeated, "Hey alright man, it's fine... figured you trusted me more than that is all..." He slinks back into his chair and ignores you, his face low and his spirit crushed. On your way out the stairs you take notice of Phiruushuu sitting solemn and alone on the stairs descending into the abyss of the cargo hold below. He is still drenched in the black and red blood from the fight two days before, but doesn't seem to notice. His mind is in another place.

You make your way to the top of the stairs, using the cane with the expertise of an elderly man who had relied on it for years. Once on the deck you can hear the joyous black haired man leading the crew in a full-throated and melodic chantie.

"\*--Ooooh the salt does sting and the wind still blows,\*"

"\*Roll-on, Roll-on!\*" The men chant.

"\*Prybarrion bitch done broke my nose!\*"

"\*Roll-on, Roll-on!\*"

"\*A shadow cast on the eastern bough,\*"

"\*Roll-on, Roll-on!\*"

"\*Long as I live won't break my vow!\*" The black haired man notices you and stops signing, jumping down from his spot In the mast netting.

"\*Roll-on, Roll-on!\*" The men continue to chant in unison without the help of the black haired man.

The black haired man makes his way across the deck, his eyes locked on the anachronism buried beneath your arms. He stops in front of you and crosses his arms, "So what? Are you gonna take that to that bitch in Prybarrow? After what she did to me! I thought you respected me more than that Cuervin!"

What do you do?

"Fuck no, this thing is mine, if you wanted something from that ship you should have grabbed it yourself!" I hug the box tighter and hobble off in an irritated manner.

You open the door to the Captain's quarters and step in like you own the place. The captain luckily isn't fondling himself, but is instead sitting in front of a board patterned with small squares and an army of black and white pieces. He contemplates each move before spinning the board around making another move for the opposite side. He sees you enter and turns to face you,

"Ay, ye need som pin?"

What do you do?

I drop the box on his table.

"What the fuck were you doing that whole time?" I ask him, "Were you just willing to let us all die?"

I glare at the captain, awaiting his response.

The pieces clatter to the floor as the box forces it's way in. All of the pieces roll around at your feet except two that stay standing in place, the white pawn, and the black king. The captain, not backed by his crew, immediately goes on the defensive and takes a pleading tone.

"Ey, come on Cuervin!" His hands shoot up covering his face. "Ye know damn well I did ever thing I was able! Those men fought on my orders that night. I gave em the order n they followed. I ain't no warrior like you, I'm a ... err.. a Sah-vent, yeah, a sahvent - a mighty smart guy. Cain't ye see that! I \*saved\* ye! I belif a thanking be in order if anythin." He drops his hands and crosses them at his chest, giving a smug satisfied grin. His eyes move back to the table and he notices the box.

"Say, what's in 'ere?" He reaches for the box and begins fiddling with the lock.

What now?

"No clue," I say as I put my hand on the box. "I don't really know what opens it; But it does make some pretty nifty music if you can open it."

"Ay, that black haired fella know's 'is way 'round a lock pick, I sure reckon he could be through it in a second." He clenches tightly onto the lock and as you place your hand upon it you can feel the resistance in his grip. You slide the box toward you and the captain finally releases his grip and leans back. "Ay she's a fine box... would be a might shame teh not getta peak inside 'er fore the voyage is over." The ship rocks back and forth beneath your feet, but you maintain balance having acquired a rhythm in sync with the ebb and bay of the sea.

The captain sighs deeply and looks up at you.

"Say Cuervin, have ye ever played a game of chess? I know ye learned how to play them kid's games with the crew, but they don't amount anywhere near the real thing."

What do you do?

The captain quickly scrambles to pick up the pieces from the floor before realigning them in front of him haphazardly. He picks up the white king and holds it close to his face. He whips the piece around revealing a black metal disk secured to the bottom.

"Magnets." He winks before dropping the piece above the board and watching it catch and wobble into place. His fat fingers pluck the king back off the board and his attention shifts from you, to the paint job on the finely carved chess piece. 'I c'n teach ya Cuervin. Should ye be right fixin' to learn. Ya know, you'll come t' fin' that thar be a lot of things that you can learn from me should you just pay attention." He reaches out and puts the white king into your hand, closing your fingers all around it. "That there's the king. Most important piece on t' board. Each fella got one, and if ye take it, that be a game over - other guy wins. Now the king, he can move \*any\* way he wants - cuz e's the king and he get's his way - but see, the king can only move one space at a time. He's no warriror, see, he gets the other pieces to do the fightin' for him, and once he gets got, that's game over, you lose. But this one over 'ere," he plucks up the tallest piece from the table, "This 'ere is his woman - the queen. Now the queen here gets whatever her heart desires.  She be a mean bitch too, moving as far as she want, wherever she be wantin'.". "To fight the queen back, she be lined up across from these here knights. The knights be the toughest son'bitches on the board, but they ain't smart, so they listen to their superiors and always move in an 'L', some kinda ancient war tactic or somethin'. But yer real hard workin' piece be the pawns. This short little bald fella be like the soldier, can move one space straight ahead or to the sides of 'em, never backward. These guys are the real deal on the front line, always keepin' it on the straight an narrow, 'sept when they finna attack, then they come atcha from the corner where ye don't expect it. Now if a pawn can make it to the other side of the board, he learns all the same moves as the queen. But that doesn't usually happen. Pawns ain't a big part of the game, they get offed quick... Less'n it's a real smart pawn..." He sighs before re-arranging the pieces once more. Before he can continue his incohesive rambles about some archaic board game the door to the cabin comes swinging open.

The dark silhouette of the black haired man fills the room as he stands in the doorway blocking the sun's rays.

"I need Cuervin's help. No one can understand that fucking fish thing in the crew quarters and we can't get him to move out of our path to the cargo hold!"

What now?

I look at the black haired man with an expression that could only say "Thank you so much." and then I briskly exit the room and head towards the cargo hold, keeping pace with the black haired man.

The captain doesn't notice that you still have the king clutched in your hands as the door to his cabin clicks shut behind you. The rays of sunlight seem to burst from the thick salty clouds all around you illuminating the endless expanse of sea. One of the rathman working the sails notices you at last and alerts the others. Every hand on deck drops what they are doing and turn to face you. They bow their heads slightly in a sign of respect and utter a uniform statement, "Welcome back First mate Cuervin!" The men burst into applause causing the black haired man to shoot each one of them a jealous scowl.

The black haired man breaks the trance you had been set into by all  of this warranted praise with his gruff offended voice, "Come on Cuervy, we need to get back to the crew below deck. That fish-man ain't gonna move hisself. " He finishes while pushing you forward through the crowd into the crew quarters.

Once inside, the white haired man can be seen seated in his chair facing the door. He notices the shift in the shadows as the sun's beams peak in through the open doorway and a slight smile stretches across his face. The black haired man closes the door and latches it shut behind you. Phiruushuu isn't in his place on the steps and an air of duplicity fills the room.

"Come Cuervin. Have a seat." The white haired man gestures toward a chair beside him as the black haired man posts up against the door with his arms crossed. "We need to talk about that box."

What do you do?

I glance at the king in my hand and shove it in my pocket, then I drop the box on the table and sit down carefully. I gesture with my hand towards the black haired man,

"Go right ahead."

The cabin is filled with the familiar miasma of Phirrushuu's stench. Strangely though, as you scan the room around you he is still nowhere to be found.

The piece slides into your pocket with ease and seems to sit there as if it belongs. The box glides from your hands onto the table and you lean back in your chair. The eyes of the suspiciously unnamed men immediately lock on the box. The white haired man begins to speak, presumably to you, though it is hard to tell as he gazes deep into the mysterious silver lock keeping the boxes wonders a secret.

"A lot of the crew members have become uneasy with the box around. Some are saying - not us of course, but others - they have been saying that seeing you with that box under your arm is sort of threatening. Now we know you have a lot of sway with what goes on around here, but that does NOT put you in charge of things. What I would like to suggest is that you give the box to me, and allow me to stow it away safely in the cargo-hold until such time as people become more comfortable with having it arou-"

"Fuck that noise. We wanna see what's in it. You know damn well we did \*far\* more work back on that damned ghost ship than you, and we deservere a bigger cut of the profit! All we got was some shitty port wine  and some cuts and bruises." The black haired man interjects violently.

\*\*Thump\*\*

A noise can be heard coming from one of the cargo crates and the lid creaks open slightly. The black haired man backs up and pushes the lid back down with his weight.

"Just let him crack it open." The white haired man reasons, ignoring the noises coming from the cargo container. "We can decide how to split up whatever is in there once we know what \*is\* in there.

What now?

"If you can open it, I'll split it with you." I already know whatever the hell is in there I can get back from them. They sleep way more than me. I nonchallantly look around the room, but truely I'm searching for things I can use to beat the shit out of these idiots. Nobody pushes the Prince of Thieves around.

Your daft eyes dart around the room as you slide the box forward and present your offer. Everything around you could become a deadly weapon should in be placed in the hands of someone who knows how to use it. The spear cane in your hands is a nice start, though the wood is rotted and waterlogged and would most likely splinter if used as a blunt club. Your eyes fall next on the crushed remains of the furniture all around you - an infinite supply of beating sticks.

"By you, you mean me? Right? Considering I'm the one doin' all the work here... as always." The black haired man sighs and begins fumbling in his pocket for his lock-picks.

\*\*THUMP\*\* \*\*THUMP\*\* \*\*THUMP\*\*

The lid of the crate pushes open again against the weight of the black haired man. The black haired man kicks the side of the crate and rolls it over, lid facing the floor before calling his attention back to the music box.

His pins pick delicately at the lock for the briefest of moments before it falls open and drops onto the table. A smug grin spreads across the black haired man's face and he turns to you to wink. Pulling the sturdy metal box apart reveals another strange box within. The black haired man's hands quickly yank the box away and he begins to turn it over in his palms.

The box is but a dull black cube with a retractable metal rod extending from it. Decorated with flimsy metal buttons the only thing that stands out is the big red one right in the top center with a white arrow inscribed on it. Hesitantly, the black haired man moves to press the button down.

"Hey, wait!" The white haired man interjects. "We don't know what that thing does, what makes you want to just start pushing buttons haphazardly?"

"How else are we going to find out?"

"By taking it to a professional! Someone educated in the matter, like a metal-worker or a mechanical!"

"That might take weeks."

"Would you rather die today?"

The black haired man pauses before finally resigning and setting the box back down onto the table.

"Well Cuervin. What do you think it-" \*\*THUMP\*\* \*\*THUMP\*\*

What do you do now?

I look the white-haired man in the eyes press the bit fat red button. Really, really hard. Maybe something cool will happen.

["\*We'll meet again\*"](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=OJKMji2688M)

["Don't know where..."](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=OJKMji2688M)

["Don't know when..."](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=OJKMji2688M)

["But I know we'll meet again,"](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=OJKMji2688M)

["Some sunny day..."](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=OJKMji2688M)

["Keep smiling through"](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=OJKMji2688M)

["Just like you alway-"](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=OJKMji2688M)

"\*\*What the fuck?\*\*" The black and white haired men say in unison.

"Who is that? Who is doing that?" The black haired man spins around and begins frantically looking around the room. He draws his twin blades off his back and begins pointing them at the shadows all around him.

"So sweet... So beautiful... It's as if Vishara herself is singing to us." The white haired man whispers, mystified.

Suddenly an explosion of wood chips and hay fly out onto the floor from the side of the noisy cargo crate and Phiruushuu spills into the cabin headlong. The small but capable sampras pushes himself off the floor and brushes hay and splinterss off of his sticky pale skin.

He looks up at the black haired man and steps forward toward his outstretched blades.

"You must hope I am kill. \*Pinno coppeh cazaza puulu enleena\*..." He sighs while reaching with his hands and pressing the blade against his neck. "Or I to make you kill"

"You fish bastard!" The black haired man shouts. "I fucking told you, that box has nothing to do with you! Get the hell out of here before you get squashed."

Phiruushuu begins to let out a high pitched squeal from deep in his throat and the distant look of war reemerges in his eye. "Give \*soc eenrahl-puuzuu\* to me. Now!"

"SPEAK ENGLISH!"

What do you do?

I bum rush the black haired man, headbutting him in the kidney and wrapping my arms around him as he falls to the ground. I slam his head into the ground and draw my knife up to his throat.

"Listen up you greasy fucker. Our little fishy friend here knows what that thing is, so if you kill him," my fingers tighten around the hilt of the knife, "We may never know what this box is." I grab one of his swords and keep it in my off hand in case the other twin tries something.

The black haired man swings around in retaliation but is too slow to prevent you from burying your head into his intestines. All of the oxygen shoots out from his lungs and his hands fall open dropping the blades onto the floor.

You pin him to the floor with your weight and he is helpless to defend himself. He attempts to sit up, but you thwart his efforts as you push his face back down against the floorboards.

"Cuervin what the he-" The black haired man loses confidence to finish his sentence as he feels your knife taught against the scruff of his neck. The reality that you could spill his blood across the cabin deck and get away with it right here and now dons on you.

The white haired man shoots up out of his chair and steps forward. "Hey Cuervin, slow down! I've done enough complex medical procedures this trip as it is, we d-" He stops cold upon realizing the  black haired man's blade is in your hand, pointed his direction. "What? Me?! You think I had a part in this? Cuervin, I thought your opinion of me was higher than that..."

You ignore him and only push the blade closer against the black haired man's throat as you whisper harshly into his ear. Something that you say seems to get across to him and he nods his head slightly against the floor.

What now?

I draw my knife back into its sheath and stand up, staying wary of the two men. I look over at phiruushuu.

"Why'd all these guys want this singin' box so bad."

Your knife slides with ease back into it's rightful place snug between your skin and the elastic waste-band of your tattered and salted pants.

Immediately upon being freed from the black haired man's aggression, Phiruushuu lunges forward and snatches at the music box. Before he can get his hands around it, the white haired man slides it to the opposite end of the table and tells him to explain.

Phiruushuu growls at the white haired man before resigning and turning back to face you.

"Box is..." He pauses and you can see him searching the depths of his mind for the correct English word to match what he is trying to convey. "Holy." he utters at last.

The black haired man, still standing in the shadows rubbing his red choke-rashed neck, raises his hoarse voice to express his cynicism, "That little rat doesn't know what he's talking about. See, he barely knows people words." His reasonings are presented as ironclad and he finishes with his head held high.

"Please... Kwarveen, give to Phiruushuu." Phiruushuu pleads.

"Cuervin, these guys are a bunch of idiots. You and I both know that  whatever gold the Prybarrions are willing to give us for that box, the Rathmen will double. We don't need this crummy ship work! We ain't made for it me and you. We're cut from a different cloth see. The things the two of us could accomplish together! Imagine it; My fighting prowess, good looks and charisma combined with your blind luck - we can't lose! I say we send these two packing and march right up to the captain and make him turn this rotten ship around! We'll head straight into the heart! I have some connections in the Big City and I could have that thing sold faster than you could think of what we would spend it all on! We could live like kings Cuervin! \*kings!\*" The black haired man bargains.

"No Cuervin, listen." The white haired man chimes in, "Whatever  that box does, it is clearly very important and needs to be protected. Give it to me and I will make sure nobody else touches it until we dock in Portsmyth. Then I think our best bet would be to take it to that Lord Jamelia in Barenhal and see what more she can tell us."

What do you do?

"Lets give it to those, what did you call 'em? Prybarrion Bitches?" I glance at the black-haired man, "I'm sure we could make a pretty penny off of that." I turn back to Phiruushuu "I don't see any point in giving it back to those fuckin' fish." I let slide a wink, hoping that he knows what a wink means. I turn back to the other two men. "Well," I pick up the box and hand it to the lighter haired man, "keep it safe, somewhere nobody will check."

Phiruushuu begins to growl louder, but suddenly while looking into your eyes, recognizes your authority and lowers his gaze to the floor before turning away and striding down to the cargo bay.

"I knew you would make the right choice Cuervin." The white haired man grins wide and grabs the box under his arm, clenching it over his chest like a newborn babe. He rushes out of the room to the upper-deck and closes the door behind him.

The black haired man becomes visibly offended and marches forward like pouting child to get pluck his shortsword from the ground. He looks up at you and mutters puckishly, "Can I have my sword back please?"

What now?

I toss the sword back to him. "You think I'm gonna let him sell that box back? Nah, as soon as we dock we need to have that box located and ready to take off, I'll split the ransom with ya, If you're interested, that is." I stick my hands in my pockets and walk out of the cabin without waiting for a response. I knew what he'd say. I walk over to the captain's cabin, running my thumb over the chess piece that I'd obliviously taken.

The black haired man's face lights up as he snatches the blade out of the air. He turns back,as if to say something, but only sees the door as it closes behind you.

The sun beats down on you with all the ferocity of the sky and reddens your face to a characteristic shade of crimson. You can feel the heat resonating from the wood floor panels into the souls of your worn down and muggy shoes. The crew is hard at work regardless of weather as always. Strangely, you don't see the white haired man on deck, despite him having only left the cabin mere moments before you. The stout rathman that you had appointed to the helm sees you and nods his head in acknowledgment of your presence. You can see the maple syrup sweat pouring down his forehead and he reaches up to wipe it away with the sleeve of his shirt.

"Nearly there Cap- err... Cuervin! We should be ready to dock by nightfall tomorrow!" He shouts across the deck and his words resonate like sweet music in your ears. It was just a short matter of time before you would be able to set foot on firm solid land again. A break from the harshness of seas, and a relief from the crews ever growing animosity toward one another. It was anyone's guess what you do once this ship docked - after all, you had only boarded it in the first place to escape your captors in Thieve's Landing. You don't have any true obligations to this ship and it's crew, although it was a nice thought that those aboard appreciated having you along for the journey. To them, the journey isn't even halfway over, but to you, freedom could await just beyond the horizon. You earned this freedom by crossing the deep, a feat accomplished by only the most seasoned of sailors.

The sleek carved chess piece brings a quiet tranquility to you as you rub your fingers along it. Such a small and insignificant piece of craftsmanship, and yet it was the entire goal of a game played by nobles and commoners alike. Though you had never sat down to play the game for yourself, you had succeeded in pocketing the king and slipping out unnoticed. Perhaps you had been playing the game all along.

The door to the Captain's cabin clicks shut behind you and you are met with the shocked and guilt stricken faces of the Captain and his white haired companion. They both seem to scramble as you make your presence known, the white haired man being first to spin and face you, his hands clasped together in his lap and his back seeming to block your view of the table.

"C- Cuervin! Hello! You spooked me sorry, I didn't expect anybody to be coming in here..." He stammers

"Dunt ye ever facking knock!?" The Captain barks still facing the wall away from you.

What do you do?

"I came to give you this piece back, you salty old queer," I set the chess piece down and scan the room. "Why is it you're always fiddlin' a cock when I wanna talk, huh captain?"

The captain turns to face you, his grisled beard a mess and his hot red face seared from the sun like an overcooked slab of pechora meat. His tone immediately takes a defensive stance and he glares up at you from the safety of his captain's throne.

"Ey, Cuervin, watch it! I've 'bout had it with yer accusations. You ain't never  show me even a scrap o' respec since you got on \*my\* boat." He snatches up the king and places it back with the rest of the pieces.

The white haired man presses his back firmly against the table as you step closer, further concealing it from your line of sight.

"Now if your 'bout done 'ere" The captain waves you away with his hand. "I'd suggest you get back to the crew. We need the ship ready to dock by sundown tommora."

What now?