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Message: <blockquote data-quote="CleverName" data-source="post: 432739" data-attributes="member: 2591">Malcom of the Vacomagi's TaleHere is the last character entry from Remi Truer's PC:My name is Malcolm and I am of the Vacomagi tribe; you may have heard of me. True, I grew up an urchin on the wharves of Vacomagus, but for several years I was captain of the Tall Reapers boarding crew on Rotting Curran's boat, 'Queen's Protector', captained by his daughter, the sorceress Ceileidh. Rotting Curran's been charged by Nighean, Queen of the Vacomagi, to make Skia Thalassa a little safer for ordinary sailors and passengers, a great man, even if he does have only one leg. We'd sail around helping folks, chasing off raiders from other tribes, that sort of thing. In return, the people we'd help would reward us (or else). It's an understood tradition out here on the dark waters.It was a good life. Sure, sometimes we'd run into a group of Vacomagi who'd been charged by Nighean to make Skia Thalassa a little less safe for people out here. Those sorts of contradictions don't really occur to you when you're swinging over a bulwark on a frayed hemp rope you're holding in one hand, fending off the crew on the deck of the ship you're boarding with a broadsword in the other, praying that you don't fall in the water, because there's no way you're swimming in the fifty pounds of armor you're wearing. That was the motto of the Tall Reapers, "Don't Fall!" Most dangerous thing to a boarding party, regardless of what they're wearing, is the water between the two ships. Most likely you'd be crushed, shot or stabbed before you drowned, anyway, so might as well have a little extra protection.Ah, sorry, sometimes I get a little carried away thinking of the old days. If you think I miss that life, I do, but I can't go back there. Not after what happened about a year ago. It was late afternoon on a cool fall day, much like today. It had been slow and the crew was getting restless when Idwal, saw a small merchant keelboat, not much more than a raft with a sail, being pursued by some kind of warship. Ceileidh decided that it wasn't a fair fight, and so we lent our aid. We drew close to the warship, and I'd never seen anything like it – although I imagined it was of human design. It had a sleek black hull, tattered sails, no oars, and it stunk! Ceileidh got Queen's Protector into position, conjured up a nice pocket gale to get us going, and we sidled up to that reeking, black ship before its crew could maneuver away from us – that is if it had a crew. No one was on deck as our grapples suck into its decks and we drew ourselves into boarding position. That's when the Tall Reapers swung onto the deck, but the rotten wood opened up beneath them --  the black ship's belly opened, and a half-ton of maggot-ridden corpses spilled onto 'Protector's' deck and come crawling after us, moaning and screaming. Their skin was thick and moist, their bodies bloated, their faces blue, and the salty smell of the sea could not cover the stench of their rotting flesh. Most of the other Cimbri on deck broke immediately, but my Reapers went to work, wading in amongst the filthy hordes that washed onto the Queen's Protector like a tide of undeath. Every time we pushed, sending dozens of Drowned Men back to the sea, more would come crawling out from the belly of the dark ship. The Tall Reapers had taken heavy losses in the fighting, but beyond the first rush, our comrades had come to our aid, and along with Ceileidh 's magic, we were holding our own. We cut the ropes binding the ships together but now the black ship’s crew formed grapples of animate bone and sinew. Before long, the sun was threatening to slip under the horizon. Fighting the undead under torchlight was not a palatable option. Ceileidh ordered everyone but the Reapers to man the oars in a last-ditch attempt to pull away from the black ship. As the oars hit the water, pulling us slowly away from the gaping maw of the black ship, the last vestiges of sunlight disappeared and night ruled Skia Thalassa again. From deep inside the ship, something let out a long, low howl, and then my men began to fall. A shape with a white face clamped onto Tenenan, and he was dead before he hit the floor. The Drowned Men continued coming as their master passed through my Tall Reapers. I cannot remember his features, only the White, and triune claw tattoo of the Three Mothers on it’s brow, but I can conjure the chill in my bones I felt when I faced him. It was only luck I did not die by the White's touch as the rest of the Reaper's did. If Ioan hadn't buried his axe in the White's brow, he might not have thrown me overboard, but he did, and so I live where the rest of 'Queen's Protector's' crew died. As it is I’m not the warrior I once was. That thing stole some of my soul from me.But how did I survive the fall? Even if I hadn't been unconscious, I was terribly weak after the White's attack. I do not know if it was merfolk or a final spell from Ceileidh, but when I woke, I was on the very merchant ship we had saved. They managed to get away from the crippled black ship as it fought the Protector. They found me on their deck the next morning. I don't know what saved me, but I'm glad that I have another chance at life, even if I feel like I'm half the man I was a year ago. It took me six months to get back on my feet, and I've been doing some easy guard work to get some of my strength back, but now I'm striking out on my own. It's not that I don't want to work for Rotting Curran anymore, but I need to avenge my fallen Reapers, and Curran understands that. I don't know if I'll ever feel whole again, but killing the White would go a long way toward quieting the voices.</blockquote>

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