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Post by Char-Vell on Dec 5, 2019 16:16:39 GMT -5
1. Hafgan
The man emerged from the forest and began toiling across the low dunes toward the beach. He was pale and rangy, with the sinewy build of one who lives an austere, outdoor life. His age was indeterminate, for his hair was nearly white, yet his beardless face was not overly lined. He was clad only in a crudely woven loincloth. He gripped an archaic, bronzed headed mace in his right fist. As he trundled over the loose sand, he squinted his blue eyes as if unused to the bright sunlight that reflected off the azure waters of the cove before him. He occasionally cast nervous glances toward the tottering mansion of weather beaten timber that squatted atop a nearby promontory overlooking the cove.
At last he reached his goal, an area just past the high tide mark. Here someone had made a small fire pit in which embers now smoldered. A supply of driftwood was laid on nearby as fuel for the fire. An upturned, scorched helm lay near the fire, containing parts of boiled crabs. A bundle of clothing lay close by, weighed down by a stone to save it being blown about by the sea breeze.
The man began rummaging through the fabrics, finding they consisted of a red linen tunic a voluminous cloak of blue silk. Beneath these, he found a battered pair of sandals and a bloated wineskin. The man regarded the latter for a moment, then with a shrug took a long pull from it. The wine was of the highest quality, and he drank with great relish. His revels where interrupted by a shout from the surf.
“Please, feel free with my wine!”
At the sound of the barbarously accented voice, the man turned and behold the speaker, his eyes widened and his jaw went slack, causing the wine to dribble purpley over his shocked countenance.
A woman had emerged from the waves behind him, naked save for a hemp rope knotted about her hips. Her whole aspect was a conflict between feminine delicacy and primordial brutishness. She was tall and robust, with thick sinews coiling beneath a scarred, sun-bronzed hide. Her golden hair was gathered in a single braid that wound about her neck. The gaze of her green eyes seemed calm and open, at odds with the menace implied by the short, leaf-bladed sword gripped in her right fist. In her left was gripped a small fishing net holding a coral encrusted lump the size of a large melon.
The man recoiled in awe in terror. So fantastically alien was this woman to his eyes, she could only be some she-demon vomited up by the abyss.
“Blood of Nuada!” he exclaimed.
“That’s not an oath I’ve heard before.”
The woman’s tone was conversational, and she smiled as she made her way out of the surf, carefully keeping her footing as the waves splashed about her legs. She made a few feeble attempts to cover her nudity with the items she held, eventually giving up with a shrug.
“Never heard of Nuada before.” she continued. “Your god I presume? You don’t look like an Argive or Zingaran. Are you a Pict? That club looks a bit Pictish.”
She stopped just within the reach of her sword, letting the netted object fall to the sands.
“I am Sigyn, an Aesir.”
“I-I am not any of those races you named.” he stammered. “My people are long gone. I may be the last. It has been many lifetimes since the name of my race was forgotten, though we were once lords of this land .”
“Is your own name forgotten?”
“I am Hafgan.”
“How came you to be here? Rummaging through my things and drinking my wine, which I was greatly looking forward to drinking myself?”
“I dwell in the caves yonder.” quoth Hafgan, gesturing toward the crags rising roughly half a league from were they stood. “I spied a rider making for the old manse three days agone, and later a fire burning here on the beach. Today I came to issue my warning!”
Sigyn cocked an eyebrow.
“Your warning must be grim indeed if you need to fortify yourself with half a skin of wine ere you deliver it. Step aside, Hafgan, and cast thy gaze upon the sea for a moment. I would clothe myself and you have leered quite long enough.”
Hafgan complied, but rather than the sea he gazed upon the object Sigyn had deposited on the beach. When his eyes met it, he saw it for what is was, a sculpted head, broken from some larger statue. The carved face was androgynously beautiful, yet, some strange eccentricity the artist had carved in the angle of the eyes and the shape of the full lips lent the countenance a subtle, disturbing grotesqueness. The various corals, barnacles and sea life clinging to the head accentuated it’s outré peculiarity. The sight of it confirmed that which Hafgan had feared when he set out from his cave, thus he exclaimed in horror.
“AIIIEEE! Nuada grant me mercy!”
Sigyn, kneeling and struggling to arrange her tunic upon her wet flesh, jerked about with a start.
“Ymir! What ails you, man? Your wailing near made me crawl out of my skin!”
Hafgan gesticulated at the head.
“How did you get that? Why did you bring it up?”
Sigyn rose and grinned, wringing seawater from her hair. She nodded toward the waves.
“I was diving for crabs yonder, and something caught my eye, a flash of color or glint of steel maybe, just beyond where the bottom drops off into deeper waters. I swam out to it, and found buildings. Towers, domes, columned temples like those in Corinthia and Argos. They were not ruined or crumbling, they seemed newly raised save for they were all heavilly overgrown with coral. Such coral! Though the sunlight is stifled and all is cast in a blue dimness at that depth, all the colors of the rainbow were there, and more! By Ymir, there were hues among that coral I have never beheld, nor have I names for them. Such beauty…”
The Aesir’s voice trailed off and she drew her arm across her eyes. At length she continued.
“I would have dove deeper, and entered that wondrous city, but my lungs were fit to burst. I dove several times, but my breath would not hold long enough to reach it. As it was I was only able to reach a field of crumbling statuary, from there I gathered this head. I would look upon those wondrous colors in the sunlight.”
Hafgan shook his head, his face took on an aspect of sadness and dread.
“‘Twas ill enough you came here at all, woman, but to violate the that dread site as you have will surely bring doom upon us all.”
“How so?”
“Take heed of my words, Aesir! Eons ago my race dwelt in that city, when it rode above the waves. Mighty were my ancestors! Mighty and clever and beautiful, pale of skin and eye with raven tresses and well formed limbs. They made sacrifice and obeisance to Nuada, the sea-god, and he did bless them with plenty and good fortune. My race grew prosperous and powerful, and folk from all corners of the earth came to pay tribute and behold the wonders of their city.”
Here Hafgan paused, casting a nervous glance at the direction of the sunken city. He made a peculiar gesture and continued.
“But there were among them those who were not satisfied. They said Nuada was miserly with his blessings, and the people should turn their adulations to dread Dagon! Through the worship of Dagon would the people gain their full potential. They were derided at first, but they persevered, and their blasphemy spread among the people like a plague. And so in the fullness of time, all of the people made sacrifice and obeisance to Dagon. Dagon demanded grimmer tribute than Nuada, and to gather such tribute my ancestors made war upon their neighbors and committed the foulest of abominations. At last, Nuada’s anger fell upon them. He blasted the city with the sea itself, plunging it into the depths. A curse he laid upon its people! Through their bodies drowned, they would never know death! Eternally would they lie among the ruins, contemplating their folly. What few that survived by being away from the city were spared that particular curse, but a gease was lain upon them and their descendants that they would dwell here to lament their fate and warn passersby of the price of offending Nuada!”
Hafgan had grown pale and trembled, breathing heavily as though telling his tale had tasked him. He took another long pull from the wineskin. Sigyn scowled.
“So your Nuada objects to my taking the head?”
“Not so much Nuada, but the angry spirits of the apostates who still haunt the sunken city. They hate all that lives, and have learned to reach beyond their tomb to punish transgressors.”
“Very well, then!”
Sigyn picked up the net with the head and carried it to the surf. There, she swung it over her head thrice in a circle before letting it fly. It soared a good distance before plunging into the water. Hafgan was not appeased.
“Foolish wench! You heap more disrespect upon them with your mockery! Verily they will strike at us now! Just as they struck those…”
Sigyn shushed him irritably with a wave of the hand.
“Stop that prattle hermit, and behold! There on the horizon!”
Hafgan squinted and shielded his eyes with his hand. His years of acting as sentinel of the cove had given him the sight of a hawk.
“Aye! I see it, a galiot, one bank of oars.”
“Can you make out it’s colors?”
“I see a red banner.”
Abruptly Sigyn chuckled.
“You find this amusing”
“Somewhat. That banner is a surprise.”
“That flag means naught to me.”
“Thou art a true hermit! They’re Red Brotherhood. They’ve been scarce in these waters of late. Roughly three winters ago they tried to sack Velathra and it went ill for them.”
“How so?”
A wolfish grin spread across Sigyn’s face and a peculiar blaze appeared in her eyes.
"They were met on the beach by a retinue of mercenaries out of Koth. Most of the thieving dogs died awash in their own blood ere they cleared the water, the rest were butchered upon the sand. What few lived took the tale of their doom back to Tortage. Since then they’ve stuck to softer prey. These dogs must have been blown off course or labor under the impression that ruin on the hill holds something value.”
“Not all the mercenaries were Kothic” Hafgan stated flatly.
“They were pulled from all parts. I must go to the manse yonder ere they make landfall. Best you go back to your cliffside cave and stay hidden.”
“Nay, it is mandated I meet them and warn them away, lest they too face the wrath of the apostates.”
“Suit yourself, hermit. I hope you are handy with that club.”
“It is the sigil of my station as sentinel, one of the last relics of my forgotten race.”
Sigyn sneered, but declined further comment and set off in a trot toward the crumbling mansion.
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Post by zarono on Dec 5, 2019 22:22:45 GMT -5
The saga of Sygin continues!
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Post by Char-Vell on Dec 6, 2019 8:03:29 GMT -5
The saga of Sygin continues! And the beginning of the saga of Hafgan, one of the most dynamic characters in the history of fiction!
On a more serious note, chime in if you see any peculiarities, I didn't proofread this very much.
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Post by darklordbob on Dec 6, 2019 17:37:08 GMT -5
This story sounds like it's going to be awesome. And not just for Sygin pulling off a glorious naked Ursula Andress entrance.
As for proof reading the only thing I noticed was a missing quotation mark at the start of They were met on the beach by a retinue of mercenaries out of Koth and that the word "most" at the start of the next sentence isn't capitalized. Other than that, smooth sailing.
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Post by darklordbob on Dec 6, 2019 17:49:02 GMT -5
Also... "In Irish mythology, Nuada or Nuadu (modern spelling: Nuadha), known by the epithet Airgetlám (Airgeadlámh, meaning "silver hand/arm"), was the first king of the Tuatha Dé Danann. He is also called Nechtan, Nuadu Necht and Elcmar, and is the husband of Boann. He is mostly known from the tale in which he loses his arm or hand in battle, and thus his kingship, but regains it after being magically healed by Dian Cécht. Nuada is thought to have been a god and is related to the British and Gaulish god Nodens, who is associated with hunting and fishing."
Oh boy, dare I hope for Nightgaunt vs Deep One action to go with the main Sygin pirate slaying? 'Cause that would be one hell of a pay-per-view.
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Post by Char-Vell on Dec 7, 2019 6:35:10 GMT -5
Also... "In Irish mythology, Nuada or Nuadu (modern spelling: Nuadha), known by the epithet Airgetlám (Airgeadlámh, meaning "silver hand/arm"), was the first king of the Tuatha Dé Danann. He is also called Nechtan, Nuadu Necht and Elcmar, and is the husband of Boann. He is mostly known from the tale in which he loses his arm or hand in battle, and thus his kingship, but regains it after being magically healed by Dian Cécht. Nuada is thought to have been a god and is related to the British and Gaulish god Nodens, who is associated with hunting and fishing."
Oh boy, dare I hope for Nightgaunt vs Deep One action to go with the main Sygin pirate slaying? 'Cause that would be one hell of a pay-per-view. +10 xp for the Nodens research. I'm sure there'll be more menace coming out of the cove besides pirates,we'll see what form it takes. Errors are fixed, thanks for spotting them!
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Post by darklordbob on Dec 7, 2019 6:54:22 GMT -5
No problemo, oh ye purveyor of words, pictures and happy fun joy-joy.
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Post by Char-Vell on Dec 11, 2019 17:08:36 GMT -5
2.The Leopard
Sigyn led Hafgan across the beach and along the steep, rocky goat path that meandered up the hill to the old mansion, By the time they reached the weathered ruin, the pirate galley loomed but a little larger on the horizon.
“They approach very slowly.” observed Hagan.
“Aye, their course is leisurely to be sure, probably sizing the place up from a safe distance ere landing. Suits me fine”
The Aesir pulled open the creaking front door of the mansion and stepped inside. Hafgan followed, grateful for the shade provided. His pale flesh was more accustomed to a cave interior than the blazing sun, and he was beginning to redden alarmingly.
Beyond the door was a great parlour, once resplendent, but now falling into ruin. Most of its finery had long since been destroyed or carried away. Only a battered mosaic covering the floor, depicting frolicking sea-nymphs, remained to attest to the rooms former splendour. There had once been an elegant staircase ascending to a second story, but that was reduced to a pile of rotten lumber and replaced by a knotted rope suspended somewhere above.
The rooms contents consisted of a few crates and barrels serving as furniture, a crude wooden workbench scattered with a variety of mallets, chisels and other wood and leatherworking tools. A large, iron-headed maul was laid across these as if to keep them in place.
Dominating the center of the old parlour was a peculiar cask formed of wood and treated leather. It was roughly the size and shape of a ships rowboat, but it’s top was completely covered by formed wooden boards, with no opening for oars or rudder anywhere along its surface. Heavy Iron rings were placed at intervals along its circumference. Sigyn seized on of these iron rings on top of the structure and lifted it, revealing a portion of the top to be hinged like a trap door. Reaching inside she extracted a burnished mail hauberk, a round shield, a heavy spear, a broad horsehide girdle with a shagreen scabbard for her short sword attached, and a sizable, full wineskin. This last item she put to her lips and drank deeply, and with relish. Wiping her lips with the back of her hand, she turned and grinned at Hafgan.
“I know not what this thing is meant to be, but it makes a fine arms locker!”
“The last inhabitant of this house constructed that, a fakir from the east, judging by his garb and habits. He built this contraption with intent to somehow reach the sunken city. I warned him against it, as is my mandate, yet he would have none of it. He disappeared before getting the chance to try this artifice, taken by the Apostates no doubt.”
“And when was this?”
“Some ten winters ago.”
Sigyn pondered this for a heartbeat, regarding the strange boat with furrowed brow. Finally she shook her tawny mane and snorted derisively.
“Bah! He must have been addled, or a lotus eater. Any further information you’d care to pass along?”
“I have said my piece for now.”
The Aesir scowled and donned the huberk, then fastened the girdle about her hips. She placed her shortsword alongside the shield atop the closed boat.
“If you still intend to face those wastrels out yonder, Hafgan, I advise taking these up.”
Hafgan waved her off dismissively.
“I will make do with my club. If Nuada has ordained that I am to die, no armor will be proof against his judgement.”
The Aesir rolled her eyes and sighed, sheathing the shortsword and taking up the shield herself.
“Suit yourself, hermit.”
“Why do you not flee, woman? You could be gone and away long before the pirates land.”
“You might say I too have a mandate to face them, one I’ve shirked of late. It’s a responsibility I would cast off, but somewhere along the way I’ve grown a conscience that compels me to commit myself to foolish acts.”
“So you would pit your spear against a whole pirate crew?”
“Calm yourself, hermit. I don’t intend it to come to that. I just want to see what they’re up to, if it comes to bloodshed, we’ll make a tactical retreat. Come.”
Sigyn led them to a patio at the rear of the house where she stabled her horse, a snow white destrier. She saddled the big horse and led it out to the overgrown lawn, lightly tying of the reins to a decrepit sundial. Hafgan made note of the impressive animal, and the fineness of its harness, as well as the high quality of Sigyn’s arms and armor, but said nothing.
“See here Hafgan.” Sigyn uttered conspiratorially. “If it goes ill for us, we will retreat up the path to the mansion, those sea-dogs are unlikely to be sure of foot among the loose rocks, and there are choke points along the way where we can stop and cut at them. We will beat them to the mansion then flee on Pulenas here.”
“This plan seems poorly devised.”
“Then flee to your cave hermit! Besides, you are powerless in the face of Nuada’s will are you not? Why worry?”
Hafgan scowled.
“It is unwise to speak so mockingly of Nuada. This you will learn when you face the wrath of the Apostates”
“No doubt. Come, let us see to our guests.”
The pair returned to the beach stopping at the bottom of the trail, secreting themselves behind a largish pair of boulders that offered both concealment and a view of the beach. By this time the vessel had dropped anchor in the cove, just out of arrow range. From this distance Sigyn could make out the golden cat crudely embroidered on the red banner.
“The Panther or somesuch.” she uttered mockingly. “Whoever stitched that should be keelhauled!”
Sigyn seated herself on a nearby rock and sipped on the wineskin, pointedly not offering a drink to Hafgan, who stood by grimly. There was no activity for some time. It was after sunset when a boat was lowered over the side.
“So they waited for cover of darkness.” observed Hafgan.
Sigyn scoffed.
“If so, they are fools. They have torches fore and aft. I’ll wager it took them all afternoon to argue about who was going ashore and who was staying aboard. Looks like six men rowing, and a big one at the rudder, and a smallish one standing up front like a cock about to crow. Had I a bow I’d give him something worth crowing about, by Ymir!”
Shortly, the pirates made landfall, leaping into the crashing surf and dragging the boat onto the beach. Sigyn tossed the wineskin aside and stood and rose, peering intently at the laboring corsairs. She spoke to Hafgan just loudly enough to be heard over the waves.
“Wait here and keep silent, I have an idea.” with that she slipped away into the shadows. Hafgan watched her depart, then turned his attention back to the pirates.
They were a motley assemblage, typical of the profession. Most were compact, swarthy men, Argives and Zingarans, clad in an assortment of threadbare, mismatched finery; here a pair of billowing red silk trousers, there a gilded vest festooned with beads. Most wore red scarves or turbans knotted about their heads. Their weapons were swords of a profusion of designs.
Two men stood out from the lot; One, he who stood so cocksurely at the bow of the rowboat was a diminutive, bow-legged man, more sallow and less swarthy than the rest, with a serpentine cast to his features. His sneering mouth was framed with long waxed moustacios. His head was shaven save for a long matted plait of hair sprouting from the crown of his head. His pantaloons were thrust into tall black boots and his dingy white blouse was left open, cinched with a green sash that secured a yard long yataghan . He swaggered about arrogantly, sneering orders at the half dozen buccaneers. Never far from his side stood the second remarkable fellow. An enormous man who towered a head taller than the others, he was immensely fat, yet moved with a pantherish grace that spoke of agility and great strength. He was clad only in filthy breeks of yellow linen and a white turban wound haphazardly about his pale, bulbous head. Tiny black eyes peered dully from his doughy, hairless face. His main purpose seemed to be to glare menacingly at any pirate who failed to respond to the mustachioed man’s orders with alacrity.
After beaching the boat, The pirates moved a ways further onto the beach and, by the light of the torches held by two of their number examined a scroll held by their dwarfish leader, they huddled together and chattered as if engaged in some debate over the document. Hafgan observed them from his concealment for a few heartbeats, then strode boldly forward. As he came into view some of the pirates drew sword or daggers, taking a defensive posture. The diminutive man stepped forward sneering, hands on hips. He addressed Hafgan in barbarously accented Zingaran, his tone dripping with contempt.
“What have we here? A pasty old scarecrow? This must be one of the pale figures we saw skulking about the mansion when we arrived. Speak, scarecrow! What have you to say to Gantulga of the Red Brotherhood?”
“I come to warn you! This cove is cursed by the great god Nuada. Even as we speak the the instruments of his curse stir beneath the waves yonder! Get ye away from here forthwith and spare yourselves the wrath of the sea-god!”
Gantulga eyed Hagan intently, his face inscrutable. There was a primitive rage burning behind his dull, black sharks eyes. At length a sickly, humorless grin crawled across his sallow face. He emitted a staccato braying that served him for laughter. The other pirates joined him in a chorus of chortles.
“The scarecrow seeks to scare us away, brothers! Ha we are not crows! We are corsairs of the Red Brotherhood. The mindless hootings of some old coot will not serve to deter us! Kozmas! This scarecrow has outlived its usefulness! Break it up for the fire!”
At this the obese giant strode purposefully towars Hafgan. The hermit stepped back in a crouch readying his club. He would sell his life at the highest price he could, as ordained by Nuada. He was about to strike at the immense pirate when there was a faint hiss heard above the sound of the crashing tide. A spear appeared by magic, transfixing the giant through the flabby mass between his chin and shoulders. Gurgling through gouts of blood spewing from his mouth, the giant Kosmas pawed ineffectually at the spear for a few heartbeats before falling face first into the sand.
“Erlik!” shouted Gantulga. That came from the surf! Douse those Torches! Sergio! Arellio! Taurus! Go secure the boat! The rest of you, make for cover!”
Hafgan took this opportunity to flee back to his hiding place at the foot of the trail, while the pirates fled inland in a more direct route. Gantulga however, held his ground, peering into the darkness where he had sent the three of his men. presently he heard shouts and the sound of clashing steel, followed by a scream and a short yelp. Then silence. He drew the yataghan from his sash.
“Sergio!” he shouted. “Arellio! Taurus! Report!”
An object flew out of the darkness and landed against his feet. He squinted at it.In the feeble light of the stars he was able to recognize the contorted face upon the severed head.
“Arellio! Blood of Erlik!’
“You’ve eyes like a cat, Hyrkanian!” Answered Sigyn as she stepped forward. “A trait not shared by those three fools you sent to their doom, they stumbled about in the dark like drunkards.”
Gantulga took a step back involuntarily, the feminine voice he heard did not match the menacing form that spilled out of the night, sheathed in steel and spattered blackley with blood.
“What witchery is this?” he shouted incredulously. “Three men slain by a wench? Where are the rest of your men?”
“Just me I’m afraid. We breed stronger wenches in Asgard, strong enough to best a trio of bumbling pirates. Oh, and strong enough to drag your rowboat back into the surf and knock a few holes in it. We’ll have some time to ourselves ere your brothers aboard ship can aid you. Now call the rest of those swine out of hiding and we’ll have done with this!”
Gantulga’s face contorted into a grotesque mask of fury, he shook his yataghan at the Aesir.
“Witch! She-dog! I need no men to cleave your whore’s heart! Shed that armor and face me blade to blade!”
“Fool!” Sigyn spat, slapping her shield with the flat of her sword. “You aren’t dueling another horse-buggerer over a sallow-skinned doxie’s favors! You should have armed yourself properly ere you came to this shore to pillage. Die!”
This last word Sigyn shrieked in her native tongue, and charged headlong at Gantulga. She made no effort to catch his whirling blade on her shield, rather using it as a battering ram to smash into the man and send him reeling to the ground. She leapt upon him, pinning him under the shield. Howling, he cut at her furiously only able to inflict superficial flesh wounds as he was unable to swing his yataghan with sufficient force. Pining his sword arm under foot, the Aesir drove her sword down point first into the corsair's mouth, smashing through teeth, bone and viscera, and into the sand beneath, until the crossguard rested on the man’s lips. Sigyn rose, leaving the short sword in place and taking the yatagan from Gantulga’s twitching fingers.
“Come dogs!” she shouted toward the rocks were hid the last of the pirates. “Come and do battle!”
Three shadows crept out from the boulders, swords held before them, Gantulga had been struck down so swiftly they were shocked and cautious. They seemed poised to attack, and Sigyn tensed to meet their assault, when the scene was suddenly illuminated. The pirate’s faces were brought out in stark relief by an orange glow, and they stared in horror toward the sea. Sigyn crept backward, and turned were she could keep the corsairs in her field of vision while also seeing what caused the sudden light.
Out in the cove, a fire had erupted on the pirate galley, flames already leapt up the rigging and set the sail ablaze, and the howls and curses of the crew could be heard. There came to their ears a series of deep dull thuds, as though a great hammer was pounding upon the vessel from under the sea. The galley shuddered and began to turn slowly, yet perceptively. There was the sound of timbers splintering and it began to list to port,the water churning about it. Then, with a final resounding crack, the ship broke in twain and sank rapidly, extinguishing the fire and casting the beach once more into darkness.
One of the pirates facing Sigyn, a smooth-faced Zingaran youth in scarlet pantaloons, ran toward the waves, shrieking in grief and heedless of the Aesir.
“Aieee! The Leopard has gone down! While this she-demon harried us here, her confederates attacked the Leopard! Aieee! We are undone!”
Sigyn shook her head.
“I’ve no confederates, boy. Whatever sunk your ship was not my doing.”
Another of the pirates, an older man with graying beard and scarred countenance, cautiously skirted Sigyn and went to the lad’s side. He sized him roughly by the neck and shook him.
“Stop that damned caterwauling boy. Hark!”
All remained silent and listened. There were shouts of surviving pirates calling to one another and to the shore. The boy smiled.
“They live! Hear them, Ignastios? They live!”
“Quiet!”
As they listened,the calls and shouts would change to terrified screams. One by one the voices were silenced, until there was only the sound of crashing surf.
The group on the beach stood dumbfounded, their conflict forgotten for the moment.
What had befallen those men in the water?
Suddenly there was a shout from the rocks at the bottom of the trail. Hafgan had clambered atop one of the boulders to better see the fate of the Leopard.
“Behold!” he shouted. Behold the wrath of Nuada! It is as I feared, as I have prophesied! The Apostates stir to vent their hate! We are all undone!
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Post by darklordbob on Dec 11, 2019 21:00:11 GMT -5
It just doesn't pay to be a pirate does it. You either run into some hero willing and able to slash you to bits or you get horribly murdered to death by unknown eldritch forces.
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Post by Char-Vell on Dec 12, 2019 5:20:37 GMT -5
It just doesn't pay to be a pirate does it. You either run into some hero willing and able to slash you to bits or you get horribly murdered to death by unknown eldritch forces. They should stick to menacing Tom Hanks.
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Post by Char-Vell on Dec 12, 2019 16:31:49 GMT -5
3. The Apostates
The pirates paced nervously along the shore, peering into the dark and shouting names of various ship mates. Their hails went unanswered and they became more agitated. Ignastios, the eldest, turned toward Hafgan, who still perched atop a boulder.
“Who are these Apostates? What do they want!”
“To vent their anger on all who live! Cursed eternally by Nuada they…”
Sigyn interrupted angrily.
“Heed not this old derelict! Some fool among your shipmates caused that fire. And sharks took the swimmers. Such things are common at sea as you well know. There are no ‘apostates’. Tis but a fancy of an old hermit!”
“Well that you believe that, Sigyn of Asgard, as it was you who first provoked them by violating their city!”
“So you were behind the attack!” exclaimed the youth, raising his cutlass. “She is in league with sea-devils!”
Sigyn glared at him and brandished the yataghan.
“I had thought to spare you, whelp, because of your youth, but raise that blade against me and you’ll be joining your shipmates in hell!”
Ignastios laid a firm hand on the lad's shoulder and pulled him away.
“Calm yourself Sakarbaal. She was as baffled as we at the fate of the Leopard, she had aught to do with it!”
“But… she slew Gantulga, Kozmas…”
“I grieve not for those two dogs. Taurus, Sergio and Arellio were decent lads, right enough!”
“Aye!” said Sakarbaal. “Our fallen brothers must be avenged!!’
“Bah!” scoffed Sigyn. “You speak of them as though they were innocent babes unjustly slain! What was to be the fate of anyone you found here? Would your sense of justice remained unoffended had you met some timid fisher folk instead of me? You thieving scum are bold and ruthless against fat merchants and pampered city-folk, yet wail about vengeance when you get your just desserts. Come boy! Avenge your ‘Brothers”, if you have the belly for it!”
Sakarbaal fidgeted nervously, glancing back and forth from Sigyn to Ignastios. He was spared further consternation when the third pirate called out.
“Brothers, behold!”
All turned to see and Ignastios went to the man’s side.
“What do you see, Philosir?”
Philosir, a shaven-pated man clad in a battered leather vest and breeches, pointed a bejewled finger toward the sea.
“There! Men wading ashore, some of our mates must have survived!’
Indeed, a half dozen man-shaped shadows could be seen against the night, waist-deep in the water slowly making their way to shore.
“Aye!” exclaimed Ignastios, “Rekindle those torches! Give them light to guide them in!”
The pirates extracted the torches from the sand and furiously worked with flint and steel. As they struggled with this, Sigyn retrieved her spear and sword from the corpses of the hapless Gantulga and Kozmas. She then went to stand at the foot of Hafgan’s boulder. She berated him savagely.
“Fool! Cretin! I told you to remain in the shadows and be silent! Your buffoonery could have been the death of us both!”
“I must follow my mandate, regardless of my safety or whether or not anyone heeds my warning!’
“Come down from that stone! Let us begone ere the rest of those dogs come ashore, unless you’d like to stay and harangue them as well.”
“Those that wade ashore now are not men from the ship. Behold!”
The corsairs had managed to rekindle the torches and now held them aloft, waving and shouting encouragement. Philosir ran forward to meet the foremost.
“Mitra be praised! We thought you all doomed when the Leopard broke up! Now…”
Philosir’s voice trailed away and he gaped stupidly at the figure revealed by his torch. From a mass of coral, barnacles, and other sea-life peered the smooth, impassive, alabaster face of a handsome young man, expertly carved in marble. It’s torso and limbs were also comprised of sculpted marble fragments from mismatched statuary. One arm was that of a warrior, with armored bracers painstakingly sculpted upon it. The other was made to resemble the smooth flesh of an elegant lady. One leg was that of and athletic youth, while the other ended in the hoof of a majestic war-horse. Articulating this hodgepodge of stone limbs were masses of sea-life serving as muscle and sinew. A mass of starfish acting for the left knee, a grotesquely stretched octopus manipulated the right shoulder, writhing swarms of shrimp worked the neck and wrists. More octopi and cuttlefish served as hands, each gripping sharp shards of coral and stone.
Philosir stood baffled, unable to understand what he was looking at. Slowly he raised the cutlass he held, but it was too late. The riot of sea creatures, directed by some unfathomable will, acted in unison to raise the right arm and bring it down, shattering the corsairs bald pate and spattering his brains out among the waves. Philosir fell, and the maddening automaton walked over him, advancing onto the beach.
Sakarbaal, unmanned by this absurdly horrifying spectacle, threw down his sword and fled screaming. Ignastios, though terrified, retained his senses, he too fled, but kept hold of his torch and managed to catch the maddened youth by his collar, dragging him to the path leading to the mansion. This discomfited Sigyn.
“Atali’s tits! If those curs find the horse they’ll be off and leave us to our heels! Move, Hermit! We must overtake them!”
The Aesir sprinted off in pursuit, while Hafgan clambered down from his boulder to follow as best he could. He dared not look back to the water, for he knew a half dozen lumbering piles of marble and aquatic vermin stalked relentlessly from the waves.
The Apostates had come.
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Post by zarono on Dec 13, 2019 6:20:43 GMT -5
The apostates rise! Great stuff CV and some of your creepiest creations!
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Post by darklordbob on Dec 13, 2019 6:57:19 GMT -5
I'm betting there's one still down below the waves wondering who took its head and being generally pissed about it as only a headless part seafood part statuary being can be.
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Post by Char-Vell on Dec 13, 2019 9:27:23 GMT -5
The Apostates probably have a long list of grievances.
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Post by darklordbob on Dec 14, 2019 6:45:40 GMT -5
Do they have a Festivus pole to air said grievances around?
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