Coarse, warm winds blew on the first week of Miirthea in the year of 1159 of the First Age, compelling the double doors of the Drunken Weedkiin Tavern to beat with a violent rhythm, further irritating Albrion dejected by Drussaev reluctance to leave the far-south. A mild bother he recounted at least four times since the late noon when he chanced upon Oshiuth, distant kin of his walking down the sloping main street of Zaocaes. “Fault him not little brother. He simply just found his calling, and you have not yet.” Oshiuth said with a calm expression across her handsome face and her eyes blue and clear as ice fitted perfectly into the tenderly contoured, wide frame resembling an almond.
Her hair black as the empty midnight sky, cascading in straight waves down to her chestline, a thick waterfall of a fringe hanging before her broadening forehead exposed a little as she lifted her head up whilst chugging her drink with an eloquent movement Albrion recognized from the many etiquette lessons he and Drussaev had to bear too. Along the corners of her handsome face following an oval outline, tresses flocked into the shapes of slim and narrow talismans he saw a few times.
Under the warm glow of the light, the layered leather plate tailored after a kimono gleamed tenderly, fitting her slender, honed form. Down at her abdomen, it had a deep, almost jet shade of black whilst at her bosom and shoulders, where it slowly parted like a delta of a river bore an iridescent, white nearly as refined and mesmerizing as her complexion. Except the latter had a tint of amber, gifted by Iuanorh himself as she jested to him before he started babbling about Drussaev. Round the waist, a sash cinched further her form, whilst beneath a velvety shirt hugged her unblemished body, slipping out and encircling her neck with a slit open collar. And the shoulders flared strongly, whilst the sleeves flowed seamlessly down, wrapping around her arms. Albrion found the whole outfit strange, noting how she looked like an eastern patricios playing praetor, though instinctively he felt and recognized her power.
Hence why he chose silence instead of retorting – besides him being somewhat aware that he was yet unsure what path to take to ensure the prosperous, peaceful future of the Empire. Wishing not to dwell on the matter, to not ruin his mood now that he was only weeks away from meeting with Moirstyria – that in his head would have been all the much better if all three of them could have reunited – Albrion decided to inquire on something that mildly picked his interest upon entering the tavern. “What is a Weedkin?” He asked with a slight grunt.
“Hideous cousins of mine.” Alcinous, a turquoise habrian mer and mate to Oshiuth answered whilst tying his long, bony threads into a lone, low-hanging tail after he sat down with their drinks. “They frequent the waters far away from the shores or even the charted lands.”
“So, like the Deep Ones?” Albrion asked whilst the mer moisted his throat with the bitter bear served in the sloping port city. He shook his head. “Not quite like to speak the truth. Whilst the Deep Ones look quite bestial compared to us, they are quite intelligent, the Weedkin on the other hand are driven by their primal instincts. On top of looking even more hideous if you ask me.”
“They have skin whiter than mine, small, beady eyes, long dark hair like accursed spirits of niuvhei, fleshy beaks with mandibles, long arms ending in tentacle like fingers that wrap around your arms, mouth coating in you in some viscous substance that blocks the inflowing mana whilst they drag you into the abyss.” Oshiuth continued, speaking in a playful manner like a tale-spinner telling a warning tale to children with her wide gesturing that spilled a bit of her own beer. “Oh, and they have fins instead of legs as they live primarily beneath the waves.” She added, and after all Albrion smiled a little at the lack of tact she had. For a moment, a hint of envy appeared in his heart.
“I can infer your crew met with these… Weedkin.” The two nodded in unison. “But still, why weedkin?”
“Well, their hunting grounds are near ‘lands’ of seaweed where ships have harder time travelling.” Alcinous answered as he finished his beer before Albrion who had a hard time, now his thoughts interested in experiencing these “lands” out in the sea. Maybe once we return home.
****
The closer he reached down to the stone pier, the slower his pace turned as he gazed upon the Menelaith Oshiuth and Alcinous served on. Even the second time Albrion gazed upon the vessel greatest amongst all the others, even though as far as he knew, it lacked the Wispcaller from the fore point. Instead, it a figurehead hewn after the image of a Nereides adorned the front. Hair tumbled down onto her hewn shoulders with three, horizontal looping braids adorned with clams and pearls appearing quite lifelike thanks to the paint. Its frail, thin hands reaching out, palms aimed at the orange tinted filament whilst its thin, wide lips similarly painted, azure blue opened softly as if it sung the songs beckoning sailors to their sweet doom.
As the name was quite familiar to him, he was a bit hesitant and even questioned Oshiuth why she would serve on a vessel named after an old enemy of theirs. Even knowing Menelaith was one of the few who came close to beheading their dear, genial uncle during their long duel before the gates of Thrauy, the last of the city-states that fell a thousand year ago. A duel many a times he listened, excited hearing how Augermil broke the shaft of his spear, forcing the much shorter Menelaith into a close-range combat that nearly led to his sudden demise. Yet as always, he triumphed, thrusting the tip of his blade deep into the bosom of the man who single handedly killed half his remaining uncles and aunts during the last ten years spent sieging the single remaining city under the protection of Titans and the Feys.
“Do you think Uncle Augermil hates him or holds respect for the one mortal who came close to triumphing over him after hundreds of years?” Was her answer to which he remained silent as he ruminated shortly, recalling the way Augermil talked about Menelaith not as a foe, but as a respected brother who stood opposite to him. Outis, the short captain of a mixed grekhian and dwarven blood even told him the Shul-Oak used to construct the vessel was made from the remains of Menelaith’s House of Challenges a few of the First Legion’s members disassembled after Thrauy fell. With these assurances, Albrion felt better and even pondered on staying with the crew for a few more years instead of stepping immediately on land.
Stepping onto the drawbridge of the mighty ship, Albrion grasped onto the rail whilst taking one more look towards Zaocaes one more time. His gaze slowly swept through the city on wildly slanting hill, listened as the colorful, vibrant foliage of the surrounding forest on the small island sung its lullabies whilst the searing orange of furnaces, the bold blue and wise purple of the mingled with them. Even spread onto the gargantuan, slanting bones numbering at least forty or more as they run along the grayish white walls with black, rectangular railings and towers. His gaze stopped on the serpentine skull, yellowed by the passage of time, beneath its shadow the temple of Tengeiron, primordial elemental of rivers, lakes and oceans – mundane and astral – where the three prayed together before departing to the harbor.
Then he began to move once he noticed the lengthening shadow over his form, appear on the mahogany hued floor, Polyphemus, an orkh still bearing the Mark of Atonement upon his pale bronzish skin. “Thank you!” The orkh said genially in his dumb, deep voice whilst his lone eye adorning the center of his head stared forward whilst holding four crates beneath his long arms – wide and thick as oaken logs – pressing them against his muscular sides. In his case, at first glance he knew he would have a hard time alone against the orkh who reached at least four or even possibly five meters in height.
“Pull up the Anchor! Time to set sail!” Alcinous yelled across the main deck, standing atop the quarter deck, besides Captain Outis whose meaty hands grasped the spokes of the wheel already. The towering orkh leapt over the rails and for a moment, Albrion felt the quiver of the whole vessel as his muscled body thrusted against the wall, onto which he clung like a spider, pressing his palms and soles. Then he grabbed the chains, and pulled the heavy adramantyrian anchor up from the bottom, then climbed back up with it over his shoulder, detached from the retracted chains.
He held it in both his palms as a haggard faun walked up to him, and as soon as he touched it, it lit up with a translucent, ethereal glow, its weight barely pulling more than a newborn child’s. Hearing the rattling thuds, the sound of rhythmic drumming and the oars hitting the water, he sauntered excitedly over the rails and leaned over it. “Beautiful, isn’t it?” Oshiuth walked over besides him, and asked in her tender, deep voice as both stared out to the boundless horizon painted in the shades of Mineirvia.
****
The past two days were revelatory for Albrion, spent on the rocking vessel. Compared to the first ship he set foot out into the wider world, the Menelaith lacked the enchantments woven into its oaken hulk that kept the interior in balance. Crawling out from his bed, attached to the wall was quite the accomplishment. All his muscles tensed and strained at the effort, followed by a nausea depriving him momentarily of balance each morning. A sight which his cabin mate, Aeolus – the primary wheeler of the Menelaith – found quite amusing.
A grekhian man with a slender, lightly muscular frame, hued by the years of service under the shades of the sails, its greenish tint still somewhat visible. His face fierce, youngish compared to the half-blood captain, devoid of any hair including brows and beard, his dome though strangely as smooth as the black silken shirt fiercely hugging Albrion’s robust frame. From what he gathered from him and Oshiuth beforehand, most wheelers on vessels not guided by the wisps of the sea, they shave down all their hair to better feel the guiding winds like the sails.
Though the two of them occupied the cabin, Albrion found it quite frugal when it come to the size of it. The first ship he took off belonged to his older brother Tiberiluth who often travelled on it, accompanied by the tribunes and praefects of the First Legion, so the cabins were much closer in luxury and size to his old room. Then whilst he stayed with Drussaev and his peculiar company in the far south, they remained in the grand palace of Luth-Kadrath where their room was thrice the size of his old, and with a panoramic view to the whole, sprawling city near the serpentine river.
Compared to those two, he often bumped his head into the ceiling, and tumbled nearly onto the Aeolus twice each morning so far. In regards of furnishments, there were only one cupboard and one tall wardrobe, both fixated to the oaken walls facing each other. So, when it came to dressing, he often waited with the excuse of getting his internal economy used to the swings of the bulk, and started getting ready for the day after Aeolus left chuckling mildly that faded as he disappeared in the narrow corridors of the Menelaith.
Albrion scarcely dined, fearing the food would dive out from his insides. The little he consumed nearly exited him already, and thankfully filled him with enough energy to last the days. Mostly he spent them first exploring the vessel, aiding the mates when they called out whilst when nothing was to be done, he leaned onto the bulwark on the aft, stared into the interminable horizon bathed in the warm light of the day whilst the vessel drawn a white, foamy streak across the clear azure.
Usually, he remained near Oshiuth whose main task included patrolling the vessel, making sure nothing stole into the vessel as she explained. “Come, you seem better now for a little sparring.” She said on the fifth day, when he himself felt the illness of the sea passed him at last.
The two entered the training quarters in the heart of the Menelaith, the lone space which seemed grander of the ship’s interior. Albrion felt the thick waves of mana flowing in the oaken walls, a queer feeling in a pleasant way as he could finally stretch his arms wide and straighten his posture. A few dozen racks adorned the walls, holding mostly long shafted weapons like spears, halberds and glaives, each finely hewn and crafted with runes carven into the wood and metal, upon curling his fingers around them filled Albrion with power whilst he felt the weight of his muscles lessen. A few carpets lined the floor, narrow and oblong and boldly shaded in violet, gold and crimson, vague figures battling the horrors of the sea and land on each of them.
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Curtains of a similar artistic kind hung from the walls, whilst in the center four round columns rose from the floor, stretching into the ceiling with serpents hewn out from the trunk. And an oaken platform in the center, a broad square lined with soft, smooth textile that proved not so slippery contrary to its almost silken like appearance and feeling as it brushed their naked soles.
“Are you sure about that?” She queried, her eyes pointing with slight mocking at his long-bladed sword. He simply nodded with half a smile mocking back at her.
Then the air grew heavy seemingly, silence accompanying it as she assumed her stance, holding her peculiar glaive with a black, hard leathery shaft, the blade and the sole encased in quicksilver like metal. Its edges engraved and lunar symbols along its smooth, reflective and broad, curving surface. Even by just looking at her, Albrion felt the same primal fear he had towards Moirstyria who often held her sword in a languid, listless manner, yet upon striking, she parried and threatened his life with in less than two movements.
Though in this case, the difference of height and the length of his arms given him assurances of fair chance against the longer weapon Oshiuth held firmly. Albrion’s gaze shifted between the weapon and her eyes filled with a predatorial gaze he knew well, searching for weaknesses in his stance. Heeding Moirstyria’s and Augermil’s advice, Albrion patiently waited, the two circled around the precipice of the platform.
Oshiuth made the first move, thrusting the glaive five times, each time gently maneuvering it and each time the metallic clanks echoed through the space as intercepted its pointy end with the flat side of his sword. Thud! He stepped forth in a quick motion, swinging towards her neck, but by the time it reached it, she leapt into the air, a mild breeze blown into his face, blinding him momentarily. “Congratulations.” He said, feeling the glaive’s tip through his shirt and loosely hanging coat.
Light claps echoed and the mates surrounding them all praised Oshiuth before the two climbed down, giving the space over to another pair. For the next few days, they practiced together early in the morning before her patrols. The day after, he earned his first victory against Oshiuth, when nearly the same trick was pulled, but this time he shut his lids and spun around meeting the blocking the thrust, then moving in hastily, as his body grew lighter, and tackled her down, blade’s tip staring at her bosom beneath her leathery kimono.
Each day, they seemingly rotated between who triumphed, until on the seventh day, Albrion triumphed in succession as he finally decided upon a longer weapon. “I still prefer the sword. Much more elegant.” He answered when Oshiuth pointed out how much deadlier he could be with a spear, a trident or a glaive – the weapon made by their mother’s folk. With the honor and height of his uncle – and just like him – he preferred the Way of the Sword as he felt dull holding and triumphing with a trident. In a way he realized, it lacked the dangerous enjoyment of stepping into The Solemn Mistress’s shadow.
“Tell me sister, why haven’t you returned home?” As victory came a bit sooner, the two sat down on the bench, watching Alcinous sparring with one of the newer mates they picked up alongside Albrion.
Looking at her, she seemed to ruminate on the answer and for a while Albrion regretted the question. He suspected there may have been a grave reason Oshiuth not have returned yet to claim her role in the Dream of the Elhyrissiar. “I found my Calling on the seas. Here I can satisfy our thirst, live truly without the shackles of our kin, our family.” She answered, yet it satisfied not his curiosity as he noticed there had to be more.
But he pushed no more the matter, for the time being. There was still a long road ahead, and Albrion was aware with the faults of their family. “Well, I pray my Calling will be more so on the dry lands.” His words seemed to force a husky chuckle from her.
“Give it time. And you shall feel sick on land.” The two rose in tandem, and just as they were about to begin their seventh day, a horn’s dire blow called them upon the deck. With a primal delight, they marshalled with the others, Albrion grasping the leather-bound handle of his sheathed sword, eager to be satiated.
****
Albrion expected little he would be steeped in the gore of the simian gobokhs, the ghastly, once porcine orkhin and the ogrokh – a strange fusion of bears and wildboars – whilst striding across the clear, azure waters. But alas, it was the season of Mineirvia, when the beauteous Deos guided not just monsters, but all kindred who were beholden by their primal urges. Their burly vessel drawing its own hook line, beckoning not just the gargantuan denizens of the waves below, but even those above who took over the equally burly, mighty vessel he recognized as it had once been belonged to the navy of the Empire, still overseen by one of his distant uncles who walked different lands centuries before.
The broadside once a bold shade of oaken trees sprawling in the heart of Vhalleryon, with streaks of indigo at the center and the top bulwark. Great, twirling masts with sails lustrous and bearing a serpentine dragon, devoid of wings as it swam the skies like it sore the seas. Its mighty jaws hung open, as if bellowing whilst on the front, the hewn image of a siren sang voiceless, calling upon the kindness of the wisps of the sea to beckon the living wood towards the desires of its master or mistress.
“Spirits – and to an extent the Greater Intelligences – all possess a kindness not like our own. Its something they share with any wandering soul if those know how to ask.” Oshiuth answered her, noticing the confound look in his dark pupiled eyes. “And they can be mischievous. I heard many a tales passed along by the bars about wisps guiding folk to their doom – be it in the embrace of the scum of the seas, or in the belly of some beast.” Arigios, a canine demikin appended. A familiar smile adorned his lean, protrusive head covered lush white fur with grayish black at the edges. His ears fluttered as the warm, salty wind blew against them whilst the shadows strengthened upon the hasty approach of the enemy vessel where the bellows of former Atoned mingled with the abrasive melody of the sea.
There was a mix of excitement, fear when the front barbarously wedged their vessel. For a moment, he could hear the painful moans of the oak beneath his feet. And for a moment, he feared to be dragged into the abysses below. But it all flittered away, and as he drawn his blade, a small gobokh leapt at him from high, screeching maddeningly with a spear aimed at his bosom. Albrion arose hastily, and with a clean, deft swing, severed the pirates head from his feeble, small neck still bearing the runes carven into his grayish flesh beneath the dirty fur.
As Albrion cut through swathes of gobokh, orkhs leaping from the enemy’s bulwark onto theirs, his squinting eyes could rest for a moment. Opposite, long scales towered over on the main deck of the pirate vessel, and it quickly collapsed onto theirs with a loud bellow, muffling the waves beating against the broadside. With a mirthful grin, he welcomed the charging pirates, though before they could arrive, a gust swept them into the sea. Looking over the aft, Aeolus stood free from the wheel, balancing on top of the bulwark. One leg forward, the other behind as he stretched and crouched almost, whilst his arms stretched forward with knees angled down towards his straining thighs.
His eyes closed, his nostrils flared as he inhaled the stirring air of the sea, and with each swipe, each pull forward and backward, gust assailed and pushed the enemy vessel slowly away. The rear ladders lost their grip and followed after the pirates, falling onto their heads before swallowed by the foaming waves. And just as he was about to push down the last ladder, a lone arrow found its way into his throat. No scream left his lips as blood splurged forth, trickling down his naked chest where a second lodged into his chest before his limp body somersaulted into the azure and white wastes.
“Albrion, help!” Oshiuth brought him back and as he turned at her, he noticed the approaching ogrokh adorned in large, angular plates around his purplish brown body, his head barbarously hideous with large fangs, an ursine snout flaring as he charged, the lush black mane rustled as the wind kept into it as he gained pace second by second. Oshiuth and Arigios slowly began to push the lone ladder at the center with a few other mates whilst Alcinous and his fellow merkiin waved around at the edges, tendrils of swirling, foamy water arising and battering against the pirate’s ship.
Quickly, Albrion thrusted his blade into the wood, and at once gray mist seeped out from the gleaming silver surface, down into the oaken ladder. The ogrokh led by an instinctual warning rushed towards Albrion. Beneath his trampling feet, the oak aged in seconds, and began to crumble with each forceful step until the brutish pirate bellowed one last time before the whole ladder crumbled into flakes and splinters. A loud thud of his head hitting the broadside was followed by a silence and a splash, and as he looked down, Albrion glimpsed the floating, hulking corpse before it was drawn into the depths by the heavy plates. He felt a bit relieved at heeding the advice of Oshiuth, Alcinous and the captain.
Then another roar came followed by the loud boom as the stolen vessel before them shattered in two by the colossal maw of a sea serpent. Cries echoed as the pirates fell into the territory of the beast, and one by one washed into its maw. The Menelaith gained speed after the mates versed in water maghia aided the rowers down below. Albrion watched as the last of the pirates met their doom on the interminable sea, and for a moment, spotted Aeolus’s corpse floating away in the distance. “A grim sight of the sea.” Alcinous said as he gripped his shoulder gently. “Be ready in case its hunger remains unsatisfied.”
Turning away, Albrion remained still for a little while, shackled by a weight paced upon his heart, then head up, clutching his sword.
****
Albrion slowly upreared, scraping the lush crown of his dark hair against the ceiling of the bunk bed. Nearly he repeated the usual apology of the past weeks, but he quickly bottled up the words. No more he needed to apologize as the lone occupant. He remained still, ailed by mournfulness he found queer, as he spent little time in the presence of Aeolus. Two days in an eternity that awaited him still. “We should have bathed in salt water and their blood together.” He murmured, followed by an abrupt yelp when the bed threw him out.
Or to be precise, a sudden force lifted his hulking frame out, the whole vessel moaned as weight exerted over the whole ship. Albrion pushed himself up, grabbed his blade and with a heavy heart, rushed out to the corridor, greeting Oshiuth and Alcinous with silence. First, his mind formed the image of the great sea serpent assailing the broadside, its head rammed spasmodically, in wild intervals rendering their way up to the main deck more difficult, once more degrading him back to the state he was in during the first few days.
And to Albrion consternation, there were no gargantuan serpent aiming to turn over or destroy their safe haven upon the raging sea, instead a storm exercised its primordial right for destruction and chaos. Wild waves rose in the distance, rain poured heavily upon them, drenching his black garments layering over his massive form. Polyphemus wrapped his massive arms around the main mast, screaming like a child as the water stole over the bulwark. “Hold onto something near the stairs or head inside!” Oshiuth yelled at him before disappearing in the pouring rain, and he wasted no time, knowing he had little knowledge to aid in such conditions.
At first, he turned back, deciding inside he could aid in anchoring the freight, Albrion nearly plummeted into the waves. Reflexively his grip tightened around the knobs, and felt the floor sip out from beneath his feet. He dangled, the wave inviting as it lifted the Menelaith and it accepted, soaring through it canted towards the blue abyss. “Fear not my brethren, we shall triumph over the rage of Tengeiron!” Outis’s frantic laughter mingled with the crackled bellowing of the thunder striking near the ship.
As the darkened vista of chaos lit up for a moment, Albrion’s eyes bulged with dread. Far in the distance, yet clear even through the maelstrom, he glimpsed a gargantuan, long form of blackened flesh and bulbous, nodular growths dip beneath the raging wastes. His fear swelled vigorously, and he felt his heart’s wild beating as he stared at the forming waves greater even the one the Menelaith rode on with its fearless half-blood captain.
“Wave ahead!” He yelled, but realized quickly it was in vain. The storm cruelly muffled his voice with a rapid succession of thunders thrusting, sealing their doom in the shadow of the great wave. In no time he expected to stand in the shadow of Dhaekria. Timed seemed to lessen its pace, and Albrion using his little time ruminated how his sister, Drussaev and dear uncle shall take his passage from the world. He was sure Drussaev shall roar in sorrow and anger whilst the other two shall lament in silence.
Prepared to stand in the halls of the Grey Monarch, Albrion stared into the dim distance and noticed another strange sight, less terrifying than the serpent far away. A cylindrical lash burnished into reality, descending from the dark clouds into the raging sea. Within the twirling chaos, three lights of a strange shade he never seen gleamed into his soul serenity, assurance beforehand the waves enveloped the Menelaith.