The blood drawings formed three near-perfect triangles inside each other, all in the same configuration. The script between the innermost and middle triangles repeated itself, while between the middle and outermost almost every symbol was unique. Beneath them, gaps in the floorboards had been filled with flakey clay. Flakey, flawed clay that made for an uneven surface. The floorboards themselves were even worse. Some of the blood had seeped into them and short splinters marred the overall structure.

Yet, in the next moment, the entire thing was perfect. Without a single imperfection as it had seemed at first.

The flawed version was harder to see, but after a few seconds of Kola alternating between blinking and squinting she saw her vision shift. She found that she could shift between the two sights reliably, but not view both at once. Trying felt like attempting to focus on both a close and far away object at the same time.

Pushing against or hitting the barrier had no effect on the perfect version, but with enough sustained force the repeating script in the flawed version began to evaporate. Kola pushed with increasing strength. Unheeding as muffled voices were raised from outside.

She pushed and pushed until, with a final shove, something gave. A brief series of snapping sounds filled the room, quickly fading and leaving behind a need for a carpenter.

Segments of the triangles had evaporated. The biggest change, however, was where the repeating script had been. There the wood had splintered into a jagged mass of sharp wooden spars.

A triumphant Kola observed all this from the floor, having put all her weight into a no longer existent wall.

The door opened behind her, admitting the entrance of four figures. Kola absolutely did not yelp in surprise before scrambling over to her best chance at meeting the situation with clothed dignity. This chance was immediately aborted as she reached out to take the corpse's jacket (which was just wasted on him really) and caught sight of her non-clothes friendly hands.

Instead, Kola turned to face the newcomers, internally blushing. One was probably the four-armed fellow from before, with shaking eyes and a dejected posture. The other three were identical. In bearing and uniform that is, not precise biology. Each seemed human, men with olive skin and hazel eyes. Their uniforms were long red coats, very shiny black boots, and bright red bowler hats. She may have taken a moment to laugh at the hats if her attention wasn't stolen by the bayoneted muskets they held.

After a few seconds of mutual staring the musket bearers were the first to react, raising said muskets. Three sharp, overlapping cracks reverberated through the small room, accompanied by the scent of charcoal.

- - - - - - -

Satisfied with the trio of newly-sprouted holes in the siren's chest, the Skiron soldiers turned to Reginald. The ship's traitorous carpenter tried to take a step back but was stymied by his workshop's lack of space. He would be executed for this surely; the only question was whether it would happen now above deck or when they returned to port.

One soldier began speaking in a firm voice as the others glared in disappointment.

"Captain Thomas and the Chaplain are on their way now to decide what to do with you. Keep quiet, face your fate with dignity, and the Winds may show you some mercy. It's more than a coward like you deserves."

"Treason and heathen practices? Most just pick one. Wish you had been this much of an overachiever at your job." The shortest soldier added after which the other two nudged him.

The four had known each other for three years by this point and were very familiar. They knew that one had been stockpiling letters for his sweetheart back home. They knew to stuff wax in their ears whenever booze was handed out to avoid the horrendous drunken singing of another. Most importantly, the entire crew had developed a skill that few among the Skiron ever bothered with: they could read the ocular-limited expressions of their Apeliote carpenter. This came in handy now as they recognised the suddenly hopeful eyes and spun around.

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The uninjured siren was rising, face furious. It was quickly met with a bayonet charge by Jack, a self-professed master singer. Well, more of a bayonet push due to the difficulty of getting a decent run-up in such a cramped room. Nevertheless, said push was initially effective, pinning the monster against a sawdust covered table. Not for long however, as the siren exhibited a strength sufficient to push back, despite it's slender appearance, forcing Jack to step back. None of the three thought this quite fair. The storybooks and folk tales of childhood never said anything about sirens being stronger than a full grown man.

The pendulum of combat soon swung back in their favour as the short Matthew managed to get into a position good enough to start stabbing black-oozing fish flesh despite the awkwardness of having to manoeuvre over a neighbouring workshop table.

Average-sized Alexander wanted to join his comrades, but was forced to keep watch over Reginald. Just in case the bag-head grew a spine.

Once more the pendulum swung as impossibly sharp claws cut clean through Jack's musket, freeing the siren enough for it to reach out and temporarily grab Matthew's neck when he next tried to stab it. Only temporarily because the vile creature quickly squeezed. A barely audible snip was heard just before the combined thunk-thump of severed body parts independently hitting the floorboards.

With an almost animalistic snarl Alexander threw himself at the vile creature, taking Matthew's place. Together the two remaining soldiers hacked deeper and deeper into the siren's flesh. Black blood was flung about the room, an impressive display of the painting abilities of grief-stricken comrades.

It didn't seem to care, pincers flashing out. The left missed Alexander's musket, but the right was successful with its much larger target. In an effect reminiscent of nothing so much as a large, razor-sharp disc being thrust with great strength into a sack of red rice, Jack's torso was opened then emptied via a large cut more than two-thirds across.

Alexander fell soon after as a hammer was slammed into his head from behind. The siren took advantage of his maybe stunning, maybe death to make sure using the traditional "extensive inspection via judicious application of sharp blades" technique.

- - - - - - -

The two non-humans stared at the bodies. Kola felt… not guilt exactly, they had tried to kill her after all. For no reason at all! Seriously, who does that? At least now she knew how Las would react to seeing her again. Ha ha. That was a good thing. Right?

She had killed three men. Three men. Was shock and indignation how everyone felt when they killed? Murdered? Was it better or worse that she was out of that place if everyone reacted to her like this? Well, not everyone. The humanish creature was using a quill and ink bottle held in its back arms to write in a thick, leather bound book.

While to some the scratching of a quill and susurration of waves might be comforting sounds, and could have done wonders for Kola's mental state if she had the time to relax, both of these were overpowered by harsh shouting and soft but constant footfalls.

Apparently done with its inopportune writing, the creature held the book out for Kola to see. To her great surprise, she could read it.

The left side held such riveting material as

2 for 4

only if you swap for deer

2 for 5

how about 3 for 5 and you add 2 pouches of powder

agreed

The ink on the right was still wet and seemed much more relevant. Reading

i reginald of the caowithe have summoned you dark spirit to slay the tyrannical captain thomas and his pestilent dome hats that this vessel may be freed from unfair obligation

It… Reginald… had summoned her? Was this a way back home? Maybe Las could do the same. Yeah. Her friend could learn magic from another world she knew nothing about, summon Kola, and everything would go back to normal. That's obviously how things would work out.

Kola reached out to grab the quill, suppressing the tingle of excitement at writing with such an outdated method using her frustration as she once again noticed the state of her hands. With gritted teeth she pondered as Reginald seemed to recognise her aborted attempt and held out all three items.

A brief period of contemplation ended with a quill held awkwardly in Kola's mouth as she wrote an appropriate response

what the fuck are you talking about? i am not killing anyone for you. how did you summon me?

Reginald's eyes went wide as the second sentence was written. Almost snatching the quill from her mouth he hastily replied

i beg it of you great spirit we have been called to fight the notuns

our ship is meant for exploration not war

the captain says we can win because the Winds are with us but we are low on powder and our cannons are either rusted or cracked we will be slaughtered

After a moment's pause he added

also the chaplain will try to kill us because you are not borne of the Winds and i am a heathen

At that Kola sighed. Given the way her… life was going that seemed likely. Still, she wasn't going to kill a bunch of people because some sort of creepy, sort of sad summoner guy told her to.

Reginald perked up as Kola glumly walked towards the door.

Who knows. Maybe they'd be reasonable.