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Message: <blockquote data-quote="Ruined" data-source="post: 1226553" data-attributes="member: 113">8th of Chardot, yr. 150 A.V. The Whispering Dragon was a marvelous vessel. It held multiple sails that curled out, one each for port and starboard sides, while a larger sail rose along the middle like a fin. Tréan found it difficult to believe that only two elves could pilot the ship, but seeing them in action made her a believer. Having the extra passengers on board seemed to help more than it hindered. Mikkal had taken time to show her the workings of the Dragon. Much of it made perfect sense to her, not due to any ingrained heritage, but from time she had spent with the Order in Vesh. She had traveled by sea before, and could remember the titles and duties of the various crewmembers. Those who survived, that is… “We’ll be dropping anchor shortly, Tréan. Be ready.” It was Volanduros who spoke, rousing her from her grim reverie. He had briefly stepped away from the wheel and rudder where he spent most of his time. “Aye, sir,” she said, embracing the nautical terms he and Mikkal preferred. Volanduros had been extremely quiet on the first day of their travels. They had set sail from Zamon early in the afternoon and then sailed on until nightfall. The first night had been talk of sailing and duties. No further questions were asked of the group’s predicament; Tréan believed they would be addressed tonight. Volanduros had also asked for no coin for the voyage, which weighed heavily on Tréan. Her faith pushed her to perform good deeds for her fellow man. But what pushed these two enigmatic elves. Was it something he or Mikkal had seen or felt in their first meetings? It was a refreshing surprise to experience the generosity of strangers, even if it put her ill at ease. She could see Gerad over by the starboard railing, coiling a long hempen rope. He had lost himself in as many chores as he could find, using it to avoid uncomfortable periods of talk. She wondered briefly where his path would take him, once they had escaped the Calastian Empire. Tréan and Surielle had somewhere to return to, but all he had was a land, his former home, to flee. It saddened her, but she never noticed such worries cross his face. A series of splashes from the river below her drew her attention, quickly followed by a great pain in her right thigh. She cried out, staring down at a chained spear, actually a harpoon, that had pierced through her leg. Blood was quickly running down to the deck, her own blood, which she was unused to seeing. Gritting her teeth, she started to react, but was dragged over the railing as the chain went taught. She tumbled forward, catching a glimpse of the horrors she hoped never to see again. Pisceans.</blockquote>

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