Ahhh. Her voice was ambrosia. In the heat of the moment Ace relaxed all his muscles and smiled dreamily at Syra, the pistol put away back in its holster. There was definitely something about her, something that Ace couldn't quite put his finger on but he found Syra more enticing than any woman or siren he had met. She was so beautiful and elegant and... Hold on a second. Something didn't feel right, and the way she sang just seemed so intoxicating. Am I drunk? He questioned himself for a moment and pulled away from Syra, his head turning back. But he couldn't unlock eyes with her, those yellow irises like melted gold and piercing into his soul. Once more he floated towards her, grinning like an idiot and moving across the deck without a care in the world. And she began hugging him. With her dreadlocks. The strands of hair slowly furling around his legs and hips, squeezing him tightly and keeping him safe. Ahhh, Syra was ever so kind. That was the great thing about her too, she was sweet and kind and wouldn't hurt anyone... Nope, something is definitely wrong here. He pondered this for a moment, now floating two feet off the ground in the razor grip of Syra's red dreadlocks. I can't quite put my finger on it, but something feels different. Was it her singing? No surely not - thanks to her voice of silk his entire body filled up with gooey warmth inside. With a starry eyed face Ace looked back at Syra and smiled giddily, his eyelids heavy and body docile.
A glimmering ray of hope shone through the dismal mist. They had all done their part, some better than others, but the coup de grace --at least, from where Cephilia stood-- was Red Eye freezing some of the sea hag’s tentacles to the mast, limiting her movement. What was once a very risky course of action now became a… well, still risky, but less suicidal. Dodge this, Cephilia thought as she gripped her sword in both hands (partly for control and partly to keep her arms from trembling) and gave it a mighty swing. With a carefully-timed squeeze of the trigger, its blade unfurled, like a fisherman casting his line far out into the sea. The sword’s weighted tip pulled the sections of chain and blade out to their full range, disappearing into the heavy fog. It arced toward Syra’s ethereal form, silhouetted in the mist. A moment later, the strike landed. Cephilia could tell, by its feel, that she’d caught flesh. Syra? Captain Blast? Due to the mist, she had no idea which of them she’d hit, but she felt the chain-whip loop around and latch on tightly. Without delay, Cephilia pulled the pin on the cylindrical device attached to the sword’s hilt, unleashing hundreds of pounds of stored spring tension. There was a metallic ‘ping’ followed by the high-pitched whine of well-oiled gears whirring at extremely high speed. She got a running start and released the trigger. The sudden jerk nearly ripped her arms off, even though she’d been prepared for it. Cephilia was hauled forward at lightning speeds, closing the distance between herself and Syra… Syra, the sea monster whose body was adorned with spikes, whose mouth was a symphony of needles, and who had knives for fingernails. Well, I have armor, Cephilia thought. Pretty armor. It's sort of knife-proof... I think... maybe. This was clearly not one of her more elaborate plans, but sometimes you just gotta grab the bull by the horns… and shotgun it in the face. Or at least grab your lovestruck captain and run like hell.
"Can everyone stop trying to kill each other?" Sally shouted, firing her rifle into the air and reloading with a practiced and disciplined speed. She looked to Red Eye for a moment, nodding at his actions. Subtle killing and prepation were much more her style, as well was limiting damage by stealing back Blast. She looked back to Syra before shaking her head. "Oh you poor thing. Blast hasn't been in his prime for a long time. He was captured and about to be executed if it wasn't for us. Men are not like alcohol, they don't get better with age, they go stale rotten. Blast is pretty ripe at the moment, both metaphorically and in smell. But, I think I know someone much better than him. Younger, faster, bred of a strong stock, and one that'll really impress the other's of your kind." She was making it up as she went along, but she thought that sounded alright. Nothing too insulting towards Syra. It wasn't about making her feel worse, it was about making Blast look worse. "King Roger, the man responsible for Blast's capture, and who has a vendetta against him, should be following us. Who would you prefer? Some old, outdated pirate, or a young handsome king."
Syra hissed when Elva cut her hair and then she cried out in shock when Alan's concoction splattered on her thigh. She scratched her skin raw, her hooked talons tearing the flesh away. Big globs of foam fell to the ground from the deep cuts. Syra was so wrapped up in her itching leg that she barely noticed when Red Eye tied two dreadlocks to the mast and dove into the water. She was completely unaware that he was freezing her hair. She smiled through her pain at Ace as her voice turned him into a brainless drone. Her dreadlocks were busy wrapping him in a cocoon when something metal whooshed through the air and sliced into her side. Syra let loose a bloodcurdling howl. More foam poured from the fresh wound. Her spell over Ace was broken, as was her spell over Captain Blast. She was too hurt to keep them under her control. "Am I dreaming?" Captain Blast asked from above, looking completely puzzled. When Cephilia started to reel herself in, Syra saw her coming. With a painful cry, Syra ripped the sword-whip out of her side and swung it sideway, throwing Cephilia into Ace. They both tumbled to the edge of the deck, bumping against the guardrail. Because Sally chose to keep jabbering instead of moving out of the way, the blazing golden ring that was headed her way sliced right through her left arm. The arm turned to ashes and blew away in the breeze. Her shoulder did not bleed; it was instantly cauterized by the intense heat of the ring. All that was left was a smooth black patch of skin that smelled strongly like burnt meat. Syra was clearly losing it. Her skin kept changing colors, from red to blue to black to purple and all over again. She dropped Captain Blast and threw Alan into a stack of barrels. Blast had enough wits about him to clap his hands before he hit the ground. A small explosion stopped his fall and he flew three feet back into the air, then he fell again and landed on his ass. "This is not a dream," he grumbled, rubbing his sore buttocks. "I could've told ya that," Billy Bones wheezed. He was lying on the ground nearby, struggling to stand. Syra looked around at her enemies and decided it was a lost cause. "I will get you, Captain Blast!" she screamed. "If it's the last thing I do!" Then she turned and limped to the side of the boat and threw herself overboard. Her dreadlocks writhed all around her, churning the water and propelling her forward at incredible speeds. The locks that Red Eye had frozen simply broke in half and trailed streams of foam as she escaped. The moment she left, all the mist evaporated and the night was clear once again. "Is everyone alright?" Captain Blast asked as he got to his feet.
I got you, Cephilia thought as she raced through the mist, headed straight for Syra. She switched the sword to her right hand, while her left was ready to blast that sea hag’s head clear off her shoulders. Then, something unexpected happened. Well, it was totally expected, just not wanted. Syra grabbed the sword and pulled it out, sending Cephilia veering off course. The blade had clearly cut deeper than the noblewoman intended. It left a nasty wound, oozing foam. She almost felt bad for the monster. But all those feelings washed away when Cephilia slammed into the railing. Fortunately, something soft broke her fall. The chain sword snapped back into place with a loud ‘clang’ and the whirring disc ejected itself from the hilt, having spent all of its stored tension. It hit the wet deck and a hiss of steam wafted from its red-hot gears. It was reusable, but recoiling the springs was a monumental effort, usually involving a long metal bar and a lot of grunting and cursing. “Ah, ow, hot,” Cephilia said, carefully picking it up and returning it to her pocket. Her entire body hurt and having the smoldering device pressed against her thigh was actually soothing rather than painful. She sighed and sat back, letting her head rest on the railing, just as Syra dove overboard and slunk away into the sea. “Thank God that’s over,” Cephilia murmured… ‘over’ being a very temporal word in this case. “Is everyone alright?” Captain Blast called out. “Present and alive,” Cephilia said, raising her hand with a total lack of enthusiasm or energy. She let it limpy fall back to her side and stared up at the stars, which were thankfully coming into view once more. I think I’ll just lie here a while, on this comfortable pile of… what is this… wait, why is it moving? She quickly rolled over, fearing she’d collapsed on a pile of Syra’s tentacles, but it was only a man. “Oh… it’s you,” Cephilia said, a little disappointed. There was a fraction of a second before she put on her ‘friendly’ face and offered an apologetic smile and a hand to help him up. “Ace, was it? Glad you made it, darling. What you did was quite dashing, offering yourself to the creature like that.” She suspected he actually wanted to lie with that monstrosity… but she wasn’t one to judge a man’s sexual appetites.
Sally gave a light chuckle, before turning to look at Blast. "I'm." She stopped as looked back at an area she'd glanced over, spotting the ashes on the wooden deck. "Eh, oh." She murmured. Her eyes went to her stump, and she attempted to move a limb that wasn't there. "Oh shiiiii." She broke into a scream mid sentence as her brain suddenly received the sensation that her body had attempted to hold off. Only once had she felt anything mildly comparable, and she fought to hold back the noise, which she managed to do. She walked to the main mast and leant against it, before slumping and sliding to the floor letting out hisses all the while. "I'm going to... I'll drag her from the see, let her bake in the sun for a fortnight, keeping her barely hydrated. Then I'll make cuts, rub salt and sewage into them to the point where she's infect. Have someone keep her alive with magic. Then I'll find her friends and family. Drag them in front of her before killing them and leaving their bodies next to her. Then,when she's asking me stop, I'll say no." She placed her rifle on her lap, ready to fire at anyone who came close to her.
Immense pain. Ace wheezed heavily, the handrail digging sharply into his back and the weight of Cephilia slumped hard into his chest. Syra's dreadlocks were sharper than a thousand thorns and when they had let him go, they clawed as his entire body. And yet, what hurt the most was his pride. Not only had his dashing charm failed, unable to stop the seaweed monstrosity in her tracks, but she had in fact charmed him - albeit magically. Oh he did love a technicality, but it still didn't take the edge of. In fact, today had not gone well for Ace. Not one bit. Even as Cephilia quickly rolled away she managed to bend his knee the wrong way and clumsily step on his hand, and at that precise moment Ace forced himself to swallow a pain induced vomit, coming dangerously close to destroying any pride he had left. "Oh... It's you." Cephilia said, a little disappointed. Had his head not been spinning and his body shivering in the cold and pain, Ace would have taken offence. Right now he was just happy to sit, do nothing and generally just breath. She put on her 'friendly' face and offered an apologetic smile and a hand to help him up. "Ace, was it? Glad you made it, darling. What you did was quite dashing, offering yourself to the creature like that." "T-Thank you." Ace wheezed, the words barely escaping from his lips. He took her hand and got to his feet. Wait a second, I wasn't offering myself... "Dashing? Yes." Words were still a struggle. "Voluntarily sacrificing myself to a bloodthirsty siren? No." He ran his hand through his hair in a habit of vanity, but also frustration. "I had a plan." Cephilia gave him a look of remiss and pity. "Oh, I'm sure you did." She smiled and turned away. "Hey, wait!" Ace called after her but it was no use, "I had a plan!" "As did I," Cephilia said, with her back to him. She folded her arms in frustration. "And look how that turned out." She gave a slight nod to the spot where they'd both ended up piled atop one another like yesterday's trash. "Next time, there shall be less planning, more explosives and violence and-" A bloodcurdling scream cut her short. She reached for her sword, fearing that the siren had come back for seconds.
Much of the impact was absorbed by the padded bags strapped to Alan's jacket. The splinters that made it through the outer layers of the armor were stopped by the interlocking hexagonal plates. Water had begun to make its way up his sleeves, causing an uncomfortable coldness. Pain had a delayed response. As Alan recovered from the shock, the burning sensation of his left hand dulled relative to how much everything else hurt. It's like that time I taunted that one circus gorilla with a banana. Never again. His mind slowly drifted beyond the thought of injuries, and the other people on this ship became an ever-increasing concern. Hell, I sure hope these people aren't slavers. Alan attempted to speak, but only a choked whisper managed to escape. At this point, he was fully capable of getting up. But he didn't. He simply rested against his throne of broken planks and stared at the deck until his vision became blurry.
Red Eye watched Syra disappear into the depths with interest and slight disappointment. So much for restricting her movements to the surface with a large enough ice floe; rather than hold her back, the frozen dreadlocks had snapped easily. Like a lizard shedding its tail, he thought...or perhaps her hair had simply been made too brittle by being frozen. Either way, it was something to remember. He doubted they'd seen the last of her - Captain Blast, she obviously planned on meeting again. Not that he could see why she was so interested in the man, but then, he supposed, there's no accounting for taste. Freezing the water directly beneath him caused it to push to the surface, lifting up as an improvised raft. He was still soaking wet, but at least he was out of the water. Glancing up at the ship as it loomed above him, he cocked his head thoughtfully. Getting back up was going to be a little difficult. His eyes fell on the many severed strands of Syra's hair, now a dull dark colour, still tangled across the front of the ship. Alright, so not that difficult. Though the hair was slick and had a rough, unpleasant texture, and though he was weighed down and soaking with seawater, it wasn't too long before he'd made his way back up. He hoisted himself over the rail and collapsed gratefully onto the deck. As he lay there panting quietly, he noticed with satisfaction that the mist was at last clearing, and the moon and stars above them were once again becoming visible. Perhaps now he could figure out just what the **** had been going on up here. Sitting up, he rested an arm on one knee and took a glance around. Not too far from him, Ace and Cephilia were untangling themselves from what might have been a Moment. Or maybe they just fell on each other. They both looked rather the worse for wear. Blast and Bones were picking themselves up a short way away, in a similar condition. Sally/Asara was missing an arm. ...That was new. Her attitude clearly advertised what might happen to anyone who felt like chatting about it. Red Eye made a mental note about being out of arm's reach before breaching the subject. And to also steal all her bullets beforehand. He picked himself up and made his way over to a stack of barrels knocked over in the clash. The others seemed to be speaking to each other in various degrees of pain or distress, but he could barely hear it; it seemed the one ear that still functioned properly was still full of seawater...and possibly at least one fish, by the feel of it. He ignored the muffled voices as he inspected one of the barrels. Now where had he...ah. Pulling at a loose ring around it, he revealed the coil of silvergold he'd stashed there earlier. He was used to hiding loot in places where it wouldn't all be found at once. As he wrapped it back around his waist beneath his sopping shirt and coat, he decided that from then on this particular treasure would stay on his person. There was a moan. Or a grunt. Some sort of indistinct noise of pain. It was coming from the pile. Red Eye peered around until he saw the source with some surprise. It was a man he'd never seen before, who'd clearly taken some sort of terrible beating. Most interesting was the burn on his hand. He was fairly certain Syra had possessed a wound much like that one as she dove into the water, though hers was much larger and more severe. Perhaps this person had a talent with such effects? Oh, he hoped so. Though at the moment it appeared the chap was mostly in need of medical attention. Red Eye, no expert at preserving life, decided it was probably best to make someone else do it. He turned back towards the others, knocking the water and at least one small fish from his working ear. "Seems we've another guest aboard!" he called. He took a glance around curiously. "How many stowaways do you think this ship has, anyway?"
"Present and alive," Cephilia replied Captain Blast nodded to her. He was going to make a clever joke about how his butt-cheeks were only half-alive when he saw that she was entangled with Ace. "Awkwarrrrd," he muttered to Billy Bones. Billy Bones just grunted and swigged from his flask. Blast turned to Sally, who was having some kind of breakdown. He quickly realized she was missing an arm. When she was done ranting he took a few cautious steps in her direction and gave her a sympathetic smile. "It'll be alright, my dear," he said in a consoling tone. "If it makes you feel better, I knew a man who was missing a leg. Pegleg Larry. He went on to have a full, meaningful life...I think. I'm not sure. I actually didn't know him that well, if I'm being completely honest." He realized he wasn't being very helpful and scratched the side of his head. "Well, I hope you feel better." Blast stopped when he saw the man stuck in the floor. "You're a new face," he said, raising an eyebrow. "I'm assuming you're part of the crew, but I just haven't had the chance to make your acquaintance yet. Make yourself busy-like and I won't throw you overboard." That said, Captain Blast strode up to the wheel and took out a dull brass telescope. "Hmm, I thought we would have gone off-coarse, but the Cursed Island is straight ahead. We should be there in an hour or two. Everyone get ready. The Swamp Witch might have a few surprises in store..." Blast trailed off and looked down at Billy Bones, who was standing in the middle of the deck, checking his pistols. "Do you see anything ominous, First Mate?" Blast asked cryptically. Billy Bones shot him an annoyed look and then closed his eyes. After a brief moment, he opened them and said, "Nope, but the outlook is still misty, unsettled. There are still some decisions to be made. We should tread lightly." Captain Blast nodded solemnly and went back to steering the ship.
Cephilia warily approached the injured Asara. Captain Blast had given a half-hearted attempt at consoling the woman, but Cephilia had no intention of going that route. Asara wasn’t the sort of person who wanted to be coddled; if anything, that would only make her angrier. Oh, listen to me, acting as if I know her so well, Cephilia thought. They had only just met… yet they had been through so much together. Treason, vandalism, aiding a fugitive, running from an entire town of guards, stealing an impounded ship, fighting off an angry sea creature. Cephilia stopped a ‘safe’ distance from Asara -- well, not safe from bullets, but far enough away that she wasn’t in the woman’s personal space -- and knelt so they were level with one another. “Miss Verant,” Cephilia said, “I won’t waste your time with apologies or condolences or tender words, because I know you have no love for such things. Frankly, I would not even ask ‘how can I be of service to you’ because I know the thought probably infuriates you… but I gave you my word that I would look after you and that is exactly what I shall do, even if it means possibly receiving a bullet for my troubles.” She paused significantly and took a deep breath before concluding. “How may I be of service to you, Asara? I am at your disposal.”
“How may I be of service to you, Asara? I am at your disposal.” "As I said before, that's not my name, just my previous one." She stated, her voice coming out as a panted hiss. The latter due to the pain, the former in a failing battle to stop it. She took out the wood from earlier and her dagger. After a brief moment she was kneeling, attempting to make more false coins by slicing away. Yet, every time she attempted to cut the old lumber, the pressure would cause the wood to roll away. A growl, one of frustration and anger. Sally slumped back to the mast, before trying to stand up, putting her weight on an arm that wasn't there before correcting the mistake. She was, she didn't quite know how to describe it. She'd failed before. Been wounded before. Been left bed ridden and incapable of looking after herself before. But this was different. This wasn't a temporary loss of capability. This was a permanent reduction. She'd often lent on her dagger for parrying, It being a useful defensive measure and often allowing a precise finishing thrust from her rapier. She looked up at Cephilia, specifically, the device on her arm. "Miss Lovelace, I'm commissioning you to make me one of whatever you've got on you're arm." With that she began to scratch into the deck, making a series of sketches that seemed more akin to five year-old's than a grown woman's. Sally was not a great artist, but some things could be seen clearly. The first was that her rapier's blade would go on the outside of her forearm, stretching past her elbow and in the next it showed it deployed, now moving so that, if it was on the other side of her arm, it would be as if she was holding it, and stabbing something that appeared as if a fish had grown arms., "I'll also need a piece of metal that on the inside of my arm along my wrist, to reduce the shake when aiming, and something to help with reloading my rifle."
"Miss Lovelace, I'm commissioning you to make me one of whatever you've got on your arm," Asara said. Cephilia glanced at the sleeve of red metal on her right arm. She wasn’t quite sure what use armor would be for someone who had no arm to wear it on, but she had an idea of what the woman was asking for. Building some form of internal structure to support it all and secure it to Asara’s body wouldn’t be too difficult. If nothing else, it would balance her weight, so she could still move and fight without awkwardness. She moved closer, so she could see the sketches and listened while Asara explained what bells and whistles she wanted her new super-arm to have. Cephilia was more than a little taken aback by it all, especially considering all of this would be mounted to a smooth stump. How would she even move it or activate the various gizmos she wanted to have included in it? "I'll also need a piece of metal that on the inside of my arm along my wrist, to reduce the shake when aiming, and something to help with reloading my rifle," Asara added. “Hmmm… I see,” Cephilia said. “Well, I will need a forge and raw materials. This ship completely lacks the former and the latter is in disappointingly small supply and low quality, but that may change when we reach this ‘Cursed Island.’ I pray that is just a name and nothing more.” She paused. Maybe she was literally praying. “Anyway, this gives me time to take measurements and lay out a proper blueprint. If I may be so bold, I think you’re trying to make this too much like your old arm,” Cephilia said as gently as can be said. “I can’t replace your arm, dear. I can, however, give you something better. What if…” she thought for a moment, before rephrasing, “You’re right-handed, yes? Are you any good at firing with your rifle on the left side? If not, are you able to learn to do so? I have an interesting idea.”
Back at Stonehaven... Quickblade stood on the rocky beach, staring out over the Emerald Sea. He cut a fierce silhouette against the rising sun, dressed completely in tight black garb that clearly defined his lean muscles. The black mask he wore had thin slit for him to see through; his slanted eyes were the color of metal, hard and gray. He looked down at a piece of paper with a detailed sketch of the handsome Captain Blast on it. Blast was grinning in the sketch, a taunting grin that made Quickblade want to kill him even faster. King Roger had given Quickblade the picture upon releasing him from Mahrez. Quickblade had almost thought he was dreaming. Not only was he being released from that dank, disgusting cell, but he was being hired to kill the man he hated most in the world...Captain Blast. The stupid king didn't know that Quickblade had already run into Blast on several occasions and didn't need a sketch of his likeness. Blast's face was burned into the back of Quickblade's eyes. King Roger had told him the rumors about what Captain Blast was up to: he claimed to have a map to the Lost Treasure and he was going to find it. Quickblade had quickly deduced that Captain Blast would stop by the Cursed Island to see the Swamp Witch for assistance. Blast and the Swamp Witch had a long, complicated past, and Blast always seemed to turn to her in times of desperation. It is decided, Quickblade thought to himself. He balled up the paper, tossed it in the air, and sliced it a dozen times with his katana, the wind blowing away the tiny pieces. Then he sheathed his sword over his back and started running, straight out into the ocean. Instead of sinking, he skimmed right over the waves, his feet moving faster than a hummingbird's wings. He was gone in seconds. There was a good reason that they called him Quickblade. ............................. On the Vengeful Maiden... "Ah, the sun is coming up," Captain Blast announced, smiling at the yellow orb that rose over the rippling sea. By its light he could more easily see the Cursed Island, a dark smudge on the green-blue water that was covered in prickly trees. As they neared it, they passed dozens of abandoned ships marooned around the island. Some of them had suffered extreme fire damage: blackened sails, charred wood, and huge gaping holes blasted into the sides. A good number of them were pirate ships, but just as many were official navy ships. "Lower the anchor!" Captain Blast ordered the crew. "We can't get any closer, there's big sharp rocks under the water that will shred our boat to pieces, like the other ones. And if those don't get us, the Swamp Witch might." He marched down to the side of the ship and hopped into one of two long rowboats that were strapped to the side. Billy Bones clambered in with him, nearly falling on his face (he was clearly sauced). "Everyone pick a boat and lets skidaddle," Blast ordered, clapping his hands for them to hurry.
“Don’t worry Miss Anya, I won’t do anything to upset your mother. As long as I’m on this island I’m under her authority, so I’ll obey. Forgive me, I shouldn’t have troubled you with my adversity and discontent.” I turn to leave, but she stops me. “Adam, do you think I should be the next shaman?” “It is a big responsibility, so I can understand your reluctance. I think you would do things differently from your mother, but that might not altogether be a bad thing. You do not treat the decision lightly, that is good. Just remember to be who you are, not who your mother wants you to be. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have to catch tomorrows dinner.” And with that I walk out the door. That girl has too much problems of her own to be bothered with the troubles and opinions of a broken man. I don’t know how much longer I’ll be able to keep this up, serve this selfish woman on this wretched island, but since I can never leave there is very little I can do about it. It is not Shekinah’s power that’s keeping me here, I would do well to remember that. It’s still another hour before the sun is at its highest and I’ll have the best chance of catching a sleeping alligator, so I take a little time to rest on the high cliff, looking out over the ocean on every side. It’s a little misty, but from up here I have a clear look at the horizon on every side. I can see everyone going about their business on the island, building, mining, searching for food, when I suddenly notice something else. A small dot on the horizon, though gradually getting bigger. It’s been a while since ships have intentionally set a course for this island. It’ll take them about two hours to get here, and about as long for me to get to the right beach. Does Shekinah know of these visitors already? Will she get there before me? What would I do if I got there sooner? Even if they would let me, I could not go away with them. However, there is of course the chance that they do not yet know of the dangers this island possesses and the evil it harbours. I could warn them to get away while they still can. It won’t make my life much easier, but it might prevent the suffering of others. It’ll do me good to do some good again. It has certainly been a while. ……………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………. When I reach the beach I’ve already had a good look at the ship now at anchor dropping a set of rowboats and an even better look at the Jolly Roger waving from its mast. Still, pirates could be reasonable as well, I’ll just have to be bit more careful. There is a nice rock formation I can hide behind while still having a good view of the boats touching shore. It’s a small group of people, a scout party perhaps? They look strange though. Only a few look like other pirates I’ve seen and one of them even wears a battledress. Not just normal armour either, it’s very high quality, very subtle, yet made to look impressive. I’d almost think it was a noblewoman’s armour, yet she doesn’t seem captive. Wait a minute… Wait a bloody minute… No, it cannot be. Am I hallucinating? Are the horrors of this island finally getting to me? Either way, I have to know. I have to know for sure. Even if it kills me, I have to know. “My lady! Lady Cephilia Lovelace!”
“You’r right-handed, yes? Are you any good at firing with your rifle on the left side? If not, are you able to learn to do so? I have an interesting idea.” "Firstly, don't you dear me, and secondly, I'm talking about the armour. Just make me a sleeve that can go over my arm, wrist mount my rapier, and add a way of stabilising my wrist so that my rifle shot will be accurate." Building a new arm, she didn't know if that was possible. But this she could work with, so long as it actually worked.
"Firstly, don't you dear me, and secondly, I'm talking about the armour,” Asara said. “Just make me a sleeve that can go over my arm, wrist mount my rapier, and add a way of stabilising my wrist so that my rifle shot will be accurate." Cephilia sighed with the disappointment of a child whose coloring utensils have been snatched away. She had so many wonderful ideas and Asara’s bare stump was an empty canvas to test them on. But, alas, creativity is dead in this cultural wasteland. Oh, woe is me! “As you wish,” she said, in a tone that made it quite clear her passion had been snuffed out. “I will begin the moment we are ashore.” With that, she bowed and took her leave, but not before collecting the remaining silvergold rope dangling from the ship’s railing. It appeared as if someone had already made off with some of it. A ship of pirates, of course. Cephilia gathered what was left and took it with her below decks. If there was a blacksmith on that Cursed Island, she would find him and trade the valuable silvergold for access to a forge and metal. But first, she needed her forty winks. Tomorrow would be a busy day. ---- ---- ---- ---- ---- ---- ---- ---- ---- ---- ---- ---- ---- ---- ---- "Everyone pick a boat and lets skidaddle," Blast ordered, clapping his hands for them to hurry. “Hmm? Oh, right… yeah,” Cephilia said, stifling a yawn. She must’ve nodded off. A moment ago, he was saying something about rocks, then he was talking about skidaddling. All things considered, she was doing fairly well for someone who’d only gotten about three or four hours of sleep in the last two days. So much rum on this damn ship, but no coffee? Blasphemy. She rubbed her eyes and carefully --very carefully-- climbed into the boat alongside Blast and Billy. A drunk dwarf, a silly captain, and a sleep-deprived noblewoman hop into a rowboat… this sounded like the setup to a bad joke. And this was precisely when Cephilia realized she’d never actually rowed a boat before. Punchline, delivered. She sighed again, pulled up her hood, and tucked her messy blonde hair in. So much for those fancy curls; she looked like a wet dog… which was actually rather impressive, considering she wasn’t wet. With another sigh, she hunkered down in the boat and stared out, past the wreckage, to the shore, where a crazy man was standing on the beach, shouting at the wind.
Red Eye nearly tripped over some of Syra's severed coils as he made for the second boat. Blast, Bones, and Cephilia had already set out in the one he'd been using as a bedroom. That meant he'd likely be sharing this one with Sally... Hopefully she'd be feeling a little less murderous by now. Personally, he was excited by her new situation. He'd seen Sally talking with Cephilia about a new gauntlet. There was no doubt she'd become a fierce and unpredictable fighter with that, given time. People who lost parts of themselves, he'd found, often tended to make up for it in one way or another so long as they possessed the will to keep fighting. And Sally most surely had that in abundance. Still, he thought as he untangled more locks of Syra's hair from the boat, she's probably rather eager to exact vengeance, and I can't be sure how easy that will be... He gazed thoughtfully at the hair in his hands. Then he froze it in a couple of places and snapped off a length about 18 inches long. He turned and glanced around until he found Sally, striding towards him and the boat. "Good day, Lefty!" He couldn't help himself. He loved making people angry, it made them so much more reckless. ...Although he should probably take it a little easy with this one. He was pretty sure she would kill him without a second thought, given the chance. He kept the length of the boat between them and subtly tensed himself, making sure he was ready to move should she get particularly violent. Holding up the length of greasy dreadlock, he tossed it to her lightly. "Something for you. I haven't been paying too much attention, but I gather there's a witch we'll be going to visit." He nodded at the hair. "One can't help but wonder what she might be able to do with that. Probably help track down the owner at the least, if not something worse." He shrugged and grinned. "Not that it's any of my business."
"Not that it's any of my business." "My arm, your eye, I suppose we match." She replied, her voice a mixture of sarcasm and bitterness, leaning sharply towards the latter. When he threw the piece she managed to catch it, finally having gotten use to her arm missing. That did not mean she was any good with it mind you, it merely meant she was no longer trying to use an arm that wasn't there. When she'd tried to use her rapier, she found herself moving faster, though, once again, trying to use a dagger that wasn't there. She knew how to throw them, but they hers wasn't balanced for it, nor was it particularly good compared to a rifle. She remembered back to when she first got it. It was relatively early, back when she was going by her actual name. She was serving as a guard on a ship, a group of pirates coming along, a particularly stupid one using a bow. While having a slower firing rate, guns were significantly more powerful than archaic weapons, the battle had been short and fierce. Now though, she could barely aim. Her hand was too far from where the weight of the barrel was, nothing to steady it or help prevent recoil. "And my thanks for this. I know that you'll be there to help. Not out of any morality mind you, but I'm guessing capturing a siren princess should be enough of an adventure once this is done."
Elva daintily picked up her throwing axe from where Syra had unceremoniously dropped it before she made her escape. "Sea hag," she grumbled as she wiped off the wet handle. She stuck it back into her sash, along with her cutlass, and dashed over to where everyone was loading onto rowboats. Of course, she made directly for Captain Blast's vessel. There was no way in hell she wasn't going to get on his boat and "accidentally" rub against him. But at the last moment, Elva stopped and glanced over at Asara-Sally. The girl had been through a lot. She looked tough, but anyone would be a mess after losing an arm. Sisters before misters, she thought to herself. Then she headed for Sally's boat. "Hey, girl," Elva began hesitantly, giving her a shy smile. "Sorry 'bout your, um, arm. I hope that Kelpie thing rots in hell."
They rowed to shore and Billy Bones single-handedly pulled both rowboats onto the beach. The sand of the beach was pure black with chunks of smoky glass embedded in it. Whenever they kicked it, the sand floated in the air a moment too long before it slowly settled back onto the ground. In front of them was a hot, steamy jungle, the old trees dripping with vines and the sounds of wild animals echoing through the air. A large white crow landed on a branch and stared at them with a beady crimson eye. Then it opened its long sharp beak and cawed loudly before flapping its wings and soaring deeper into the jungle. "Ain't that a pretty sight," Billy Bones grumbled. He was glancing around warily, both of his hands resting on the handles on his pistols. "Oh, shush," Captain Blast chided, as if he was Billy Bones' mother. "It's just a bird. Now, sir, who are you?" He flapped a hand toward the man who was waiting for them on the beach. "You were yelling at our ship and I would like to know what business you have here. Has King Roger finally colonized the Cursed Island? Will we be arrested as soon as we enter the jungle?"
“My lady! Lady Cephilia Lovelace!” Calm yourself down man! She is still a long way from the shore, there is no way she’ll hear you like this and you’ll only make yourself look like a fool! I have to remember that even if it is her – and despite the hood I’m somehow really sure that it is – the chances of her taking me of this island are slim to none. So, calm down, steady yourself and see if you can remember that speech you spend every minute of every day preparing for during the first year here. Or perhaps better yet, focus on the man with the beard first. He seems to be the captain of this strange group. It probably wouldn’t do me much good to go over his head and go straight for one of his crew instead of him. Here he comes now. “Now, sir, who are you? You were yelling at our ship and I would like to know what business you have here. Has King Roger finally colonized the Cursed Island? Will we be arrested as soon as we enter the jungle?” I couldn’t help but smile at that. There was a time when I thought King Roger was a vain and power-hungry leader who cared to much about his own gain and too little about his own people. Right now, if possible, he would conquer the island for that king himself if it was in his power. “No sir, this island’s rule has not changed for many years. However, if you are familiar with its ruler, you should know that being arrested is the least of your problems here. As for my yelling at your ship, I apologize. It’s just that I recognized a member of your crew who, at worst, I am delighted to meet in person and owe a formal greeting, but at best could bring a change in my life I have not dared dream of for years.” With that I turn to my lady. It is unmistakable now that she stands here before me. She looks tired though. Not the best moment for an introduction, but it is my only chance. I lowered myself to one knee and upended my sword, its tip resting in the sand in the proper fashion. I hesitated for a moment, then started. “My lady Cephilia Lovelace, I am honoured to meet you though I wish it were under better circumstances. I owe you and your captain a name, so I shall give it to you. My name is Adam Arkwright… I read on your face that you are familiar with the name. I would have given you any other, but it was given to me by people who I cared for greatly and I would not dishonour their memory by renouncing what was given to me. I won’t waste your time pleading my case. My actions almost ruined the Lovelace family name and for that I deserve every sentence bestowed upon me. Nor would I plead forgiveness, for forgiveness must be earned. My plead is for mercy, which, per definition, is never deserved. This island is governed by a powerful woman called Shekinah. I do not doubt that she is at least part of the reason you are here. Her control over her people is absolute and they worship her like a god. She protects them, keeps them safe. But she is no god to me. She is selfish and she is cruel. My banishment to her island forced me under her authority and the vow I made to serve your family keeps me from leaving it. So I find myself now, living out my sentence for crimes committed by serving a woman with a moral compass I cannot keep bearings from. I understand banishment is meant to be the harshest of punishments, but in my core I still believe that a punishment should in some way contribute to the criminal’s redemption. My actions in this place have been far from redeeming and leaning more towards that other side. Forgive me, I have spent too much of your time already, so I’ll just cut to the case. You have the authority to release me from this hellish place and into your charge. I realise how unfair it is to drop this decision on you when all you know of me is the crime I was sentenced for, but you… you are my only hope for real redemption. Something I will never be able to achieve here. I know my words have lost all their credibility, but they are all I have to declare my loyalty to you and with them I leave my life in your hands. Whatever you decide, I am grateful to have had the honour of meeting you in person.” That last part wasn’t planned. Was it too much? Probably. I must look desperate now. Well, so what? I am. Or worse, a suck-up. But I’m not. It was the truth and I’ve never been afraid of the truth. But still, I’ve thought about a meeting like this for over a year, prepared and thought over every line I would say if I would ever meet another member of the Lovelace family and what do I do? I improvise the last line. The last line! The most important one of all! Well, it is done. I meant what I said. If she rejects me now, I at least have this moment to hold on to in the times to come.
Cephilia took a step back when the man turned to her and lowered himself to one knee. She was alarmed and, to be frank, a little wary of him, but she didn’t reach for her weapon. His face, she did not recognize, but his mannerisms were Lovelace through and through. Servant? Soldier? She had no idea, but he was definitely of the family. It seems father has left his mark everywhere, even here, she thought. Can’t walk five paces without tripping over someone or something he’s touched. He gave his name, which earned him a slight rise of Cephilia’s brows. Umm… who? Unfortunately, he seemed to read this as recognition. Her mind raced to find some clue as to who this fellow might be. He clearly knew her; the way he had easily identified her, even when the Vengeful Maiden was still at sea, proved her face was seared into his memory. Yet, she could find nothing. He went on, talking about ‘pleading his case’ and a ‘sentence’ that had been bestowed upon him. Oh my God, he’s a criminal! She tried to keep a neutral face; don’t gasp, don’t look shocked. She didn’t know any criminals… present company excluded. Maybe he had her confused with someone else. Her mother, perhaps? Unlikely. Martha Lovelace had a strong isolationist streak. The chances of meeting a real live, singing and dancing dragon was more likely than spotting her. Not that her mother was at all draconian. Quite the opposite, in fact. Oh, God, I’m rambling and the man is still talking. Something something “Shekinah.” Something something “banishment.” Something about “almost ruining the Lovelace family name.” Well, we have something in common, at least. “Forgive me, I have spent too much of your time already, so I’ll just cut to the case,” he said. “You have the authority to release me from this hellish place and into your charge. I realize how unfair it is to drop this decision on you when all you know of me is the crime I was sentenced for, but you… you are my only hope for real redemption. Something I will never be able to achieve here. I know my words have lost all their credibility, but they are all I have to declare my loyalty to you and with them I leave my life in your hands. Whatever you decide, I am grateful to have had the honour of meeting you in person.” “I… ummm… well, Mr. Arkwright, you’ve said quite a mouthful,” Cephilia tossed back her hood and tried to put on some degree of elegance. “This is all rather unexpected.” ‘Unwanted’ is really the word she was looking for. She had just begun to earn a place in this crew and not be treated as ‘the noblewoman.’ Now she had this fellow bowing before her and saying his fate was in her hands. She saw only one way to fix that: “I don’t know what authority you believe I wield,” Cephilia explained, “for I wasn’t the one who sentenced you to banishment. I suspect my father was the architect of that. Likewise, I doubt I have the authority to lift it.” At this, she smiled, “fortunately, we are far beyond the laws of man here. Lord Lovelace has no authority to bind you here, Adam Arkwright.” She unsheathed her sword and touched its tip to his shoulder. “Rise, a free man.” I ought to be a lawyer, Cephilia thought as she returned her sword to its home. It was a flimsy technicality, which wouldn’t actually hold up if anyone bothered to hunt him down, but she couldn’t care less. Cephilia had no idea what he’d done to earn this island getaway, but she was confident he’d served his time. “However, there is one issue that remains,” she said. “A wise man once told me anything with two heads is a monster. I can’t release you into my charge because I am his charge. You would have two masters.” She nodded to Captain Blast. “If you want to get off of this island, that leaves you with two options, Mr. Arkwright: Join us as equals, with the captain’s permission, of course. Or…” she nodded to the mangled wreckage on the rocks, being pummeled by waves, “try your hand at the age-old art of shipbuilding. I don’t doubt your woodworking skills, darling, but I think you know which is the wiser choice.”
“If you want to get off of this island, that leaves you with two options, Mr. Arkwright: Join us as equals, with the captain’s permission, of course. Or…” she nodded to the mangled wreckage on the rocks, being pummeled by waves, “try your hand at the age-old art of shipbuilding. I don’t doubt your woodworking skills, darling, but I think you know which is the wiser choice.” Sally leant over to the noble and began to whisper. "Firstly, I've averse to violence, and I know you're probably going to oppose this, but I'm very stressed right now, slapping him will probably relieve it. Not to mention that he seems delusional." Her tone wasn't one of anger, more one of mild annoyance, that of a someone forced to look after a particularly petulant child and having given up part way through. She had simultaneously arrived on the beach, started listening, and given up during his monologue as well. "Not to mention what'll happen if Red Eye or preteen decide to act first." Then another thought popped into her head, one less likely, though just as useful. "Actually, having a helper monkey doesn't seem like a bad idea. Or we could just sell him next time we go to port."
Elva was joyfully kicking the black sand and ignoring the crazy man's rantings, watching it fall in slow-motion, when she overheard Sally call her "preteen". This wasn't the first time Sally had insulted Elva. She was continuously making little jabs at her and other members of their crew, as if they were beneath her or something. Heck, not even Lady Cephilia acts snobby towards us, and she's actually of noble blood! From calling Elva hormonal to accusing her of 'trying to act edgy' (she's killed people before, c'mon, that's beyond 'edgy'), there wasn't any sign that Sally would stop spewing venom anytime soon. And here I was, trying to comfort her for her missing arm, Elva thought darkly. She ground her teeth and put her hands on the handles of both her weapons. It would be so easy to just throw this axe through the back of her head. I've done it a dozen times before, to less deserving people than her. I wonder why she thinks she's safe from me? Is she really so foolish that she thinks I wouldn't kill her, or worse? With a tremendous effort, Elva decided not to attack Sally... (Oh, to hell with that, Elva snapped mentally. Her name is Asara and that's what I'm going to call her.) ...not to attack Asara in front of Captain Blast. She didn't want him to think poorly of her, or worse, kick her out of their gang. But she would have swift revenge if Asara didn't let up. It's only fair if I give her a warning, though. Elva grinned and walked over to Asara, tapping her sharply on the shoulder. "Hey, old bat," she said cheerily. "Next time you put my name in your stupid mouth, we're gonna have problems. 'Kay, bye." She turned away and went back to kicking the sand like a little kid.
