Avira

The cramped barrel didn't leave much for Avira to do. A small hole on the top let in air, but it didn't help the stuffiness. She reeked like sewer grime though it was dulled by the lingering bloody smell. She sure spent a lot of time with Benton last night, at the cost of not getting much sleep.

Avira shut her eyes to attempt to forget how closed in she was. At least in the cell she had her anger for a distraction from the anxiety. She was still peeved at Ruin, but she'd have to work with him. At least she could keep Benton's screams in her mind.

She felt the barrel shifting, being lifted up into the ship's cargo hold. She started breathing harder, hands gripping her knees. Her forehead was damp with sweat, ears flat on her head. Her heart raced, body straining with the urge to be free of this damned container.

The barrel was placed down on the ship with a thud. Shouts and chatter from the crew were enough to drown out whatever noise she was making while they laid her barrel on its side and rolled it while Avira held on.

“I think this is the last one,” a gruff voice spoke, grunting as he propped the barrel back up, putting Avira upside-down.

“Yep. We'll be off any moment. Can't wait to get back home.” Another voice responded from father away.

The owner of the gruff voice sat on her barrel. “I'll second that. Those bathhouses sure are nice though, I'll miss em.”

“The one I went to let hybrids in. Different areas, of course, but it reeked like wet animal no matter how much incense they were burning.”

“Gross. Don't they all bathe each other?”

“Yeah. And they're loud. They think rubbing each other will keep them close. Probably an excuse for the males.”

“Savages.”

Avira held her temper as best as she could. Ignorant morons didn't know what they were talking about. The communal baths not only kept the tribe clean and free of disease and infection, it was also an instrumental bonding moment and kept them all close. There was nothing sexual about it at all.

They continued their inane chatter. The ship swayed as they left the calm harbor and entered the sea. It would be a while still until it was safe to go wild. Avira's head was already going light, a strange feeling in her gut growing. It would be too dangerous to fix herself right now, she'd have to abide with being upside-down.

Avira recalled her first journey across the sea. She was a young woman at the time, sixteen years of age. Slightly shorter than she was now, but just barely. She was on a ship with a small crew of fishermen her dad had roped into transporting them. The entire ride consisted of her barfing over the side of the ship and laying on the top deck staring at the sky. Her dad told her many stories of hybrids long past, tragedies of legend, of the Immortals living on the multicolored moon: all of which were extremely exaggerated.

Her dad made her wear so many layers when they got far enough north for ice to be a common sight that she couldn't put her arms down right. They landed at a small fishing village nestled between two glaciers. It was populated mostly by unshackled golems, tired humans, and the odd daemon, so they didn't pay her giant wolf of a dad much attention as he walked through the town.

Avira rode on his back while he ran through the snow, even the intended trails feet high with the tightly packed powder. She remembered clinging to him as hard as she could, trying not to barf on his back from all the motion. She managed to hold it in, thankfully. He'd never have let her live that down. She remembered the customary celebration when they arrived at the tribe. They were abnormal hybrid types; instead of the typical ears and tails, their animal parts took over much more of their body. She remembered one in particular, a young man her age with a full fox head and one arm that ended in a paw. He liked to joke that he was blessed by Karund, the Immortal of Fortune, and he had the luck to match considering how many dangerous situations he'd get through without a scrape. Avira and Griff got... very close in her month there. She wondered how he was doing now.

Avira started to cramp, shoulders and neck aching from the awkward position. Not only that, the confined space and motion was getting to her something fierce. Her stomach turned. She found it harder to breathe. Was the air in here running out? She felt like she was suffocating. No matter how hard she breathed in it was like nothing was helping. The panic just made her stomach feel worse. She had to get out of this barrel.

The conversing had stopped already. They were murmuring to each other, probably staring at the barrel with panicked sounds coming out of it. Avira grunted, pressing at the walls of the container. She strained, and with a creak and a snap the barrel fell apart, landing her flat on her back in the cargo hold. She gasped for air, even the musty oxygen welcome after that experience.

“What the— who?” exclaimed one of the voices. Avira saw a wiry deckhand in casual attire. Next to him was a burly bearded man, who spoke next.

“A stowaway! And a hybrid no less.” He was the owner of the rough voice.

“A girl, too. Shame we're gonna have to kill her.”

Avira glared at the wiry one pulling out a dagger, probably to slit her throat. “Piss off.”

“A mouth, too. Can't we keep— ”

Another barrel toppled over and out tumbled Ruin. He stood up, visibly swaying. “Hey there,” he slurred out.

The two took a step back. “Whoa!” the thinner one spoke, “how'd so many stowaways get on?”

“We're gonna have to tell the captain about this.” The large one turned his body slightly, making to leave.

“Now, now.” Ruin raised his arms to calm the two down. “I can pay you an exorbitant amount to let us hitch a ride to Argokath.” He pulled out a bag and shook it, the telltale jingling of coins ringing out.

They glanced at each other, before a smile spread on their faces. “Well, I guess we can let you and your slave hide out here,” the small one spoke quietly, glancing back to the curtain that closed this small section off from the rest of the ship.

“I'm glad. There should be plenty for both of you.” Ruin smiled and stepped forward to hand over the money.

Avira watched as he dropped the bag into the large bruiser's hand, and in the blink of an eye there was a knife in the sailor's throat. The poor guy next to him didn't even realize what had happened before he met the same fate, the two giving a gurgle and toppling over, landing flat on the ground with a thud.

“You're lucky we're far enough out. Let's get started.” Ruin pried his daggers from the necks of the corpses, cleaning them and putting them back in their sheaths. He had two, and many throwing knives.

“You gotta teach me how to do that.” Avira got up with a grunt, brushing herself off.

The other barrel's lids slid off. “Let me just say, hiding in a barrel with a sword is not fun.” Hawke readied his rapier.

“Try being upside-down for hours.” Avira rubbed her throbbing head. “Let's get this over with before I puke.”

“Uh, good luck,” Mareth spoke up, then crouched back into his barrel.

“Start!” Ruin yelled. The curtails fluttered as Ruin and Hawke darted out.

Avira took in a breath and drew her dagger. The hallway she stepped into was cluttered with crates and sacks of food. Blood was splattered on the walls, three soldiers limp on the ground along the paths Ruin and Hawke took to the other decks. There were curtains along the walls leading to small rooms similar to the one she had just left, doubtless storing more barrels and hammocks. At a glance, she saw eight people on the deck with her; three with swords, two with spears, a mage, and two with firearms. She wasn't sure if there were any targets behind the curtains.

The mages and the men with firearms were thankfully turned around. There was a pistoleer and a rifleman, both running towards different stairways. She had to take one out before they saw her. She decided on the pistoleer, the one going to the bottom deck. He was the farthest one, and she doubted anyone was coming up from the stairs with Ruin on the job.

“Another one!” yelled a swordsman, turning attention to her. Avira ducked a swinging blade, charging towards the pistoleer with her knife in hand. He was just turning around when she got to him, burying her blade in his throat. She pulled it out with ease and let him fall.

One down. A swordsman and spearman were closing in on her from where she just came from. The others faced towards her, but couldn't do much with the narrow hall. She just had to keep herself obscured from the rifleman and get to the mage before he cast anything.

The spearman came at her from across the aisle, crates between them. The swordsman was coming straight at her. She deflected a slash of the sword with her iron gauntlets, then dodged backward to avoid the spearman's attack. She firmly grasped the shaft and held it in place, catching the wielder struggling to pull it back out of the corner of her eye.

Another sword slice came at her. Avira tried to step back, but felt it slash her midsection. The adrenaline turned it into a dull pain, and she was immediately focused on hitting back. Still straining her right arm holding the spear, she lunged forward with her knife and stabbed the swordsman straight through the eye with enough force to reach the brain and drop him. In his death throes he limply slashed at her leg, blade slicing her pant leg before falling. Another one down. Six left.

Another swordsman surged forward, ready to replace the last. She was missing her dagger now and was eager to deal with the spearman, who was occupying her right arm. She let him go, forcing him to stumble back and hit the wall behind him. Avira grinned and lept the crates, driving her knee into the stunned soldier's face. She could feel the bridge of his nose shatter and drive into his skull. Three down.

A shot rang out and she could feel a burning sensation in her shoulder. She was still alive, but in this enclosed space her ears were shot. She couldn't rely on her ears anymore, she had another spearman charging her, and could see the other swordsman trying to hop the crates after her.

Avira couldn't help but grin again, the look on her face giving the charging spearman pause. Just enough time to dart in, grab him, and bite deeply into his soft neck. The taste of blood flooded her mouth as she tore his throat out. Four.

The reloading musketman cursed something Avira couldn't make out, stepping back and dropping the ammo he was trying to shove into the barrel of the gun. She could feel the numbness in her soul from the mage's incantation, the telltale sign of a spell soon to come. It was strange how even when she couldn't hear right the words still struck her so. She had to stop that soon.

The swordsman hopped the aisle and immediately swung his sword through the air. Avira ducked, sword hitting the wall and cutting a small sack. She reared up and struck him in the chin with a strong uppercut. His jaw vaporized from the force of her gauntlet driving into him. He stumbled back but wasn't out. She would have let it up with another bite, but a blade sliced downwards across her back. Her hide top blocked some of it, but she could feel the steel dig deep into her lower midsection. She spun back and clawed the attacker across the face, steel tips of her gauntlet raking it and digging deep.

The pain made him stumble into her, and she was perfectly happy to tear out his throat. She gasped out as a sharp pain pierced her midsection. The clawed man fell, leaving a knife buried in her. The pain was starting to set in now, and she was having a hard time breathing. Five.

The last swordsman was still dazed. The musketman wasn't done reloading. She had to stop the mage. His incantation had to be near. He was holding a staff out, glowing arcane symbol on top. She had to be quick or whatever he was doing would hurt.

It was too far to dash in. But a smell got her attention. The bag that had been sliced open earlier made her nose tickle. A sack of spice! That gave her a devilish idea. She ripped the sack from the wall and lobbed it at the mage. A cloud of dust exploded on him, and as he spoke his incantation he couldn't help but breathe some in. His speech stopped, a sneezing fit racking his body. His staff began to glow with the gathered energy of the spell, but with no place to put it, it exploded in a magical burst. The mage screamed, his arm taken off with the staff. He collapsed, fainting from the pain. Six down, technically.

She spun around in time to see the swordsman charging her. Her grin didn't stop this one, the soldier swinging at her angrily. She stopped it with her gauntlet, grabbing the blade and yanking him in. She grabbed his head, claws digging into him, and delivered a brutal headbutt. He survived this, even giving her a nice punch in the gut, but Avira wrapped her arm around his neck and slammed him into the ground hard enough to crack the wooden planks underfoot. Seven.

She stood with a grunt, enjoying herself thoroughly. “One left,” she laughed, walking towards the musketman. “Let's do this right and I won't use my teeth.”

Help support creative writers by finding and reading their stories on the original site.

He gulped, being too nervous to reload anyways. He took a breath and dropped the useless weapon, raising his fists nervously. “Alright.”

“That's more like it.” She was happy, though the many wounds were starting to burn. She raised her arms in a prizefighting stance.

He led with a right straight, easy enough to counter with a punch to the face. Her enemy was hurt, but he had the willpower to return with a punch to the side. Avira grit her teeth, his fist sending a bolt of pain through her as it nearly hit the knife still buried in her midsection.

Avira was too injured to do this much longer. She was already feeling light headed from the blood loss. Time to finish this. She threw a feint then gave him a flash of her bloodlust, smiling with the eyes of a predator.

He paused like the others, this time in the middle of a half baked swing. It gave her the perfect chance to drive a haymaker right under his arm, hitting him square in the liver and stunning him further. She grabbed his head and smashed it onto the ground, falling with him. The impact knocked him out. Eight.

She rolled onto her back, listening to the sounds of conflict above deck and catching her breath. Her guts weren't out from that slice to the midsection, thankfully. The worst injury was the gash in her back that was currently gushing blood. She gripped it as best she could from that position, but didn't have the strength to do much else.

Bad news for her, as she heard movement from one of the corpses. The swordsman with a shattered jaw she'd headbutted stood up shakily, gripping his blade as he stumbled towards Avira. He stood over her, nose gushing blood. He mumbled out something incoherent, raising his sword to stab her in the chest.

Avira didn't pay him much mind, looking behind him at another figure sneaking up. Before he could plunge his blade down, Mareth swung a wooden plank and cracked it over his head, hard. He dropped like a rock, crumpling easily.

“I guess... that's eight...” Avira chuckled to herself, “Thanks.”

Mareth nodded. “Let's fix you up. I have another potion— ”

“NO.” She didn't need another potion after last time. “Just stitch me up. Or get some fire.”

“Oh.” Mareth looked nervous. “I'll, uh... see what I can do.” The mage ran back to the barrels and came back with some medical supplies from his possessions. He pulled out some alcohol as well.

“Gonna get me drunk? I'm kinda a lightweight.” It would help with the pain that was slowly building up, though. The adrenaline was receding, and she was starting to feel mortal again.

“No, unless you want some. My colleague says this works for wounds.” He popped off the cap and poured it straight onto her cuts.

She grunted; that definitely stung. “We just... use herb mixtures,” Avira forced out, keeping her mind off the pain.

“Yeah?” he asked, “Tell me about it while I do this.” The mage opened his book, flipping to the right page and starting a spell.

“Right. There's a few local— Ahh!” She screamed out as Mareth grabbed the blade that was buried in her and pulled it out, then shoved her hand onto the now bleeding wound. She pressed down on it, trying to remember where she was. “There's... a few types around the various tribe territories we cultivate.”

He listened, his incantation finishing and a small ball of light appearing at the tip of his finger. It was like his orb from before, but felt much more hot. “This is gonna hurt. Move your hand.”

She pulled her hand away and held her breath. He pressed the ball to the stab wound, and she couldn't help but scream once again as a searing heat burned the wound shut. Mareth pulled his hand away and the heat vanished. “That's one down. We've got a lot more left.”

#

Hawke

Keeping the mental map of everyone on the top deck took a lot of effort, even more so when Hawke needed to manage his emotions to continue using his wind abilities. His fighting style was simple, use wind to deflect projectiles and propel himself to land well aimed thrusts into his armored foes.

The top deck was probably the worst option he could have taken. More people were up here, and many more of them armored than below deck.

Hawke was thoroughly burned out by the time the last soldier fell. All that effort redirecting arrows and bullets took a lot out of him. He was glad Kalani had his back. When it came down to the last few enemies Kalani swooped down like a bird of prey, grasping them with her talons and flinging them into the sea. Hawke almost felt bad for them as he watched the last one vanish under the waves, armor dooming him to drown.

Hawke took out a kerchief and wiped his rapier down. It needed a sharpening after this, but the high quality weapon had proven trustworthy once again. He sheathed the blade and glanced up to where Kalani was. He couldn't see her that high in the sky, but he gave a gesture of thanks.

Bodies lay sprawled all over the deck. He wasn't unfamiliar with killing; he grew up in war, after all. He was young and a prince, but he served just as his father had before him, and his father's father before that. Still, the thought that such violence seemed to be necessary weighed on him. He had to know what was on this boat.

Hawke stepped over the corpses and made his way back to the second deck. He saw Mareth kneeling over Avira next to the stairs. Avira was listing off what sounded like plants.

“She alright?” Hawke asked.

“Yes, just injured.” Mareth was stitching her wounds together. “Lucky her intestines aren't out... you alright?”

“Yeah.” He tested himself. He had cuts along his arm, and a particularly nasty gash in his side. “I'll probably just get a potion.”

“What a bitch...” Avira muttered.

The prince ignored her, walking back to their original room. They hid their stuff in one of the barrels, potions included. He seated himself on the ground and downed it, then braced himself.

It was a throbbing pain that slowly set in, and he silently withstood it as it grew more and more intense, then faded away along with his injuries. Not nearly as bad as what Avira went through, but he knew that was going to be the case.

Ruin sat on the crates in the hall when Hawke came out, watching Mareth at work. “She certainly did make a mess of the place. Though our decks are no different.”

“Mm. I'm burnt out right now, so let's just conclude our business.” Hawke was blunt, not able to work up much emotion at the moment.

“Right, right. Post fight burnout. Elemental problems.” He had the usual smirk plastered on his face. “While we're waiting on those two, I've got something to show you on the bottom.”

Hawke took Ruin in. “Not gonna kill me, are you?”

“Nah. If I was gonna, I would have hid someone on the boat to kill you in the fighting. Or just tossed your barrel into the bay. I'll even leave these here.” Ruin set his daggers on the crate next to him.

“Yeah, fair enough.” Hawke shrugged. “You first, though.”

The bottom deck was cluttered, more-so than the middle. It was hard to walk through the narrow, winding paths between crates and chests. There were a handful of bodies, but not nearly the amount required for Ruin to be down here so long with how fast he was earlier. If Ruin wanted the prince dead, there wasn't much anyone could do about it.

They stopped at a cube covered by a white sheet. He could hear talking and movement behind it. Ruin grabbed the sheet and pulled it away all at once, showing a cage. Inside the cage were a group of lamia. Around six, all wearing ragged clothes. He could see tattoos on their bodies similar to Sherani, but upon closer inspection they had lines burned or cut through them. Every symbol on their body was broken.

“Ah, Prince Hawke. About time. Ruin had to waste time covering the cage for a fancy entrance...” One of the lamias shot Ruin a side-eyed glance.

“It was a good reveal.” Ruin shrugged.

“Be off.” The lamia waved him away. Hawke noticed that her wrist had marks on it. There were chains on top of the cage connected to cuffs. When Ruin was gone, the group slithered out, finding seats on the crates. The one that had done all the speaking so far settled in front of the prince, looking at him with bright green eyes.

“I wasn't aware that lamia slaves were allowed. Especially not.. soul-speakers, right?” Hawke asked, a little nervous considering the sheer size of them. The memory of the first lamia they met was coming back to him as well. What was it with him and snake women? Or intimidating women in general?

“Soul-speakers, yes. Not right now, but...” She looked at her comrades' burned bodies. “But yes, that's what we are. Mages, to you. The simple answer is that we aren't meant as slaves. Which is why you're here.”

“Right.” So that explains who the employers were. “So you needed specifically me for this mission, why?”

“Our leader probably requested you so that I could give you a message.” The woman was clearly tired from all the stress. “I was supposed to do this secretly even before you were detoured and I was captured, so this place works,” She cleared her throat and spoke up in an authoritative tone, “Prince Hawke of the Vakia Kingdom. You are hereby warned by the Snake Tribe of the Drima desert. We are aware of the talks to invade Drima. Long story short; don't. Any attempt to invade the land will be met with certain death. Furthermore, you are to make sure that any marked slaves are removed from your land and your allies land, lest any who keep them meet a terrible fate.”

His eyes narrowed at that. “I thought we didn't have any marked slaves? Aren't those exclusive to Drima?”

“They're meant to be, yes. But there remain instances of them that we know of. And don't worry. This isn't a threat. It's a warning that ownership of the marked has consequences.”

“Huh.” Hawke didn't know what to make of this. “I'll pass it on to my father then. Though I don't know why you couldn't visit the castle.”

“Blockade or no, the Cobra tribe won't allow us that far east.” She shrugged. “I apologize for the bother.”

“Ah, it's no worry,” Hawke said, “it's been a pleasure.”

She smiled, fangs glinting in the dim light. “I'm just happy being out of that cage. Thank you.”

He did a small bow. “If you'll pardon me, I must be off.”

“Right. Good luck on your journey, prince. You've got many obstacles left in front of you.”

Hawke didn't respond. He already knew that, after all. Weaving back out to the deck above, he was surprised to see many harpies about. They had lightly feathered heads, dark-brown coloration, and their claws were soaked in blood. They also had beaks, unlike his friend Kalani. They didn't so much as look at him, and he wasn't interested in eye contact with vultures anyways. He peeked into the room they came from, checking to make sure that Ruin had hauled the barrel with their possessions in it to the top deck.

Satisfied, he made his way there, stepping over the viscera and a puddle of puke on the ground. Vulture hybrids were on the top deck as well, mostly around the captain's quarters. Avira was leaning over the railing puking off the side of the ship, wounds bandaged. Mareth held her hair back, and Ruin was seated on a barrel speaking to Penn.

Another ship moored nearby. It was much larger, and by the looks of it, a merchant ship. Crew-members peeked over the ship railing at them. A diverse crew from first glance.

“Good work, prince.” Penn stepped forward. “I hope this was worthwhile.”

“Well, I got a piece of information in return for my companion being... locked up, and having to kill a dozen trained soldiers at risk of starting an international incident.” Hawke shrugged. “So I'd say the jury's out on that one. Hey, you're a water elemental, right? Or you can be one?” He gestured to Avira, who was still sick.

Penn looked to Avira as well. “Ah. Well, yes, that's in my wheelhouse. I haven't done this before, but it's apparently simple.” Penn walked up to Avira. “Brace yourself a moment.” He said and placed his hand on the back of her head.

Avira nearly fell, clutching the railing tightly before giving a jolt and jumping up. She looked around, then tested her legs with a few jumps. “Huh. My seasickness is gone. How'd you do that?”

“Water elementals can fix these kinds of problems,” Penn replied.

“Wait, didn't you use fire earlier? You can do water too?”

“I'm a special case.” He rolled up his sleeves to show that there were a number of runes burned into his skin. “They call us runics. Grace is one too. It depends on your parentage, but we get unique abilities at the cost of being test subjects for grisly mage experiments.” He rolled his sleeves back down. “Hence why I keep the hood up. It's not pretty.”

“Mages, huh... bunch of assholes,” Avira muttered.

“Agreed.” Penn nodded.

Mareth cleared his throat awkwardly. “Well, their practices certainly aren't humane...”

Avira rolled her eyes. “Relax, Mareth. Not talking about you. Well, not in this instance.”

“Ah. Good.” He smiled.

“Anyways.” Avira turned her attention to Penn. “No Grace to see us off?”

Penn shook his head. “She wasn't needed for transportation this time thanks to the good captain being generous enough to meet us. I'll let her know you said goodbye though.”

“Do that.” Avira crossed her arms. “And you be nice to her. She's a nice lady.”

Penn laughed, “Don't I know it.”

Ruin spoke up. “Alright, are all four of you ready?”

“Four?” Mareth asked. “Oh, the barrel.”

“I'm ready.” Avira said.

Hawke glared at Ruin, who flashed him a smirk and glanced to the sky.

“We're ready!” Ruin called to the ship next to them.

Some shouts rang out and the onlookers vanished, receding back to the ship. They reappeared by taking a leaping jump off the ship, splashing into the water below. The group watched as they rose back up, water raising with them. It flowed upwards and upwards until it froze over into the shape of a staircase. Once it was fully formed, a cheer rose from the ship. The elementals who had made the stairs patted each other's backs while laughing.

“Come aboard!” they yelled, walking back to the ship.

Avira grunted and hoisted the barrel over her shoulder, carefully walking up the icy steps. “Doesn't seem the best material for stairs...”

Hawke and Mareth followed, the ice rough enough to prevent slipping. The crewmen took the barrel and helped them over the railing, staircase melting behind them after a touch from the ice elemental. Avira immediately looked anxious at the sheer amount of people milling about.

On first glance Hawke caught sight of hybrids, humans, chirons, a golem, a daemon, even a dryid. There were drimans, kathans, l'riens, bethens, islanders, vakians, it looked like groups from every nation in the world.

A large man with a cane made his way towards them, flamboyant pink garb and large hat. His graying beard was also noticeable. He was smiling and looked like an islander. He stopped in front of them and spoke, an incredibly loud and booming voice.

“AHOY!” His yellow teeth showed with his wide and jolly grin. “I'm Captain Reeves, and it's my pleasure to welcome you to the Lorelai!”

A loud cheer rose up from the crew, just as jovial as the captain. Greetings rang out from the crew, and someone started a song. Mareth immediately pulled out a notebook, probably to write down the lyrics, while Hawke moved to greet the captain. Avira, however, was not enjoying all the stimulation. This was gonna be a long voyage.