Arcanis: Gonnes, Sons, and Treasure Runs (COMPLETED)

Cast Upon Tides of Weal and Woe - Part 7a: Dancing Along the Yardarm

Walking down Wave street, it was immediately apparent that they were far removed from the squalor and desperation that characterized most of Freeport. The impetus of that removal was most certainly wealth: the greed and avarice that drove Freeport was manifest in luxury and ostentatious display.

“So this is how the other half lives,” said Kham.

The eyes of numerous private guards arrayed in tailored livery watched them carefully. Camring moved ahead of Kham with a confidence that belied his earlier scramble amid the grime and filth of the Docks.

“Hello Camring, brought some friends with you I see,” said one of them.

“Strays, you mean,” said Camring with a grin. “And they just won’t stop following me.”

He led them through the Plaza di Oro, with its spending fountain and statue of Larissa.

Kham stopped to face the fountain. “The Fountain of Fortune. I’ve heard of it but never saw it before.” He fished a coin out of his pouch and flicked it into the water.

“Why would you waste perfectly good gold like that?” asked Beldin.

“For luck,” said Vlad.

“Stupid human custom,” said Ilmarė.

They moved through the smaller Plaza di Plata, home of the Guilt Club, to a fine stone, wood, and brick manse built in the Milandisian style. It had a high-pitched, blue slate roof, white-washed exterior walls, and tall, narrow windows. The windows had stout wooden shutters painted with blue trailing flowers. The recessed front door was reminiscent of a barbican.

“Looks like a castle to me,” said Beldin.

Three large, thick-necked Milandisians in half-plate armor and bearing halberds stood before an impressive yellowwood door. They glared at them as they passed.

Beyond the door was a high-ceilinged hall with a floor of hand-painted ceramic tiles. Hanging from the ceiling on a thick brass chain was a large, yellow glass globe. The light from the globe suffused the chamber in a rich, golden glow.

Brilliantly colored and vibrant tapestries depicted galleys and coiling sea serpents along the walls. Brass dolphin sconces held citrus-scented candles between the tapestries. In the center of the room was a tiled pattern in the shape of a great compass rose.

A tall, broad-shouldered gentleman with long, curling ebony hair stood at the center of the room. His resemblance to Camring and Emric was unmistakable. He was clad in a sea green doublet of velvet over a fine bleached white linen shirt. The borders of the doublet were edged with an elaborate design of interwoven gold and silver thread embroidery. Two silver cockleshell brooches closed the throat of his doublet. Knee-length breeches of sea green dyed moleskin, white hose, and fine leather shoes completed the ensemble.

“Nephew,” Thralen said in a voice accustomed to obedience, “introduce me to your friends.”

Vlad stepped forward and inclined his head slightly. “I am Vlad Martell, in the service of the Milandisian government. I was sent on a mission that involves your house. These are my companions at arms.”

“A pleasure,” said Thralen, returning the bow. “I am Thralen val’Ossan. Thank you for returning Camring safely.” His features narrowed in irritation. “He has a habit of…wandering off. Come, let us speak in my study.”

Cast Upon Tides of Weal and Woe - Part 7b: Dancing Along the Yardarm

Thralen led them to a room set with three tall narrow windows of translucent alabaster. The windows bathed the room with a soft golden light.

Thralen ensconced himself behind a large, comfortably padded leather chair. As they made themselves comfortable, Camring unceremoniously swept a pile of ledgers and scrolls off a shelf. With a rather dejected sigh, he hopped onto the shelf.

A pretty young Milandisian maidservant brought in a platter filled with ceramic cups, a dragon-shaped clay pitcher of wine, a bowl of pickled olives, dates and figs, a small jar of spiced fish paste, and several loaves of sweet white bread.

“Please,” said Thralen, “I will play the proper host. Break bread with me and be welcome in my home. You are my guests. Tell me of this mission and how you came to return my nephew to me.”

Calactyte took the bowl of pickled olives and downed the entire contents in one gulp. Ilmarė took one slice of bread from the tray.

Vlad leaned forward, deadly serious. “There are rumors that your House has been compromised. Someone is readily supplying pirates with details pertaining the movements of the Milandisian naval patrols. They suspect your security has been breached.”

The maid, who was turning to pour Vlad a cup of wine, nearly spilled it into his lap. Thralen’s eyebrows shot up.

“A spy? In my house? While I appreciate your concern, I trust all my servants implicitly. If there was a spy here, I would know it.”

The maidservant excused herself to clean up the mess.

“Way to keep the mission secret,” said Ilmarė.

Kham grabbed the bottle of wine and took a swig. “On a more immediate note…does Camring have a twin?”

“Pardon?”

“A twin. We picked up a child floating amongst the debris of the Black Egret just yesterday who is a spitting image of Camring. His name was Emric. Ring any bells?”

Thrlaen steepled his fingers. “Intriguing. I wonder if perhaps he is not some distant relation. The val’Ossan’s have been sailing the Pale Sea for centuries. Hundreds, if not thousands of illegitimate val’Ossan progeny have been cast upon the tides to settle where they may. Certainly, one bearing a resemblance to Camring would be rare, but it is not impossible.”

“He doesn’t just bear a resemblance,” said Ilmarė in irritation. “He’s a twin, down to the mole on his cheek.”

“A twin is impossible,” said Thralen. “Camring’s father, my brother Carius, was quite admired by the ladies, but he had eyes only for Tivatia.”

“Who is this Tivatia?” asked Bijoux.

“Tivatia Ossan-Drac was a scion of House Drac, descended from the Great Corsair Drac. She was also a devoted servant and priestess of Yarris.”

“Duty between a god and a mortal,” said Ilmarė. “Difficult choice.”

Thralen nodded. “She was ever torn between her duty to the Drac name and her duty to her religion. Plagued by sadness, the love of her husband and child could not sustain her. She took ill and died while Camring was still a babe.”

A chill wind whipped through the room, despite the fact that no windows were open.

“I know of Carius,” said Vlad. “He was active in Milandir and died at the Battle of Jerrold’s Bridge.”

It became so cold in the room that everyone’s breath came out in misty wisps.

“Unseasonable weather,” said Bijoux.

“Ah yes,” said Thralen, visibly disturbed. “The ceramic tile that covers the floors of the house does not always distribute the heat correctly.”

Beldin snorted. “The floor’s made of burnished yellowwood,” he whispered out of the side of his mouth to Sebastian. “Tile doesn’t do that.”

Kham cleared his throat. “About that other boy…”

“Emric, you say? I have only recently learned that Captain Blax seeks to stop Camring’s ascension to the throne of the Sea Lord. If the boy is a mirror image of Camring, it must be a case of mistaken identity. They kidnapped the wrong child.”

“Good,” said Ilmarė, “so we can all go home then.”

Thralen frowned. “I have never met Captain Blax personally, but she has a reputation as a ruthless and fearsome pirate. If she truly has the boy, I fear for his safety. When she discovers that Emric is not Camring…”

“…he will become a Ymandragorian slave,” finished Sebastian.

“But enough of this. You are in no shape to conduct any rescues today. Come, dine with me and rest here. If you’ll excuse me, I must get dressed for dinner. My servants will show you to your quarters.” And with that, Thralen left the room.

The maidservant returned. Beldin handed her a small pouch.

“Do you know how to cook this?” he asked.

The maid peered into the bag and nodded. Cal gulped down an entire loaf of bread.

“Good,” said Beldin. “I’ll eat it however you prepare it.”

“Dinner?” asked the ss’ressen.

“Yes, it looks like we’ll be staying for dinner. Try not to eat all of it,” said Ilmarė.

Cast Upon Tides of Weal and Woe - Part 7c: Dancing Along the Yardarm

Dinner was a sumptuous affair, though Thralen decried it as a simple meal, not quite up to the standards of the household.

They all dug into the first course. Cal continued to gulp down marinated green and black olives, which he apparently had never tasted before until stepping foot in the val’Ossan home.

The second course caused their eyes to light up. Bijoux enjoyed the cold smoked salmon. Ilmarė tasted the six-grain bread with honey butter. Everyone else ate the spinach salad and hard-boiled eggs. Except for Beldin.

Five bight yellow strips were placed before the dwarf on a small plate. He took a fork and speared one.

Cal sniffed at him from across the table. “Fish?”

“No,” said Beldin. “Sea urchin.”

“What are you doing?” asked Vlad as he watched the dwarf savor the first bite. “That looks like little yellow tongues.”

“Getting revenge,” he replied with a satisfied smile. The taste was sweet and fresh—almost floral, with the aroma of rose petals.

The third course brought more smoked herring for Bijoux, traditional Skohiir rye flatbread for Ilmarė, and sausages cooked in ale for everyone else. Cal sampled everything, although he was a bit more restrained. Kham mostly just drank wine.

“My agents are out searching for Emric now,” said Thralen. “I am hopeful to have some news before the morning as to where they might be keeping him. We must get to him before Captain Blax discovers he is not Camring.”

“Agreed,” said Vlad.

After dinner they adjourned to a tastefully decorated salon with windows overlooking the house gardens and the jungles of A’val beyond. Thralen listened in awe to Kham’s exploits during the Saturnalia ex Mille Basiare. He in turn regaled them all with his own youthful exploits and stories featuring some of his famous and infamous ancestors. Eventually, Thralen excused himself and went to bed.

Sebastian ducked back into Thralen’s office. There was a book within that he found interesting.

The office had a distinct nautical theme. The walls were hung with navigational charts, signaling pennants, and wooden carvings of sea animals. Several comfortable chairs were drawn up before a large and impressive oak desk. The desk was littered with ledges, manifests, quills, an ink pot and small box of sand, a worn and salt-stained leather-bound routier, a traverse board with dividers, a tarnished brass astrolabe, a heavy threaded lead weight, and the tome Sebastian sought. It was titled, “Insulae di Mare-Pallidus.”

With the book under his arm, Sebastian retired to bed. And yet, Emric was always on his mind.

A chill wind swept through his room. Sebastian paused to look out at the dark jungle beyond.

“Where is your mother, I wonder?” he asked.

Cast Upon Tides of Weal and Woe - Part 8: Sleeping With the Fishes

Something woke Vlad out of a dead sleep. He wasn’t sure why.

Vlad was in a comfortable bed, in a warm and secure place rather than aboard a rocking and incessantly noisy ship. It was definitely an improvement.

He patted his stomach. The rich food was certainly a possibility.

Vlad thought he heard something creak downstairs. Dressed only in his nightshirt, he threw off the covers and quietly unsheathed his longsword from its scabbard on a dresser.

The foyer at the bottom of the stairs was strangely silent. He could hear the guards outside on their watch.

Vlad padded out into the hallway and crept down the steps. There was intermittent flashes of the faintest glow coming from underneath the door of Thralen’s study.

Vlad stood by the door and kept his longsword raised.

The door opened. Hair unbound and clad in the thinnest of nightdresses, the pretty maidservant from earlier stepped out into the hallway.

Val took a deep breath and lowered his blade. The maid hopped backwards with a squeal.

“You scared me!” she said. “What were you doing there?”

“Maybe I should ask you the same thing,” said Vlad.

The maid blushed. “Oh, this is very awkward.”

Vlad leaned on his longsword, point down. “I’ve got time,” he said.

“You see, Master Thralen demands certain…favors…in return for his patronage.”

“And he demands those favors,” he nodded towards the study, “in there?”

“Yes,” the maidservant said, lashes lowered.

“And where is Thralen now?”

“He did not show this evening,” the maid said. She stroked the inside of her other arm. “Sometimes he is too tired.”

“Uh huh,” said Vlad. “I think it’s time you went back to your room. I’ll escort you.”

Vlad took her by the elbow and steered her to the hallway. They stopped at a door.

She opened it. For a servant’s quarters her room was spacious.

The maidservant turned to face Vlad, her nose inches from his. “My name is Cunegunda, by the way.”

“That’s great,” said Vlad. “Now—“

“Are you familiar with the Larissian sacraments?” Cunegunda lifted one leg slightly so that her naked thigh rubbed against the doorframe. “This whole incident could be quite embarrassing for my Master. I would be willing to perform a…service in exchange for your silence.”

Vlad pulled her roughly by the arm to him. “No. Thanks,” he said to her face. Then Vlad shoved Cunegunda back into her room and onto her bed.

The maidservant screamed at the top of her lungs and tore at her bodice as she fell. “HELP! I’m being attacked!”

Vlad looked around in surprise. “What?”

Two guards jogged up to him with halberds. “What’s going on?”

“Nothing!” said Vlad. “I was—she just—I caught her—“

“Doing what?” asked one of the guards, pointing his halberd’s blade at Vlad’s neck.

“He attacked me!” shouted Cunegunda, tears streaking her face. “He thought that because I was another Milandisian he could have his way with me!”

Thralen and just about everyone else in the house arrived in various states of undress.

“What?!” shouted Vlad. “I didn’t touch her!”

Some guards consulted with Cunegunda and closed the door so that Vlad could no longer hear their conversation. Ilmarė, her hair silver and purple-streaked hair up in a bun, stepped forward. “Let me talk to him.”

Thralen nodded and halberds were lowered.

“What were you doing, Vlad?”

“I found Cunegunda downstairs in Thralen’s study,” said Vlad. “She’s a Censuri spy.”

“And why exactly were you walking around in your nightshirt with a sword?” asked Thralen.

“I uh…” Vlad realized the predicament he was in. “I decided to take a walk.”

“I see.”

“Search her!” Vlad said. “She must have something on her…”

Thralen’s brow was furrowed in dismay. “The guards found nothing. Although there is a book missing from my study.”

Sebastian cleared his throat. “I can explain that,” he said. The book was in his hands. He handed it over to Thralen. “I was merely borrowing it for some nighttime reading. I don’t sleep much.”

Thralen looked alternately confused and disturbed. He turned back to Vlad. “Vlad, I’m very disappointed with you.”

“I’m sure this is a misunderstanding,” said Ilmarė. “I expect this of other people,” she looked at Kham, who looked bleary-eyed and tired. Kham didn’t even notice. “But not Vlad.”

“That may be. Still…” Thralen looked around. “Where’s Camring?”

A guard huffed up to Thralen. “Gone. His window is open and his street clothes are missing.”

Thralen’s expression turned grim. He turned to Vlad. “I have an idea of how we can solve both of our problems.”

Cast Upon Tides of Weal and Woe - Part 9a: A Vengeful Storm

Vlad and Ulthard Rolter, the val’Ossan guard sergeant, sat hunched in sight of a large warehouse.

They could hear the incessant noise of The Broken Mug tavern a scant 100 yards from their vantage point. It sounded like another customer had offended the owner and partaken of her particular brand of watery justice. Except for the ongoing war between rats and cats, their section of The Docks was quiet. A cold mist had rolled in off the harbor along with the familiar reek of fish and salt water.

“This is it,” said Ulthard. Seven val’Ossan guards armed with halberds crouched behind them. “Our intelligence indicates that they’re keeping them here.”

The warehouse was a large building standing alone on the border between The Docks and Scurvytown. The windows on the southern wall glowed with the barest hint of light. A lone sentry was perched on a stool next to a small door in front of the warehouse, a crossbow cradled in his arms.

“Okay, so here’s the plan,” said Vlad. He looked around. “Wait. Where’s Kham?”

A figure in an overcoat darted from crate to crate, zigzagging its way in the mist and darkness towards the sentry. The guard straightened up and lifted his crossbow, peering into the darkness.

“He’s been spotted,” said Ilmarė.

“He’ll give us away!” said Vlad.

“Not if I can help it,” said Ilmarė. She pointed at the guard and whispered, “Îdh.”

The guard collapsed into unconsciousness.

Vlad pointed at Ulthard. “Grab that guard and tie him up,” he whispered.

Kham padded past the snoring guard and pulled a dagger from the many pockets in his coat. He tapped it on the ground once and a small rod extended from its base. It contained a series of lock picks. Kham extended two of them and inserted the hilt of the dagger into the door’s lock. He twisted the hilt once, twice and was rewarded with a click.

“Just like the old days,” said Kham with a grin. The dagger disappeared into the folds of his coat as he slowly creaked the door open. The he disappeared inside.

“He’s going to get us all killed,” said Ilmarė.

Something small and black crawled out of the folds of Sebastian’s cloak. A bat flittered off towards the warehouse and through one of the 20-foot high windows.

“What was that?” asked Bijoux.

“My familiar, Dracuul,” said Sebastian matter-of-factly.

A few seconds later the bat returned. Dracuul landed on Sebastian’s shoulder.

Bijoux leaned forward as Dracuul squeaked at her. “He says there are several people and boxes in there.”

“You got all that from a few squeaks?” asked Ilmarė.

“I would ask him more,” said Bijoux. Her voice lowered to a whisper. “But he’s not very smart.”

Dracuul disappeared again into the folds of Sebastian’s cloak. “I say we set the warehouse on fire,” he said. “Then they can come to us. Going through the front door is suicide.”

“Set it on fire with what?” asked Vlad.

“The men can get you torches, and maybe some oil. But we don’t have much,” said Ulthard.

“You can’t set the walls on fire,” said Beldin. “They’re made of mortared stone and brick.”

“The roof will burn,” said Bijoux. “I’ll go.”

Everyone looked to Vlad.

“Let’s do it,” he said.

Cast Upon Tides of Weal and Woe - Part 9b: A Vengeful Storm

Locksan Dru’ell sat on a crate along with the other thugs. She was surrounded by piles of pallets that had been converted into makeshift chairs and tables. Two lamps, reeking of burning fish oil, illuminated the massive warehouse.

“I’m not sure what tha hell is going on,” said Zainat, feet propped up on a crate. His hat was pulled low over his head. “But we better get paid twice. We brought back that boy two times over.”

“You will be paid handsomely,” said Locksan. “I don’t fully understand myself, but the val’Ossans have surely gotten the hint.”

“That kids should not be left alone in Freeport?” asked Neyadis.

“Dat Captain Blax vill not tolerate a Milandisian heir to the Sea Lord throne,” said Broled.

Zainat lifted his hat with one thumb. “By the way, we’ve got ourselves an intruder.”

“What?” shouted Amalia, grabbing her flamberge.

Someone darted from the door to the office to the front door next to the larger double doors to the warehouse.

“Cam,” said Zainat, easing his pistol out of its holster. “Running again so soon? We ain’t had our little chat yet.”

WHAM!

The double doors shuttered. An axe blade rent a crack through one of the doors.

WHAM!

“Everyone to their weapons!” shouted Locksan, pointing to different thugs. “Crossbows up! You shoot the first thing that comes through those doors!”

WHAM!

Amalia gripped her flamberge with both hands. Broled had his longsword out. Neyadis was poring over a scroll. Zainat was at least sitting upright.

WHAM!

The double doors fell forward, revealing the three forms of a dwarf, a human, and a ss’ressen in the fog. Seven halberdiers were lined up behind them.

“And here I thought this was gonna be easy,” said Zainat.

Cast Upon Tides of Weal and Woe - Part 9c: A Vengeful Storm

Calactyte pointed at Amalia. “You!” he said. With a roar, he charged towards the dark-kin.

Amalia grinned. “Yes, come to Amalia!”

Great axe met flamberge with a terrific CLANG! as thugs and guards embroiled in all out war. Beldin shouldered some crates into nearby thugs and kept on going, swinging his axe low at Locksan’s legs.

A guard dropped his halberd as a thug slashed at his arms. He fumbled to draw his sword…

Locksan skipped backwards. She had a buckler in one hand and a gladius in the other. “You’ll have to do better than that, dwarf!”

Ilmarė’s voice rang out true and clear through the chaos. “Et eärello,” she sang of the great sea.

A thug screamed as a halberd pierced his side. He went down in a bloody heap.

Locksan struck at Beldin’s head, but he blocked it with the flat of his axe.

A crossbow bolt clanged off of Vlad’s shield.

“Onara utúlien,” sang Ilmarė. Out of Onara’s oceans they came.

Vlad and Broled circled each other. Each had a shield in one hand and a longsword in the other. Broled feinted and then lunged, but Vlad twisted away and batted the blade aside with his shield.

“This is madness!” said Sebatian.

Up on the roof, Bijoux lowered a rope down to Kham. Behind her, the roof continued to smolder.

“Where are ya Cam?” said Zainat, scanning the melee. “I know yer out there ya coward. Come out and fight me like ah man!”

Kham struggled up onto the roof. “How are the fires coming?” he asked, out of breath.

“Slowly,” said Bijoux. “I do not think this plan will work.” The cold mist and the water-soaked warehouse all worked against the sputtering flames.

“Me either,” said Kham. He scrambled across the roof.

“Where are you going?” she asked.

“To settle a score,” said Kham over his shoulder. Then he disappeared over the other side of the roof.

Bijoux jumped into space and glided around to one of the high windows. She purred again, calling to the creatures of the docks as she watched the conflict rage below her.

“Sinome maruvan,” sang Ilmarė. They would survive the battle.

Cal blocked Amalia’s sword with the flat of his axe and then retaliated with his tail, slapping her on the thigh.

“Nice trick,” said Amalia. “Amalia knows one better. HA!”

With a mighty blow, she slashed sideways across Cal’s chest. He spun around like a top and fell to the ground in a pile of boxes.

“Ar hildinyar tenn' ambar-metta,” sang Ilmarė. As would all of the val’Ossan line, until the end of the world.

Neydais finished reading her scroll: “Incendiaries globus!”

Then the world became a bright ball of red and yellow flames.

Cast Upon Tides of Weal and Woe - Part 9d: A Vengeful Storm

The explosion left thug and guard alike stunned. Those crates and boxes that hadn't been hurled from the center of the blast burned and smoldered. Calactyte was on the warehouse floor, unconscious from a vicious gash in his abdomen. Vlad and Beldin were separated from their opponents. They struggled to their feet.

The gout of flames blew through the door and out of the warehouse, forcing Ilmarė and Sebastian to dive for cover.

Two of the guards were down. Ilmarė pointed at Neyadis, who began chanting again. "Stop her before she casts again!" she shouted.

Vlad barreled towards her. If she got off another fireball…

Neyadis raised one hand and pointed. The same pea-sized ball of flames would balloon into a massive explosion. It would most certainly incinerate his comrades if he didn't do something fast.

"Incendiaries—"

Her chant ended in a gurgle as she slid off Vlad's longsword. His victory was short-lived; Amalia's blade whistled towards his head.

Vlad brought his shield up just in time, but the blow wrenched it out of his grasp.

There was a terrible explosion from the far corners of the warehouse. A sewer grate blasted upwards with a gout of water and sewage. A large, fish-man stepped out of the muck along with several web-eared creatures armed with spears.

From the other corner, a massive humanoid with a large, fish-like head smashed its way through a wall of the warehouse. It was over ten feet tall with gray-black skin encrusted with spiky protrusions, barnacles and scaly limpets.

The thugs turned to engage the fish men, but they were clearly outnumbered.

"Reinforcements?" Sebastian said to Ilmarė.

Ilmarė shook her head as she knocked another arrow. "No, I think those are from…‘Mommy'."

Cast Upon Tides of Weal and Woe - Part 9e: A Vengeful Storm

Vlad used the momentary distraction to roll out of Amalia’s range. When he rose, he was face-to-face with Broled. Their swords crashed into each other again.

Beldin wrenched his axe out of the bleeding corpse that was once Locksan. He turned, only to be batted backwards by the mighty swing of Amalia’s flamberge.

Unseen by all, a huge rat crawled its way out of the open sewer grate. It sat up on its hind legs and squeaked up at Bijoux.

“The door!” she said, pointing at the door to an enclosed office. “Break it down!”

The rat, easily the size of a man, darted between combatants and crates as it made its way to the door.

Zainat backed himself into a corner, trying to watch everyone at once. He hadn’t fired a shot.

“Come on out, Cam. I got a bullet with yer name on it.”

“It’s pronounced kai-EM!” shouted Kham as he hung over the window, twenty feet up, both handgonnes aimed at Zainat.

BLAM! BLAM!

Zainat whirled but not in time. Two bullet holes pierced his jacket. He lay flat on his back, staring upwards at Kham.

“I jest got one word fer ya,” Zainat spat blood. “Jump.”

Against every measure of common sense and instinct, Kham did as he was told. He threw himself out of the window…and was pulled taut as the rope suspended him in the air. Kham thanked Althares that he thought to tie himself before diving through the window.

The giant rat began gnawing its way through the door hinges to the office.

“Lahk shootin’ fish inna barrel,” said Zainat as he took aim with his black flintlock.

Then one of the fish giants smashed him to a pulp.

The dire rat threw its weight against the door and it fell inwards. Bijoux glided down into the doorway.

Camring and Emric were tied up and gagged, back to back, on a stool.

Bijoux hesitated, looking back and forth between the two. Ilmarė ran in behind her.

“Grab one of them!” she said. The Elorii hoisted one of the boys over her shoulder, she couldn’t tell which, and ran out of the warehouse.

Bijoux grabbed the remaining boy and followed suit.

Inside the warehouse, Beldin blocked a strike from Broled.

“Beldin!” shouted Vlad, dragging the unconscious and bloody body of Cal behind him. “We are leaving!”

Beldin took a step backwards. Broled began to pursue, but then the dwarf pointed behind him. “You’ve got bigger problems,” he said.

Broled turned just in time to face down the rampaging fish giant.

“Oh VHIT,” were the last words he got out before he died.

Cast Upon Tides of Weal and Woe - Part 10: Ebb Tide

It was a strange sight, to see Emric and Camring side by side. Both appeared to be no worse for their harrowing adventures. But they were identical, down to the mischievous glint in their eyes.

“Yarris’ mercy,” said Thralen. “I didn’t believe it true. But seeing them both here before me, it is difficult to pick one from the other. Aye, but what to do about it…”

The icy stillness returned. A ghostly apparition began to take form between the two boys.

It was a form without true substance: a phantom in the shape of a pale and lovely woman worn by ceaseless worry and regret. She lay a hand on both Emric and Camring’s shoulders.

“So let it end,” she said.

“Tivatia.” Bijoux stepped forward. “I have returned your child, as you asked.”

A bright, blinding light coalesced around the apparition and the two boys. It was unbearably intense, such that no one could bear to look at it. Waves of magic washed outward in a spray of rainbow colors.

Then the light faded. The silence was broken by Thralen’s shout of “What is this!”

Where two boys once stood, only one remained. Camring had transformed into a bestially monstrous form. It was six-feet tall, with slick blue-black skin stretched tautly over knotty cords of muscle, long arms ending in viciously taloned and webbed claws, a bullet-like head with no discernable neck, and a face more fish than human.

Uttering a guttural, inarticulate moan, it turned and lunged from the room, crashing through the windows to the garden below.

Vlad moved to pursue. Bijoux put a hand out. “Let him go. Things are now as they should be,” she said.

Tivatia remained. She turned to Bijoux. “You have released me from my bonds and laid to rest a most dreadful enchantment. The foul witcheries of Sycorax have been dispelled. My son,” she gazed fondly at Emric, “and you are my son, is restored to his family.”

She began to fade. “My dearest child,” she said to Emric, “I regret that I cannot spend more time here with you. The veil of Beltine is parting and I must yet face the Judgment of Nier. Fare thee well, my son. Know that I loved you beyond life itself.”

Tivatia turned back towards Bijoux. “And you who have secured for my son his true birthright, I bless. But fear you still must the wrath of Sycorax.”

Emric was visibly shaken. Thralen put his hands on Emric’s shoulders. “So you are my true nephew, while the other was some witch’s get.” He crushed the boy to his chest. “Be welcome, son of Tivatia and Carius. Welcome home, Emric Drac val’Ossan.”

“What will become of Camring?” Emric whispered.

“I don’t know, son,” said Thralen. “I don’t know.”