[Northern Seas] Chapter III: The Lost Isle

[Crimson]

Continued from here ...

Cerulean skies and sapphire seas in all directions. This was the kind of life he always dreamed of. No, that
was a lie. Every voyage was a practice in futility since they were all cursed by that damned siren-witch.
Sigh. But least he had a solid crew of upstanding men? No, that was a bigger lie. This was a pirate ship
and the crew was made up of men scraped from the bottom of the proverbial barrel. These were the
scum of Telath, toothless, gutless, and shameless. Captain Hitch growled, his pointy mustache curving
angrily inward beneath his beak-like nose. He slammed his hand on the table in his cabin.

But his gods-damned hook-hand got jammed on the clammy wood again. He wrestled it free after a few
good minutes of struggle. An unfriendly pattern of pockmarks reminded him of the countless time's he'd
forgotten that he lost his good right hand on his first voyage. I will kill that siren-witch if she ever
showed her face again, he vowed. He took in a steady breath and glared at the map spread in front of
him. He bought it with the last bit of gold he had -- for a promise of treasure and danger.

The thrill of the hunt in the high seas. Oh, but how the poets often forgot to add the dysentery, storms,
and occasional cannibalism that happened. No one ever told him that a pirate's life meant spending 99%
of the time with smelly, old pirates wandering aimlessly on a piece of driftwood. There were no whores
on a pirate ship; only poor liquor and one-again-off-again mutiny he usually dealt with via castration or
some other creative method he'd yet discover.

He was about to consider telling the crew to turn around and head to Terra -- when he heard an
explosion! Followed by a chorus of ungodly screaming and wailing! He smelled death and it stank like a
one-legged hooker he used to fancy when he got sufficiently drunk enough. No! They were under attack!
Maybe by some kind of Necromancy! He's heard of ghost ships eating entire crews alive. He plucked his
rapier from his desk, strapped his sword belt on, and made for the door.

In his haste, he accidentally got his hook-hand jammed into the door. His wooden leg made him a pretty
legit pirate, but a pretty lousy runner. At that point, the captain of the Siren Song realized that he was
locked inside his own cabin.

He cleared his throat and determined to sound as menacing as possible.

"...help?", he mumbled into the wooden door, fully knowing that half is crew were likely too plastered or
seasick to function.

-------

“I told you, cap’n! They came outta no-place! We fished ‘em right out!”, blabbered a squirrely voice.

“There was this BOOooooOOOOOOOooooM-like!”, chimed in a second speaker. “Then there was ghosts
and critters and slithery things!”

“I didn’t see no ghosts!”

“I swear! I heard these voices and it gave me the jibber-jeebers! My gran had the gift, you know? She
passed it on to me ...”

“QUIET!”, shouted a high-pitched third voice. The third speaker cleared his throat then continued more
authoritatively with a distinct Jaedaxian accent. “Tell me the fething truth. Why – is – a -- Jalat-damned-
GIANT and all this other riffraff ON MY SHIP?!”

--------

AHOY, MATEYS! The Final Chapter Begins, arrr! Rules: All your loot is ‘safe’. They cannot be lost or taken away. But all your equipmentEXCEPT clothes LOL and anything that is 'permanently attached' to your body; i.e. a grafted arm or super awesome metallic implant and items are also unavailable (“lost” and cannot be used!). All your equipment and items will be returned at the end of the chapter. All your Vis and abilities have been ‘reset’. You may remember as much or as little from the past two chapters. You wake up on a pirate ship. Say that without moving your tongue ten times. Objectives: Find the Isle of the Lost If you are thrown overboard, you are instantly eliminated from the quest! Eliminated Players may keep all loot and exp they gained up to that point. Work together or form alliances – it doesn’t matter! Those who reach the Isle will get extra loot! Beware of sharks and sea dragons

 

[Crimson]

Elzith was certainly having an interesting brightening to be sure.

As far as she could recall, she had just attempted to smite a rather unnatural looking place that seemed
to be calling an unusually large army of rotting bodies to it. That said, she could have been mistaken
since she didn't recall travelling to the sea after that at all. She was also fairly sure that she had been in
possession of her staff when she had been there. She had also been quite a bit dryer than she was at the
moment.

One step at a time

Dry the clothes first

One breath in, another breath out. A moment of focus... and then hopefully the water would be all drawn
out of her clothes and down into a pool by her feet.

One more step

Time to find her staff!

Without regard for the others she would take flight, landing hopefully in the crows nest and probably
startling its current occupant. She would then of course turn her attentions to the water about the ship
until she was interrupted, her eyes searching for her beloved staff.

Currently Casting: Dry clothes! , Flight
Current Aura's : Aura of Stability

--

Shei'yein Neydremi

Pirates.

Once again, the elf rued that the extents of his experience with pirates was murdering them.
Not that that couldn’t be done this brightening, but it implied a certain lack of knowledge about such
men.

Except that the bled fairly easily.

And were not immune to mind-crushing.

Nonetheless, he was slightly concerned to find himself without his equipment and gear. Odd, but not
panic-worthy. Certain steps, however, had to be taken, and taken rather quickly. He delved into clara,
casting his age-old spells with the certainty and fluidity of a master. They were all fairly simple – the
usual Solitude of the Soul, to hide his vis and spellcasting, along with Invisibility against all senses,
vis, and arcane contamination. Objectify would be layered later, but too many of those aboard would
have seen his form already – it mattered little to assume another one at this point, unless more was
known.

Currently Casting: Solitude of the Soul, Invisibility.
Reactionary Spells (If Applicable): Spell Nullify
Combat Reactions (If Applicable) : Dodge
Passive Enchantments/Spells: n/a
Remaining Vis: 24/27 VP (Where 1 VP denotes the ability to cast one journeyman-level spell for a master; this assumes vis
spent activating enchantments is negligible for a master.)

--

Éclair Mainesthai

Breezy.

Went to all that trouble to claim herself a pair of pants, and what happened? Someone went and nicked
them again! Mister Jorel simply had to be laughing at her! What however was a little more disconcerting
was the way Éclair’s Carving Knife was missing, along with the multitude of rings and earrings and… a
quick search, yes, someone had managed to rummage around inside the young woman’s mouth and
take that too!

Awkward.

You’ve woken up on a Pirate’s Ship.

Jalat?

This was not a Boat for Éclair.

Éclair took a moment to deal with the complete loss of everything considered equipment, items et all.
Definitely a bit of a breeze now.

Oh well! Whatever Mister Jorel Willed!

Answers. Who’d speak first? Probably not the best of ideas letting Éclair be the spokesperson. Really,
really wasn’t. “Hi Mister Master Mindrapey!” the young woman exclaimed cheerfully as Shei cast; waving
happily at the Elf even as he worked to vanish from sight. “Bye Mister Master Mindrapey?” Still wave! Elf
was lacking Equipment & Gear as well. Huh. What the eyes had seen, could not be unseen. Luckily,
Mister Master Mindrapey wasn’t particularly memorable as far as the scatter brained Jorelite was
concerned.

“Explosion. Rocks Fell. Probably a Hero’s fault.” Éclair shrugged, smiling. “Can I have some clothes
please?”

--

Elzith unfurled her great white wings and flew -- much to the amazement and general terror of the
ship's crew. She gracefully landed on the crow's nest, next to a sailor who was too numbed by Quiafa to
react. He merely stood there, staring, with his mouth slightly ajar. Her manipulation of Fire Essence
caused her to dry rather quickly and she shimmered with Inner Radiance for a brief moment until she
was aptly groomed and no longer smelled of seawater.

Shei'yein was in his 'true form' and disappeared just as quickly. There were hoots and hollers when one
of the castaways disappeared but the pirates were still too busy poking and prodding at Veleraen who
was still unconscious. The Undermage distinctly heard on the pirates ask 'can we eat him?' in regards to
the Giant before he faded into the ether, away from physical and magical sight.

Under the lens of Clara, Shei could see that no one save his companions were mages. A mundane ship
with a mundane crew. That was when he noticed something stir far away -- it radiated with Astral energy
and it took a few moments for Shei'yein to determine the essence from a distance. Elementalism. And
something else.

Death Essence Contamination.

Here we go again...?

Éclair happily watched Mr. Mindrapey disappear from sight. She was, however, being gawked at by
desperate-looking men. Most of them were bald and middle-aged. The young ones were smart enough to
be drunk at all times. She was surrounded on all sights by the old, smelly pirates, each one introducing
themselves and referring to her as 'milady' and asking if she would like a 'tour of the ship'.

 

[Crimson]

Elzith had managed to dry herself easily enough, and as she searched the waters she couldn't find even
a trace of her great staff. It was enough to cause a slightly forlorn expression to overtake her face. She
rather loved her greatstaff after all, and it reminded her of home and her people. A shake of her head
would dispel the sadness for now though as a serious look set in once again. She wouldn't give up just
yet.

Without further ado the Aelyrian would jump off of her perch and take to the sky once again...before
landing rather quickly in front of the most mean looking and smelly man that just happened to be
wearing the largest funny hat.

Hopefully the captain.

"Sorry, but has anyone seen a greatstaff around here? Its about yay high-" she would
demonstrate by using her hands. "-With a large orb at one end? I would definitely appreciate it if
someone could find it for me." she would end with a slightly playful wink.

--

Alastair Sinclare

Oh Borthanas, what was it this time?

It was pirates. Oh, goody. Alastair loved pirates. Ever since he was a miniature lad, he'd been
entertained and inspired by adventurous stories of the bloodthirsty sea criminals and their maritime life.
I mean, he still wasn't feeling great, but whatever, who cares? Pirates. He was like a kid in a candy
store.

"Ahoy, me hearties, yo ho. Ye old salts dare to plunder these mains? Aye, but a foul necromancer has
brought us to ye on a dark wind, savvy? Weigh anchor and hoist the mizzen, all hands hoay!"

---

The winged Ezlith quickly drew the attention of some of the pirates from Éclair. They were torn between
the 'breezy' attire of the Jorelite and the angelic features of the Ancient. The men she found were not the
captain. Most of them were wearing admiral hats from one stylistic period or another.

"By Umblat we've all died and gone into Diana's bosom!" cried one toothless pirate in glee.

"I rather prefer Haya's tits, mind!" retorted another, this one with an eye patch and a limp. "Milady
wishes a greatstaff! I'll bring here two!"

"Nay, three!"

"You already gave me greatstaff right here!", chimed in another pirate, pointing to his nether regions.

This was followed by even more jokes that usually ended with 'greatstaff' or 'that's what she said' as the
punchline. In the end, though, Elzith would not find her actual greatstaff.

Alastair was met with baffled looks.

"Why he talkin' like that?"

"Maybe got hit in the head."

"Prolly syphilis."

"oooh! I got that once. Burned-like. Felt like a dog was biting on my potatoes."

"You got'it from that toothless whore in Terra?"

"Ya! What's her name 'gain?"

"Smiley."

There were nostalgic nods all around at the fond memories apparently shared by most of the crew about
the toothless harlot of the northern reaches.

--

Sigh.

Okay, so maybe the stories he'd heard in his youth had exaggerated the particular speech patterns that
actual pirates used.

"It's pirate tal... nevermind, I guess. My name is Alastair, some of my associates and I were traveling
through Arium when we were accosted by the undead. Whatever magic summoned the dead to walk
again seems to have brought us here... without our equipment and weapons, too. Just ignore strange
things that our group does. We're a diverse bunch."

"Have you fellows suffered from anything that could be a necromantic attack? Ghosts? The undead?
Zombies? Flying skeleton things? Voices in your head that don't belong to you?"

--

And so, clad with the veils, the elf would move into the hold of the ship. Doors? Locks? Reagents? The elf
smiled. Feth such things. Let the others speak with their new friends. There was work to be done.

The aethergem in his chest resonated with his will as he wrought a weave of Non-Corporealate. The
powerful spell would render his body into a psionic form, immune to physical damage. More importantly,
he’d be able to move through walls, his body limited only to his will. The combination of three shapings –
abjuration, alteration, divination – made this a costly spell. A lesser caster would have a need for a
reagent, but the limitless vis of the aethergem had only begun to be tapped. The chaos resonance that
flowered from its sharp edges bore a reminder unto all that the elf was not bound by such things. With a
smirk, the elf released the spell unto himself, clad by Solitude.

To be rigid, is to be broken; to be pliable, to be bound; Non-Corporealate, release my form from form
itself, to transcend the limitation of space and sound.

Thus, he would delve into the hold of the pirate vessel, searching in clara for anything of note – booty,
naturally, though a sword (or eight) wouldn’t quite hurt, either. He did, of course, have a plan. That
would come later. But not much later.

The elf smiled.

Currently Casting: Non-Corporealate (Move through walls, immunity: physical damage)
Reactionary Spells (If Applicable): Spell Nullify
Combat Reactions (If Applicable) : Dodge
Passive Enchantments/Spells: Solitude of the Soul (Hides Vis and casting from L4 and lower), Invisibility (All senses, vis,
arcane contamination).
Remaining Vis: 15/27 VP (Where 1 VP denotes the ability to cast one journeyman-level spell for a master; this assumes vis
spent activating enchantments is negligible for a master.)

--

Elzith's palm met her face at the pirates reactions to her question. She should have known that this
would be the reaction such ugly smelly mortals would give. To be honest, the thought of teaching them
manners did cross her mind, however they were guests on their ship.

Wouldn't do to destroy it in a fit of anger. No, that would be very very (tempting) bad thing to do.
Stepping forwards though she could place a hand on the sailor with the eye patch and the limp before
attempting to heal him from the waist down.

"Stay still now, and I'll make you feel better."

Once done she would step away before turning back to the others that had been having fun at her
expense.

"I can make you feel better, or I can burn your Great staves as fire wood. Either way I'll have
you all act with a tad more chivalry than your displaying now...understood?" She would finish
cheerfully while displaying a slightly dangerous smile.

Currently Casting: Healing
Current Aura's: Aura of Stability

--

Shiro Shimizu

Ugh. Every part of his head throbbed. Slowly, and with every measure of his willpower, the half-Kemite
boy started to sit up. One hand was fastened to one side of his head; the other was pressed flat and
hard against the ground to steady his already-swaying weight. Swaying? It was then that Shiro realized
it wasn’t just him swaying; the rough wooden planks underneath him were moving too. Where were they
now?

He glanced up quickly. Turquoise eyes caught the familiar sight of Éclair talking and no one around her
understanding it in the slightest. But she looked different too. And where was that idiotic priest that
Shiro remembered chasing the length of the valley after for apparently little avail? Where were any of
them? He groaned and let his eyes blink shut again. Oh, gods, it all hurt. Even his…

“…my sword,” he said suddenly, frantically. Panic was quick to set in just behind it all too. Where was his
sword? In an instant Shiro was on his feet spinning around desperately grabbing behind his back to try
to feel the comfortable weight of the last piece of his family he’d ever saved somewhere behind. It
wasn’t there. It wasn’t there. It still wasn’t there! Where was it?

He ran full-speed toward Éclair with eyes wide and hands moving in a thousand different directions, all
trying to sign out what his mouth refused to cooperate long enough to say. “Where?!” he desperately
asked the Jorelite, the gathered crowd, the gods, and himself, scared and frightened to the very core.

--

Éclair Mainesthai

Éclair scratched at her temples; mussing up some of the coffee-dark hair in the process as she looked
about at the assorted men with confusion. Being called a ‘Lady’ and not Miss (if not,
OhDearIoannesWhatJustHitMe? Or an assortment of less than socially acceptable names…) was…
awkward. As for a tour of the ship, why would the Jorelite want a tour of a Jalat Boat? Didn’t want to
hang around lest Her Love get Cranky and go-a-Smitin’!

“Awkward.” Was the quiet whisper, eyes searching for Iori (Toy) or Mister Shiro or Miss Noe, even Mister
Vaurien who had apparently Run Away! Anyone? Miss Pretty Purple Eyes? Miss Strudel? Umm…
Shiver. Likes beaches. Didn’t get beaches in High Peak. Got snow. Hot springs. Dracon-burning-huntingmobs.

But they needed sand! Shallow water! Boats rocked. Hard to balance. No fun at all!
Breezy.

Did so want to learn who had had the audacity to steal Éclair’s Shinies! Were Hers!. Plus, only Mister
Jorel was allowed to go a-rummaging through her mouth and take that particular one out!

Heeeeeey, a Mister Shiro!

“Hi-hi!” Éclair exclaimed, b eaming at her Friend. Friend was Talking! Oh. My. Jorel! It had to be
Important. Pay Attention. Pay Attention! Wait. What was Mister Shiro Talky-Talking about?? Umm. You
can do this? What’s most Important to Mister Shiro? Miss Noe (Doesn’t know it yet, but Is!) Silence.

Glaring. Polishing his sword? Ooh…

Écla ir looked down. Éclair looked back up.

A Talky-Talking Shiro without a Miss Noe or a Sword was BAD.

Wanted off the boat! Wants off! Lemme off! Only dead Necroma ncer was a dumb Necromancer! Could
seeeeeeee! Knew where this as heading! Was all going to DIE.

Panic. Eyes wide. Éclair’s cheerful smile faltered. “I think they robbed us. See? Took my tongue Shiny?”
was the only response the Jorelite could brave as she stuck out her tongue; the hole where the silver
barbell piercing normally evident displayed. “Also. Lost My clothes. Heroes don’t re-dress people when
knocked out, so they’re probably Aeternians. Heard one say Jalat. Ya?”

--

"All-ass-air, well met", replied one of the pirates. This one was an older fellow with snow white hair, his
complexion rosy from alcohol, and donned a sailor's cap.

"Name's Smith." He offered a hand toward the stranger afflicted with syphilis kindly.

He then listened to the tall tale and offered a few patient nods in between sentences to show eager
interest. When Alastair was done, he smiled as a grandfather would to a silly little boy crying 'wolf'. The
other pirates standing around Alastair all seemed to be holding their breath to keep from laughing.

One of them snorted -- and the whole crew broke out in laughter.

"Now, now, let's not be rude", said Smith sharply at his comrades. "Well, Al -- can I call you Al? -- you
suffered a great ordeal. Whether or not it's undead things that sent you out here, well, you're not the
first shipwrecked crew to loose a few marbles. Here, have a drink." He offered Alastair a wineskin. The
liquid inside reeked of cheap, sharp gin. "Go on, it'll clear you head of this nonsense."

------

Elzith was having somewhat of a breakdown in communication.

When she offered to heal one of the geezers, her exact choice of words may have alluded to something
else. The pirate, with a lock of shock and utter disbelief, ripped off his pants for the world to see places
that could not be unseen.

"PLEASE DIANA MAKE ME FEEL BETTER! YESSS!", he screamed, with his arms raised high in mock
surrender.

The other men howled in laughter --- and so Elzith's comment about burning their greatstaves in fire
was lost in the thick of it all.

"WHAT THE FETH IS GOING ON HERE!" came a high-pitched shriek from behind Elzith. She could turn to
find a tall, lanky fellow with a ridiculous tri-tipped hat adorned with feathers. He had wooden peg in
place of his left leg, a hook in place of his right hand, and beak-like nose with a snarling, curling
mustache. He cleared his throat and regained his deeper, silkier voice tinged with a Jaedaxian accent.

The man hoping to be 'healed' by Elzith quickly hurried to find his pants. Most of the men took on
somber expressions as if mourning a recently-passed comrade.

"Don't just stand there, you seat rats!", the captain barked. "Man the sails! We ride northwest! MAKE
HASTE!"

There was a flurry of motion and soon Ezlith was alone with the presumed captain of the Siren's Song.

----------

Shiro was having a bad day. Éclair knew this.

Those around the pair flinched at the rage in the Half-Kemite boy's voice. Where once Éclair was
surrounded by flocking admirers, most had been chased away by Shiro's outrage. That, and orders were
spreading on the deck: the ship had a name, the Siren's Song, and they were heading toward a lost isle
somewhere north.

Soon it was clear that their equipment and weapons were gone. Lost, perhaps, in the ocean or left
behind in Arium.

------------

Shei'yein was having a good day.

As a Master, he could bypass the required Amplification or Reagent required for Adepts to cast Astral
Transcendence. He faded deeper into the ether, his form shapeless like dreams, and solid objects proved
little hindrance for the Undermage.

He descended into the hold and quickly uncovered ... potatoes. There were bags of the stuff. Barrels of
salted meat, fish, and more potatoes. There were empty treasure chests, a single cell hold with chains
presumably used on mutineers and captives. Then there was the unkempt quarters for the crew filled
with rags, emptied flasks, and soiled garments.

For a pirate ship, the hold was devoid of booty or treasure.

Yet the stirring in the horizon continued to approach them. Shei'yein could almost smell the Elemental
Magic nearing. Not to mention the stench of Death Essence that accompanied it.

 

[Crimson]

Oh thank Borthanas. Alcohol.

Forget that they'd laughed at him, these pirate fellows were alright. Sure, the liquid went down like
rotgut and tasted worse, but it wasn't the nastiest booze that Alastair'd ever suffered, and it soothed his
jittery sobriety. Dang, that was good stuff. Alastair rarely actually got drunk, but enough of this stuff
would do it.

He handed the skin back before he got to that point.

"You laugh, but we clearly aren't your average shipwrecked crew... well, you'll find that out eventually if
you haven't yet. Are we to be keelhauled then? Imprisoned? Put to work?" The last question had a bit of
a hopefulness to it. Alastair had kind of always wanted to be a pirate.

"Also, what's our destination?" Alastair scanned the horizon and looked around the ship in clara, looking
for any necromantic disturbances that might have come with them from Arium.

--

"Hmm, maybe I really should have just set one of them on fire..." Elzith would muse to herself as
the crew ran about in a sudden flurry, a slight look of annoyance on her face. In fact she was still musing
by the time she turned to look at the man that had ordered the lot of them away, her eyes more or less
looking through him for a few moments before she realized what she was doing.

"Its been awhile since your men have had the pleasure of a shore leave hasn't it? And I
suspect its been even longer since they've had the pleasure of seeing a woman." The
annoyance on her face also seemed to transfer over to her voice, although it was slightly held back
partly because she was also slightly to blame for what just happened.

"Now are you able to converse with a woman without falling over yourself in an effort to free
yourself from your pants? Because if you can then I might be able to do something about that
hook of yours if you'd let me examine it."

A flash of anger would cross her face for a moment though as she recalled the reactions that took place
just a few seconds earlier.

"Or i could just burn this ship to the ground and be done with it." she muttered darkly under her
breath mostly to herself.

--

He couldn’t think. He couldn’t think! Where had he seen it last? The boy once again moved both hands
over their opposite shoulders, grasping desperately at air, at the back of his shirt, at—nothing. It
couldn’t have disappeared. He hadn’t been separated from his father’s sword since he had buried Tao
himself on the hillsides of Narim. He couldn’t be separated from it. It was as much a part of him as the
next breath he took, as his hands, as his…

“…where is it?” he demanded, shooting frantic looks in Éclair’s direction, then scanning outward toward
the rest of the milling pirates. Pirates? Where the Aeternia was this place? He gripped at his shirt again
and unconsciously pulled on it, jerking the whole thing over his head in one rough, angry move. Soon it
was unceremoniously thrown on the deck and stomped on by his feet—repeatedly. He was furious, and
he didn’t care who or what noticed. “Where is my sword?” he demanded again, pointing with a thumb to
the now-exposed bare back where the scabbard and weapon should have been.

Slowly he surveyed the surrounding crowd, letting every measure of his incredible rage appear on a
furrowed brow, narrowed gaze, and clenched hands. Already he could feel his cheeks begin to flush red
with a renewed wave of blood, demanding action and revenge. His eyes swung over toward Éclair again
and didn’t lessen in the slightest. In fact, her attempt at explanation on served to make it even fiercer.

“Stolen?!” he exclaimed, nearly screaming now. Fury was the only thing he could see in his eyes, painted
a painful crimson red that tinged everything he stared at and saw. It was then that he looked at the
milling men standing idly around them and he began to put one piece after another. “Give…it…back!” he
yelled at the top of his lungs, launching himself at the nearest sailor with feet flying and fists clenched.

He aimed a square kick in the stomach of the nearest sailor, then, intending to use his foot as a
launchpad and the sailor’s body as a brace, tried to jump backward and clothesline another right in the
neck with the flat of his forearm.

He snarled now, eyes shimmering bright and beads of sweat already appearing on the edge of his white
hairline. “Give…it…back!” he demanded again as he kept punching and kicking and hitting, intending to
inflict as much pain as he could.

--

Yup! This was BAD. Didn’t half see that one coming! Smile! Keep Smiling! Mister Jorel will get you out of
this! He Will! Éclair’s hands fussed, niggling, scratching at her temple. Onset of Horns. Knew It. Was
going to happen and then, and then, Iori would go all Frowny Face at Éclair again and Sullen and
Annoying. Iori-Toy didn’t really do Pouty in an Interesting Way. And the attempts at being Servile and
Docile and other -iles had only ended when Éclair had given Iori-Toy an Upgrade-Promotion!

No Iori-Toy?

Surely Iori w as around here somewhere?
Hrm.

Well. This wasn’t…
Blink!

Éclair claimed Shiro’s shirt! Mine Now!

Wriggling, tugging that over the young woman’s head, it was only once donned completely that Éclair
realized that that too was A Mistake. Miss Noe hadn’t killed her for Iori. She might do WORSE if she saw
Éclair wearing Mister Shiro’s clothing. OhJorelJorelOhOhJorelBAD!

Panic! Panic! Panic! What would Miste r Jorel Do!

Probably recommend some underwear and pants…

Well. Maybe. Éclair hoped Mister Jorel wouldn't!

Would make Mister Jorel Babeh's very difficult to have...

Heeeeeey…Mister Shiro was Talking In Sentences!

They were so DoOmED!

--

Iori McKenzie

The last thing he remembered before he faded into unconsciousness was the unbearable pain as the
Champion of Aslan refused to release him from his suffering.

......

He awoke, feeling extremely sore all over, though strangely refreshed. Stirring, he was surprised to find
out that he could move again, was no longer pinned down, which would explain why he felt free of pain
too. The scars remained however, he could see the marks on his wrists, the stigmata -- Stigmata of
Master Shei'yein.

Gingerly Iori got to his feet, only to realize he was no longer at the mountain, no longer at the lake with
the altar. He was indoors... so it seem. A room of some sort, or... a prison? A swaying room-prison.
All of his belongings were gone; his weapons, his gear, his trophies and even his clothes! Well, he had
clothes except this was not the one he was wearing. Instead he had an eyepatch, a bandana, a ragged
puffed sleeve shirt, a pair of nifty bucket boots, a red loincloth... but no pants... where the feth was his
pants?

Iori stumbled towards the bars, and peered out. He'd bang on it, or call out, but whoever put him in the
caged-room in the first place might be hostile, so instead he decided to try (force)open the door.
And thus, he pushed...

--

Mr. Smith smiled when Alastair appeared to get a cooler head after a sip of the roughest gin on the
northern seas.

"That depends on the cap'in", replied the old pirate with a light shrug. By now, most of Alastair's
tormentors had been set back to work, doing the rigging, and making sure whatever else was needed on
the ship was tended to. "Most of the time we sell castaways as slaves, though", added Smith casually.
"Depends, really. You have any experience on a ship, Al?"

"Destination? Well, capt'in says it's a lost island. But between you and me", mumbled the pirate in a low
voice, "the last time he said we was going to a lost treasure island, we ended up on the Trident Isle. And
trust me when I say that the only treasure we found there were demons, more demons, and dead
villagers. Yuck." He made a sour face to make the point.

----------

Shiro was going ape-merde on the deck, punching and kicking some bewildered-looking pirates.
Onlookers chanted 'fight! fight! fight!' and some even began to make wagers on how many pirates he
could knock out before he was taken down. (Continued)

Éclair, true to form, managed to steal Shiro's shirt and watched as the now-shirtless half-Kemite boy
was tackled and pinned down by half a dozen smell, old pirates. (Continued)

-------------

The curly-mustached captain regarded Elzith coolly. Her threats didn't seem to concern him. On the
contrary, she felt his thoughts and they were like hot poison in her veins. Lust, larceny, and an
assortment of sins polluted his mind -- and by extension -- hers. He was checking her out like a piece of
meat! And he was already thinking of ways to spend the small fortune a live Ancient Aelyrian was likely
to fetch on the black market.

Fortunately, or not, he was distracted by the commotion on the deck behind him. Apparently, one of the
castaways was trying to kill everyone on board!

The peg-legged captain wobbled over. "BRING HIM TO THE BRIG!", he screamed, his voice cracking like
a pubescent boy again. He cleared his voice, his face turning a dark shade of crimson. "CHAIN HIM UP!
WE'LL SELL HIM FIRST!"

For now, Éclair was overlooked. (Continued)

-------------

Iori discovered that the cell was not locked. He pushed it open in time to hear an army of footsteps,
screaming, and shouting make their way toward him.

"Hey Pretty Boy! Help us chain this slave up!", called one of the pirates toward Iori, not even thinking
twice if they've ever seen him before.

In front of him was Shrio, bruised, battered, his lip bleeding, but still struggling against the pirates
appointed to subdue him.

"Hold him down! Pretty Boy! What're you standing around fer? Get the damned chains on his wrists!"

What would Team Evil (tm) do?

 

[Crimson]

Yes...Elzith was slowly starting to understand.

It wasn't that she was misguided

Or that she was mentally slow

But that her belief that all mortals could find their own way to goodness, order and reason was slightly
mistaken. Apparently there were bad seeds in the world that needed to be slightly adjusted before they
could find the right path again. Ones that would need to be 'led' back towards the light.

His thoughts were vile

The crews thoughts were not much better

It seemed that some re-education would benefit them.

It wasn't that the ancients couldn't feel anger after all. In a way you could say that they felt the emotion
more strongly than any other race in existence. They just happened to be rather good at hiding it in
front of the other races.

Focusing her will she would bend it towards the captains back. A strike of weakness as impotence
overtook him, before feeding on his lifeforce as she approached him. With any luck this would force him
to collapse onto his back, where she could pin him by placing her foot upon his neck.

"I, and the others will not become slaves to your pathetic whims human. I shall see you and
any who support you drained dry and risen as corpses to dance for our entertainment before
that happens."

Elzith would then begin to glow if she hadn't been stopped by then, hopefully calling upon the light to
craft her some armor in case the mans crew decided to stop her play for dominance.

"Do I make myself clear you parasite ridden, feces encrusted human cripple?!"

Sure the captain would get a rather good look up her thigh as she did this, however the rather
monstrous look upon her face would probably dull the experience somewhat from enjoyment to hopefully
full on terror.

Currently Casting: Impotence, Drainlife, Battle Armor
Current Aura's: Aura of Stability

--

Potatoes.

Eighty percent water, twenty percent solids.

Low in calories.

Excellent in preventing scurvy.

And entirely useless in murdering those who opposed him.

The elf frowned. There was little here that would prove useful. The chains, perhaps, in the hold. He’d
manifest his wings of Solitude-Shrouded Animation once more – this time, casting the spell itself –
and then cut several lengths off with his razor-formed psionic wings. He had killed many a man with less
than this, and his time in the streets of Prime had trained him in their use. The eight-length chain
technique would reign once more, if the situation so-called for it.

But there was much that was happening on the ship that he needed to be aware of. At once, began
weaving an aura of Sentinel around the ship, intending to tune into the happenings of the place, as well
as direct the rather disobedient apprentice that resided, unknowing of his master's presence, in the selfsame
room. The elf had awoken next to sister-in-law, so perhaps it was a safe bet that she was not far
off, either.

Over the Vox, he established two-way communications to both Éclair and Iori, if they were found, and
speak directly into their minds.

“My dear younger brother and sister-in-law, as our captors might say, 'ahoy'. The winds that
approach carry elementalism and death. I would suggest being… en garde.”

Currently Casting: Animation, Sentinel, Vox Cantrip
Reactionary Spells (If Applicable): Spell Nullify
Combat Reactions (If Applicable) : Dodge
Passive Enchantments/Spells: Non-Corporealate (Move through objects with mind, immunity physical damage), Solitude of
the Soul (Hides Vis and casting from L4 and lower), Invisibility (All senses, vis, arcane contamination).
Remaining Vis: 13/27 VP (Where 1 VP denotes the ability to cast one journeyman-level spell for a master; this assumes vis
spent activating enchantments is negligible for a master.)

OOC: Misread previous post, will edit shortly today..

--

Shirt was too short. Miss Noe really had her work cut out for her! Her Shiro-Toy evidently had been
skipping far too many meals, and most certainly needed to be drinking more milk. Hmph! But on the
bright side, Mister Shiro hadn’t completely flipped out on Her!. Mister Jorel Lurved! Mister Jorel and Miss
Éclair, rocking on a boat, b.o.i.n.k.i… Hey! Heeeey! Mister Shiro had never gone down that quickly
before! Mister Shiro was at the very least Miss-Noe-Class-Scary! Maybe a little less, but not by much!

Frown! This was not how things were supposed to do.

Tiny Non-Talky Kemites were always supposed to win when outnumbered! T’was a Rule! Even Mister
Jorel didn’t dare breach such for the simple reason that it was always hilarious to watch!

Aww!

Pirates vs Ninja’s. No respect what so ever!

But everything would be Kay, Mister Jorel Protected. And so Éclair followed, occasionally tugging at
Mister Shiro’s shirt in an effort to keep… no, really didn’t care overly.

Humming underneath her breath, Éclair remained otherwise cheerful. Bouncing onto the tips of her toes
in a bid to peek at what was going on. Mister Shiro and Chains. Approved! Would make it so much easier
for Miss Noe to Train her Toy! Might also stop Mister Shiro from flipping about and stabbing Éclair when
his Sword was found. That would be inconvenient, and terribly hard to explain to Mister Jor…IORI! Puffy
Shirt & Eyepatch & No Pants! (Crap! Had hoped she could ‘Borrow!’)

Éclair waved cheerfully at Iori!

And then… the Child of Daft Ol’ Ioannes started being Silly.

Éclair watched. Éclair listened. Éclair waited.

Éclair summoned forth a gaun tlet of summoned bone manifesting doubly as a Leech spell.

Éclair sucker-punched Elzith in the back of the head once the Talky got going.

“Dibs on the dress!” Éclair declared by way of battle cry, “Trade one Aelyrian for one Kemite!”

--

Thistle-Chaser
The last that Thistle remembered, she had been following a trail of carnage through the mountains of
Arium. A battle of epic proportions had taken place not long before she'd gotten there, leaving piles upon
piles of bodies in various states of decay, the stench so overpowering that it nearly knocked the katta off
her feet. Arcana was at work here; necromancy if she was any judge. The remnants of the vile magic
seemed to linger in the air, making the Pantheri's hackles stand on end.

With that thought, she probably should have turned tail and retreated back down the way she'd come,
but they don't have the saying 'curiosity killed the katta' just because it sounds clever... Her interest,
once piqued, could not be denied, and she had pressed on, reaching her goal just in time to hear an
earth-shattering BOOM followed by an all-consuming brilliance that burned away everything in its path.
Including her.

For a moment after blackness overtook her, Thistle-Chaser thought that she had been returned to the
wheel. If the tenants of M'Taerowl demanded that she live a worthwhile life, the Pantheri doubted that
she'd be reincarnated as anything all that impressive. But instead of the emptiness of oblivion, the katta
felt briny air teasing her dark, coppery fur. The sound of waves lapping against the sides of the ship.
Shouts and the sound of a scuffle nearby. Rude comments thrown about by boisterous voices....
For a moment, Thistle thought that the mountain and the trail of carnage had been a dream brought on
by too much rum consumed the previous darkening. She'd probably passed out after a darkening of
drinking at her favorite tavern and the employees at the Blue Norther had dumped her out in the streets.
It had never happened before, but there was always a first time, and it would certainly explain the noise.
It did not explain the feeling of rough wood against her cheek instead of cobblestones, however.
Only one way to find out, katta.

Thistle opened an eye as she slowly pulled herself to a seated position, greeted by an entirely
unexpected sight: a Kemite in the midst of fighting a pack of what looked like sailors. Or perhaps the
more accurate description would be pirates. On the deck of what looked like a ship. The Pantheri blinked
before closing her eyes and shaking her head, stubbornly telling herself that it couldn't be possible.
There wouldn't be any ships in the middle of the mountains. And since that was the only place she could
logically be, she knew she must have seen wrong.

Of course when she opened her eyes again she was met with the same befuddling sight. And for just a
moment, Thistle began to panic, plastering her ears against her head. Where in the name of Life and
Death am I?!?

--

He moved fast and without restraint with fists and feet moving in all directions. Training was a matter of
habit now; conscious thought and purpose was something long lost underneath the waves of rage that
had taken over every fiber of his form. He didn’t care that he was at least two feet smaller than most of
these sailors. He didn’t care that there were significantly more of them than the singular one of him. And
he most definitely didn’t care when they started fighting back and even being fortunate to land a few
strikes and try to pin him to the ground.

He wanted his sword back.

The taste of blood seeped poisonously over his tongue, but he didn’t even pause to wipe it away. He
aimed to strike another nearby man in his nether regions with a well-aimed heel. The bottom edge of his
hand was pushed hard into the eye socket of another nearby face, then every muscle strained to launch
himself headlong into the stomach of third man, sending both tumbling down to the deck.

Shiro was a flurry of anger and violence as he descended on one face and then the other. He strained
hard against his would-be captors, using the slick, sweaty surface of his now-bared skin to his advantage
as he tried to slither from side to side to loosen their grasp. Another few heels were placed in the shins
of any sailors that had the misfortune to come too close to the still-struggling boy, and the back of his
head butted hard into the throat of another man who had been leaning just a bit too close over him.

He was angry now, more furious than he’d ever been in any one of the brightenings of his very short life.
They had taken the last precious thing he had in this life from him, and all of them would pay. He jerked
his whole body hard to the right to try to unsettle the men’s grip on him long enough to try to stand
again and launch a brand new attack on the wave of sailors.

They would give it back.

--

Iori waltzed out of the cell and the first thing he saw was Shiro. Well, Shiro getting dragged by what
looked like sailors, rough looking sailors... pirates he assumed... confirmed when they started yelling at
him to enslave the white haired Kemite boy.

To be honest, Iori never liked him. The whole stone polishing incident coupled with the boy's
disrespectful attitude still pissed him off. If it wasn't for the fact he so happened to be Miss Éclair's Friend
, who is also Friends with Miss Noe, and Miss Noe likes Mister Shiro, he would have not given a flying eff
and have the boy carted away to be sold like cattle.

Oh Miss Éclair! There you are!

He noticed her then... Miss Éclair...? Why you no pants!?

Yet, despite her lack of modesty, all the men went for Shiro still!

WEIRD!

"Hold him down! Pretty Boy!" -- It made Iori's hair stand on ends, as he edged away from Shiro and his
admirers.

“My dear younger brother and sister-in-law, as our captors might say, 'ahoy'. The winds that approach
carry elementalism and death. I would suggest being… en garde.” -- some voice invaded his mind then,
one belonging to Master. Dearest Master... good Master who crucified him and then left him to suffer on
top the mountain!

Meanwhile Miss Éclair went to attack the winged Aelyrian. She still didn't have pants, neither did he. But
she had taken care of that so it seems, and Shiro's plight. Time to take care of himself.

"I need pants!" came disobedient apprentice's huffy reply to Master Shei'yein. Naturally he was still
angry at what the Master had done to him.

So Iori went off rummaging around looking for a nice pair (plus the chains he was asked to get) before
stumbling upon a decently dressed and clean looking pirateAlastair and growled at him, "Give me your
trousers!"

And assuming the man did not comply (he was given five seconds to respond positively), Iori would cast
Spirit Shackle on him, and help himself to Alastair's pantaloons.

--

Ein'nasar Mythranthil

Fatigue?

No, not fa tigue. Fatigue was when he felt his Vis, the very essence of his inner self expand, the
corruption of Force Essence spreading upon his very being.

No, that was not why he was here. He remembered recovering after that only to feel weak again, a
different kind of weakness, and now he was.. in a ship? A pirate ship at that. And...

"Achoo! ...where the heck are my pants?"

He looked around, trying to get a clear picture of where he was. The first thing he noticed were a winged
celestial figure and an elf. He recognized them as the Ancient Aelyrian and the flying elf that had fought
the horde of undead on the Great Mountains. Perhaps something happened there while he was
unconscious and they somehow ended up here.

And minus pants.

And upon further inspection, he seemed like the only one without his pants here. Even the old rotten
pirates had one. And he's also missing his other equipment, from the look of it. Did they take his
belongings? Pirates are known to loot booties, after all. But why the heck would his pants interest them
so much anyways?

"Where are we?" He tried asking the closest pirate.

--

Dedalus Nikator

Click. Click. Click. Click. He tapped his fingers against the side of the ship, an expression of hidden joy in
his eyes. The sea was where Dedalus belonged, no matter when or why he was there. This ship bobbed
and swayed in the waves, and in the hustle and bustle, he didn't realize that his sword was gone. He
didn't remember getting on a ship, but due to the size of his headache, he probably did a few things he
didn't remember in his rum-hazed night. Finally, he willed himself to rise to his feet.

WHAM! Right back to the floor of the ship, the pounding of his head too much for him. He slowly pushed
himself back to his feet, stopping every couple of seconds to rub his eyes. With a bit of effort, he was
finally upright, and he ran a hand through his shaggy black hair and beard, clearing away bits of drool,
vomit and food particles, mostly potato. He made his way to the door, pushing it open, and immediately
cursed out loud.

"Feth! Who in Aeternia made it so damned bright out here?" Ironically, of all of those who woke up on
the pirate ship, Dedalus was the only one who looked like he belonged there. He was shirtless, with loose
dirty trousers, long, unkempt hair and a long beard. He had a tattoo of a sea dragon running across his
chest and a mermaid on his arm. He walked the boat with the practised step of a master, and when he
came to the other men, he just grinned. He was used to his own crew, but any crew would do.
"Why, serale boys. Where to and what for? And where's the damn grog?" With that, he turned about,
searching for any alcohol he could find. Fething pirates better have some damn rum. Seriously, he was
getting irritated.

--

Ceniel

Blinding light engulfed his vision and then everything faded black.

His face was pressed against a coarse wood, oak he assumed but it could easily have been some more
obscure type that he couldn’t identify by touch alone. His eyes opened, a deep emerald which at once
contained a youthful joy and the vast wisdom decades of life had brought. They flicked from the rail on
the side of the ship to the horizon in the distance. He hadn’t expected the afterlife to be so… plain. A few
slender digits twitched and then slowly his palms were pushed under his form and he raised himself to
his feet.

Robes, a deep purple with gold embossment fluttered over him as he looked around. Had he been
wearing them during the battle? He couldn’t remember. His eyes fell upon a pirate, human, and he
instantly dismissed the idea that he was dead. How he’d ended up here was unknown, and his hand went
to rest on his pommel. It passed through empty air. A small frown spread on his elven features, his eyes
narrowed and he glanced down. His sword was gone. Feth.

He looked up as the sounds of a fight reached his ears and he saw a child rip off his shirt and throw
himself at the pirates. He watched dispassionately as they tackled him and began to bear him off. A few
blinks and he shook his head wearily. Wherever he went it stayed the same. People fought, battles
waged, tempers flared. People died. A long sigh fled from his lips and he turned to stare at the Ancient
Aelyrian who stood beside a man he assumed to be the captain.

His eyes narrowed as he took in their postures, the man’s one of barely controlled lust, her’s one of
complete distaste and anger. It happened in a moment, the swirl of magic unmistakable. She was going
to use magic on a mortal? He had seen what her assistance had done to his spell and in that instant
feared for the man. He was moving before he’d really considered the situation.

Wind Stepping to the platform he laid his hand on Elzith’s shoulder. While her’s might be raging along
with the captain’s, his own emotions were still. He held a quiet joy in his heart, that of a child. His heart,
however, was not untroubled, flickers of fear could be felt but not for himself. He feared for the captain’s
life, just as he feared for everyone’s. He was like stone, a deep rooted determination to defend and
protect everyone he could.

He turned his eyes to hers; the sunlight reflecting off them lent an almost ethereal light, the deep green
of the forest. His voice was dispassionate as it fell from his lips, whispering like the wind through the
trees, ”Do not lower yourself to this man’s level, my lady." Even as the words rang through the air he
saw Éclair appear suddenly and pull back her fist to sucker punch the Ancient. His body was almost as
fast as his mind, and his physical and mental conditioning was not inconsiderable. His hand would move
off Elzith’s should and try to intercept Éclair’s punch, a Deflect spell forming in his hand to negate the
necromantic energy he could feel being gathered.

Whether he was able to block the attack or not he would speak, ”What do you think you’re doing?” He
was without his sword, without his enchantment, without his imbuements. He only possessed his robe
and the clothing beneath. But by the gods he wouldn’t let such trivial matters stop him from doing what
was right.

 

[Crimson]

Crimson January 21, 2013 06:36 PM

So everyone ignored the signs.

Shei'yein informed his disciples / lovers / apprentices / minions. They tended to ignore him these last
few times. Iori seemed fixated on getting pants. (Continued)

So when the sailor on the crow's nest began to scream to Aetheria come about a ship on the starboard
side. Well, let's just say the warning was lost in translation.

Alastair was punch-drunk on the worst (or, maybe the best) gin he's ever had. And Mr. Smith seemed
to be very interested in his shirt as he got drunker. Soon, Alastair realized that his shirt had been
removed. And Mr. Smith was beginning to undo his pants with frightening proficiency and stealth.
(Continued)

There was a spat between Ceniel and Éclair -- which prevented the Ancient Aelyrian (Elzith) from
getting sneak-attacked by the Drain spell. The Elf demanded an explanation from the Jorelite ... which
was not the best idea of the brightening. Seeing as Éclair was not known to be a rational person.
(Continued)

Shiro exploded out of his restraints and the dirty, sweaty hands that pinned him down. These were
thieves and they must have his sword -- somewhere! Now the situation got a lot bloodier and sweater in
a very short amount of time. But things were about to get a lot deadlier too. (Continued)

Daedalus emerged onto the deck, half naked, and head aching for booze. Incidentally, he was also the
first person to hear the nest crew's hysterical screaming:

"UNKNOWN SHIP STARBOARD SIDE! UNKNOWN SHIP STARBOARD SIDE! TURNING ASTERN! TURNING
ASTERN! THEY ARE ATTACKING! WE ARE UNDER ATTACK!"

Everyone:​

Before anything else could have been done to ignore the signs all around them, there was an eardrumsplitting
BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOM! Explosions! But instead of cannons, @Shei'yein Neydremi noticed
that the lone ship with black sails attacking them was launching carriage-sized chunks of bone and
rotting meat at their ship. Fortunately, this particular means of assault was very inaccurate.

Unfortunately, it only took one hit from the black-sailed ship's arsenal to obliterate about half the masts
of the Siren's Song.

In that same instant, their ship was suddenly crippled.

Oh, but it got worse!

When the carriage-sized bundle of bone and rotting meat exploded, it spilled its nefarious contents onto
the deck below the beheaded masts! Skeleton Minions began to emerge from the scattered bones and
chunks of animal flesh.

"ALL HANDS ON DECK! ALL HANDS ON DECK!", the frantic, high-pitched voice of Captain Hitch rang out.
The order was echoed throughout the Siren's Song and the pirates hurried to arm themselves with rusty
daggers, clubs, fishing nets, and other useless garbage. For a pirate ship, they were hopelessly
unprepared for the Necromantic boarding party.

Ceniel, Ezlith, and Éclair were attacked by a half dozen Skeletons.

Daedalus and Alastair were attacked by a skeleton each and they were still unarmed save for the wine
skin (in Alastair's hand) and an empty wooden mug (in Daedalus' hand).

Ein'nasar found himself being chased by a skeleton that did not manage to find a lower half to fuse
with. So it crawled its way to him with surprising speed, its grinning skull face looking frighteningly
hungry for a creature without a stomach.

Everyone on the deck could only watch as the skeleton minions tore up the still-unconscious body of the
giant, tearing him limb from limb!

-------

The chaos eventually spilled below deck, with a pack of Skeletons tumbling and clacking down the
wooden ladder without regard for their own safety.

A half dozen Skeletons attacked Iori, Shiro, and Thistle-Chaser who were armed with little more than
a length of rusty chains (that they found within arms reach).

Shei'yein was safe from harm and could watch undisturbed.

Updated Objectives: Defeat the Skeleton Shock Troops! If you are thrown overboard, you are eliminated from the quest! Those left standing after the initial assault will receive extra loot! The Skeletons are unarmed, but they bite and claw!

 

[Crimson]

Thistle-Chaser

There was little time to wonder about where she was, it seemed. Thistle lifted her head as terrified
shouts filtered down through the deck of the ship to where she was. Something interesting must have
been going on up there, but the katta could only discern bits and pieces of the crew's frantic cries over
the scuffle that was taking place between . Another deafening BOOOM brought her scrambling to her
feet, fur on end.

She reached down to draw her scimitar, but her paw closed on empty air. Glancing downward, she found
that it was gone. Ngaaaaah! What had happened to it? When a cursory inspection about her feet didn't
reveal the weapon, the Pantheri could only assume that pirates had disarmed her at some point while
she was unconscious.

An unearthly clicking and clacking was all the warning Thistle had before several skeletons fell down into
the lower hold, rising up to shamble towards her and the other people below decks. Thistle's eyes went
wide as an involuntary growl escaped her throat. More necromancy...! Quickly casting about for a
weapon, since she didn't want to have to fight those--things--up close and personal with only her claws
to protect herself, the Pantheri's eyes settled on a length of rusty chain.

It wasn't the most ideal weapon for the katta, but one couldn't be picky under such circumstances and
expect to live long. Snatching it up Thistle began to swing the chain in a fast, tight arc with her right
paw, narrowing her eyes at the approaching undead. As soon as they drew close enough, the Pantheri's
left paw snaked out to grab the already-moving chain. Twisting her body around in a tight circle to
increase the momentum, Thistle pushed the chain with her left hand to increase its speed and damaging
power, aiming the whip-like weapon at the nearest skeleton's head.

--

Shiro Shimizu

It felt like every part of him was missing.

He fought and he felt his body bend and break, but he couldn’t stop. He couldn’t stop the anger that
boiled through every last drop of his blood. He couldn’t stop the overwhelming sorrow that had already
destroyed everything inside him. The feelings were colliding, these negative waves, and they were
threatening to turn his storm of hysterics into something else entirely—something fearsome, vicious, and
merciless. It was the same spirit that had swallowed a demon and swathed its violet way through
Aeternia. It was the same soul that would destroy this ship now.

The blood was already trailing down the side of his face. There was a deep, painful bruise on the right
side of his temple. It was getting harder to see out of one of his eyes as its lid didn’t want to open quite
as far given its already-swollen nature. But he kept fighting. The boy could think of only one thing, could
consider only one thing, and it was a sin that he could never forget let alone forgive.

They had taken his sword, and they would pay.

Having successfully gotten out from under the pile of humanity, Shiro instantly sprinted off on quick,
agile feet to try to weave his way in and out of the sailors, tripping one, punching another, but always
with turquoise eyes flashing in all directions to try to find it. Where was it? It had to be here somewhere.
He wasn’t even noticing Éclair, Iori, or the many other occupants of the ship all scattered around in
various states of confusion and half-dressed nakedness. He wanted his sword, and he wanted to make
sure that not a single dirty hand more would ever touch it.

And then they came.

Screams and yells and commands and shouts all filled the air now. Officers pointed over the sides of the
ship’s deck at the oncoming enemy. Sailors prepared for boarding by some fiend that had to be fended
off. Something was coming and, for a moment, the surprise was enough to still the boy’s frantic search.
A strand of pure white hair fell carelessly over his forehead. His hands, sweaty and bloody and bruised,
clenched tightly into fists.

And then he saw them: not his sword, but chains scattered nearby. For now, it had to do. In an instant
the half-Kemite boy had one long length of chain wrapped in his hand, with the end twisted around his
wrist and the other side left loose. A few mighty swings got it twirling fast up above his head, and a few
jerks more sped it up to a deadly speed and force. Given his short height, the boy’s “head” was waistlevel
for most full-grown men—exactly where he wanted to hit them all.

All. He was swinging his chain as fast as he could over his head and moving toward the greatest
concentration of bodies, both sailors and skeletons alike. The chain worked like a heavy weighted whip,
smashing hard into the flesh of any and all it encountered. He didn’t care whether the targets were
human or undead. He just cared that they paid.

--

Elzith felt gratitude towards Ceniel as he intervened between herself and the captain, not to mention the
fact that he had also stopped an attack that she hadn't seen coming. That said, it didn't really overly
show. His words and spirit helped calm her as she stopped herself. He had a point after all.
It was during that event however that the tenuous order around them collapsed once again with the
arrival of yet more undead.
"Thankyou Ceniel-" she w ould reply before turning her back once again on Ceniel and Éclair. He
seemed to have her in check after all.
"-but I have to ask, do undead foll ow you everywhere?"
As she asked him she would hopefully begin to glow, an armor of light being called to her side this time
to protect her from the undead. She would then begin to focus on the dead that crawled up around
them, willing into being bolts of light one at a time to deal with them while moving to grab the heads of
any that wandered to close and channeling light directly into their cores.

Currently Casting: Battle Armor, Lightdart (at range), Sacred Strike (in melee)
Current Aura's: Aura of Stability.


--

Alastair Sinclare

No, no, he was not drunk enough for that. In Smith's case, never drunk enough.
Thankfully the skeleton seemed to deal with the issue well enough. Au revior, Monsieur Smith, you will
not be missed.

Sadly, it looked like Alastair might be next on the chopping block if this fiend would have his way. He
looked around. That wineskin in his hand wasn't going to do him much good. While he really, really
hadn't wanted to do this, he was left with very little choice.
He conjured an Acid Sphere and shoved it into the skeleton's face. Die, die, and die again! Zombies were
better than skeletons.

--

Dedalus Nikator

Rum? Rum? Where the feth is the rum? The light on the deck was blinding, but that wasn't Dedalus'
main concern. It was the bloody rum. Where the feth--
BOOOOOOOOM! What in Aeternia was that?! The explosion echoed through his mind like a boomerang,
ricocheting back and forth between pieces of bones. His ears were ringing, his jaw was tightened. And
then something moved.

Sounds don't move. Disorientation. People were running around, trying to fight whatever it was that was
moving. Bones. Meat. Bones. Bone people. Skeletons?
Feth. Finally, Dedalus got his head on straight and instantly reached down for his cutlass, which
thankfully hung at his--- Damn. Maybe it didn't. However he got onto this ship, whatever heavy drinking
he had done, he'd lost his cutlass. Now he was mad. He looked down at his left hand, which he realized
was holding a wooden mug, covered in vomit and some other sticky substance he'd rather not discern
from the night before. Without much more thought, the pirate swung the mug overhead with a mighty
chop, heaving his whole six and a half foot frame into the shot. With any luck, the mug would shatter,
leaving him with a makeshift shiv that he could use to stab anything or anyone else that came close
enough.

Of course, sharp stabbies weren't effective against bones. But the mug, with enough force behind it, may
be good to at least dispatch the skeleton in front of him. He'd figure out something else afterwards. One
step at a time.

--

Éclair Mainesthai

“…stopping Aelyrian-girl from attacking Captain? Mutiny is bad, Stupidface Elf. Probably complic…
complic… was probably the Necromancer that hit Mister Giant too.” Éclair eventually replied as if it was
painfully evident as to what she was doing. Lies? Absolutely! Like Éclair was going to pass up an easy
opportunity to see one of the bird-brained loonies that the Three-Faced God had made be driven into a
life filled with the bounty of Mister Jorel’s Grace.

But there was Undead to contend with, and Éclair never had been very good at the whole, why do people
insist on stabbing things that were already dead. Where as Iori-Toy anyway?

Hullo Skeleton!

One, two, three…

Éclair wove Cripple along with a sneaky-feeling-kinda-bitchy, Dispel-Protection-Spell running
alongside the area of effect ‘Drain Life’ designed to not only rip apart what was powering the Skeletons –
but also, because Éclair was an equal opportunity sociopath, lashed out at Cenial and Elzith respectively
as if they were perfectly legitimate targets (but Éclair left the Pirates alone, because Aeternia, why not?

When in doubt? ‘Drain (Almost) Everybody!

And if Stupidface Elf interfered again?

Burst eardrums for all Stupidfaces!

--

Ein'nasar Mythranthil

"Where are we?" Hah! What a pointless question to ask. With his luck, the answer would certainly be on
a pirate ship under the siege of undead cannonballs! And without his weapons either!

But apparently, lady luck is still having a little compassion for him today. As if to match his pantsless
state, the skeleton chasing him was also missing its pants. And its whole lower body as well.

This shouldn't be too bad after all.

Testing his newfound strength, Ein'nasar gathered an Initiate level vis and shaped it into a Force Bolt
spell, aiming it directly at the skeleton with the intent to smash it to pieces.

Vis left: 8/9 VP, where each VP is equal to an initiate level spell.

--

Ceniel

“…stopping Aelyrian-girl from attacking Captain? Mutiny is bad, Stupidface Elf. Probably complic…
complic… was probably the Necromancer that hit Mister Giant too.”

He opened his mouth to correct the girl, thought better of it, and closed it. Something seemed wrong
with her mind, probably the shock of waking up in such a strange place. A loud explosion drew a curse
and as he turned around he wove Force Shield around himself.

Skeletons fell onto the ship below, the cracked mast landing in the water and bit and piece fell to the
ship. The noise alone was horrendous, but as the skeletons formed out of the makeshift cannonballs he
felt acutely aware how vulnerable he was. He'd have to work quickly.

First step was a weapon. He relaxed his mind and reached out into the swirling ara, drawing it and
mixing it with his vis. The reaction allowed him to draw mana from the plane of force. It streamed into
him, two apprentice level spells worth. The first was turned into a Force Blade which he manifested in
his right hand. In his left he formed a Force Lightning Bolt and held it at the ready.

Spells formed he swung his sword at the nearest skeleton, aiming to rend it in half. His right leg moved
forward as he struck, then he pivoted clockwise on it and brought the blade up toward the second
charging skeleton. His feet touched lightly together as he used to the residual momentum to hurl the
Force Lightning Bolt toward the undead ship, aiming to his near the waterline.

Shei Style
Casting: F orce Shield -> Self, Force Lightning Bolt -> Enemy Ship, Force Blade -> Held
Vis: 24/27 Journeymen Level Spells

--

Iori McKenzie

Eww skeletons, and still no pants.

Fuming Iori cast Cloak of Shadows on himself and ran out of the hold to look for pants, all the while
making sure to steer away from combat. Maybe he will have better luck at the Captain's cabin? And so
off he went exploring the ship, looking for the ship's place of honor.

"Master, if you're going to cast something big this time, don't hit Miss Éclair and the White Haired Boy,"
he mentally replied his mentorShei'yein who had his telepathy or Vox turned on.

Meanwhile an idea came to mind as he remembered Miss Éclair too had no pants, and was in need of
one (nobody looks at her buttocks but him!).

And thus he cast Suggestion on Alastair, with the suggestion, "Take off your pants and give it to Miss
Éclair!"

OOC:
Cast C loak of Shadows on self.
Cast Suggestion on Alastair.
Looking for Captain's quarter s.
2/3 vp left for Mystic
8/9 vp Necromancy
1 vp = 1 initiate spell

--

Shei'yein Neydremi

The elf, both invisible and incorporeal, watched through the Sentinel at the madness that had engulfed
the ship. He answered his apprentice over the Vox:

“Sister? Of course not. If I ever attack that bothersome woman of yours, it will be the next
time she touches my thrice-damned bedsheets. As for the white-haired boy…”

He peered through the Sentinel. He had seen that one.. somewhere.

“… the fething bastard. That’s the idiot that attacked me during the Awakening of the
Empress. Brother, I spare his life for now – though you’d better have a damned good
explanation after this madness wanes. But for now, take this blade.”

The elf focused, and one of his six wings of Animation melded to the form of a sword, and floated off
towards young Iori. Two more congealed into blade-like mass, and found themselves in the elf's hands.

As for the chaos? That was fine in his books. He thrived on chaos. A knife that struck in the fray was a
good knife, for it was a swift knife. Such a knife would not be predicted. And opportunities could be
taken to eliminate threats.

The elf gathered the arcane around him, veiled in the shadows of the psionic essence. His remaining
essence had ebbed, but it had paid dividends. His position, now, was unassailable. The giant had been
torn to shreds – yet, without a squeak. Was it the same giant that had cast the chains of madness into
the skies, striking him down as he had split the firmament in his second form? He could not be sure. The
vis essence of the sorcerer, though, was clear. This was a man greater in power and danger than the
skeletons that surrounded them now. Such a candle needed to be snuffed out in the winds, for even the
greatest plain could be burned down by the spreading flames of a wildfire.

His sight augmented by the Sentinel spell, the elf lurked in the shadows of the ship’s hold, yet drew
together a portal on the deck of the ship. Only traditional casters needed sight to their targets; the elf
had long since ascended past such meaningless things. His attacks would come from any direction, from
any source. With conjuration, he split a massive breach in the aether, and he pulled forth hundreds of
ethereal orbs, screaming beings of pure essence from the psionic plane. Though they could both defend
and attack, the choice was clear.

Eyes of the Blind God! Visit thy lances of chaos upon my enemies! Let the accursed flutes of madness
start awake, and there be worlds nor gods no more!

Surround the sorcerer from all angles, and engulf him with the rays of the endless!

Currently Casting: Eyes of the Blind God

(Summon: Pulling a swarm of living beings from the psionic realm, Eyes of the Blind God conjures forth individually-weak
constructs that are numerous, mobile, and respond to neural commands from the caster. These beings do not have physical
form and cannot be seen or interacted with without entering into a state of clara. Through evocation, they are able to use two
different abilities. (1) Psionic Ray: Chaotic stream of psionic energy that destroys neural impulses that are responsible for
maintaining conscious life. Impacts cause mental disruption and nerve damage. Death is possible with repeated/concentrated
hits; (2) Psionic Field: Using brute-force Evocation, spells as well as incoming physical objects can be deflected or destroyed.)

Reactionary Spells (If Applicable): Spell Nullify

Combat Reactions (If Applicable) : Dodge

Passive Enchantments/Spells: Animation (Iori's Sword, Two Swords for Shei'yein, and Three Wings Remaining), Sentinel
(Sense/vision augmentation in and around ship), Non-Corporealate (Move through objects with mind, immunity physical
damage), Solitude of the Soul (Hides Vis and casting from L4 and lower), Invisibility (All senses, vis, arcane contamination).
Remaining Vis: 10/27 VP (Where 1 VP denotes the ability to cast one journeyman-level spell for a master; this assumes vis
spent activating enchantments is negligible for a master.)

 

[Crimson]

The skeletons were

everywhere No one except Ezltih, Ceniel, Shei, Alastair, and Éclair is in Clara based
on RP!

faster than anyone could say 'Death Essence Contamination'. Most of them lashed out with their
skeletal fingers, which caused slashing damage like pointy bone claws. Those that were close enough (or
lacked appendages) tried to bite their way through the growing mass of sailors and adventurers on the
deck and below.

Ceniel and Éclair lashed out at the Skeletons together while the white-winged Elztih prepared a cocoon
of Life Essence to ward away the evil all around. Unfortunately, the Elf and the Ancient had a traitor in
their midst. The moment Ceniel's 'force lightning' created a charred heap of skeletons around him, he
felt a surge of Necromancy again. If not for his Force Shield, he would have felt the worst of Éclair's
crippling spell. The Ancient was not so lucky. She felt her simple armor sapped of its strength followed
by a deep sense of exhaustion that caused her to fall on her knees in pain and fatigue! For now, Ceniel
was left unscathed. But for how long? Would he stop the Necromancer first or save the Ancient Aelyrian?
(Continued)

Alastair eked out an Acid Sphere just in time to see one of the skeleton's faces melt and sizzle. The
after-smell was horrible. Mr. Smith was screaming at the top of his lungs, his snow white beard and rosy
cheeks covered in his own blood and gore as another pair of skeletons decided to disembowel him and
feast on his eyes. (Continued)

Daedalus managed to knock the teeth out of a nearby skeleton with the wooden mug at his disposal.
The thing was pretty sturdy! He looked up in time to spot a

drunk-looking fellow Alastair

produce a blob
of acid. What he didn't see was another skeleton charging straight at him from the rear! And not in a
good way! (Continued)

Ein'nasar was running, fleeing from a murderous-looking skeleton, while he attempted to reach Clara. It
was not working out. At least he was faster than the skeleton skittering behind him .... until he saw a
pack of the things coming at him from the front! Looks like he was about to get sandwiched -- also not in
a good way! (Continued)

Fortunately the Sylvan was observant. He saw two potential escape routes from getting outflanked. The
first was to climb one of the few remaining masts. The second was to run down the ladder leading into
the hold of the ship! (Continued)

---------

Below deck, things were equally-chaotic.

Thistle-Chaser and Shiro took the rusty chains and turned them into deadly weapons. The katta scored
a few skull bashes while the Half-Kemite boy formed a makeshift flail-mace. Between the pair, the
skeletons around them shattered and broken when they got close. But Shiro still could not find his sword
...(Continued)

Shiro has achieved the secret "This is my Obsession" objective.

Iori discovered that he could not reach Clara in the madness. Fortunately, his master given him a sword
-- which he used to behead the incoming skeletons with practiced ease. (Continued)

Iori has achieved the secret "Sword to a Zombie Fight" objective.

Then all Umblat broke loose while everyone was ON A BOAT.

------

​

EVERYONE & Shei'yein:​

A swarm of Psionic energy descended on the deck like rabid bats. The mages in Clara saw pale blue life
forms fluttering and shrieking at them with unseeing eyes. At Shei'yein's command, they severed the
links of Death Essence that animated the skeletons. Those who were within moments of being consumed
by the madness discovered only a pile of bones at their feet. Then the swarm launched themselves at
Ceniel. The Sorcerer's Force Field would hold for a few precious moments, but now he was surrounded in
a nexus of chaotic Mind Essence eating away at his defenses!

Shei'yein has achieved the "Mass Re-Murderer" objective and the secret "Duelist" objective!

Ceniel has achieved the secret "Magical Threesome" objective.

Just as the crew and the adventurers sensed a lull in the undead-cannon-bombardment they heard a low
grumble off the starboard side of the Siren's Song.

Black clouds had replaced the endless azure skies above during the battle. And these stormy skies were
not normal sea storms. It was heavy with Elemental Essence Contamination and cackles of blue and
golden lightening danced between the black shadow overhead ominously. Beneath the cover of darkness,

the enemy ship sailed purposefully toward the adventurers and the crew of the Siren's Song. Upon closer
inspection, those on board screamed and cried out that the vessel's hull was cracked and decayed,
leaving only a skeleton of gray wood behind. Dark shapes gathered and stirred behind the mist, its black
sails unfurled and still as death.

"THEY ARE COMING IN CLOSER!", someone warned.

"TURNING ASTERN! THEY ARE READING CANNONS!"

"BATTLE-FETHING-SATIONS!", screamed Captain Hitch in a falsetto. "FIRE BACK YOU FILTHY COW
SONS!"

The Leviathan Lich will sink the Siren's Song in two turns! If you do not prevent this catastrophe, everyone will be eliminated and the chapter ends!

 

[Crimson]

Ceniel

His blade sliced through undead bone cleanly. He heaved the spell but misjudged the range and instead
blasted apart a group of skeletons. All in all, not his worst shot. He felt a small smile come to his lips as
Elzith's words reached his ears, but the smile faded as a wave of necromantic energy swept over the
deck. The world suddenly seemed quieter, the air stiller. He could hear the death essence, a low
moaning sound. It broke over his form like a dense mist, his shield diverting it around him harmlessly.

There was a light crack as he heard a different energy field shatter behind him. He turned to see Elzith
fall to her knees as the spell sapped her strength. His eyes focused on the necromancer and he felt a
surge of anger. It roared in his ears and his grip tightened on his sword. He took a step forward.

Semi-translucent beings popped into existence all around him, the skeletons dispersed almost instantly.
He nearly thanked the gods, till the swarm attacked him. It was really not his brightening it seemed. He
took a step forward as the psionic constructs attacked him. "It's a problem, I'll see a

priest Hey Iori do
you take appointments? xD

about it later."
He responded casually to Elzith's previous question.

Then his sword blurred as the psionic constructs released their spells. He used his defensive mastery,
One Hundred Parrying Blades to

deflect magic interacts with magic right?

the attacks as he wove an
expanded relocate to take both Elzith and himself a mile into the sky.

When he reappeared he'd hurriedly construct his Gravity Dispersal and catch the Ancient should it
seem like she'd fall.

Hovering above the ship he pointed his staff at it and focused his awareness. He knew who the
necromancer was, but who was the mystic? This was all starting to feel too much like a set up. He took a
deep breath and waited to see if the psionic constructs would follow after him. There were two reasons
for this, the first was to see how far their master's control reached, and the second was to give Elzith
time to recover. Assuming the eyes couldn't move at an ungodly speed he should have a few moments
to relax.

"It's a little breezy up here I'm afraid... how are you feeling? His voice still held the same tone as the last
time they'd spoken in the sky. It was more suited to a coffee shop than fighting for their lives.

Shei Style!
Casting:Exp anded Relocate (2 apprentice lvl spells of vis), Gravity Dispersal -> self
Active: Force Shield, Force Blade
Vis: 22/27

--

Elzith

It was slightly depressing that her armor had been destroyed so easily. She hadn't been expecting the
girl to try and drain her, and to be that strong. It would be problematic to try and fight her let along the
undead that were crawling about. Fortunately the elf seemed to have other plans for the two of them,
and if he succeeded she would find herself slightly falling from the sky before being caught.

"I feel like a necromancer just took a bite out of me", she would reply somewhat unhappily before
looking downwards at the ship she had just been forcefully evacuated from.

"Pirates, Undead, evil mages. I wonder if there is even a single good soul left down on that
boat."

As she commented on that she would tiredly begin to organize the ability to fly once again for herself. It
wouldn't do to keep relying on her savoir.

"That said, I don't want to harm them . Well, not much", she would finish with a small smile before
beginning to ascend even higher from their position.

"I'm going to try and save their lives. Unfortunately I probably won't be much help against
the mages."

Once slightly higher she would begin to focus her will on the blue and golden lightning that was arcing
through the heavens above them. She wasn't going to add to it or try to disperse it, but instead merely
direct its aim downwards and towards the undead ship. It was probably somewhat beyond her, however
she still felt she should try in an effort to save their lives.

Spreading her arms wide to the heavens above she would begin to whisper two lines to herself. It was
something to help her focus on the task before her. An aid that allowed her to imagine the destruction
she wanted to call down.

"Shine together oh twin dragons"

"And let thine breath bring illumination unto the dark"

Currently Casting: Flight, Lightning Fall
Current Aura's: Aura of Stability

--

Shei'yein Neydremi

The skeletons, previously undead, were now simply plain dead.
The sorcerer was gone.

The eyes chirped at him.

master.targetlost.requestingdirections.

The elf peered into the ether, his Sentinel spell monitoring all aspects of the battle around the ship. He
watched, as the sorcerer and the ancient hung in the sky. He had prepared for this – the sorcerer, in the
mountains, had leapt in an incredible bound. This time would be no different. His opponent had the
power over space itself. He moved incredibly fast. But the Dream Eater held dominion over an entirely
different realm. In the form of the non-corporeal, he moved with the speed of the mind itself, the speed
of thought.

He smiled thinly.

All had proceeded according to his expectations.

Eyes of the Blind God! Hear my voice and obey! Transverse the astral, and pierce the sky with your
chaos lances; your foe has taken refuge in the heavens above. Let the rays of your drill rupture his heart
itself!​

The eyes blinked, and sped into the sky.

Over the Vox, his voice echoed with languid malice.

“Younger brother, follow the path I shall cut across the sky. We hunt for greater foes, this
brightening. Sister-in-law Éclair Izumi, I leave you to rend that which you do best, and bring
forth the waves of chaos!”

With a snap of the wrist, he drew forth wings of Animation on Iori’s back, and then rose through the hold
like a vengeful spirit, risen from Aeternia. Invisible and non-corporeal, he rose on three wings through
the deck of the ship, piercing the heavens with the speed of thought. He held two blades in his hands.

The edges of the three wings solidified, becoming sword blades in their own right. Where did one strike a
foe who could not be seen? How did one strike a foe who could not be struck?

As he sped through the skies, he drew his weaves around him in a pale form, gathering his energies and
the powers of evocation. There was nothing elegant about such a spell. It was destruction, the end of all
things. The ultimate power of evocation, the time-shifting, the mind-tearing, the call from beyond of
eldritch horror. He gathered these things around him as he flew, his ethereal blades casting contrails
through the psionic realm. He held the spell, unleashing it not, signing not the final blow.

Eyes of the Blind God! Halt your attacks, and solidfy around the limbs of my adversary! The strikes of
your master will decide this battle!​

He would stop above the sorcerer, invisible and non-corporeal still, and unleash that terrible force of the
End of Time. And then, as his blades solidified from the psionic realm, strike forth in conjunction with
the power of malice – the surrounding strikes of the Pentagram, the bladed attacks of five points, which
pierced in every direction.

The reflection of eternity, dreams of the shattered soul. Pride is lost, dreams of the morrow stripped
away. Crash against me, and be broken by the End of Time!
My spirit is clear; let the clouds of bewilderment surround the foe! Pentagram Strike, let the blood
course forth and enter the true void!​

Magical Attack: End of Time (Ultimate damage PBAoE, Ceniel and Elzith, Avoids targeting Iori)

Physical Attack: Pentagram Strike (Dual wield attack from above, three swords attack from behind opponent via sword wings)

Active Summons: Eyes of the Blind God (Will use Chaos Ray while Shei'yein charges spell and closes distance, then will switch to physical trap on Ceniel's limbs and body.)

Reactionary Spells (If Applicable): Spell Nullify

Combat Reactions (If Applicable) : Dodge

Passive Enchantments/Spells: Animation (Iori's Sword, Two Swords for Shei'yein, and Three Wing-Swords), Sentinel
(Sense/vision augmentation in and around ship), Non-Corporealate (Move through objects with mind, immunity physical
damage), Solitude of the Soul (Hides Vis and casting from L4 and lower), Invisibility (All senses, vis, arcane contamination).

Remaining Vis: 1/27 VP (Where 1 VP denotes the ability to cast one journeyman-level spell for a master; this assumes vis spent activating enchantments is negligible for a master.)

--

Éclair Mainesthai

Éclair spat.

Ancient Aelyrians? Did. Not. Want.

Bad Taste Was Bad.​

But other than that? Éclair saw no qualms in finishing what she had started. And so the Jorelite simply
ramped up the Adept spell to that of a Master. Increasing the expenditure appropriately for the
Crippling (With Bonus Dispel Protection Spell!) When in doubt? Do what Mister Jorel would do! Give
everybody a Most Interesting Brightening!

Mister Master Mindrapey?
IGNORE.

​

--

Iori McKenzie

He can't get into Clara due to the chaos? That's funny. Miss Éclair is his Necromancy teacher and chaos
is how she had him trained.

Where most mages lose focus when in pain, his amplified. Pain was his focal point, acting as the medium
for entering a heightened state of awareness, be it sexual or... well, Clara being one of them. Or how
else would Iori learn how to retain Clara to cast Drain Life in reflex while Miss Éclair pushed him beyond
his threshold? He would not be Iori-Toy if he had not been able to do so, he would be long time dead
Iori-Corpse.

Iori heard the voice of his Master again, and now found a sword in his hand which he used to slay some
skeletons that came too near. He did not quite understand what the voice that was speaking into his
mind was saying. The White Haired Boy attacked him? But he didn't know anything about that!

And not only had his Master given him a sword, he had been given... wings? Do those even work? They
seem to, judging on how Shei'yein was taking to air. His Master was beckoning to him too... but the last
time he heeded the Master's call he was crucified. The scars he bore will be a stigma for the rest of his
life. Besides, it was a long way down should he fall, towards a vast body of water with deep depths.
Plus. He still had no paints! Him and Miss Éclair both!

One does not simply swagger about on board a pirate ship in naught but their loin cloth!

So he would keep the sword and wings, but he was not flying... yet. Ducking to a corner for a breather,
Iori tried to enter Clara one more time. And once he had done so, he'd cast yet the same spell;
Suggestion -- but not to Alastair this time. He could feel the man's thoughts somewhere, yes, but the
flying AncientElzith was such an eye catcher (think he could see her underwear from below). That dress
will look nice on Miss Éclair.

"Get down back on the ship, and give your dress to Miss Éclair!" was the suggestion given her (flying
Ancient).

Only then, assuming he was successful, would he start worrying about this ship that was trying to sink
theirs. Hmm... maybe he should use his wings to fly to the other ship?

Hmm...

--

Ein'nasar Mythranthil

Clara... channel... shape.. cast... boom!

Wait wait, no Clara? That's not good. So for now, it's run away first! Gain some distance, focus to Clara
and blast the skeletons away. Only, it didn't seem necessary anymore. As if hit with... something, the
skeletons broke apart, destroyed and dead again. At least for the moment, he got the breather that
would be needed to obtain Clara.

Things weren't exactly safe yet, though. As he focused his senses to perceive the essences around him,
the elf and the ancient suddenly disappeared, probably because the ghost ship that was shooting at
them previously. In Clara, he would see what seemed like the ones blasting the skeletons earlier. A
swarm of eyes, most likely animations from the glow of Thought Essence comprising them was flying
high to the sky... is that a cloud of storm teeming with Elemental Essence contamination in the sky
above the enemy ship?

"Oh crap."

Channeling the Essence of Force, Ein'nasar held the resultant mana as he run for cover, ready to shape it
into a Deflect spell if all hell came loose. If things weren't as bad as he thought though, he would shape
it into a Force Bolt spell and fire it at the ghost ship.

Currently holding: one journeyman level mana
Reactionary Spells (If Applicable): Deflect
Reactionary Spells (If Applicable): Force Bolt
Remaining Vis: 6/9 where 1 is equivalent to an initiate level spell

--

Alastair Sinclare

Alastair had quickly lost track of exactly what was going on. Skeletons were one thing. Mystical bats,
Ancient Aelyrians, and a fantastic duel between two powerful wizards that he'd probably remember for
the rest of his life?

Well, now things were just getting interesting

Still, there was more going on than that. That terrible ghost ship was coming forward, the pirate crew
was almost completely destroyed or demoralized, and Alastair did not want to hitch a ride on the Ancient
Aelyrian express if worse came to worst. (Or worst to worse-than-you-can-imagine, which seemed to be
the case)

Well, Alastair wasn't going to stand for it. He had the feeling he barely managed to keep his pants on
today. He laced them back up, threw on a shirt from among the dead, and scavenged what he could. He
was looking for a sword and a ranged weapon of some kind. Cannon? Ballista? Crossbow? He wasn't sure
what the norm on a pirate ship these days was. Anything he could set on fire and shoot at the ghost
ship.

 

[Crimson]

Like ants in a forest fire, the crew of the Siren's Song discovered some semblance of order as they fell
into battle stations below deck. Overhead, two Masters Mages were nonchalantly dueling it out in a
battle of Force and Thought Essence.

Ceniel, a scholar and a swordsman, wove a defensive mastery in an attempt to deflect the Psionic
constructs swarming at him. If not for the magical nature of his Sorcerer's Blade, his efforts would have
been in vain. Fortunately, he was able to repel some of them with a majority of the Mysticism assault
colliding against his Force Shield. In that same vein, Ceniel produced a haphazardly formed Expanded
Relocate. This time, his strained concentration affected his accuracy. He managed to reappear randomly
high in the sky -- and the Ancient Aelyrian reappearing somewhere else entirely. So he was only able to
affect his own gravitational shift. (Continued)

Ceniel has achieved the secret "It's Not Easy being Superman" objective.

--

Elzith appeared behind the bow of the ship. The waves crashed angrily toward her, but her white wings
managed to safeguard her from the waters below. Mere meters from her were swimming dark shapes of
sharks and other beasts. They seemed to be following the Siren's Song excitedly, as if anticipating a
feast in the near future.

But that was the least of the Immortal's concerns. Her mind was clouded by the chaos and she felt
drained, emotionally and physically, and she could feel her ties to the Beacons grow dimmer as they
raced toward the skeleton ship and its heinous weaponry. She had one, perhaps two, more spells left in
this current state of mind.

Then she willed the heavens to churn, instinctively adding more Air Essence to the black clouds
overhead. Her efforts charged the storm clouds, causing thunder and lightning to echo in response. She
saw blue and gold lightning cackle and punch through the main mast of the Undead Ship, setting its
motionless black sails aflame.

Now if only her companions would learn to cooperate and follow her example. (Continued)

Elzith has achieved the secret "First (Non) Blood" objective.

--

Shei'yein continued his assault, willing his mindless Psionic constructs to swarm the Sorcerer. He
conjured Wings of Animation and was off, his discipline presumably in his wake.

The Undermage reappeared in the sky to discover the Sorcerer floating a good distance above the cold
waves below. Unseen and undetected, the Master Mystic brought forth his finale, delving into nearly all
his Vis reserves as he did so. The swarming bodies of the Eyes of the Blind God formed an endless
barrage, forcing the Sorcerer to go on the defensive. But the scholar and swordsman could not know
what was coming.

Shielded from sight and Clara, the Undermage wove his spells of grandeur without conscience or
hesitation. He was a being of power, a creature who lusted for nothing more than ultimate domination.
His spell craft reflected that mindset and he unleashed the spells at the pinnacle of his craft as the
sounds of cannon fire roared and echoed beneath the two masters.

The five-pointed strike struck true! Pentagram Strike tore through the remaining protection of Ceniel's
Force Shield and slipped past his defenses like an assassin's knife. The Sorcerer did not even see them
coming. That was the terror of Mysticism wielded by the Undermage. There was another surge of
Mysticism as Shei'yein unleashed havoc through End of Time. Evocation created a torrent of destruction
and disruptive magic that fell on Ceniel like a hammer blow from the heavens.

Two elves met in the high heavens that brightening above the Northern Seas. One fell defeated, the
other remained aloft and victorious.

Ceniel discovered himself along with his possessions scattered along the shores of the Solace Isle some
brightenings later, tired, sunburned, and with a terrible headache.

Ceniel has been eliminated by Shei'yein! Ceniel received: +2 Experience in Sorcery and additional knowledge in combating Necromancy and Mysticism.

Shei-yein has eliminated Ceniel! He has also achieved the secret "Player Killer" objective and will receive additional loot at the completion of Chapter III!

--

Éclair discovered that the Sorcerer and the white-winged Ancient did not relocate at the same positions.
So her attempts to Cripple and Dispel Ceniel's Sorcery worked in tandem with Shei'yein's audacious use
of Mysticism to destroy and dismantle Ceniel's defenses.

She heard the roar of cannon fire (this time from the ship she was on!) and saw trails of white smoke
rise from the sides of the Siren's Song as it unleashed its own barrage toward the Undead Ship.
(Continued)

--

Iori discovered only the Elf in the high heavens and witnessed the two-on-one battle take place. The
bursts of Thought Essence colliding with Force Essence was enough to daze him under the lens of Clara
(he attained it en route).

When the Sorcerer fell into the waters, Iori was left to determine his next course of action. At least now
he could fly, had a sword, and could cast spells.

--

Ein'nasar found cover below deck where most of the activity was centered. Men were running between
the storage hold and the cannons, reloading cannonballs, and filling the necessary places with black
powder. There were screamed exchanges between the men -- Ein'nasar couldn't understand most of it --
but it usually ended with:

"CLEAR!"

"FIRE!"

Then, BOOOOOOOOOOOOM!

Suddenly, one of the pirates seized him by the arm. "OY! YOU A CANNONEER?", he screamed
unnecessarily. He was pointing violently at a cannon that was not being manned. "I HELP GET CANNON
BALLS!" he added hastily, without waiting for the elf's response.

--

Alastair's scavenging led him below deck where he saw a half-deaf pirate screaming at an

Elf he may or
may not remember Ein'nasar

.

The pirate and elf seemed to be discussing an unmanned cannon, which was situated along the row of
cannoneer teams firing as quickly as they could at the enemy ship.

Alastair discovered no other weapons outside the cannons and piles of various bones littered about the
deck and hold.

The Leviathan Lich will sink the Siren's Song in ONE TURN unless the enemy ship is destroyed first! If the Siren's Song sinks, all remaining players will be eliminated!