Vengeance (Pt. 11)

Vengeance (Pt. 11)

Jonathan led Renee out of the forest, at times having to half-carry her, so exhausted was she from her ordeal. They followed an old, rutted path that slowly rose out of the woods and onto a cliff top. Right on the edge of the cliff stood a small log cabin. He reached the door of the cabin and opened it, gesturing for the young woman to enter. She did so hesitantly, still not entirely sure she could trust this strange being.

Inside, the cabin was simple. In one corner was a rough wooden table with two stools under it; a low bed was against one wall, and at the opposite end of the room was a small stone fireplace, its embers still glowing. A few animal hides were spread out across the packed earth floor of the cabin. Jonathan pulled out the two stools and indicated that Renee should sit. Then, he walked over to the hide in the centre of the room, pulling it aside. Beneath it was a wooden trapdoor, which he hauled open. He reached inside the cavity created and produced an earthenware flask, and two small cups of the same make.

He sat down at the table with Renee and set down the two cups. He unstoppered the flask and poured a deep amber liquid into both the cups. He gently slid one cup towards her and said softly, “Drink.”

Renee took the cup but did not drink, “What is it?”

“Uisce,” replied Jonathan, “It is a drink made by the men of the north. It is strong, but it helps warm you inside.”

With that he lifted his own cup and drained it quickly, following his sup with a satisfied sigh. Renee mimicked him, but nearly choked. The drink, while aromatic, was bitter on the tongue, and burned her throat. However, to Jonathan’s credit, it did warm her belly.

She spluttered and coughed for a while before saying, “How do you drink that without choking?”

Jonathan laughed, pouring himself a second, and said, “Practice. I have been drinking Uisce for a few decades now. The Erelisians used to make a similar type of drink which they called Aqua Vitae, which I drank for over a century.”

“How old are you?”

The man drained his second cup and then said, “Older than I look. I am afflicted by a most terrible curse.”

Renee waved him away as he gestured to her cup with the flask, and asked, “What is this curse?”

Jonathan knocked back his third cup and said, “I am immortal. Age will never come for me, nor any natural sickness. I have walked Doranath for nearly three centuries. Why, or how, is not important.” He paused, narrowing his eyes at the young woman, taking her in for the first time.

Despite her exhaustion, she was beautiful. Thin brows rested above green eyes that sparkled in the afternoon light, taking everything in. Her delicate nose was slightly red from the cold outside, as were her slender lips. When she spoke, her lips turned up at the corners, revealing her slightly uneven teeth, and hinting at the radiant smile that hid beneath. Her long brown hair hung halfway down her back, and was tucked behind small ears that protruded just enough to be uniquely attractive. Her skin was pale, and dusted with freckles. Jonathan had had little to do with women in his long life, at least when it came to romance, but he could see that Renee was a rare beauty.

He asked her, “How did you come to encounter Nihilus?”

Renee took a deep breath, and then told her story from when she first saw Doran’s ship in battle from the Promontory.

*

Doran was uneasy. Whilst he knew that the Elven ships were nearby, that he could not see them gave him little comfort. Heavy fog had settled over the still waters, and there was no breeze to speak of. That did not bode well for him and his crew. The plan had been for Doran’s small vessel to lure the ghost ship into the jaws of the waiting Elven fleet. With no wind to fill the sails, and not enough crew to row with any meaningful speed, they were now an easy mark for any attacker.

Doran glanced over at Mr Dask, who was shivering in the cold fog, rubbing his arms with his hands in a vain effort to keep warm. Doran felt sorry for the old man; he had finished his time in the navy long ago, and had spent the past seven years occasionally fishing the shallow waters around Kormouth. He didn’t deserve to be out here, serving a disgraced captain on a fool-hardy, and probably fatal, mission.

He was about to call out to the man when the slap of wet sails made him turn and peer into the mists. No matter which way he turned, all he could see were the dense, swirling mists. The sound of the wet sails came again, but seemingly from everywhere. The crew were deathly silent, all gazing around, fear on their faces. Doran took a deep breath and went to call out an order to Mr Dask. However, as he turned to where the man stood there was a splash, and Mr Dask was going.

Looming out of the fog past where the first mate had stood, a huge vessel slid quietly by, seaweed trailing from her gilded bow.

*

Jonathan looked sadly at Renee, listening to her finish her story by describing the feeling of freedom as the being that she knew as Vengeance leaving her body. He gulped down his twelfth cup of Uisce and scratched his stubbly chin. After a few moments of silence, he said, “I am sorry you had to suffer at the hands of one of my brothers. What Nihilus did to you was horrific, and I am sorry you had to endure his presence for so long.”

Renee bit her lip, “Will his magic be undone?”

Jonathan’s brow knotted with thought, “I honestly can’t say. Spells cast that required constant attention and reinforcement certainly will have been dispelled. I know you are concerned for Doran – I do not know how Nihilus brought him back, it should not be possible, not with the powers possessed by we Seraph – in fact, I suspect he utilised something within you. You are not a mage though, so I am truly uncertain. I am sorry.”

“Can we find him then?”

“Doran?” said Jonathan, “Possibly – due to his contact with Nihilus, his presence should act as a lodestone on the world. He will draw things, dark things, unnatural things, to himself without realising. I should be able to sense him.”

Renee looked up at the tattooed man with hope.

He raised a finger, “Give me a moment.”

His eyes changed from dark brown to a deep, swirling blue; all traces of pupil and white vanishing. His tattoos began to pulsate with light, and Renee swore that some of the moved, crawling about his skin to form new, alien patterns.

Jonathan gasped, and the light vanished, “He is close, but we must hurry.”

Without a further word, he grabbed Renee and dragged her out of the cabin.

Wrapping his huge arms around her, he cried, “Hold on!” and with that launched himself into the  air, huge brown wings spreading wide.

Sagrannus Gaming: Emily is Away

Have you ever wanted to be reminded in a strange way of your teenage years? Relive all those horribly angst-y and awkward conversations you had with your friends on MSN Messenger? No? Well, apparently someone has decided you should - so, deal with it.

The worst bit, is - and I can't say that I like this game - but I can respect how and what was done, and its execution.

(Note, the screenshots do contain SOME spoilers)

Emily is Away

Developer: Kyle Seeley
Publisher: Kyle Seeley
Genre: Indie Interactive Story
Released: November 21, 2015 

I have a tendency to be cautious around games recommended by friends, or friends of friends, or even friends of a friend of a friend of mine: In case my opinion offends them. But this time was a little different. This game wasn't recommended to me - I was vented at across a dinner table about this game. I can't recall the exact words, but there was an implication that half an hour of the speaker's life had been stolen away. I admit I was intrigued - and a little dubious. I've played bad games - and to be clear, Emily is Away isn't bad - so I decided to act the sacrificial lamb and try it out.

Gameplay

The gameplay is very simple. You are in a messenger program akin to AOL or MSN Messenger, and you progress through 6 chapters  - 1 per year - which each feature one conversation with the titular Emily. In these conversations you choose your responses from 3 options, which can have varying impacts on the plot and your relationship with Emily. To make sure that you haven't fallen asleep, you have to type randomly on the keyboard so that your virtual self writes and sends the message. This is an interesting idea, and works. Beyond that, there is no real gameplay - this is an interactive story after all

Graphics

Again, this is an interactive story - don't expect soaring vistas (it's set on an XP computer - hear the audience groan at that one) or smooth combat animations, cos there ain't none. That said, the pixel art for the profile pictures is fairly well done, and what they are supposed to be is clear. I'm not sure how the designs stand with copyright, but the game is free so I'm sure it's fine....

Sound

There is no soundtrack - just clicks, clacks, and nostalgic XP sounds. That's fine, just have your media player playing in the background. For that extra nostalgia, if you have the music library to do this, see if you can listen to music specifically from the year that your are currently in in-game. And...you know...if you are old enough to have nostalgia for 2004...

Plot and (Re)Playability

The plot is what this game is all about. What it does, is create a basic idea of a relationship between two individuals, starting from the end of their final year at high school. The two characters communicate once per year (that you know of) but you can influence some of the other yearly events through the conversations in-game. Much of the narrative is left to be fleshed out by you, mentally, and by vague allusions during conversations. What fascinates me, as someone who actually did use MSN Messenger quite frequently around the time that this game is set, is how well Kyle Seeley captured the way teens communicated. The execution is excellent - the awkwardness, the deleting of what you wanted to say to be replaced by inane questions about the weather, and the slight adrenaline rush when you are waiting for the replay to something you think you shouldn't have asked.

The ending(s) that I experienced certainly left me wanting to replay the game differently, though a playthrough takes roughly half an hour, so the overall replayability is definitely limited.

Conclusion

As I said at the beginning, I can't like Emily is Away - what it is, to me, is a game making a point; not  a game trying to be fun. But I can respect it. The developer set out with a clear goal in mind, and as far as I am concerned, achieved it. The writing, such as it is, is solid and well presented, with some interesting character development. The game, unsurprisingly, runs smoothly on my system. Beyond that, there isn't much to say. Lots of nostalgia for people who are old enough to remember AOL and MSN Messenger, lots of nostalgia for those who want (though I don't know why) to relive their angst-y teenage years. A solid indie presentation.

Sagrannus Rating – 6/10 (It's free and short, try it)

Oh, and just as an aside - F*** that ending. Seriously, what the S***!?

Vengeance (Pt. 10)

Vengeance (Pt. 10)

Doran was forced to his knees, falling to the cold stone floor with a grunt. He risked a glance upwards, and saw slender arms of shimmering stone that rose from the floor and walls to support the golden dome above. At the top of the dome hung a large glittering stone, which filled the entire chamber with a cool white light. The dome itself was made up of large tapering panels, each apparently inscribed with historic scenes, heavily stylised. The elven soldier who had forced Doran to his knees grabbed him by the hair and roughly dragged his head back down to stare at the floor, hissing something in Elven.

A calm voice from directly ahead of Doran said, “What brings a human sea captain to the territories of Illeth Moran?”

Doran raised his eyes. The speaker was seated in a tall, slender throne. The seat itself had high armrests, and the back rose high above the occupant’s head, and was carved to look like the spreading branches of a tree, with small emeralds hanging from the branches, glittering in the light. The occupant himself was a slender elf in pale blue robes with a tall collar. His hair was a lustrous auburn and cascaded down to his waist, which was cinched with a slender cord of silver.

The elf intertwined his fingers and said, “Well, speak.”

Doran replied, “I come for the aid of the mighty elven fleet.”

The elf looked genuinely intrigued, and leant forward in his throne, “Is that so? I have always considered yours an arrogant race, yet here you are, asking for my aid.” He chuckled, “Begging on your knees in fact.”

“Not by choice, you might note.”

“Hmph,” said the elf, “Very true. Guard, untie him and let him come forward.”

The guard froze, “Your highness, he is Kormouthian, an enemy of Illeth Moran.”

The elf on the throne chuckled once more, “I think I can handle myself with one mortal. Do as I instruct.”

Begrudgingly, the guard untied Doran’s hands and helped him to his feet. Doran made his way slowly across the floor, looking down at it as he rubbed life back into his hands. The floor was pitch black, and apparently seamless. It had been so well polished that it was like a mirror. The light from above refracted in such a way that it seemed to Doran that he was walking across a sea of stars. He halted before the throne, and looked the elf in the eyes steadily.

“I,” said the elf, “Am King Estaleth of Illeth Moran, fifteenth High King of the Elves since the Cataclysm. And you are?”

“I am Doran Highpeak, formerly of the Kormouthian Navy.”

“Ah,” said Estaleth with a smile, “I have heard of you. A frequent thorn in the side of my southern fleets, I am given to understand. Yet you say you are no longer a servant of Kormouth.”

Doran nodded.

“How interesting. So what brings you here with such a strange request?”

“I believe I am being haunted by a ghost vessel, and I think that only your kind would have a chance of fending it off, let along destroying it.”

“And why should I help you with this?” mused the King.

“Because, my lord, half of that ship and its crew are made up of the Acdrenc Stefna.”

The King frowned, “How is this possible?”

“I sank her,” said Doran, “At the cost of my own ship. Now, both crews seek me out, for I should have died with them, yet did not.”

“While terrible, I am sure, I do not see what I would gain from helping you, Doran of Kormouth.”

A woman’s voice spoke from behind the throne, “Is it not obvious, my liege?”

Estaleth turned his head and said, “Speak, Ellandra, what is your thought?”

A thin elven woman made her way around the throne. She wore robes of green, and her raven hair was pulled back in a simple ponytail that emphasised her pointed ears and high cheekbones. When she spoke, delicate white teeth flashed, “Beyond the matter of Elven dead being bound to this world, there is another concern that comes to mind. While the ghost ship may haunt this man, surely it is a danger to all on the sea – is that a risk we are willing to take?”

“Are you sure, Ellandra?” the King looked concerned.

“Certain? No,” she gave a Doran a long look, “But I do not think that taking a risk in the hope that the ship will not be a problem would be unwise. Best that we nip such a potential threat in the bud.”

The King sat back in his throne, a thoughtful look on his face, “It would surely not hurt to send the fleet out for an exercise anyway, would it?”

“No, it would not.”

“Very well, we shall assemble our captains, and see what we can plan.”

*

The nine captains of the Illeth Moran navy stood around the table. Doran recognised only their leader – Ildrin, captain of the Brimclifer – who had spent the last few minutes watching Doran with cold hatred in his eyes. Doran could sympathise, not only was the death of Ildrin’s brother Aldrid on Doran’s hands, but so too was his spirit’s entrapment on the ghost ship. Hell, if Doran was in Ildrin’s place, he would have killed Doran already. Doran couldn’t help but admire the elf’s icy resolve.

“So,” said Ildrin, tearing his eyes from Doran, “This haunted vessel was last sighted far to the south, tearing through one of the finest vessels in the Kormouthian navy.” Doran noted that the elf smirked at that remark.

Ellandra spoke from outside the circle, “Given what Doran has told us, the ship is likely to pursue him. Therefore it would be reasonable to expect that the ghost vessel is now significantly closer to Illeth Moran.”

Ildrin leaned over the charts on the table, and said, “Given the supposed size of this vessel, it would be best if we could engage it on our terms. I doubt that ghost ships are all that open to such a situation though.”

Doran cleared his throat, “Actually, there might be a way.”

“It speaks,” snarled Ildrin, “Well, human, what is your solution?”

“The ghost ship hunts me, so if I were to act as bait in a location that was tactically desirable, then once it appeared you could attack it.”

Another captain, shorter than the others, with plain features said, “It could work. If we could encircle it, surely even a vessel of such a mysterious nature would be eager pickings.”

“It is possible,” said Ildrin, “Ellandra?”

“I cannot think of a better way to turn this to your advantage,” replied the woman.

“Very well,” said Ildrin, “Then all we need now is to choose a location, one that will allow us to remain concealed until the enemy appears, and then to be able to trap them.”

He looked down at the charts once more and placed a black gloved finger on a circle of small islands, “That should do nicely,” he said with a grim smile.

Vengeance (Pt. 9)

Vengeance (Pt. 9)

The stranger stood at the edge of the clearing, his grey eyes watching Vengeance carefully. Vengeance was still filled with rage, her eyes fixed on the stranger. Very slowly, the stranger lowered his hand and spoke once more, “Who are you?”

Using Renee’s mouth, Vengeance hissed, “Who I am is of no import.”

“On the contrary,” said the man, “It is perhaps the most important thing of all. You should not have been able to enter this place.”

He paused, and fixed Vengeance with a sidelong glance and said softly, “Neither of you.”

Renee felt Vengeance blanch at that, and take a step back.

The stranger stepped forward, his eyes narrowing, “It is no possession; that is different. No, this is something stranger – older.”

“You know nothing,” snapped Vengeance.

The stranger smirked, “Is that so? Then have you told your host what you really are?”

Renee was intrigued. She could feel the heat of Vengeance’s rage cool, and felt a new emotion rise in the being – a feeling far more familiar to Renee: fear. Something about the stranger made Vengeance very uncomfortable, and Renee sensed that Vengeance had encountered him before.

Vengeance screamed and once more unleashed light from her hands. This time, the stranger did not raise his hand, and instead simply walked into the light, allowing it to sink into his body, burning through his clothes, but not even marking his tattooed skin.

He smiled at Vengeance and said, “I honestly expected more of you. I expected that the only one to escape would have been something…better.”

The way he uttered the final word triggered a new wave of burning hate to rise in Vengeance, making Renee feel ill and forcing her to retreat. Vengeance hissed, “It is impossible. You should not be here. You left.”

The stranger smirked again, flashing his perfect teeth, “Did I? Why would I have done that? You, of all the beings in the universe, should best know the duty I was charged with. Your very existence is why I could not have left. Though I confess, I did think the hunt for you a waste.”

“Then why not move on?” snapped Vengeance, “What threat do I pose?”

“You ask me that,” said the stranger accusingly, “While standing there in the body of another, and hunting for the Furies of the dead Seraph?”

Vengeance froze, but Renee could feel the being’s mind working, reaching out for something. Suddenly, a wave as cold as ice filled her as Vengeance found what she sought – Octavius’ Fury – and tapped its power. With a grin, Vengeance launched herself at the stranger, gathering the power of the Fury about herself, preparing to unleash it on him.

She halted in mid-air, the stranger’s huge hand around her neck. His other hand already held his sword, drawn so swiftly that Renee had not even seen him move. He hissed at Vengeance, “Release the woman.”

“No.”

“You would disobey your Bealdor?”

Renee’s mind boggled. If the stranger was the Bealdor that Vengeance had spoken of, then that could only mean that Vengeance was…

“You are no master to me. You hunted all of us like animals.”

The Bealdor did not relinquish his grip, “I hunted you because you betrayed the gods, you fell into darkness and besmirched your honour. Our fathers bade me deal out justice as was fitting. I did as I saw fit.”

Vengeance’s voice was shaking, “You killed your brothers and sisters.”

“Only because they chose to try to kill me. They could have returned to the fold.”

Vengeance snorted, “Is that what you are going to do here? Offer me a chance at redemption?”

The Bealdor laughed, “No, Nihilus, you are beyond redemption. You have touched a mortal soul, and you have desecrated the bones of your kin. There will be no redemption for you.”

Ice began to crystallise on the Bealdor’s gloves, spreading down from Vengeance’s throat. It crackled as it passed from his heavy gloves onto his skin. It seemed unable to form on the man’s tattoos, instead tracing its way around them, freezing his skin. Still, he did not release her, unperturbed by the frost.

As the ice reached his shoulder he sighed, “Do you really think this will work, Nihilus?”

Vengeance grunted, unable to break the grip of the huge man. The Bealdor’s eyes begin to glow, filled with a swirling blue light. The light seemed to spread outwards from his eyes, his tattoos beginning to glow softly in the night, the light spreading to cover his whole body, the shapes of the tattoos gleaming through his clothes. Where the glow touched the ice from Vengeance, it bloomed in violent flashes, melting away the frost.

The light finally reached his hands, and as it did, Renee felt Vengeance begin to squirm, as though trying to avoid the touch of the Bealdor. The energy spread from Bealdor’s hand and into Renee’s body. Her eyes shone white and she felt as though something was been torn from her. There was an ear splitting shriek of intense agony and then the man released her, letting her crumple to the ground. Above her, a glowing figure of white light floated, long ethereal wings on its back reaching across the clearing.

Nihilus’ true voice echoed strangely, and was deeper than that of vengeance, but lacking any intonation that suggested gender. It was accompanied by a celestial humming, “So, Bealdor, shall you strike the last of your kin down?”

The Bealdor lowered his gaze and then said softly, “I do not need to strike you down. You are so far fallen, so depraved, that I would need only wait for you to burn away. However, should you ask it of me, I shall grant you a merciful death.”

Nihilus’ body tinged red with rage and he hissed, “Damn you and your mercy. I do not need nor want your pity.”

Shrugging, the Bealdor said, “As you wish”

With that, he waved his hand dismissively and Nihilus began to scream, fading into the night. Once he vanished and the wailing ceased the Bealdor knelt down by Renee and placed his huge hand gently on her forehead.

Softly he said, “Girl, are you alright?”

She opened her eyes blearily, in control of her body for the first time in what seemed an eternity. She struggled to speak, but croaked out, “Bealdor?”

He smiled and shook his head, “Please, call me Jonathan.”

Vengeance (Pt. 8)

Vengeance (Pt. 8)

Vengeance had slowed her flight through the sky and, as the night deepened, began to descend. Soon, she and Renee were sailing just above the treetops of a forest that spread north from a spur of mountains. Still far on the horizon, the glimmer that Vengeance had called Illeth Moran shone brighter than any star.

Vengeance began to zigzag above the treetops, peering about with Renee’s eyes, hunting for something. As when they had been beneath the sea, Renee could hear Vengeance’s mutterings as she hunted. Renee presumed that another Seraph’s Fury was nearby. She eased her mind forward, coming as close to that of Vengeance as she dared. As always, rage pulsed from the strange being, but was focused in its search.

Suddenly, a wave of hot anger slammed into Renee’s mind, buffeting her about. For a moment, she thought that Vengeance had discovered her watching, but soon realised that the anger had not come from Vengeance. It had come from nearby, in the forest. Vengeance stopped, looking about. Then, with a smirk of satisfaction, she headed for the source of the rage.

She alighted in a small forest clearing. At the centre of the clearly was a large boulder that had been scorched black by fire, and had shattered; split down the middle. No grass grew around the rock, and the earth that was laid bare was thin, like silt. Vengeance stalked her way around the rock, careful not to step on the silty soil. She held Renee’s hand out over the stone, fingers outstretched. The air directly above the schism in the rock was icy cold, yet the air everywhere else was warm.

Angels bled here, murmured Vengeance.

“Angels?” asked Renee.

Angel is the Northern name for a Seraph. Many bled here, and probably died here. Their Furies should be here somewhere.

She glanced around the clearing, finally taking in the contents of the shadows. Four large skeletons in shattered, burned armour sat propped up against trees. One was missing its skull, which was cradled in the lap of another.

“Who are they?”

Vengeance pointed to them each in turn, Sextus, Quintus, Septus, and Decimus. Four brothers killed by a fifth.

“The same one who slew Octavius?”

Yes. There was a hint of resentment in Vengeance’s voice.

“Who was he?”

He was known as the Bealdor. Vengeance paused, In an older tongue, Bealdor meant master. He was something beyond the Seraph, and became their final reckoning.

Renee was intrigued, “Did he kill all the Seraph?”

There were rumours that one escaped the Bealdor. He was only whispered of, however, and was known as Nihilus.

“Nihilus?”

Like all the Seraph, he was named in Erelisian. His name means Nothing.

Renee was about to speak when the crack of twig caused Vengeance to wheel about, disorienting Renee. Something was moving through the trees, just outside the clearing. Every now and then Renee caught a glimpse of grey and white between the tree trunks. Vengeance raised a hand, following the path of the movement with a finger. Renee felt the rage with Vengeance boiling, filling her entire body. Soon, it was as though Renee was caught in a red haze.

Vengeance screamed, and a blast of light shot from her finger, shooting across the clearing and scything through the trees. Ancient pines creaked as the fell, cut down by the light. Vengeance stopped screaming, and the air with filled with the hiss of boiling resin as smoke rose from the trunks of the forest giants. There was a flash of grey material directly across the clearing, and Vengeance took aim once more, light shooting from her finger once more.

A huge figure burst from the trees. He stood easily eight feet tall, and was nearly half that across his immense shoulders. Dark tattoos covered his tanned, scarred skin, and lank brown hair hung down over his eyes. He was dressed in tattered hunter’s clothing, and a large sword was strapped across his back. As the light reached him, he raised a hand and deflected it, directing it harmlessly to the crowd.

His voice was calm and mellow as he asked, “Who are you, and why are you here?”

Vengeance (Pt. 7)

Vengeance (Pt. 7)

The city sprawled across an archipelago that lay fifty miles off the coast of Doranath. The way they rose in height as you moved towards the heart of the maze of islands hinted at the shattered mountain that they once were. Slender spires of stone, glass, and metal rose from a dense green canopy, like fingers reaching for the stars that illuminated the night sky. Smaller buildings were tucked away under the tree tops, with soft yellow lights illuminating the myriad streets that criss-crossed the islands. High, arched bridges spanned the gaps between the islands, rising high enough to allow the passage of vessels beneath them. Each island featured a port of some sort or another, some with space for a single skiff, others small enough only to accommodate only a rowboat, and yet more that were the berths of multiple cogs. All of these, however, were dwarfed by the main harbour of Illeth Moran.

Two long stone piers swept out into the blue ocean in long curves that slowly swung back together to create an immense circular quay. At three points, flanked by soaring towers, there were large gaps to allow the passage of ships. At the heart of the quay, built around a large rocky outcrop, were huge boatsheds that held the finest vessels in the Elven navy. Atop the rock stood Heofonhéah Earendel, a lighthouse of immense proportions, whose brilliant lights could be seen on the mainland. Rumour had it that these same lights could be wielded as weapons against enemy fleets, blinding their crews and even setting fire to the ships themselves.

From the quay, a long, broad path of dressed stone cut a clean line up the island to a bridge of matching stone. The path continued over six more islands in a straight line before reaching the highest island in the archipelago. Here, it turned, and created a long spiral that wound up to the peak of the island, atop which sat a large building that was crowned by a golden dome. In the night, the pale stone of this long path made it shine in the moonlight. A few people lingered on the path, despite the late hour, watching the small procession that made its way up from the quay.

The procession was made up of tall Elven men and women, all dressed in uniform robes, cut short at the knees for freedom of movement. The material was deep blue, and stiffened with starch. Beneath it, pale green silks fluttered, adding a slightly ethereal grace to their movements. Each elf had their hair braided and tied back in a long ponytail, and each had a small sigil tattooed under their left eye; it was a complex shape, with many delicate swirls surrounding a crescent moon. They walked in two columns, perfectly in step. The four elves who made up the rear of the column carried long, thin wooden chests of a pale timber, ornately decorated by black and gold perfling that created images of ships at sea. The leader of the column wore his hair differently, with three braids separated from the ponytail, and these hung to one side of his face. These three braids were adorned with small gems that were twisted into the length of the braid, causing the hair to sparkle in the light. At his side, like all his companions, he wore a sword sheathed in black leather. The pommel of his, unlike the plain ones of his companions, was shaped like the talons of some great bird of prey, and grasped a large pearly, the surface of which was iridescent. He stepped forth with a purpose, leading his party up the path towards the heart of Illeth Moran.

Over a mile away, with its sails furled and all lights out, a small ship rode at anchor. Two men stood on its deck, watching the procession making its way along the pale path through telescopes. Every time the lighthouse’s great beam swung towards the ship, they lowered their glasses and stooped behind the ship’s railing.

Lowering his ‘scope, Doran sighed, “Do you recognise the one leading the party?”

“No sir,” said Mr Dask.

“That is Ildrin, captain of the Brimclifer, the flagship of the Elven navy. While perhaps not as skilled as his brother Aldrid, he is no mean sailor. There is a reason he commands the greatest ship in all of the Elven Navy.”

“And if he is here, sir?”

“It means that something important is happening. He is known to not be fond of coming ashore, so whatever is on those boxes must be very important.”

“And why are we here, sir?”

Doran grinned, his teeth shining in the moonlight, “To persuade the elves to use the biggest ship they have against the monster that is following us.”

“You think it is stilling behind us?”

Doran nodded slowly, “I am certain of it. The Purity barely scratched her.”

Mr Dask felt his stomach drop, “So you want to ask the Elves for..”

“…The Brimclifer, yes,” Doran finished for him.

Mr Dask groaned and covered his eyes with his hand.

Doran smacked him cheerfully on the shoulder and said, “Cheer up man, it is hardly the stupidest thing I have ever done.”

“Aye,” agreed the first mate, “But it comes close, sir, damn close.”

Vengeance (Pt. 6)

Vengeance (Pt. 6)

The mountain peaks passed below them like a sea of white-tipped waves, the wind roaring in Renee’s ears. Vengeance had not spoken since they had retrieved Octavius’ fury. She had swum to the surface of the sea, and rather than then heading towards land, had continued her upward trajectory, carrying them into the night sky. Once she had pierced the clouds, she had changed course, sailing over them in the bright moonlight.

Suddenly, Vengeance’s voice entered Renee’s mind.

See that away to our right?

She moved Renee’s hand, pointing at a mountain with split peaks.

“I do,” said Renee.

That is Drake’Shar. They say that is where the Elven Empire fell, and where the gods gave rise to their greatest servants.

“Is it true?”

Does it matter? Stories have more power than you would believe. Even should those things have not happened truly, it is that people believe the stories that makes them real. They also say that it is on Drake’Shar that the walls between the worlds of the living and the dead are weakest.

“Is that also just a story?”

Vengeance was silent for quite a while. Renee gazed down through the clouds, watching the mountains shrink into foothills, then into plains that stretched out like a great green and brown blanket across the world. Finally, Vengeance spoke again.

How do you think I came into the world?

Renee felt a chill. It made sense that Vengeance had crossed to here from somewhere else. She had heard plenty of stories of demons and spirits as a child, and they had always been said to have come from some other world. Perhaps Vengeance was like them. Perhaps she was a…

I am no demon. Demons are foul creatures that take hold of your soul, corrupting it and turning you in to something as vile as them. I have not changed you, nor touched your soul. Your soul called out to me, touched me, and brought me to you in my hour of need.

Renee hissed, “But I do not want you here.”

Your soul called to me, and your heart sealed the bargain. I gave you your greatest desire, and now I may use you as a vessel to attain what I desire most.

“Which is?”

Drake’Shar was vanishing over the horizon, shrinking away into the faint glow of the rising sun. With that light, Renee was able to get her bearings, and realised that they were travelling north, making the mountains below the Shadowspines, and the gap in them Manoran’s Pass.

Renee could feel that Vengeance would not answer her question, so she changed tack.

“Where are we going?”

To one of the oldest places in the world. A place of magic, of jealousy, and of treachery.

“I do not know of this place.”

You wouldn’t, small-minded creature that you are. You were content in your little world by the sea, trapped in the monotony of life. You might have wondered about distant horizons as a child, but soon you suffocated that dream by living as others wished you to. You were told that girls grew into wives and mothers, not women, and you believed what you were told. I gave you your heart’s desire, but now you realise that what you desired was a cage, a promise of monotony, labour, and pain.

Renee’s stomach twisted. Something in Vengeance’s words rang true at a deep level. A forgotten memory stirred; dreams of travelling, of seeing all the wonders of the world.

I am right, and you cannot deny can you, child? You know that you once dreamed, and that you let that dream die. It is why you fell in love with a sailor, a man who was away, travelling the world as often as he was home. Your dream could at least have a ghost through him, while you sat in your tiny room, thinking of him; where he was, what he was doing, what he was seeing.

Renee’s heart sank as a new realisation dawned. Vengeance seemed to sense that, and latched on to it.

You do not love him, Renee. You love what he represents: a dream you have lost, and a life you cannot have. His life is what you love, not him. Tell me, what about him do you love?

“He is kind.”

You can find a kind man anywhere.

“He is gentle.”

Hardly a rarity.

“He loves me.”

Many men would love a woman like you, or at the least profess to. You are gifted with everything a man will desire.

“Doran loves me for more than that. If you think so little of love, then clearly you have never felt it.”

Oh, but I have child, I know how love feels, and how it burns and crushes you. I know how all love ends.

For a moment Renee was taken aback, and she almost felt sympathetic towards Vengeance. Then she hissed, “So the love you felt wasn’t true, wasn’t pure, and so you hate all love because you did not have the truest love.”

You know nothing of me.

“You have said enough for me to know that you are jaded, and have been jilted before. Is that why you now are fuelled only by hate, and rage?”

Vengeance was silent. Renee’s mind drifted, thinking about all that Vengeance had said. Her stomach churned, and she felt lost. Part of her felt that Vengeance spoke true, but much of her still longed to be in Doran’s arms again, to hear his deep voice again, even to see him sail into port again.

Something sparkled on the horizon, like a star resting upon the world. As they approached it resolved itself into a cluster of shining lights, reflected by the dark waters around them.

“What is that?” asked Renee.

Illeth Moran.

Vengeance (Pt. 5)

Vengeance (Pt. 5)

The small cutter sped out of the Old Town harbour. Doran grinned as the port alarm bells rang out. He knew by now that marines would be hurrying aboard the Hammer and the Purity. While good ships, they would never catch this cutter. He had eschewed his naval uniform for a plain white tunic, black trousers, and an oil skin greatcoat. He had kept his naval boots, though. Twenty men crewed the ship with him, all loyal to the last. When he had told them of being court-martialled for the loss of the Tempest, they had not batted an eye.

He was furious. How dare they court-martial him? How dare they strip him of his captaincy? Yes, the Tempest was lost, but he had still destroyed the most deadly Elven vessel in the Western Waters.

He glanced back and saw the sails of the Hammer unfurling, glinting white in the evening light. He grinned, the adrenaline pumping through him. As his new ship, the Blade, passed the harbour breakwater he spun the wheel, turning the cutter north and sending it racing towards the horizon.

“Sir!” cried a lookout, “The Hammer is firing!”

Doran knew the captain of the Hammer so well that he didn’t even have to look over his shoulder to know what he would do. He spun the wheel, sending the Blade a little to port, and the ballista bolt from the pursuing ship splashed harmlessly into the water where the Blade would have been if Doran had not done anything.

The Hammer surged out of the harbour, the Purity trailing behind. By the time the Hammer rounded the breakwater the Blade was already out into open water, and still putting on speed. Doran turned and waved cheerily at his pursuers, then turned back to the wheel, and grinned into the blustering wind.

*

The promontory rose from the stormy seas like some ancient behemoth awakening from its slumber. The dark waters crashed against it, causing loose rocks to tumble from its sides. Doran could see no sign of the wrecked ships that had been there when he had been saved by Renee. They must have been pulled under the waves by the storm.

“Cap’n,” whispered a voice.

A chill that had nothing to do with the freezing rain ran down Doran’s spine. He turned slowly to see who addressed him. Mr James stood on the deck behind him. He seemed faded, the colour of his clothes washed out. Faintly, Doran could make out the railings directly behind Mr James. The man’s eyes were blank, his skin pale and tinged blue.

“You’re dead,” hissed Doran.

Mr James tilted his head to the side and pointed an accusing finger, “So were you.”

Doran backed away from the apparition, “I didn’t choose to be brought back. I don’t know what happened.”

“You abandoned your men! You left us to the mercy of the sea.”

“I came back for you. Why do you think I am here?”

Mr James drew his spectral blade and snarled, “You came back for your woman. Not for us.”

“Put that blade away, officer. Attacking would be mutiny,” said Doran, fondling the hilt of his own weapon.

Mr James stopped and then shrugged and said, “I shan’t murder you here, alone. Cap’n. Plenty of others want their chance too.”

With that, Mr James faded from view. Trembling with fear, Doran returned to the wheel, guiding the Blade out into the open water off the promontory.

There was an explosion of water ahead of the Blade and a dark mass rose from the water.  It was easily thrice the size of the Blade, and bigger even than the Tempest. Its figurehead was a goddess, her fist raised to the sky. Gilding spread along the prow like wings from her back. Four towering masts rose from the ship’s deck, adorned with white sails like the Tempest and blue and gold ones like those that had graced the Acdrenc Stefna. A ghostly crew of men and elves stalked the deck, and even at this distance, Doran was sure he could see Mr James at the helm of the enormous ship.

Doran’s new first mate, an old sailor called Dask, hurried to the helm and said, “Sir, what do we do?”

Doran’s jaw was set and he growled, “We run. Have someone man the mangonel though. If we get a clean shot, we take it.”

Dask, ignoring his fear, began shrieking orders at the Blade’s small crew. They set to, years of work on ships overriding their terror, their muscles doing what they knew to do. Doran heaved on the wheel, spinning the Blade about in front of the ghost ship. There was the smack of the Blade’s sails pulling taut in the gale, and Doran felt the cutter surge forward.  He glanced over his shoulder and saw the figure-head of the ghost ship gleaming in the storm light. He also saw the elf above it raising a bow and nocking an arrow. He dove to the side, and the arrow thudded into the deck where he had been standing.

“Mr Dask!” he yelled, “If you would care to provide some form of covering fire for me that would be greatly appreciated.”

The first mate hurried aft, carrying a large crossbow. He nodded to his captain and then hefted the weapon and screamed, “Eat this, you mother-loving son of a tree!”

The old man nodded with satisfaction as the elf screamed in agony. He looked to Doran and said, “At least they feel pain. The mangonel is ready when you are, captain.”

“Prodenese Fire?”

Dask grinned, “Of course, captain.”

“Good, then get to it, and tell the men to hold on.”

Dask hurried away. When Doran saw he was in position he heaved once more on the ship’s wheel, sending the cutter veering to the right. There was a loud smack from the mangonel, and Doran spun the wheel again, setting the Blade once more on a southerly course.

Doran looked back at the ghost ship as there was a flash of blazing light and a loud boom. Dask had been on target, and deep orange and red flames now licked at the deck and masts of the ghost ship. The figures on board hurried about silently, some trying to douse the flames. Soon though, the flames had reached the sails, and were licking hungrily at them despite the rain.

He turned back to his task at the wheel, peering into the gloom ahead. Dask returned to his side and said breathlessly, “She isn’t slowing, captain.”

“I didn’t think she would. I get the distinct feeling they want me dead.”

“You know them, sir?”

Doran nodded, wiping water from his face, “They are the crews of the Tempest and the Acdrenc Stefna. Apparently they object to me surviving them.”

“You cannot be blamed for that!”

“Really?” laughed Doran, “They seem to disagree.”

“Sails ho!” cried the lookout.

“Good,” muttered Doran.

Dask looked puzzled, “Good, sir?”

“They will be the Hammer and the Purity. With any luck, we will be able to get past them and then they can deal with the ghosts.”

Dask didn’t say anything, only looking grim.

Doran looked back at the ghost ship and nearly yelped in shock. It loomed large out of the mists of the storm, its decks, masts, and sails ablaze. Framed by the firelight, Mr James still stood at the helm, roaring orders at his mixed crew. They did not fight the flames, but simply went about their work, striding through pillars of flame. The sails, although wreathed in flame, seemed unharmed.

Dask whispered, “They say the damned fear no fire or flame.”

“Then let us hope that they are least fear Kormouthian steel.” Doran pointed at the oncoming ships, their sails straining as the sped towards the Blade.

“Sir…” said Dask.

“Yes?”

“I don’t wish to trouble you, but have you noticed we are going south under full sail, and those ships are coming north under full sail too?”

Doran was silent for a while, watching the Kormouthian ships approach. Then he said quietly, “Reef the sails, if you would be so kind, Mr Dask.”

The first mate ran forward and starting giving orders. The sails were reefed just in time; Doran felt the wind change, and heard a loud creak from behind him as the ghost ship’s sails billowed back on themselves, causing the huge ship to grind to a halt. The Blade however, continued to glide forward on its speed.

Doran grinned as he watched the Hammer and Purity begin to change tack to try to intercept him. They were too late, however, and the Blade shot between them, missing their bowsprits by mere feet on either side. He could hear the captains yelling curses at them and waved to both of them in turn. He watched them frantically changing tack once more so their bowsprits did no become entangled, and then saw their faces fall when they sight the flaming ghost ship.

The Hammer fired first, sending heavy steel bolts crashing into the deck of the evil ship. The ghosts screamed in fury at this new foe, and the elves aboard began firing shadowy arrows down at the Kormouthian soldiers. The Purity changed course, swinging west and picking up speed before turning back in to face the new foe. Her catapults showered the ghosts with stone and flame, but Doran saw the real plan of the Purity’s captain. Nearly twelve feet ahead of the bow wave made by the ship, something was disrupting the water, sending up a fine spray which grew as the Purity built up momentum.

Doran had seen Purity’s ram once while she was in drydock. It was a long flanged steel affair, plated in copper. Menacing spurs protruded from its length, and its crown was shaped like a giant’s fist. He had never seen it in action, but had heard stories of it cutting smaller vessels in half. He saw the crew of the Purity brace and he winced as the ram smashed through the hull of the ghost ship. The struck ship, despite its size, rolled slightly, shuddering from the blow, its crew knocked from their feet.

Long sweeps slid out from the Purity and the crew began to furiously back water. More grinding and shuddering ensued as the ship dragged its ram back out from the bowels of the ghost ship, and Doran was sure that the Purity would get clear. At the last minute though, dozens of ropes snaked out from the ghost ship, and the thud of grapnels catching on wood rang out.

The Purity’s crew swarmed forward, and began hacking at the ropes. Even as they did, ghost sailors began to shimmy over, and leapt upon them, cutting them down.

Dask looked to his captain, “What do we do, sir.”

“Fire her.”

“Sir?”

“You heard me,” snapped Doran, “It will be a mercy for those aboard, and better to burn her to the waterline than let those fiends take another ship.”

Dask sighed, “Very well, sir.”

In less than a minute, the mangonel fired once more, setting the Purity ablaze. Sailor’s screamed in agony as ghostly weapons or flames stole their lives. Doran saluted the captain of the Purity sadly as he saw the man valiantly try to fight off half a dozen ghosts. He didn’t scream as he fell.

“Full sail, Mr Dask,” called out Doran, “I don’t want us here when that mess gets untangled.”

As the Blade began to make way, Doran looked over at the Hammer. Her captain had clearly made the same call as Doran, and the ship was turning about while launching more barrels of Prodenese Fire into the entangled ships. Doran and the Hammer’s captain saluted briefly, before turning back to their respective courses.

Just as the Purity began to be swallowed up by the mists and smoke, there was a blinding flash followed by an ear-splitting blast as her own payload of Prodenese Fire ignited. Doran shook his head sadly, and set a course to the north, to Illeth Moran.