“Checkmate.”
Allen huffed in exasperation as James once again won at chess. It had gotten infuriating, even more than the freak storm that had confined them to the cabins below deck.
He stared at James over the game of chess, before looking down and realizing that SEVERAL of his pieces were, and had been, missing.
More infuriated now, he pushed himself from the small circular table, leaving James to simmer in his cheaters victory. He strutted back to his cabin, his gait somewhat hurried. He didn’t trust the shiphands the captain, one Cormac Walsh, had hired. It wasn’t that they were ethnic or anything, I mean the captain had said he had hired them from a small fishing village in the colonies, innsmouth if he remembered correctly. No, what he didn’t trust was how they acted and how they looked. He didn’t know how else to explain it other than their eyes bulged like a fishes and their skin looked odd and scaly.
The captain simply described it as the “Innsmouth Look” as if that was meant to explain it all.
The door to his cabin opened with a long, slow creak. As he entered and made sure nothing was amiss, he shut the door behind him and locked it, ensuring none of the shiphands would be able to enter behind him.
He gripped the side of his feather mattress and lifted it, revealing a small, ornate box beneath. He took the cold stone box firmly in hand before lowering the mattress once more. He looked out the small window to his left for a second, still seeing nothing more than rolling waves and dark gray skies.
He then sat at his desk, opening the small box to reveal a golden jeweled idol. It resembled a beast of pure horror, carvings of which he had seen published in a somewhat disreputable scientific journal.
In fact he had, in some months prior, sent a letter to the ethnologist who contributed to that segment of said journal. They had exchanged several letters while he was away in the colonies, investigating rumours of a native cult of fertility.
Eventually, he and the ethnologist came to an agreement that they would meet to discuss the idol, and see if the idol could be connected in some way to the carvings.
Allen pulled himself from reminiscing and examined the idol once more. It was of a cyclops-like creature, with great scaled arms and fins extending from both the arms and the back, it seemed to be fornicating to a great many headed serpent. He found it distasteful, and would have had it melted down had he not been searching for something like it.
Along the base, between alternating layers of phosphophyllite and aquamarine, lay this inscription.
“⏁⊑⟒ ⋔⏃⍀⍀⟟⏃☌⟒ ⍜⎎ ⎎⏃⏁⊑⟒⍀ ⎅⏃☌⍜⋏ ⏃⋏⎅ ⋔⍜⏁⊑⟒⍀ ⊑⊬⎅⍀⏃.”
Allen had no real idea what it meant, but he found the time to remove his journal and a pen from his desk and sketch out roughly what the idol looked like.
Just as he was finishing up the sketch, a sudden and belligerent banging at his door broke his concentration.
“ALLEN, YOU SULLEN BASTARD, OPEN UP OR I’M BARGING IN!” James innately loud voice battered his ears like artillery.
He looked around frantically for a place to hide the barnacle encrusted box and the idol, but could not find one, so he simply placed it in his desk. Afterwards, he walked to the door, rubbing one ear.
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With a long creak, the large form of James Harding entered his view. Allen was unsure what height he exactly heard, but he estimated he had to be at least 6 '3, much taller than the average back at home.
“What is it now, James?” He almost barked at the man, before opening the door fully.
“Cormac says the shiphands pulled something up, says you’d want to see it.” James shrugged as he spoke.
Allen was astounded that James managed to be incredibly imposing physically (especially with a single leg), and yet duller than a millennium old blade mentally, though that made him question how in the world James beat him at chess.
He then moved back, pulling a greatcoat from his closet as well as a hat to protect from the pouring rain. He then stepped to James, who stood directly between him and the hallway.
“Well I can’t very well see what they fished up with you in the way, now can I? Move,” Allen shooed James off to the side.
“No need to be so ornery,” Almost whispered James as he moved to the side of the hallway, the low lantern light making it rather hard to see.
Allen huffed at James' perceived incompetence and moved up the hallway and through the lower deck. He glanced at the not yet stowed away game of chess, and then the peeling paint, before making his way up the covered staircase.
From there he could hear the pounding of the rain on the deck and the almost incomprehensible yelling of Cormac. He relied on the wall to keep him from slipping on the immensely slick deck.
He wobbled forth, the woolen coat keeping his clothing from getting wet, but certainly not what little hair stuck out from under the hat.
After about 3 minutes of slipping and almost falling face first, he made it to the area where Cormac was yelling about… money.
“You lot better get your act together, or I'll halve- no, I’ll QUARTER your damn pay, now get away from that.” Cormac spoke hoarsely with a pipe hanging from his lips. His cane waving like a crude sword at the shiphands as Allen approached what it was that they were crowded around.
As soon as he looked upon it, Allen recoiled in horror, nearly losing his lunch of ships biscuits and cheap beer. Whatever it was, it had the scales, fins, and head of a fish, but other than that, it looked like a facsimile of a human. He attempted to regain his footing as Cormac chortled.
“Still ain’t got your sea legs? We been nearly 10 days at sea now!” Cormac laughed, his round, wrinkled face as red as a beet.
“Shut it Cormac, the hell is that thing?” Allen whimpered, his voice trembling.
“No idea, lad. Looks damn terrifying though, doesn’t it?” Cormac waddled along to it, poking one of its gigantic, glassy eyes with his cane.
“Whatever that fucking thing is, throw it overboard, it’ll probably curse or something if we leave it aboard.” Allen spoke, his voice trembling less, though his legs were not.
He quickly made his way inside, ignoring the toppled game of chess and grabbing three bottles of brandy before retreating to his cabin for, in his eyes, a well deserved, alcohol induced sleep.