Rove
The Twisting Straits, East of the Grasping Isle
[https://cdn.discordapp.com/attachments/876104022833127448/1124295867524972624/jonathan-kemper-4_ZvmLAeIZk-unsplash.jpg]By Jonathan Kemper, Unsplash Licence
The cabin was as tiny as you would expect on board of a ship, with Trïeste’s and Sneak’s bunks taking the lion’s share of the available space. The two of them were sitting on the bottom bunk, leaving just enough room for Rove to join them.
Looking them both over, he smirked and leaned against the wall with crossed arms.
“Got caught, huh? What seems to be the trouble?” He asked.
Trïeste’s frown got slightly less annoyed. “Well, you weren’t doin’ a very good job of stayin’ hidden. But that’s neither here nor there. I’m tryin’ to get Sneak to shape up and get with the program. But alas, he refuses to wield anything else in combat than those flimsy daggers.”
“Oi!” Sneak’s voice got louder, his eyes more fierce now that somebody had insulted his precious daggers. “Those daggers got Sneak through lots of troubles and attempted stabbings! Daggers are perfect for Sneak.”
“Maybe perfect for ambushing a single person,” Rove said, shrugging. “But against multiple opponents, you’ll need something with a longer reach.” He slid Stormgrinder out of its scabbard, turning the blade’s handle to Sneak. “Why don’t you try and get a feel for it? Just to see what the weight is and if that ‘tingly feeling’ is still there, hhmm?”
Sneak gave Stormgrinder a look as if it was a bucket full of cowshit.
“Does Sneak have to?” He looked at Trïeste pleadingly.
“Yes! Just grab the bloody thing, you idiot!” Trïeste practically shouted, getting riled up again and leaning forward towards Sneak threateningly. Although she was lean, standing there with her fists on her hips made her look rather threatening.
With one final soft whimper, Sneak grabbed Stormgrinder with shaking hands, his face bleak and eyes terrified. Rove shook his head in disbelief. What the hell happened to the guy? What made him so scared of swords? He watched on, curious to see if and how Sneak would react.
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And react Sneak did, although not in any way Rove saw coming. Sneak’s hands were shaking wildly as the man’s boney fingers curled hesitantly around the handle. Muscles tensed, Stormgrinder leaving Rove grip. As soon as he held it properly, Sneak’s hands suddenly stopped shaking. The expression on his face calmed down as the weirdest transformation took place. The creases in his features relaxed and smoothed, making him appear two decades younger in the span of a single heartbeat. His eyes stopped nervously darting, calming down and settling down on the blade. In the time it took to breathe once, it was as if Sneak had become another person entirely. The madness and insanity vanished from his gaze, replaced by a calculating calm. Sneak looked at the light’s reflection in the blade, slowly twisting the weapon in his hand as he inspected it. Rove saw the muscles in the lunatic’s hands relax, taking a more natural and experienced grip on the weapon hilt.
Not sure of what to say, he glanced at Trïeste. She had noticed the drastic change in his body language as well, her eyes wide in surprise. Her eyes shifted to meet his, the same question lingering behind her stunned expression. The both of them kept silent, biding their time until Sneak would respond.
Sneak let out a long, sad sigh. Dropping the blade, he gently put the ancient weapon on his lap.
“Well, of all the things that could’ve happened, I wouldn’t have expected this,” Sneak said, his voice unrecognizable. Gone was the third-person speech, gone was the thick rambling accent. His tone was almost akin to Ayuen’s, the man now placing his words with sophistication and precision. Another accent was now audible, lining the man’s speech with a somewhat noble air.
“I have to admit... Being able to think clearly for once is a luxury I didn’t think I would be able to enjoy again.”
“By Garebma’s Fist, that makes three of us,” Rove said dryly. “So, did you get your memory back? You’re not Sneak anymore, right?”
“I’m afraid you’re wrong on one account, Master Rove,” Not-Sneak replied. “I am still very much the lunatic you call Sneak. That clock is still ticking in the back of my mind like an endless metronome. That hasn’t changed. I remember everything, including my time as the man you know as Sneak.”
He frowned. “Which does make this rather odd. Let me make use of this opportunity to apologise, Master Rove. I can assure you my intent is well-intentioned, although it does often seem a tad clumsy.”
Rove raised a hand to stop the man’s murmuring. “I know what you mean. No apology needed. What I want to know is why in the blazes you became sane by touching an Aral-forsaken sword?”
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Instead of replying straightforwardly, Sneak averted his eyes, looking at the blade on his lap once more. “Indeed. Why I wonder?”
“What? Hod didn’t tell you?”
“Hod didn’t tell me anything, truly. Nothing that I could comprehend easily, at any rate. Words of a tongue I am not familiar with, yet ringing with ancient power and purpose. Whatever Hod did to me, it got me my wits back. At least to some extent.”
Rove folded his arms, returning to leaning on the cabin’s wooden walls. This whole journey was getting weirder and weirder by the moment. Lovers, mad men cured by swords. What was next? Some prophecy detailing how they would win the day against impossible odds? Looking at Trïeste’s frowning confused face, he laughed softly. Guess the chances of that were low.
“Now, why don’t you tell us who you are? Your real name. And don’t tell us you’re some kind of ancient king or the successor of a throne of some sort. Ayuen wouldn’t let me hear the end of it if that was the case. Would rather just throw you overboard then to deal with that.”
A pillow flew from Trïeste’s direction, narrowly missing him and smashing into the wall next to him with a loud ‘poof’. Not-Sneak chuckled softly, the man’s calm eyes locking with his.
“I’d rather you wouldn’t, Master Rove. I’m afraid I’m not all that good with water.” With a sideways glance, Sneak looked at Trïeste for a moment and nodded.
“My true identity is nothing special, you’d be happy to hear. My prior name was Brent Reval. I am the second son of a minor family of nobles, the Reval family of Paros. Just a small family without much gold or fame to our name.”
He shrugged. “No epic tales of estranged princes and lost heritage here. Just a foolish noble’s son that took a wrong turn and paid the price for it.”
Rove sat himself down on the bunk as well, careful so that Stormgrinder’s scabbard didn’t get snagged in the bed’s blankets.
“Where did you take your wrong turn then, Brent? Or do you prefer Sneak? Your madness needs to have a cause, right?”
“Sneak would be preferable. Eliminates any confusion. I am a researcher by trade, originally. Mostly on the subject of the Saturation and the Arcane Sea that formed after that horrible disaster. Liquid arcane power has a strange effect on life. My dream was to discover how the process worked. And perhaps, just perhaps, help those that were corrupted beyond repair by the Night of Life.”
“Seems to me that the Night of Life got its claws into you before you could discover anything though.”
The expression on Sneak’s face got sad. “Indeed. Some other party found my research vexing, it would seem. Send a squadron of assassins after me.”
“Bloody blazes...” Rove cursed softly. “Seems that we’re all prime targets for assassins and spies.”
Trïeste looked at him a bit sheepishly before her eyes went back to Sneak.
“They hunted me for two days, seven hours and thirty-three minutes. I tried to lose them, but alas, my efforts were in vain. Eventually, they forced me into the Night of Life, where they couldn’t easily follow. I knew that I could stay in the Night of Life for about 24 hours before death. I spend 22 hours and 35 minutes there. I escaped with my life, but my soul got damaged in the process. Since then, I was Sneak.”
“That’s quite the story.” Trïeste finally spoke up, tilting her head a bit as she observed Sneak. ”Any idea who might have pulled the strings behind your attempted execution?”
Her voice didn’t leave any doubts about what the fate would be of any guilty party her knife-point could find the gut off.
“Unfortunately, I do not,” Sneak admitted. “The only reason I know they were after my research is because they told me right after they forced me into the Night of Life. Bragging before the killing, as every good grunt should do.” He smiled, nodding to the door. “Ask Ayuen, the stories agree with me.”
“Speaking of which, you should talk to Ayuen sooner than later. I have a feeling you two would get along even better than before.” Rove spoke, shaking his head. “Anyway, great to see you have your wits about you again. Now for the important question: Can your old self wield a sword properly?”
Sneak’s yellowish grin was far more sinister than it had been a couple of hours ago. “Quite. The life of a field researcher is a dangerous one, so I made sure I could swing a blade with the best of them. Add that to the lessons that were my duty to follow for due to being a noble and I can confidently say I’m quite the duelist.”
“Now that is music to my ears.” Rove couldn’t help but return Sneak’s grin. Beneath all the layers of insanity and tics, a fellow swordsman was hiding all along. Even had the same background, being a noble forced to endure the wrath of their peers. An idea popped into his head.
“Well, I might have the perfect weapon for you in that case.”
Rove nodded in the direction of his cabin. “After I said my final goodbyes to my brother, I brought his blade with me. Pure steel, amazing balance. I think he would be thrilled to know that his trusty blade was used to go against Siandra and Mother.”
Sneak’s eyes widened in surprise.
“But Master Rove, I couldn’t. To be responsible for carrying the spirit of your brother through...”
The Herhor waved his argument away. “I’ve got Stormgrinder. I can’t effectively use Prado’s blade together with it. It would be a shame to let my brother’s blade collect dust while he gets all the action. He would come and haunt me if I would let that happen.”
“Still, it’s important to you. What if it gets lost?”
He tapped his brother’s engraved blade. “How this then as a compromise? I’ll hold onto it and lend it to you when the time is right. Sounds good enough for you?”
Sneak looked towards Prado’s weapon for a few seconds, then nodded. “Very well. That is acceptable.”
“It’s a deal then. And eh... Let’s forgo the contract this time.” Rove winked while he took Stormgrinder back and sheathed the Tinker-made sword.
“To be honest, I’m just glad I’ve got another comrade on the front lines now. And to think he’d been hiding under my nose for all that time! Rather oblivious of me, wouldn’t you agree, Sneak?”
No response. As soon as Stormgrinder left Sneak’s hands, he stayed silent, his eyes now empty. Oh, for crying out loud, what now? Trïeste, who’d been silently smirking at the both of them a few seconds ago, scooted over towards Sneak with a worried look and waved a hand in front of Sneak’s face.
“Sneak?” She said softly. “Are you alright?”
All of a sudden, Sneak shook his head, his eyes once again focused on the woman in front of him. He smiled at her with his trademark silly grin.
“Yes, miss Trïeste. Sneak is alright. Alright as a raindrop in a garbage heap!”
[https://cdn.discordapp.com/attachments/554030201789743105/1028654515798409237/Grasping_Isle_Final_V1.0.png]
Map made by Mark Evegaars, writer of this story