The waves licked the bow of the Silver Maiden. A draft came up on the starboard side as a large vessel moved beside it. The vessel closed in and a set of hooks were loosed to grasp the rail of the Silver Maiden, latching it and setting in place a stable crossing between the vessels. Then, over from the larger vessel, a great figure leaped down and upon touching the deck brought forth a heavy weight that settled on the bow.
It stood at well over seven feet tall and its frame was a beast of a man, bearing the likeness of a wolf. A covering of grey fur marked the creature, which wore naught but a waistcloth and a tethering of iron weapons and tools across the chest. The creature's black maw was lapped by a yellow tongue and a huff rolled from its snarling nose as something between a growl and a purr escaped its throat. Yet when its nostrils flared and smelled the air of foul fish, it grunted and in a guttural voice uttered words none could understand:
"Kelisheshis bakak er glem!"
Soon followed two more of their ilk: a feline creature with a speckle of black spots in its yellow fur; its build was leaner than the wolf–yet no less tall or imposing in its physique, and an ursine beast with a thick frame that bent the ship's bow deeply into the sea. The children of Sodomus–whom the Effinitians called Ȥodosoth–took to the ship and through sheer presence alone, made a pause to pass over the crew. The feline beastkin grasped a random deckhand by the chin, tilting the man's head from side to side as if inspecting merchandise.
"H-ŕ-ŕatchekek, Settar v-ŕ ertka Kelishesh."
Captain Maxmillian stepped forth from the captain's deck.
"Now shut that animal tongue of yers, beast! Speak the common tongue instead of whispering to yer friends how and who to slave of our crew."
The feline glanced at the captain with a sort of apathy that made Maxmillian's hearty shoulders seem small. The captain glared at the cat and puffed out a black smog that didn't reach higher than the tall beast's collar.
Its voice came out scratchy, "are you the sheepdog of these preymen?"
The captain scoffed, his hand settled naturally onto the hilt of his cutlass saber, and to draw the eyes he dramatically brought his pipe to his lips and took a long drag of the blackgrass herb.
"This here is my ship, an' the crew is mine too! So hands off, beast."
The Karfolk appeared indifferent to the captain's threats. They measured the crew and captain. Wiry sailors stood apparently relaxed, but each kept knives or other blades in arms reach. Unlike the clear tension hidden behind a facade of ease which the men put forth, the beastkin were wholly relaxed. They didn't even assume to draw their weapons. In their eyes, they saw only the wariness of rabbits or rats.
The wolfish one grinned at the sailors in a way that was not truly a grin, while the ursine beastkin bent low to sniff the ground–unbothered by the smell of fish unlike the wolf. Its beady bear eyes tried to peer between the planks of wood into the lower deck.
As the feline was about to speak again, the captain tossed him a pouch of coppers. The cat measured the weight of the bag and muttered, "about a hundred and twenty coppers–assuming its empire coins."
"There, take that an' go off, beast. This here ship an' its crew are not for sale."
The cat turned its head to the side, its scratchy voice took on a monotonous quality as it condescended to the man.
"In our tongue we have different words for Kar and Kelish. For your kind, we say: Fthethk raheshar kelishesh, ertka lapap Karesh… It means, Take here from there of the preyman, master the lesser beastman. If we wished to Fthethk from you, we would simply do so. But I am a generous master. You make well mastery of your lessers, sheepdog. Our people praise good slavers such as you. So I shall be…" He paused for a moment–thinking–then said, "magnanimous, and I shall let you keep them. 'Tis good to master your lessers; it shall bring you closer to the Kar."
The captain blew smoke into the cat's face. It did not reach high enough however, and simply diffused.
"Be on yer way, beast."
The ursine beastkin said some gibberish to the cat. The cat listened with his ears while his eyes stayed fixed on the captain.
"It seems you're carrying an ore shipment. As I said, I'm feeling generous, so I'll only take half the shipment."
"A quarter, no more will my men an' I part with."
"This is not a negotiation," said the cat.
"No… it ain't."
Only the sound of wind filled the silence in the air. The white raven flew down from above and landed beside the captain's wheel. It gazed down at the whole affair with unblinking blue eyes.
At some point however, the beastkin nodded, "very well, a quarter. It would be a shame to kill you all otherwise."
With a snap the wolf approached the hatch leading to the lower deck. Captain Maxmillian whistled and thumped his foot. Then the hatch popped open. A group of rowers and the first mate each carried the crates of ore onto the deck–moving swiftly as if their lives depended on it.
The wolfman wrinkled his nose at the rank of the men who had been bunched up inside the lower deck all afternoon. The scent was made worse by the strain and sweat they bore from carrying the crates.
"There," said the captain, "a quarter order of iron ore, straight from the mines of the Anor Mountains."
"I still need to count the whole shipment to know if this is a true quarter."
"'Tis a quarter, be sure of it."
The cat narrowed its eyes, but said nothing. It turned to the other beastkin and uttered babble in their tongues:
"H-ŕ-ŕatchekek, K-k-krorar, kareshim kol!"
With that word alone the Karfolk left, although the wolf grumbled as it carried the ore, and the bear kept stealing glances below deck and saying something to the feline which none of the crew understood. The ship was relieved of their heavy weight and returned to a steady drift at last. The last beastman paused before leaving.
The cat squatted at the threshold between the ships, and turned suddenly to the captain again.
"By the way, sheepdog, are there any exotic prey on your ship by chance?"
The captain scoffed, "How bout's ye'tell me? Yer animal friend is the one stickin' his nose t'my ship."
"T'was difficult for K-k-krorar to properly smell anything. The scent of the lizards is too strong."
"Gods and all the waves… No, I don' have no damn 'prey' on this ship!"
The cat's yellow eyes narrowed again, but he simply shrugged in the end.
"Very well. Good hunting, sheepdog."
The Karfolk released the hooks and set off. Only when the ship was long past the horizon and the daylight was beginning to shift from noon into dusk, then Captain Maxmillian let the rest of the crew including Trenewynn move above deck.
"By all the gods and waves… Those damned slavers would've taken a leg, an arm, an' an eye if they could! This is why I always preferred the Ramians, at least they're upfront for costs! No less bloody ruthless though."
Trenewynn bowed his head briefly to the captain.
"Thank you for guiding me safely to Argentum. I doubt there is a better captain who would've stood so firmly to the Karfolk."
The captain let his eye settle on the vagrant with a glare, "ye better be thankful, sandwalker. I've lost a quarter of my goods and a month of copper because of these brutes."
"I can compensate for the copper at least, as for the iron, I'm not so sure…"
The captain waved his free hand, "nay bother, we knew upon setting out that a cross with the Karfolk was inevitable. This would've been the outcome in any case. Yet I will still take the coppers for the right scare that damned bear gave me."
Trenewynn fished through his pouch–nearly dropping the leather-bound book he kept–before grasping an additional twelve coins.
"Here, twelve more coins of Aurius bronze. It should more than suffice to cover the fee you paid them."
"Aye," said the captain.
"What be in that little book of yers anyway? A place to keep all'em tall tales ye tell?"
"Not quite," said Trenewynn, "'tis where I write my observations of the peoples I have met in my journeys, and of strange things that I have seen."
"An' what would be those things ye've observed?"
"Many things. I've travelled widely in my years and have recorded as such in this notebook. My memory is not perfect, after all. As such, I have written down what I saw fit to remind myself. If you want something specific, how about this passage here:"
Day 17, Birth of Elias; year 1156 of the 3rd Age:
I had a dream today.
T'was one of old Aurumere and Effinitia, in the vale years of the first age. I dreamt of Yuvon, the founder of chivalry. He lay there sick; the disease which had claimed Governor Belissarius now racked his lungs and heart. As he breathed with difficulty, a ring of mages surrounded him. Each bore pale silver skin that gleamed in the light, and they wore ceremonial waistcloths of black velvet and silver. A pale rod was held in each right hand, adorned at its head with a torchlight that bore azure flames. Silver amulets, armlets, and rings abounded their bare chests and arms, and at the upper part of their backs were carved arcane seals into a circle, with several scores of names cleaved below.
Blood oozed like quicksilver from the carvings in their backs, and as it pooled on the ground, each drop was carried as if by magic to gather at the demigod's feet. The fine silver filigree of their waistcloths seemed to glow, and a cloud of darkness seeped out from the orifices of his face.
But Yuvon did not give up. As proud as he was, his sword arm still raised, and a blade of bronze struck the earth with a furious tremor. The ground then split open and divided, and I watched as the crack spread across the land—splitting the Anor Mountains from the Gray Bogs and going further east. It cut the Heartlands from the River Kheherat, and split so far until where the Sanguine Jungle met the Plemmyra Savannah.
This great chasm formed and was called as such the Chasm of Yuvon–once hailed the strongest demigod. The circle of archons who had cursed him, laid dead beside his last breaths. I watched as they passed into time and memory, and the blood drained from all of them. Then, I saw him… That terrible countenance–which brought a paleness to my own heart–was unmistakable. There stood the Obsidian Man, R̄ësha in the flesh.
He spoke in a voice at once amused and discordant. T'was as if he was angry at his own joy, or laughing at his own anger.
"Oh how noble this man has been. To sacrifice life and limb for Aurumere–that land which he so loved. I can tell truly that Yuvon indeed loved his home enough to die for it."
The Obsidian Man then turned to look at what I thought was me—and I paled.
"Ah, but I loathe such nobility. Such honorable and just conduct brings out the envy in my heart."
R̄ësha spoke in a voice colder and calmer than the stillness of water in a dark cave. He snapped his fingers and suddenly a swarm of black crows descended. Worms and insects crawled out from the earth, and carnivorous plants began to encircle the bodies with vines. Each ate away until the flesh was stripped and the bones were left to bleach in the heat of the unfettered sun. Rot was born.
"I curse that noble heart of yours, Yuvon. And I curse all who have a spark of virtue in their souls. You will all rot and be eaten by worms. For I loathe the sight of that placid face you wear, appearing so heroic in and beyond your dying breath. Look now how properly mangled your expression is! That is how a man should look when they die."
'Tis then that I see a great darkness take root over the lands of Tarshith, and I watch beside R̄ësha as Aezelioth plucks it from the Terra and casts it out. Then, a wave of ocean water pours in through the gap born from the plucking, and covers all the distance which had been carved between upper and lower Jania by Yuvon. 'Tis not long when the chasm which he had made through his sword became a great sea—large enough to swallow countless cities and peoples. There, my dream ends just as the tide comes to swallow me too…
"That was the latest of my writings," said Trenewynn presently.
"I wrote it two nights ago. Shortly before the lizardmen raided us."
The captain dragged on his pipe for a while.
"Ye tell a lotta grim stories don't ye?"
"I tell only what stories I have. But they are not so grim just because they are scary. Certainly, the Obsidian Man had frightened me in that dream. But I was struck more by the noble sacrifice which Yuvon enacted. How brave one must be to smile in their last moments before the end."
"Aye, or foolish."
"Well, I won't deny that there is wisdom in staying alive. Take for instance, that beastkin you confronted–the feline–did you notice he carried a cord of leather at his waist bearing three hawk feathers on the left side?"
"Aye, didn't strike me as anything more than a queer adornment. 'Tis important then, I assume?"
"Any clothes which the Karfolk wear have significance. They indicate military and governor status. Clothes are, after all, among the oldest of status symbols. For the great tribes of Kar'kasha, they are particularly regulated. T'was wise of you to offer a fee to the Karfolk; three hawk feathers on the left hip signifies a Master of Warriors, roughly equal to an army captain in status. Defeating a Master of Warriors here–with these numbers–would've been a difficult task even for the strongest men of the empire."
"So yer sayin' that I got lucky are ye? Well, I take no offense to that. Luck is a maiden we sailors shall always give gratitude for."
"Life is the most precious thing, captain. Do not feel ashamed to have lost what is less than your life. As for Yuvon, he was already dead before the events in my journal. He had contracted an incurable disease. Bound for Az, he chose the path which he deemed most righteous before he died."
"As you say…"
The captain ordered the helmsman to adjust course and had a few deck hands lower the sails and bring down the mast for nightfall.
"There be a queer draft beneath the bow. Something keeps pushing against it."
"A draft you say?"
"Aye, might be the sea lizard's scheming. Though it doesn't have the stink of their doing…"
"Stink?"
"Damned land dwellers… I mean the feeling is wrong. It doesn't make my hairs stand or my nose itch. If this be the work of sea lizards, I ought have an inkling by now. But whatever this work be, the draft on our bow is clearly not natural. It keeps ushering us towards the north–to the mainland."
Trenewynn gazed into the distant waves, he peered at something in the water which no one else could see.
Quietly, he mumbled to himself, "perhaps a water scrying would do…"
"Ye' sayin' something there, sandwalker?"
"Ah, 'tis nothing. Pay me no mind. I'll go below for the moment before night falls."
The captain watched the vagrant leave and shrugged. Then the white raven perched beside him on the ship's railing.
"Queer bird," he said.