"Quite a storm, eh, Captain?" The voice, loud enough to be heard over the crash of waves, caused Ethan Winde, captain and owner of the Foam's Fancy, a good solid coaster out of Stormhaven, to look at the speaker.
Sir Ryllan, a tall, powerfully built man, looked dangerous even without his full suit of steel, which was stowed in his cabin. The man wore a chain shirt, which still seemed insance to Ethan. The longsword at his waist had the air of long use about it, as well. In short, he was not a man whom the captain of the Fancy would want to cross.
At the moment, though, being run through by the knight, or by one of the other half dozen knights who were quartered in the fore of the ship, was the least of his worries. This storm was uncanny, the wind changing direction in a trice, the lightning flashing...and what seemed like an eerie green light that flashed in the clouds from time to time.
"Aye, quite a storm at that. I've not seen it's like in a score of years at sea, Sir, and I've sailed just about anywhere that a man can on the waves." His gnarled hands held the tiller of the ship, a husky steersman standing by to assist or take over, as needed. And his assistance was often needed, as the winds and waves seemed to tear at the Fancy like a living thing.
Nodding, though the Captain's eyes were on the sea, not on him, Ryllan said, "Can we make Gull's Bluff? From there we can follow the Windy river up into..."
"Levia blight ye, man! I don't know that this ship will be afloat in an hour, let alone making a port that's still at least two days steady sailing north o' here! This storm is unnatural, I tell you. Vanar preserve us from storms of evil." Ethan wasn't particularly a religious man, but he was frightened to his soul of the storm that seemed like it came from some pit of hell. He looked at Sir Ryllan. "I'm going to make for Elam's Cleft. It's our only chance, I'm thinking."
The knight looked at him, then nodded. "Do that. What can we do to help?"
Ethan grunted, and fought the tiller, which suddenly wrenched in his hands...."By all the cursed, pestilent gods! We've run aground!"
The helmsman said, "Cap'n, there's no land about for leagues, save the coast, and that's a good.." His words cut off with a gasp, and Ethan turned towards him, as he heard the ring of a sword coming out of a sheath. "What would...oh..oh my.."
The captain's eyes widened as a long black tentacle, blotched and rotted looking, as big around as a woman's hips, crushed his helmsman into a bag of shattered bone and blood.
As the tentacle released the crushed remains, and coiled toward him, Ethan reached for the shortsword at his waist, his ears ringing with screams, and cries of "Aeos and the Light!" as the holy knights of Mount Hollysun moved to meet the darkness engulfing his ship...
...The heavy oak door of the Cleft Chin slammed closed, yanked from the newcomer's hand by the force of the tumultous wind outside. The storm had risen for hours, driving most of the inhabitants to their homes, leaving only a few travellers to enjoy the tavern's fine ale, and the roast pig he'd butchered earlier in the day.
"Windy" Calimorton looked over the sparse crowd, and chuckled. He glanced at the newcomer, and said, "Aye there, stranger, tis a rough sort of night for travelling."
Sir Ryllan, a tall, powerfully built man, looked dangerous even without his full suit of steel, which was stowed in his cabin. The man wore a chain shirt, which still seemed insance to Ethan. The longsword at his waist had the air of long use about it, as well. In short, he was not a man whom the captain of the Fancy would want to cross.
At the moment, though, being run through by the knight, or by one of the other half dozen knights who were quartered in the fore of the ship, was the least of his worries. This storm was uncanny, the wind changing direction in a trice, the lightning flashing...and what seemed like an eerie green light that flashed in the clouds from time to time.
"Aye, quite a storm at that. I've not seen it's like in a score of years at sea, Sir, and I've sailed just about anywhere that a man can on the waves." His gnarled hands held the tiller of the ship, a husky steersman standing by to assist or take over, as needed. And his assistance was often needed, as the winds and waves seemed to tear at the Fancy like a living thing.
Nodding, though the Captain's eyes were on the sea, not on him, Ryllan said, "Can we make Gull's Bluff? From there we can follow the Windy river up into..."
"Levia blight ye, man! I don't know that this ship will be afloat in an hour, let alone making a port that's still at least two days steady sailing north o' here! This storm is unnatural, I tell you. Vanar preserve us from storms of evil." Ethan wasn't particularly a religious man, but he was frightened to his soul of the storm that seemed like it came from some pit of hell. He looked at Sir Ryllan. "I'm going to make for Elam's Cleft. It's our only chance, I'm thinking."
The knight looked at him, then nodded. "Do that. What can we do to help?"
Ethan grunted, and fought the tiller, which suddenly wrenched in his hands...."By all the cursed, pestilent gods! We've run aground!"
The helmsman said, "Cap'n, there's no land about for leagues, save the coast, and that's a good.." His words cut off with a gasp, and Ethan turned towards him, as he heard the ring of a sword coming out of a sheath. "What would...oh..oh my.."
The captain's eyes widened as a long black tentacle, blotched and rotted looking, as big around as a woman's hips, crushed his helmsman into a bag of shattered bone and blood.
As the tentacle released the crushed remains, and coiled toward him, Ethan reached for the shortsword at his waist, his ears ringing with screams, and cries of "Aeos and the Light!" as the holy knights of Mount Hollysun moved to meet the darkness engulfing his ship...
...The heavy oak door of the Cleft Chin slammed closed, yanked from the newcomer's hand by the force of the tumultous wind outside. The storm had risen for hours, driving most of the inhabitants to their homes, leaving only a few travellers to enjoy the tavern's fine ale, and the roast pig he'd butchered earlier in the day.
"Windy" Calimorton looked over the sparse crowd, and chuckled. He glanced at the newcomer, and said, "Aye there, stranger, tis a rough sort of night for travelling."