Spirits of the Earth

The Silvered Fang Inn was right in the middle of Ketra. It was an unassuming two story building, but what it lacked on the outside it more than made up for on the inside. The bartender, a werewolf-hybrid named Fenris, was quite well known in Ketra. If you needed guidance or advice on magical artifacts, her inn was the place to be. Fenris specialized in specialty drinks, often entertaining with a fun story and her bar skills when crafting her patron's drinks. Rumor right now around Ketra was that there was a certain hard to find magical artifact that, along with other things, would award long life to the finder. And Fenris supposedly knew the info on it. At least that's what the rumors said.
Currently, at the Silvered Fang Inn, she was dealing with a drunk patron that had made the mistake of touching her treasured tail.
"You punks never learn," she sighed, and she flicked her silver, turquoise tinged tail out of reach of the patron. She easily lifted the patron by his shirt collar and threw him outside. The bustle and music in the inn didn't even stop, most of the seasoned patrons were quite used to the occasional drunk patron that would take it too far and would subsequently get thrown out.
She laughed, a twinkle in her silver eyes, and picked up the drink shaker she had been using, "where was I?" She flipped the shaker upside down in the air and deftly picked up a glass, pouring the drink into it and, in one motion, sliding it down the bar to a patron.

Devlin Fletcher was deep in his cups.

He'd been on the road for what felt like months. Truthfully, he was thankful to be out of that weird place with the pale people and the fairy shite. If he never heard the word "magic" again, it would be too soon. That sort of rubbish made his head spin like four shots of cheap booze on an empty stomach. Not that it didn't already spin these days, between the vertigo and the blood he kept hurling up. Maybe it was over. Maybe it was getting near time to face the music. Maybe he'd never figure out where he was, or what these fragments of memories were from, or who those people were who haunted his dreams. Maybe he was destined to die alone: a stranger in a strange place, with nothing to his name but the chip on his shoulder and the coat on his back. Or maybe that broody crap was for some other sad wanker. As for him, he'd keep on living out of sheer fucking spite. Wouldn't he? Because now, for the first time since he'd arrived in this ridiculous place, he had a lead. A good one.

He tossed back his whiskey, set the glass on the bar with far too much enthusiasm, and tapped his fingers next to it. "Another," he slurred at the barkeep as she made her way back to her station. Speaking of weird, he thought: this woman had dressed herself up like a dog. She'd put a tail up her arse and stuck ears to her head. What was even the point of it? It wasn't the strangest thing he'd seen in this country — that award went to the giant, flying snakes these people called "dragons." But it was damn near close.

He coughed suddenly into his sleeve and wiped the blood from his mouth. He stared for a moment at the red smear on his hand. "Matter of fact, just hand me the ruddy bottle, would you?" he added. "I'd rather not be able to think."

Fenris happily agreed, and gave him the bottle. But as he took it, she noticed the red smear on his hand. Her ears went back in concern.
"Are you alright?" She asked.
"Did you cut yourself?" Her eyes were studying the man now, noticing he looked...well, sick. All the joking was gone from her demeanor. She bent down under the bar, and grabbed a shot glass and a glass bottle full of green liquid.
"You're dying," she mused. She poured out a minuscule amount into the shot glass and slid it across to him.
"Drink this," she said.
"It should help with the blood."
She grabbed a bottle of whiskey and quickly refilled a patron's glass and then came back, towel slung over her shoulder. She sat on a bar stool next to him, tail swishing behind her.
"Listen, I don't know why, I don't even know who you are, but there's just something about you..." she trailed off.
She sighed.
"There's this artifact, rumored to give long life, among other things, to those that find it. And I don't know why, but my instincts are saying to tell this to you, so I am." Inwardly Fenris was screaming at herself.
"And I know, you're probably wondering what else this artifact offers and what  this woman could get out of this. Well, I don't know if you've noticed, but I'm not exactly completely human," she said, gesturing to her ears and her tail.
"It's because I'm a werewolf, the last of my kind. My family, my clan, were all massacred. By who I don't know. I plan to find out, hopefully along the way to find this artifact. But this artifact also promises to cleanse the world of some evil, of what, I cannot tell. But I think the world could use some help." She handed the man another towel. She sighed, and got up, rubbing her ear.
"If you need anything from me, more medicine, more drinks, I'll be behind the bar." 

For one split second, his face lit up at the sight of the bottle. Then the questions started.

"Are you alright?"

Oh, no, Fletcher thought.

"Did you cut yourself?"

Does it fucking look like I —

"You're dying."

Oh, for fuck's sake.

"No," he said, and pointed at her like he was telling off someone else's dog for barking. "Nah, nah, nah. You stop that. What did I just say about not wanting to think?" He poured himself a generous glass and tossed it back. Why couldn't he have found a place with some sullen, grunting barman? Why'd he have to pick the one with this chatty woman?

Something green slid across the bar and stopped in front of him. He screwed up his face at it. "Drink this," the woman said. "It should help with the blood."

"Don't think I will, thanks," he slurred. She was beginning to piss him off. She blessedly walked away, and for a moment, he was perfectly content to have some peace and bloody quiet again. Then —

"Listen, I don't know why, I don't even know who you are, but there's just something about you..."

Fletcher jumped a little in his seat. "Holy fucking emperor, woman!" He turned to face her and stared her down like she was a crayon short of the box. But she didn't stop here. Why would she bloody well stop there? he thought. Just my luck. No — she went on. And on. And on, until she'd not only given him some outlandish bollocks about a "magical" artifact, but in the same breath, claimed that she was a "werewolf" and delivered a ridiculous sob story about her tragic past. He stared, his expression shifting wildly from annoyance, to violence, to amusement. At last she was done. He looked her up and down and then burst into a bout of uncontrollable, wheezing laughter that ended in another coughing fit.

"Ahah, ahah...okay. You done, there, little doggy? Yeah? Right. Good." Fletch wiped an eye, still snickering. He made to pour another glass, thought better of it, and grabbed the bottle. He took a swig and eyed her. "Alright. So now I'm curious. How many poor sods actually believe this load of crap?"

She snorted.
"Probably just as many believe what I told you as you believe that I said you're dying." She was about to say something else when a little kid came up to her. She bent down to the kid's level, her eyes twinkling.
"Ah, Julius. The usual?" She asked him and Julius nodded, breaking out into a huge grin.
"Well just a second." And she dipped down behind the bar and grabbed a small bottle of juice.
"Here ya go! Don't drink it all at the same time!" Julius thanked her, and then yanked on her tail.
"OY!" And Fenris turned around looking ready to murder someone until she saw it was only Julius. She rolled her eyes.
"Get outta here before I ban you, ruffian." But she was laughing, and ruffled the kid's hair. The kid ran out, and Fenris turned back to the man, all mischievousness gone.
"Listen. Your time is shorter than you know. And unless you want to die drowned in your own blood, I guess you have no better choice than to believe me."She shrugged, and started cleaning some glasses a guy had left.

Fletcher watched on as Dog Lady served someone's little whelp. "Oh, aye, we're getting em started early, aren't we?" he snorted. He'd knocked enough shots back now that they'd dissolved the paper-thin barrier between his inner monologue and his rude mouth. He was about to pile on another scathing witticism when the boy gave Dog Lady's tail a yank. She turned around like she was ready for a brawl — a stance Fletch begrudgingly respected. He smirked. Why'd she care so much about some bit of taxidermy?

And then she started talking again. He groaned and upended the bottle, hoping the dying screams of his liver would shut her out. He thunked it down clumsily on the bar again and pointed an accusatory finger at the part of the blurry, wobbling figure he could best assume was her. "You have — no right. It's not your business. So why don't you stay in your damned lane and stick to slinging drinks and — whatever this is." He gestured dismissively at the dog ears.

One of Fenris's ear twitched at his "starting 'em early" comment, but she said nothing. She finished cleaning the glasses and put them away, slinging the towel back over her shoulder.
The poor man was getting laughably drunk, and she hesitated getting another bottle out for him. She sighed. The tavern was beginning to empty out, and the music had stopped.
When the man gestured at her ears, she actually laughed. She walked out from behind the bar to clean a table.
"If it offends you, I can change forms," she said.
"I do it all the time for patrons."
Her tail was twitching in amusement, this guy was funny. She gestured toward the front of the tavern.
"Just letting you know, tavern is closing soon." She chuckled and went back to cleaning the table. Someone must have been really drunk, because one of the wooden chairs was tipped over and looked like it had been thrown onto another table. Fenris flicked her hand and the chair uprighted and slid to the table.

"Change forms?" Fletch snorted. "And I'm the bloody Queen of Serend — Seremb — Surrum — Serrembippity. Fuck. Your words are awful here." The dancing blur that was Dog Lady passed him by. He reached for the bottle, missed, and almost swept it off the bar to shatter on the floor. By some miraculous stroke of luck, he caught it. He tried to take a swig, but it was empty. He scrunched up his nose at it. Had he really downed the whole thing?

Well. It wasn't enough. Not even close. The thoughts crept in again like vultures. He was dying. It was coming whether he wanted it to or not. And it had gotten so bad that a damned barkeep could see it in his eyes. He'd fought it for so long. He'd pushed it off and denied it. He'd bargained with himself, told himself that if he could just find some way to buy a little time, it would all work out. That captain out west, the one who was famous for finding artifacts: she was his last hope. Could he even find her in time before he fell over into the dust and never got up again?

His eyes watered at the thought, and he didn't like that.

"Barkeep," he slurred. "Miss...Wooferton or whatever. Another. If you would."

Fenris hesitated when he asked her for another one.
"You sure you could handle it? You look kinda wasted all ready." And she scratched her head, rather at a loss of what to do.
"Well, if you're sure," she said and reached under the bar for another bottle. Just as she was grabbing the bottle, the door blew open, and in walked a tall, imposing pirate.
Fenris was still below the bar and yelled "OI! We're almost closed! Come back tomorrow!"
The pirate smirked and walked over to the bar.
"Harsh words for me Fenris, when we haven't seen each other in months." the pirate pretended to look hurt.
Fenris's ears shot up, and she leaped over the bar counter.
"Elara it's been so long!" And Fenris wrapped her in a bear hug, the pirate protesting and cursing up a storm.
"OI! For the love of every single fucking sane goddamn person let go of me ye absolute bilgerat!"
Fenris finally let her go, but not before punching her shoulder.
"What brings ye to my sorry tavern?" Fenris asked, "I thought ye were crusadin against pirates and shit."
Elara hopped up on a table.
"Hey! I just cleaned that!" Fenris protested.
Elara flipped her off and grinned.
"I was crusadin' against pirates...until I found this." And she pulled out a rolled up piece of parchment. Then she spotted Fletch.
"Is uh, is 'mr.-drunk-out-of-his-fucking-shoes' good to be in here?" Elara asked, eyes glinting with suspicion.
"He's fine. And what's so special about an old piece of paper that you'd come all the way here for anyway?" Fenris asked.
Elara merely shrugged and unrolled the parchment, and threw it above the table she was standing on.

The lights flickered, and wisps of smoke filtered in through the windows. Outside of the windows, the sky looked like it was tinted red. The parchment seemed like it was floating in time, and hung, suspended, over the table. A shadow of an eclipsing moon was thrown over the tavern ceiling. The flecks of color in Fenris's eyes were changing to red. She recognized this magic. It was unlike magic anywhere she had seen but back with her clan...before they were murdered. As if in a trance, Fenris walked up to the parchment.
"It's a map of Le'raana! And it's beautiful." Fenris traced over the map with her hands.
"Aye," Elara agreed, "but I have no need of a magic chart. What does it lead to anyway? There's some weird runes that appeared when ye touched the chart."
'Runes' had indeed appeared on the chart, but they weren't 'runes'. It was the ancient language of Fenris's people.
Fenris was feeling quite powerhungry all of a sudden, and she didn't quite understand why. It was almost as if she could conquer the entire world of Le'raana...
"OI!" Elara snapped her fingers in front of Fenris's face. Fenris's eyes, which were starting to get glazed over, went back to normal.
"Don't get all demon possessed on me now, at least wait till I leave. But ye didn't answer my question. What does it lead to?" Elara asked.
Fenris quietly grabbed the map and rolled it up.
"It leads...to an artifact of great power and practically immortality to those that find it."
She looked back at Fletch.
"Do ye believe me now?"

"That'shh the point," Fletch countered, quite cleverly in his estimation, when his drunkenness was challenged. Dog Lady seemed to accept his rebuttal and set a second bottle next to the first. He reached for it, eager for that sweet oblivion to take him, no matter what it brought tomorrow.

BAM! The door flew open and slammed against the wall. "HOLY FUGGIN EMP'RER!" Fletcher jumped a few inches off his seat and about shat himself right then and there. The stool wobbled. The bottle tipped. He tried to catch his balance — and his sweet escape — to no avail. Both of them came crashing down to the filthy floor. Fletcher landed hard on his arse, and the bottle, to his despair, smashed against the floorboards in a mess of glass shards and ruined whiskey. He gazed forlornly at the puddle like a man grieving his beloved wife's untimely death at her funeral. "Ah, bollocks," he muttered.

He hadn't noticed Dog Lady's remarkable leap over the bar, nor her newest patron's grand entrance, nor the extremely obvious otherworldly happenings. But now that they carried on in conversation, he realized that there were, indeed, two of them. He leaned against the base of the bar and squinted through the blur. No, there were four of them. He blinked. No, no — just two. And this second one looked familiar. She struck an imposing figure against the windows: rather like a ship's captain commanding her crew. Exactly like a ship's captain, he realized. He straightened up as well as he could, which wasn't particularly well at all.

"It leads...to an artifact of great power and practically immortality to those that find it," Dog Lady finished. Oh. So she was trying her scam on the captain, now, too. "Do ye believe me now?"

"No, not particu — particullll — parti-cu-larly," Fletch dismissed her, but he didn't take his eyes off of the other one. "You'rrre — Cap'tain Elarrer," he slurred. "Funny. Was on me way to find you. Heard you mightsh knowww a way to...ohhhhhhh." He raised one hand and pointed in the approximate direction of Dog Lady. He started to chuckle. "Ohoho. She got t'you too, ey? Wiff that artifactsh tosh? Ah, fuck me. S' all a lie, innit? I thought for sure..." He dropped his arm and whacked his elbow against the back of the bar. His laughter became rather like a sob. "I thought for bloody sure..."

Elara narrowed her eyes at the drunken man.
"That's what that piece of parchment Fenris is holding is. That's the map to the artifact," she shook her head and sighed.
"Ye're drunk out of yer mind."
Elara went back into the kitchen.
Fenris looked at her retreating form.
"Where are you going?" She yelled after her. But when Elara, after some looking around, emerged with a bucket of water, Fenris quieted down.
"Talking with a drunk man is like trying to sail in a tempest: ye can't," Elara explained. Elara marched over to the drunk guy and promptly dumped the bucket of water on him.
"Sober up, mate," she said.
Fenris managed to hold back her laughter and grabbed a towel from behind the bar and chucked it at Fletch. Elara adjusted her coat and walked over to Fenris.
"I would take a bottle of rum if ye don't mind."

Fletch had half a second to sputter and flail before the towel fell over his head and blinded him. He grabbed a fistful of it and tore it free, glowering up at the captain. "What in the bloody 'ell'd you do that for?" he whined. "What's water going t'do about the whiskey in me? Ey? Daft woman. Now I'm drunk an' wet instead of juss drunk." Still, begrudgingly, he pressed the bar towel to his face and locks. He wrinkled his nose. The towel smelled like feet. Now he'd be drunk and wet and smell like feet. This night was just getting better and better. "Eugh." He tossed it to the ground, grabbed the rung of a nearby stool, and, with very little grace, hoisted himself to his feet.

As he did so, he saw it: the bit of paper Dog Lady had in her hand. The one Captain Elara had called a map. He squinted at it. It was a map, after all. So this batshit barkeep was either good enough at her con game to fabricate a prop...or she really, genuinely believed in this long life artifact nonsense. But then, so did the captain — and he'd been trying to find the woman all along for the self-same reason. The gears started to turn, lubricated by bottom shelf booze and his own desperation to survive. He knew he didn't have long at all. Was it worth it? Would spending his last months on some bullshit quest, some fantasy out of a storybook...be worth it? Was it what he wanted?

But what other options did he have?

Fletcher leaned against the bar, swaying back and forth and not quite focusing on either Dog Lady or the captain. Water still dripped from his locks onto the floor. His shirt and coat were soaked to the skin. He was a miserable sight. Still, in spite of his pathetic appearance, there was a fire in him that he hadn't had when he'd entered this shithole bar. "Right," he said. "Sayyy I believe you. What'sh the buy in? What makesh it worf it for you to bring me wiff? Mm?"

Fenris tossed a bottle of rum to Elara, who caught it and drank some of it, then sitting down on the bar. She eyed Fletch warily.
"What's in it for you is you don't die," Elara scoffed.
"I didn't almost lose my life over a fake map, I will tell you that." And Elara shot a withering glare Fletch's way.
Fenris cleared her throat. Elara turned her glare onto Fenris, who merely coughed.
"I don't think that's what he meant, bozo. He asked why. But I can answer that. It's hard to explain, really. I don't—Elara butted in.
"It's because she sees the best in people, and she wants to give everyone a chance to succeed. She calls it compassion, I call it stupidity," Elara drank the rest of the rum and put the bottle on the counter.
Fenris unrolled the map again, reading it curiously.
"It's leading us to Essryn...but what the hell could be in Essryn? It's all ruins and sand."
She raised an eyebrow at Fletch.
"Do you want to see the map or not? You still look alittle unsteady. You sure you don't want to sit down?"

Thunder boomed outside. Elara cursed.
"Well it doesn't look like I'll be able to go back to my ship tonight."
Fenris gestured around the empty tavern.
"You and Fletch can stay here. It sounds like it's going to rain a lot outside. I'm going to go grab some willow bark, Fletch might end up with a bitch of a headache from all the alcohol he drank."
And with that, Fenris went to the back room. Elara sighed and leaned against the bar counter.

Fletch did his best to keep up with the two women as they bantered back and forth, but his bloodshot eyes were getting heavy just keeping track of who said what. "I'mmm wiff this one," he said, jerking his head in Elara's general direction. "Nobod — *hic* — nnnnnnnobody —" he pointed his finger for emphasis "— gives a damned thing away for free. Bess be honess' wiff yourself about that. And I'm fine," he added, brushing off the offer for a seat and medicine. It was clear that he was sloshed. But he told himself it wasn't the worst he'd ever been. He could handle it. Maybe. "Shhhow me the map, then, since we're such a gennnnerous bunch here."

He glanced uneasily out the window, still swaying between his heels and toes. The whole pub moved like a ship's deck on the open ocean, and that storm made it even more convincing. "S'pposing I'm stuck here too, ey. Well. Not the fffirssst time I've passed out at a b...."

As if on cue, his ankle slipped and he collapsed to the floor like a rag doll. But it seemed comfortable enough down there. Certainly more comfortable than standing. So he curled up, smacked his lips contentedly, and began to snore.

Elara raised an eyebrow to where Fletch was asleep on the floor.
"How much alcohol did ye drink?" She asked, more just for the benefit of talking out loud. She glanced out the window. It was storming ridiculously hard. She sat on the floor and leaned against the bar counter, stifling a yawn.
Fenris came out of the back, holding two blankets and some medicine. She threw a blanket at Elara, who grumbled as the blanket landed on her head.
"Ye've got the aim of a dead fish," Elara complained, but took the blanket off of her head, wrapped it around her, and promptly fell asleep.
Fenris quietly walked over to where Fletch was sleeping on the ground, and carefully dropped a blanket on his sleeping form.

The sun seemed to shine brighter than normal the next morning, but that could have been due to the heavy storm the night before. Fenris walked into the bar room with plates of fresh scrambled eggs and hot, sizzling bacon.
"Rise and shine, rise and shine!" She yelled. Elara shot up, cursing until she saw it was Fenris.
"Ye're gonna get yourself stabbed one of these days."
Fenris laughed, and gestured to the tray of food she was holding.
"I brought breakfast for both of you—wheres Fletch?"
Elara yawned and stretched alittle.
"He's right where he fell last night. I don't think he woke up once."
Elara shook her head and walked over to Fletch, crouching down and gently shaking him.
"Oy! Fletch! Wake up!" She shook him harder.
"Breakfast is ready, and I think Fenris brought you some medicine too."

He'd been having the strangest dream again. There was a tree, and a man, too. The tree was brown and dying, and the man tried to save it. He said it was his fault in the first place. That it was his responsibility to fix it. But it was dying anyways, in spite of it all, and now Fletcher's lungs were wrapped in roots, and his stomach was filled with thorns. He writhed from the agony of it: he and the tree, one and the same. Both of them an inch from being dust again. "It will take you, too," the man said. "I am sorry." Then he bent. His eyes were gone, replaced by sooty black like something out of a nightmare. Fletcher tried to scream, but he had no air to scream with — only dry leaves and brittle branches. The man didn't care. He grabbed him by the shoulder and shook him and shook him and shook him and shook him and

"AAAAAHHHH. Gah! Fuck. Okay, okay, I'm awake. Stop. Stop." A violent cough burst forth from his parched lips and blood spattered across the floor in front of him. White hot pain lanced in front of his eyes and across his skull. He groaned. How much did he have last night? Where was he, even? He rolled over and frowned, trying to focus. Two women stood above him: one familiar by description, and one...

Oh. Right.

"Thought I hallucinated that daft business with the tail," he grumbled as he wiped yet more blood on his sleeve. "Could've let a man sleep it off. Fuck me, I need a smoke." He kept on hacking as he dug around in his pockets, trying his best not to pay any mind whatsoever to Dog Lady.

Fletch finally woke up, him cursing and coughing up a storm.
Fenris set the tray of food down on a table, rifling around in her coat for something. She finally found what she was looking for, and brought out some willow bark, holding it out to Fletch.
"Chew this, I promise it will help with the headache."
Elara sat at the table. The breakfast smelled amazing.
"I need to go to the back and get some stuff ready for opening. The map is on the table if both of you want to look at it. And both of you," she made sure she made eye contact with both of them, "better eat. You both need it," and with that, Fenris turned and walked to the kitchen.
Elara smirked.
"Watch this," and she took an old rag and chucked it at Fenris's tail.
Fenris whirled around, eyes ablaze and tail twitching.
"Ye're on thin ice," she warned.
Elara laughed.
"Proudly."

Elara got up and grabbed the map, coming back to the table she was sitting at.
"Well now that ye're not drunk out of ye're goddamn mind, maybe ye want to take a look at this map."

Slowly, Fletcher got to his feet. Why was it so bright in here? And loud? The smell of food made his stomach turn. But in a way, it all felt familiar. He knew this place. He'd been here many times before. He'd probably have to go out and relieve himself of last night's mistakes in a minute — whichever way out they went. He glanced between the handful of bark, and Dog Lady, and then the bark again. He snorted disdainfully and then winced as his own voice boxed his ears. Was it just him, or did he sound worse than usual? "Don't think that's helping what I've got," he told her, his tone rough and unforgiving. Instead, he produced a match, struck it against the iron fittings on the counter, and lit up. The smoke masked the oppressive scent of bread and sausages. He closed his eyes and breathed a sigh of relief. It came out as a death rattle.

The captain harassed Dog Lady as she left. If he hadn't been so out of sorts, he'd have laughed at the scene. "Well now that ye're not drunk out of ye're goddamn mind, maybe ye want to take a look at this map," she said. He grunted, rubbing his face. She was right, of course, but...ah, yeah. Here it came, right on fucking time.

"Gimme a minute, would you?" he coughed, and stumbled out the door.

A few minutes later, Fletcher pushed his way back into the inn. Water pooled at the corners of his eyes, and broken blood vessels dotted his cheeks like freckles. His face was wet from cleaning himself up in a nearby rain barrel, and a fresh cigarette sat between his lips. He strode to the table, not-so-subtly keeping his balance by gripping the back of every chair he passed. He looked Captain Elara up and down, scrutinizing her. Dog Lady was one biscuit short of the tin, but someone like this? He understood. Maybe he didn't trust her, but she made sense. So he'd play along, and he'd see what the two of them had. And whether or not it was his ticket out. "Right," he said, puffing away at his smoke. "This map. What are we looking at?"

Elara was worried about Nik. He did not sound good.
"Just take the goddamn stuff. It will make ye feel better," she rolled her eyes. And then he was smoking?!?
"No wonder, ye're using death sticks for what," Elara grumbled.
Fletch excused himself, and Elara watched as he left. He looked like he was going to puke.
"Do it, mate! You'll feel so much better," Elara yelled after him.
Fletch came in a few minutes later, looking better, actually. She watched him in concern as he made his way back to their table.
"Ye don't got more than two weeks it looks like." She took off her hat, brushing it off and throwing it on a chair.
"Ah, yes, the map."
She cleared her throat.
"Well, every time I've looked at it, it's done something different." She laid the map flat on the table, smoothing it out. It was nothing but a sheer black parchment.
"Hold on, it will do it's thing here in a second," she said, intently watching the map.
Nothing happened for about a minute, but then letters began forming on the map. Red letters, looking like they were formed in blood.
"Fletch: three weeks," the letters spelled out, then fading slightly, the black on the map moving as if it was alive. Elara did a double take at the map. She took a look at Fletch.
"Do ye see that?! Fenris!" She yelled.
"Get out here! The map!"

Fletch: three weeks. Fletcher stared down at the words on the map. Three weeks, he thought. Three weeks for what? But as ice began to crawl up his spine, and his stomach churned again, the sickening truth dawned on him: it was all the time he had left. He'd thought he had months, at least. Maybe even a year. Three weeks. The color drained from his face. He went green like he was going to puke again. Then in a flash it was gone — shoved aside by frothing rage. He began to shake.

"No, no, no," Fletch said, shaking his head. He stepped back, took a drag, and laughed his dangerous laugh. He smiled at Elara, but his eyes spelled murder. He gestured violently at the map and started towards her like a predator sizing up prey. There was a swagger to his walk, now. "You in on this with Dog Lady? You having a laugh? Ey? You taking the piss?"

He stopped uncomfortably close to the captain and took another drag, nodding and smiling like she'd just told a good joke. He blew his smoke to the side and began to roll his sleeves up. He was careful about it. Methodical. He wanted her to see how ready he was for this to turn nasty. But all the while, his heart skipped and started and stopped, and his breaths were shaky and shallow.

"You think that's funny, do you?" he asked.

If Elara had any hint of mischievousness in her eyes at all, it was gone now, replaced by deadly serious eyes that met his.
"Do I look like I'm messing around?" She asked, her voice deadly calm.
"Do ye think I have time to somehow rig a map? Do I look like a mage to you? Hell, I didn't even know your name until the damn map showed you."
Elara took a step forward, one hand in her coat pocket. If this guy wanted a fight, she'll give him a fight. She always enjoyed a good brawl.
"Do you need me to hold the cigar for you?"

His ears rang. He didn't hear anything the woman said. There was a black tunnel, and he was down it, and the anger anchored him there in its twisting center. She was lying. They both were. They'd made a cheap, shitty joke, and thought it was funny. They'd been taking the piss all along. Acting like he was dying when he wasn't. He wasn't dying. He wasn't dying. Well. He'd show them. Wouldn't he?

"Do you need me to hold the cigar for you?" the woman asked.

"Nah," Fletch replied. He spat the still-lit butt on the floor. He sniffed. Wiped his face with his hand.

He drew his neck back and aimed a headbutt right for her nose.

Elara saw that coming. She was captain on a pirate ship after all. She had been apart of, and even started, her fair share of brawls. And the guys always went for the headbutts. Always.
She sighed, just as he headbutted her. He got her right on the nose. It dazed her for all of two seconds before she put him in a headlock, flipping him over and slamming him through a table, the table cracking in half.
"What, are ye gonna start fights every time the truth rears its ugly head at ye, ya bilgerat?"
Fenris came rushing out of the back just then, drying her hands on her shirt.
"I was washing dishes and I couldn't come immediately—-Gods dash it all Elara, you broke my favorite table."

WHAM. Fletch saw sparks as the table broke around his aching ribcage. Before he'd known it, the woman had flipped him around and forced him to the floor. Now there were splinters everywhere: in the palms of his hands, and down his shirt, and digging into his cheek as she pressed him into the table like a dog who'd shat on a rug. To his own surprise, he started to laugh. "You know," he wheezed, "normally I'm not keen on a woman in charge, but — " Then the coughing started again, and too much blood spattered across the wood. He stopped laughing. He stopped smiling. His vision focused and blurred, focused and blurred again. "Fuck," he said at last, and every tense and thrumming fiber of him sunk in defeat. Somewhere to his right, Dog Lady bitched and moaned about her fucking table. Well, that wasn't his problem. His problem...was that the two of them had told him the truth. He closed his eyes and hoped to hell that neither of them saw the tears that squeezed between his lashes.

"Okay," he rasped. "Alright. You're..." He swallowed. "You're right. Okay? You're right. The both of you. Just...let me up."

Elara internally was worried she'd been too harsh on him. If what Fenris and the damn map had said about Fletch had been true, then she possibly hurt him even more.
Carefully, she helped Fletch up and helped sit him down into a chair. She raised an eyebrow at him.
"Well I hope you learned your lesson."
She reached into her coat pocket and grabbed a handkerchief, handing it to him.
What Fenris had said had just sunk in.
"Your favorite table? They all look the same to me."
Fenris just shook her head.
"Ya know what? It doesn't matter."
She sighed, looking at Fletch.
"Some of those splinters look really deep."
Then she stopped, deciding against offering her help. Fletch had already turned it down so much, she just rather would not bother at this point.
Elara looked longingly at the wall behind the bar, looking at the various bottles of wine.
"I'm not normally a wine drinker, but I'm feeling like I could use some."
Fenris snorted.
"You're lucky I haven't thrown you out for breaking my favorite table."
"I'd like to see you try to throw me out," Elara scoffed.

The captain hoisted him out of the pile of splintered table. "Hey, wh — " he started to protest, but before he knew it he'd been sat down and handed a hankie. He wrinkled his nose at it. He hoped it didn't have snot on it already. "Well I hope you learned your lesson," she said. Fletch inspected the hankie for smears of green or brown, and, finding none, used it to wipe the blood from his lips. His ribs stung. His head pounded, too. Was it from whacking her on the nose, or had he always felt this terrible?

"Nah," he coughed. "Never do."

The women bickered about some nonsense. It had been Dog Lady's favorite table. So what? It was a fucking table. He was going to die, and they were prattling on about furniture. He glanced down at the cigarette he'd dropped. In the scuffle, someone had crushed it with their bootheel, and crumbles of tobacco had strewn across the floor. It was ruined. A perfectly good fag. He grumbled, pulled another one out, and lit it up. He sighed and began to rub his bruised, beaten face.

"Some of those splinters look really deep."

Fletch jumped in his chair and glowered up at Dog Lady. Then he looked down at his arms. She was right. There were some nasty ones, and regent only knew what kind of filth was on that table. It wouldn't be the first time he'd have to pull some kind of shrapnel out of himself. Was it even worth it if he was about to die? He grunted. "Mmh. Yep. Looks like. You got tweezers on you by any chance? And something strong, like grain spirit?" He decided that he didn't particularly care if she did, or if he could get the splinters out. But he'd work on it anyway.

"Not for drinking," he added. Then: "Erm. So. This map. The, er...artifact. What's the plan?"

Fenris got up and went behind the bar, looking for the strongest spirits she could find. While she was rifling through the shelves, Elara studied the map.
"Damn thing has a mind of it's own."
She smoothed the black, shiny paper out on the table, praying it wouldn't show some weird message again.
The clinking of bottles could be heard in the background as Fenris set out two bottles of grain alcohol, then went back to rummaging through the rest.

"Well, the plan is to figure out where in Le'raana this artifact is—"
The map shone with a strange black light, projecting a perfectly clear city in a desert somewhere.
Elara leaned back in her chair, thinking. Just as she was about to say something, the city crumbled, a huge dust cloud covering the city. The dust dissipated, leaving behind a city in ruins.
"...and find it," Elara finished.
"Of all the goddamn places, it had to be Essyrn..."
Fenris turned around, a shot glass in hand and precariously somehow balancing a vial and two bottles of grain alcohol.
"You're coming with us right, Elara?"
Elara laughed.
"Me, a pirate captain? Leave my bloody crew to go after some blasted artifact in the middle of the sun scorched god forsaken desert? With you and...death stick guy over here? No no no, I've had my share of magical artifacts trying to kill me. I'm good. That's why I brought it you."
Fenris sighed, setting down all of the stuff she had balanced, and pouring a tiny bit of both grain alcohols into the shot glass. She set it down in front of Fletch. "I don't care if you said it wasn't for drinking. You need to drink it."
Fenris grabbed tweezers out of her pocket and sat down, dipping the tweezers in a vial full of opaque liquid.
"Let me see your arm, Fletch."

"Of all the goddamn places, it had to be Essyrn..."

Fletcher had heard enough about this horrible world by now to know that Essyrn was the far-flung sandy arsehole of it all. Hadn't he gone south enough? Now he had to go more south? And over some bloody mountains, too, if he remembered right. He groaned. He'd hoped he was close. Now...

"Three weeks even enough time to get there?" he muttered, eyeing the captain — and her map — rather skeptically. "Probably just snuff it on the fucking road at this rate." Dog Lady set the bottle of grain spirit in front of him while the two women prattled on. He paid as much attention to them as a man could when considering his massive hangover, the bits of table stuck in his arm, and...oh, yeah, the news of his own impending death. But he did sit up a bit straighter when he caught wind of some unfortunate news. Captain Elara would be leaving them and heading back to her ship. It was just Fletch and Dog Lady. He pulled a face at the thought of listening to her unsolicited sob stories with no one else to lighten the mood. Shame. He'd have to find the captain once this whole map affair was done with. See if she wanted a...rematch.

Like he'd told her: normally he wasn't keen on a woman in charge. But...

Then Dog Lady sat down and set a shot of neat grain spirit in front of him, and he shook the thought from his mind. His stomach churned at the sight of more booze. Three weeks. Three weeks left. Would he piss it away? Was that really how he'd spend his last days? Well...no. Not exactly. But maybe he'd take the edge off. Just this once. Not with the whole bloody shot, though. Didn't the woman know you were supposed to cut grain spirit with water? What kind of bartender was she, exactly? He lifted it, examined it, shrugged, and took a sinus-clearing, eye-watering sip.

He sniffed and chuckled rather bleakly. "Little hair of the dog, ey? Er...no offense meant or...whatever."

Dog Lady held up her tweezers. "Let me see your arm, Fletch."

Fletch eyed her for a moment, then shrugged and slid his sleeve up further, revealing a patchwork of tattoos both new and old. Funny. He couldn't remember where he'd gotten them. He remembered the needle, but...not the place. "Erm. Thanks," he grunted at her, and watched her work.

Fenris took the tweezers and meticulously began pulling the splinters out of his arm.
Elara, meanwhile, had just finished off two glasses of rum. She was precariously balancing on her chair, watching Fenris work.
"Be gentle with the poor guy!" She exclaimed after Fenris yanked out one particular splinter of wood that was in rather deep.
"If you're going to be stupid, you better be tough," Fenris said.
Fenris had finished getting most of them out, and paused to dip the tweezers in the vial again.
Elara studied the map, which was blank again.
"If I went with you...what's in it for me?"
Elara was still chasing profit, and even though this map intrigued her, she hesitated.
Fenris finished getting the splinters out, and deftly wrapped his arm with a bandage.
"What's in it for you is you get to see me—-how did you get that rum?" Fenris asked incredulously.
"I got up and poured myself some, obviously." Elara's chair was dangerously close to tipping over.
"No, but I'm serious. What's in it for me?"
Fenris mischievously smiled.
"Does a Connlaothian pistol mean anything to you?"
That got Elara's attention. Her chair leveled on the floor again, and Elara leaned forward, suspiciously studying Fenris.
"How do you know about those?"
Fenris laughed.
"I collect artifacts, of course I've heard about them...and I may or may not have one? Somewhere...I haven't checked my stash in a while."
Elara folded her arms.
"You're kidding. How did you get your hands on one of those...?"
Fenris deviously smiled, her canines flashing in the candlelight.
"How I got it doesn't matter. Are you in or not?"
Elara groaned, putting her head in her hands.
"What am I doing what am I doing?" She muttered to herself.
"Fine. I'll go with you and fetch...whatever his name is. On one condition. We use my ship to get there. At least some of the way. It's better than walking."
Fenris thought about that for all of two seconds.
"Deal."

"Be gentle with the poor guy!" the captain said. Now it was her turn to toss the drinks back. Breakfast of bloody champions, Fletcher thought as he watched her out of the corner of his eye. She was an odd one. Familiar — she spoke the sailor's tongue of drinking and cursing and fighting, after all. But still. Odd. A Captain should be tough. He should be downright brutal when it was called for. But this Elara...yeah, she could fight, but she almost had a soft side, too. Well. Maybe that was why he hadn't seen many female captains. Maybe they were a bit too sentimental for the job. A bit too...emotional.

"Oh, aye, and who put the damned splinters in me? Hmm? The Queen of fucking Seren-tittadee?" Fletch snorted as he stood and tested his bandaged arm. He tutted. "Almost cut me up worse than that bloody stray cat." But Dog Lady and the captain were too busy with their banter to hear him, so he dug around in his pockets, fishing for yet another smoke, and he listened. His fingers brushed the case. He heard a very familiar word. His ears perked. He froze.

Pistol, Dog Lady had said. And all at once, like a curtain drawn, the light of that word shone on one very...particular...memory. He pulled his hand from his pocket and ran it across his chest where a baldric once rubbed against his shirt. In his mind's eye, brass and wood glinted under lamplight. Powder. Wad. Shot. Tamp. The smell of oil. And then...the deafening crack as bullet left muzzle. The rush of offing a man before he could so much as lay a blade on you. The power. The control. It had been an extension of his arm. How had he forgotten?

And now it was too late to do anything about it. He'd just as likely be dead before he could get his hands on one again. Still, he'd have to keep a keen eye on Dog Lady. See if she showed her cards. In the meantime, he'd say nothing at all on the subject. After all, if he did end up nicking the thing, he didn't want to be that obvious about it.

In the time it took him to think it over, the conversation had again turned. Now Captain Elara had decided to go with them — under condition of making the journey by ship. Well, now. There was a welcome thought. At least he'd know what he was doing on a bloody ship. Hell, maybe he could show her how it was done, and then when this was over with, he'd be set up at last. And at the very least, they'd get to Essyrn faster. And maybe, just maybe...he could keep on living.

"I like the sound of that," Fletch agreed. For the first time since he'd reached this awful country, with its "dragons" and its apparent tolerance of fluffy tail fetishists, he cracked a grin. He began to brush himself off, straightening his sleeves and his collar as he went. His whole body still ached and throbbed from a million splinter wounds and bruises and worse, but...he found that he didn't care. The wind was back in his sails, now. "Well, daylight's burning. So, Captain. You going to sit there and drown in someone else's rum, or shall we hit the road?"

Fenris stood up, thinking hard about where she had put that damn pistol.
"I'll be right back...probably."
She went upstairs, going into a room at the end of the hall.
Fenris came out a few minutes later, a large rucksack slung around her shoulder and a smaller leather bag tied to the rucksack.
She walked back to them, setting the rucksack on the floor but putting the leather bag on the table, untying the top of it and sitting down in a chair.
"I found not one, not two...but two pistols," she said triumphantly, drawing two rather dusty and slightly rusted pistols. They definitely had seen better days.
"Where in the name of every single siren I've ever killed did you find those?!"
Elara desperately wanted to grab both of them. They were calling to her. All they needed was a bit of elbow grease and they'd probably look amazing.
"They're both for me right?" Elara greedily eyed the pistols, wanting them for herselves.
Fenris laughed, twirling the pistols in her hands, her fingers dangerously close to the trigger.
"Bold of you to assume you get one,"Fenris laughed. She was merely teasing Elara, but it was fun to get under her skin.
Elara's eyes narrowed, a dark glint shining in her eyes, before it disappeared. She did, however, grab both of the pistols from Fenris's hands.
"What are you trying to do, kill us before we even get going?!"
She immediately opened the chamber on both of the pistols, a single bullet falling out from each one.
"You are insane. Those pistols could have easily misfired."
"Well since you already have yours, give one of them to Fletch."
Elara did not like that idea at all.
"Give a pistol to Fetch...oh that's a good idea. He'll probably shoot me in the back as we're walking! No no no you're crazy, you're—-"
Fenris took one of the pistols from Elara, looking at Fletch and then back at Elara.
She handed a pistol to Fletch.
"Don't shoot each other. I'm grabbing some supplies from the back. I'll be five minutes, ok?"
She left, heading to the kitchen.
Elara grabbed both of the bullets from the table, dropping one into her pocket and putting one in the pistol.
Then she reached across the table, firmly grabbing Fletch by the collar and putting the pistol against his head, pulling back the hammer.
"If you so much as point that pistol in Fenris's or my general direction, I'll kill you. And I'll enjoy every. Agonizing. Painful. Second of it. Do I make myself clear?" Every word she said, she tightened her grip on Fletch's collar.
Her eyes were cold, emotionless. There was a glare to them, almost as if they were swords, cutting into the soul.
She released her hold on Fletch, sinking back into her seat, fixing him with a glare that signaled that she meant it.
Fenris walked back in, whistling and plopping food on the table. She stopped, glancing at Elara and Fletch.
"What did I miss?"
She asked, raising an eyebrow.

As soon as the pistols left the bag, all other thoughts left his scheming mind. The guns were different from what he'd expected. They seemed old, like something his grandfather might have used, and it was clear by the rust and tarnish that they'd been stored improperly. He watched like a hungry jackal as the Captain and Dog Lady bickered about safety. It was clear that Elara wanted them as badly as he did. It was also clear that she didn't trust him around them. He pocketed that little observation. He'd mull it over in due time. Find some way to change her mind.

Dog Lady, though...Fenris, or whatever she'd said her name was. Bless her stupid, bleeding heart. She was a weak link if he'd ever seen one. An idealist. She was ready to trust. So ready, in fact, that she pulled one of the pistols from Elara's grasp and set it firmly in his hand. It was heavy. It was the right kind of heavy. Fletch couldn't believe his own eyes. The woman had just given him one, and he didn't even have to lift a damned finger for it. He ran his thumb along wood and ornate brass. He drank in every last detail of that gun with the covetous look of a man undressing his lover. He didn't hear Elara approach until cold steel dug into his temple.

Ah. There she was. There was the real captain. Maybe she could hold her own, after all. Like a man could. Aren't you full of surprises? Fletcher thought.

It was interesting. In the last hour, he'd faced his own mortality, seen a glimmer of hope that he might actually live, and now he stared death in the face once more. This time, though, the threat felt different. This time, he almost enjoyed it. There was a thrill to this. The thrill of chance: to have something precious and think that it might be stolen out from under you. His nerves thrummed. His fingers trembled. He returned her searing gaze with calm, catlike amusement, but the twitching sneer pulling at his nostril betrayed the lightning coursing through his veins. He pressed his skull harder against the muzzle, his eyes still fixed on hers in an unblinking stare. He leaned close. Too close. A chuckle hissed from his nose.

"I'm going to live," he murmured. "And you two are my ticket. Why in the fuck would I bite the hand that feeds, Captain?"

He stayed there for a moment longer just to drive the point home before leaning back again. He kept his head stuck to the muzzle for her like a good little dog. "If you're going to shoot, shoot. Otherwise, get your sidearm the hell out of my face."

She got out of his face. He released the breath he didn't know he'd been holding, and it came out in a shudder. He stuck the pistol in his coat pocket and sat, too, as calmly as he could manage. He smirked at her from across the table, daring her to try it again. But she didn't. Instead, Dog Lady came back in from the kitchen, oblivious to the tension in the room.

"What did I miss?"

Fletcher did his best impression of a disarming smile, but the warmth of it didn't reach his eyes. "Nothing of note," he lied. He drummed his fingers on the table. "The Captain and I were just going over some of the, er...finer details of this little voyage. Speaking of: if you lot want to set sail today, we should be going soon. Time and tide and all that tosh."

Elara nodded at Fletch's observation that they should get going. He was right. She made a quick mental note to have someone on board keep an eye on him. She didn't trust him. At all.

Elara stood up from the table, grabbing the sack of food.
"Aye, Fetch is right. We should get going."

Fenris went and grabbed a bottle of ale from behind the counter. Elara snorted.
"Ye don't need that, we're about to board my ship. I've got plenty."
Fenris sighed and put it back.
"If your sorry pirate version of a good tavern doesn't have this, I'll throw you overboard myself."
Fenris was joking, of course, but Elara's face darkened.
"You'd do well to remember that I just killed my former first mate for threatening mutiny."
There seemed to be a quiet storm brewing behind Elara's eyes. A storm that threatened to turn into a hurricane.
Fenris held her hands up placatingly.
"It was a joke."
Elara merely glared, one hand on her rapier as if someone had actually threatened her.

"Well," Elara said quietly, "Let's head out."
Fenris opened the door for them and once they were outside, shut the door behind them and locked it. She really didn't like just leaving the tavern like that, but she had a feeling that the tavern is the least of her concerns right now.

Elara strode ahead of them, cutting an imposing figure with the way her hand was still resting on the hilt of her rapier. There was something in the way she walked. Her boots hit the ground with confidence, and there was an interesting lilt to her step, as if she's spent more time on her ship than on land.
They walked for a good half hour, going to one of the smaller docks and getting into a rather nondescript rowboat, crewed by two clean shaven but heavily tattooed and armed to the teeth pirates who scrambled to their feet when they saw Elara approaching. She waved them off and they sat back down, both preparing to row out to the ship.
Fenris looked around the small, deserted harbor, but only saw a longboat and a merchant boat.
"Where's the Midnight Marauder?"
Elara didn't even answer, merely gesturing out to the horizon.
They got on the rowboat, Fenris sitting down on the middle row leaving Fletch and Elara to sit down in the front row. As soon as they sat down, the pirates pushed off from the dock and began rowing, going rather far into the harbor and past both of the other ships. It felt like they were in that small, cramped rowboat forever, the air turning rather frigid.
Finally, they pulled up to the side of the Midnight Marauder, the ship looking absolutely breathtaking on the calm ocean. Storm clouds were gathering in the west, and the two pirates hurriedly helped Elara, Fletch and Fenris onto a small, wooden plank that led up to the main deck. Even from where they were, they could hear the bustle of the crew running the ship, the creak of pulleys and the occasional foul word drifting down to them from the main deck. Without a word, Elara walked up the plank, her mind already occupied, leaving the other two to follow her up, the two pirates bringing up the rear.
When they got to the main deck, a rousing cheer went up from the crew, most heartily coming up to Elara and welcoming her back.
"Ye survived the tavern did ya?"
A loud, booming voice cut through the din of the pirates, and they parted, forming a path.
A centaur, dressed rather uniquely, walked up to Elara, bowing quickly and smiling from ear to ear.
"This is Aikios, ship healer and general bringer of good spirits."
"And she means that both ways," Aikios muttered out of the side of his mouth to Fletch.
"I didn't know you were bringing back visitors!" Aikios exclaimed, seemingly noticing for the first time Fenris and Fletch.
Elara nodded.
"This is Fenris and Fetch—-"
Aikios interrupted.
"Nice to meet both of you. Captain, can we talk privately?"
Aikios obviously knew something was different.
"Let's go to my office then," Elara agreed, the two of them turning to walk below deck before Elara turned back.
"Fenris, Fletch, come with us, and I'll show you where you'll be sleeping."
They went below deck, Elara pointing out where the galley, Aikios's infirmary, and the small ship tavern were. They continued down to the third deck, where there were two small but comfortable cabins, each having a hammock, a chest to store personal items in, and two bottles of rum.
"There's soap and rags in the chest, feel free to rest up or go above deck. I'll meet both of you in the galley in about two hours."
Elara explained to both of them, before Aikios practically dragged her away. Fenris promptly went into her room and collapsed on the hammock, deciding to take a short nap.

The Midnight Marauder. Captain Elara's ship. Fletch had seen galleons before, but this: it was like something out of a fairytale. Like something a king would sail on just to look impressive. To say, "Look at what all of your money has bought me?" He counted nine cannon hatches and spotted seven above deck. "Thirty-two cannons," he whispered in disbelief as they skirted around its massive hull. "Who in the bleeding hell needs thirty-two cannons?"

He wondered how in the fuck this Elara woman could afford a ship like that. Surely if she'd stolen the damned thing, she wouldn't be so cavalier in bringing it this close to a major port.

Truthfully, he'd been lukewarm his entire life on the idea of sailing. It was a means to make money, and that was the end of it. He wasn't fond of the miserable food or the rationed water or the storms or the rigid hierarchy and the harsh ways of enforcing it. He much preferred dry land and a big, warm bed...and the company of women. To be his own man, without some other man breathing down his neck and berating him. And none of those luxuries were found at sea, in his experience.

Well, now there were women, he supposed. Just...not the sort he was thinking of. Unfortunately.

He'd been so preoccupied with the idea of beds and brothels — and, begrudgingly, the Marauder's elegant woodwork — that he didn't notice the horse monster until the ugly thing was almost on top of him. He felt the blood drain from his cheeks at the sight of it. He thought he might collapse. It talked, too, out of its human face. Fletcher gripped the railing behind him and leaned away, his eyes bulging. He said nothing. He hated this magic shite. The crew acted like the abomination in front of him was no surprise at all. Like it was a regular occurrence to see a ruddy headless horse with a man's top half stuck on. He thought he might be sick. He followed the captain wordlessly and stayed well clear of the beast's rear legs.

After Captain Elara's little tour of the decks, he thought she might put him to work, or at least point him to some dingy nest of hammocks in the cargo hold. After all, surely she didn't plan on letting him sail for free. Nobody got something for nothing, after all. So when she stopped in front of a nice little cabin door and called it his, he eyed her. "What's the catch?" he asked. "You, er...planning to collect later? Or am I working?"

But she was so preoccupied with the horse-man that she didn't hear him. He called after her as they left. "Oi!" He turned to Dog Lady. "Lost her hearing with all of these cannons, ey?" he snorted. "Think she has enough?" Then she, too, left him. He was alone at last.

He shut the door. He inspected the room. He picked up the rum, swirled it around, and set it back down again. He didn't feel like drinking. Not right now.

He paced. He fidgeted.

He hated being alone.

He also hated the idea of running into that creepy horse thing.

"Ughhhhh!" he groaned, running his hands over his hair. "Fine. Fine, fine, fine. A smoke. I need a smoke." He shoved his hands in his pockets, assured himself of his possession of both tobacco and matches, and headed topside. He'd find a nice spot out of the way, have his smoke, and watch her crew. And he'd wait.

Aikios sighed as he closed the door behind him, Elara sitting down on top of her desk and Aikios choosing to stand.
"Well...Captain...the crew is getting restless."
Elara raised an eyebrow at that but said nothing, gesturing for him to continue.
"Actually, wait...I feel like I'm going to need something."
She reached down behind her desk and brought out a small bottle of rum.
It was Aikios's turn to raise his eyebrow.
"Captain! You've barely been on deck an hour and you're...you're drinking that?!"
Elara had already brought the bottle to her lips and merely shrugged.
"Anyways...there's been talk of...of..." Aikios hesitated. He hated being the nearer of bad news.
Elara's eyes narrowed.
"Of what?"
"Mutiny, captain."
Elara stood up, fire rushing into her eyes.
"It will be addressed...thank you Aikios for telling me..."
Elara trusted Aikios with her life. He was her confidant, her advisor.
Right now, she was going to go on deck and do something she had only done once or twice in her life.

Elara went out on the main deck, searching for Fletcher. She thought she could recall him saying something about smoking. Well, she needed a smoke right now. She still had the bottle of rum in one hand, and would take a swig from it every so often.
She finally spied him, and made her way over to him.
She needed a smoke, and then she was going to go talk to her first mate, Nik. See if he had heard anything about this "mutiny", or rather, plans of one.
"Uh, Fetch...could I have one of those death sticks I gave you such a hard time about?"

Nik was minding his own damn business while Elara was off doing whatever the fuck it was she was doing with that damn map, but that didn't keep him from worrying. He hated the thing. It was magic and housed a ghost that had literally tried to kill her and yet he was the crazy one for suggesting they destroy the thing.

"Crazy my ass." He muttered, staring at the ceiling while popping an apple candy in his mouth and sucking on it loudly. He had stuff he probably should be doing, but he was so annoyed at the captain that he found he couldn't focus on anything else.

Until the noises of what sounded like some kind of boat tour started and he was forced out of his bed and into the hall.

But Gods dammit he took his time.

What had Elara done this time?

It didn't take long to sus out exactly what had happened and that she'd pulled in yet another stray. Not that the idea of adding to the crew was a bad thing but...Elara was impulsive and not everyone was an amazing and wonderful as Nik. This guy could be a murderer or worse.

A quick chat with Aikios filled him in and he sighed heavily while popping another candy. Better go find this guy and figure him out...what he wants...why Elara decided he needed to come with them.

"Oi, Captain." Nik called when he saw Elara next to who must be this Fetch, Fresh? Flightched...dammit he already forgot.

He placed a candy in her outstretched hand in response to her request for a smoke.

"You already have a fucking haunted map and rum enough to bathe in to kill you." He challenged, before turning to the newbie.

"Last time the Captain brought someone onto the crew he was a drunk who almost got the whole ship sunk by a siren. What'd you do?"

A storm brewed off East. A strong one, by the looks of it. Fletcher frowned. He wasn't keen on sailing through choppy waters. He lost his lunch right easily these days. Still, he didn't really have a choice at this point. He could sit at a bar and die or he could sail into a storm and die. Or, maybe, sail through it and live. He'd know soon enough either way.

He'd just barely managed to light up before the captain made a beeline for him across the deck. "Fuck me, what now?" he muttered beneath his breath, but he pulled what he hoped was a disarming grin nonetheless. It didn't escape him that she'd brought a bottle along, or that she looked as moody as the clouds behind her. Was she here to slam him through something else for sport? He couldn't think of a damned thing she'd want off him when they were so close to setting sail. Better to keep on her good side, regardless.

"Captain?" he asked.

"Uh, Fetch...could I have one of those death sticks I gave you such a hard time about?"

This hardened woman, coming up and bumming a fag off of him? Now he knew something wasn't right. He wouldn't ask, though. He'd just watch. He had to play this carefully.

Fletch had just started rifling for a second smoke when a fair-haired sailor slapped something entirely different in Elara's palm. He looked down at it. Candy? Was that...candy? Like she was some brat in diapers? Fletcher raised an eyebrow, hand frozen halfway out of his pocket. Who in the bloody hell was this looney?

"You already have a fucking haunted map and rum enough to bathe in to kill you," the man told her before turning to address him. He didn't mince words. "Last time the Captain brought someone onto the crew he was a drunk who almost got the whole ship sunk by a siren. What'd you do?"

Fletch rolled his shoulders back and stood just a little bit straighter. He cocked his head and jutted his chin just enough to tell this newcomer that he wasn't going to lay down and take it. He already didn't like the man by his tone. He kept the smile up and his sight trained on the sailor as he slowly and deliberately finished removing the fag from his pocket, lit it with the one between his lips, and offered it to Elara. "Captain's a big girl," he replied coolly. "She can make her own decisions." He shoved his hands into his trouser pockets this time and wished that Elara hadn't taken the bullet from his pistol.

"Thanks for the history lesson," he added. "Devlin Fletcher. Fletch, if you like. Third mate of the cargo runner Mirabel, and, seeing as you look to have a full complement, passenger courtesy of your Captain. As for what I did?" He gestured to his bruises and snorted. "Headbutted the wrong woman. Didn't I, Captain?"

Elara was shocked when Fletch actually got her one. She took it, putting the candy in her pocket and taking a drag off the fag.
"Thanks," she said, trying to keep the anger she had inside of her from spilling out.
She gestured to Nik. "Fletch, this is Nik, my first mate."

"Headbutted the wrong woman, didn't I captain?"
Elara raised her eyebrow at that.
"Well, I slammed you through a table, so we're even now. And don't think I won't do it again." She was rather touchy right now, concerned about the rumors of a mutiny and just rather tired. She did, however, ask Nik a question.
"I can't wait anymore or I might explode. Have you heard anything about a mutiny? Or rumors of a mutiny?"
She took another drag. She could see why Fletch liked these so much.


 

Nik listened to Devlin Fletcher's list of jobs with an air of annoyance that had little to do with him and a lot to do with the now-smoking captain to his left. She hadn't even eaten the candy! Just shoved it in her pocket like she wasn't holding onto the most precious piece of food in the world. Didn't she understand the lengths he went to to make sure he maintained a full stash?

Fucking woman.

As she took a drag, he plucked it from her lips and tossed it overboard before holding a finger in front of her nose and simply saying, "No."

He was about to address the new guy when Elara blathered on about mutiny and Nik's annoyance was replaced by trepidation. He had certainly heard the rumblings of displeasure with her leadership - a few crew members had come to him personally with their concerns but he hadn't had the chance to present them to her yet. She was always off doing something or other because of that damn map.

It would seem he had made a mistake in not forcing her to sit down and listen.

"Captain." He kept his voice low, "You know as well as I do that the deck has ears. This isn't the place for this kind of conversation. Eat your candy, get your head out of that map's ass, and we'll talk about it below."

He turned his attention to Fletch, "You. Thanks for head butting her."

"Well, I slammed you through a table, so we're even now. And don't think I won't do it again."

Captain was tense, even with the cigarette. Fletch bit back a million retorts: some rude, others suggestive. If he wanted her trust, he knew he'd have to watch his mouth. So he let it go with a halfhearted, "Hah," and leaned back to let the two of them chat about whatever it was the man had come here for. Though, not without a brief complaint when the first mate plucked the fag from Elara's mouth and tossed it over the railing.

"Hey! I paid good money for that," he interjected. "Least you could do is give the damned thing back." But the Captain and Nik were already on to other, much more serious matters. Mutiny. Oh, he knew it well. He'd been a part of one, back in his smuggling days. Now, it wouldn't normally be his business. Normally, he'd step back and watch the whole thing happen, and then side with the likely victor. This time, though...this time, a delay could cost him his life. His stomach dropped. He was an outsider, here. He didn't know who to listen to, or who to trust, save Dog Lady's bleeding heart. He had to sort out a plan of his own, and quickly.

His thoughts were interrupted by the strangest thing he'd ever heard in his entire fucking life.

"You. Thanks for head butting her."

Fletcher stared Nik down like he had turned into a circus monkey. He looked from him, to Elara, to him, and back to Elara again before gesturing at the first mate with his cigarette. "Who in the bloody hell is this man?" he breathed to the Captain. Then he remembered the horse monster. He pinched the bridge of his nose and shut his eyes like he'd just gotten a terrible headache. "You know what, no, don't answer that. Next thing I know, you'll tell me he's a forest fairy or some shite. I'm dreaming and this place isn't bloody real."

He popped the cigarette back in his mouth and let his hand drop to his side. He gave her the thousand-yard stare of a hung-over man who just wanted one normal day. "Look. The rest of this sounds like none of my business, so I'll leave you both to it. I'm going to go find D— Fen...ris. Captain? You, er...know where to find me. Should you need another smoke. Or...anything else, for that matter," he added with the slightest cock of an eyebrow.

With that, he stepped away from them and headed back to the hatch, finishing his fag along the way. First order of business was to tell Dog Lady. She might be one crayon short of the box, but she seemed to know the Captain well enough. After that, he might socialize with the crew a bit. Get a feel for them. See if any of them were acting strange. If he played his cards right as an outsider, he might even pick up a few details that Elara couldn't.

Before he knew it, he was at Dog Lady's door. He raised a fist and knocked. "Erm. Fenris? You there?"

Elara sighed.
Nik was right, she shouldn't have brought it up on deck. That goddamn map was doing things. She needed to explain to Nik the latest development about the map, so she hastily told Nik to follow her, and walked to her office.
When they got to her office, she closed the door, and took the map and laid it on her desk, smoothing it out.
"Listen, I really tried to destroy it, I did..."
She rolled up her shirt sleeve, where a barely healed, grisly scar had formed.
"I tried to burn it, I tried to stab it, I even tried tearing it apart. Nothing is working, Nik!"
She sighed, sitting down in her chair.
"Things have been happening...I've been dreaming about terrible things...sometimes I'll think I'll see the ghost from the map."
"If...if something happens to me Nik, I'd like you to be the new captain. I can't think of a better person."


——————————————————————————————————————-


Fenris, meanwhile, was about to go search out the small tavern on the ship and see how good their liquor was.

She had just stood up from her cot when there was a knock on her door.
"Erm. Fenris? You there?"
Was that Fletcher? What does he want? Fenris went over to the door and opened it.
"Yes? What do you need? I was actually just about going to go to the tavern."

Nik frowned, sighed heavily, popped another candy like an addict, and rubbed the bridge of his nose.

"Where'd you get that scar, El? From the map? The fucking ghost map? The map that's clearly still trying to murder you?!"

He shook his head and started pacing, clearly agitated by the whole thing. The map, the mutiny talk, the fact that at any moment his vengeful siren ex could rise up and destroy them all...again.

"I'd be a terrible captain." He crossed his arms and glared at her, "Right fucking awful. It's a horrible choice. Horseman would be a better choice than me. So let's figure out how to keep you alive. And who the fuck is Fletcher and why is he here? Did the map conjure him too? Second map ghost?"

Fletch cracked the cabin door cautiously. "You, er...you decent?"

He slipped inside and shut it behind him. He ran a hand over his hair and paced with what little room he had. The more he thought about it, the worse it got, and the deeper his stomach sunk. They had to nip this in the bud before it got out of hand.

"The tavern," he echoed distractedly. "Yeah. Good idea. Erm..."

When he finally made eye contact, he looked a great deal paler and sicklier than usual, and the bags under his amber eyes were dark as bruises. "Look. Fen...Fenris. We have a problem. There's a mutiny brewing on this ship. Elara's panicking enough that she let it slip to the first mate right in front of me. This isn't the first one I've been through, but...stakes are a bit higher, right now."

Fletch gave her an imploring look. "She's your friend. She's in danger. Help me stop this before it starts. Yeah?"

Elara listened to Nik talk, letting him finish before saying anything.
"No, Aikios would not be a better choice than you...I just...I want a backup plan in case something goes wrong."
Which, Elara figured, is very likely. For one, she didn't even know who the mutinous party were, or how many there were.
"I don't know who to trust, except for you and Aikios..." she admitted, frustratedly running a hand through her hair, her eyes worried.
She was so close to breaking down into tears, but she couldn't. She wouldn't.

"Fletcher is...someone Fenris is involved with...Problem with Fenris is she's too trusting..." Elara trails off...
"Oh Angsar how could I be so stupid?!!"
"I want Fenris and Fletch shadowed constantly!"

——————————————————-

Fenris incredulously looked at Fletch.
"A mutiny...you're joking! ...Right?"
But the more she looked at Fletch the more she was convinced he was serious.
"Oh you're serious...this isn't good."
"Sure I'll help you...but what do we do?"
She got Fletch a glass of water.
"Drink this, you look dehydrated."

Nik ran a hand down his face and let out of string of curses.

"Elara. Elara! Just stop, take a moment and think for Gods sakes!" He grabbed her by the shoulders and pushed her away from the door.

"Some of the crew have come to me with complaints. You were too busy and I thought they were minor - they don't talk to me like a friend so I couldn't know it'd gotten this far. They think you're erratic. They think you've lost sight of why they joined up in the first place. You need to get them a good haul, show them you still think about them. Got it?"

But Gods it might be too late now!

"You need to stop with the map for just a fucking second and see to your crew."

Fletch took the glass. He frowned at it. It seemed absurd...calling a dying man 'dehydrated' and handing him water. Like any of it made a damned difference. Like a glass of water would make him look any less like he had that mass all tangled in his insides. Besides, it wouldn't matter if he drank water until he pissed it out pure if they didn't get this situation under control.

"Thanks," he said. He set the water aside without drinking any.

Right. She'd asked what they should do. He sighed and scratched his nose. He set his hands on his hips. "Well," he replied, and did his best to sound like he knew what the fuck he was talking about. "I think, for starters, we scope out the rest of the crew. Maybe...buy some rounds. Play some cards. Make some friends. See whose loose lips start going with a few pints in 'em. Then, if we find anything, we sort out a way to get the message to Elara. Quietly."

He cocked his head at her and looked her over. Honestly, he wasn't sure if she was the type to pull this kind of sneaky operation. "We need to be subtle about this. Yeah?" he added. Then... "Right. Tavern, then?"

Elara listened to Nik. Actually listened this time. She nodded.

"You're right." She sighed and went to her desk, looking over some charts.
"We'll be practically on top of the main pirate route in two days...we can find a straggler and attack. It's on the way to Essryn anyways."

————————————————

Fenris sighed.
"Right, to the tavern it is, then." They made their way to the tavern, and Fenris sighed, choosing a table kind of off to the right of the room, with the bar behind them and the door in front of them.
"This is as good a table as any."
There were three other tables occupied in the saloon...one table, Aikios and the werewolf fighter were talking intensely, heads together.
The other group had chosen a table far in the corner and were inebriated, laughing and downing shots.
The last table was occupied by a single occupant, his hood drawn over his face, his untouched beer in front of him, he was shuffling through the deck of cards.

Nik groaned and threw both of his hands behind his head as he started pacing.

"We shouldn't fucking go to Essryn, El! That map is destroying you. It's destroying everything you've built! Please just...for the love of the Gods get rid of it and figure out your life, ok?"

What else could he say? She wouldn't listen. That had been the name of the game since he'd joined her crew. She trusted him for some stupid reason, which really should have been his first hint at insanity, but she never seemed to listen.

"I'm going to go get a drink. Talk to the crew. Figure out more about this mutiny if they'll talk to me. Just...don't do anything stupid, ok?"

And he stalked away to find the nearest tavern where he'd overheard some of the crew discussing earlier.

"What's your poison?" Fletch asked her, suddenly a whole lot more chipper. "I'll nab us something." In spite of how tense things had gotten, he was now in his element. The creak and rock of the ship, the raucous laughter of fellow sailors at ease, the smell of smoke and booze: this was as close to home as he'd been in this fuck-awful place. He winked at Dog Lady and swaggered over to the bar, digging around in his pocket as he approached. "Two whiskeys, neat. Er...please," he added as an afterthought.

As he waited for the drinks, he leaned against the bar and took in the scene. Cards Man off in the corner seemed a little suspicious, with his beer untouched and his face hidden. Either that, or he was an opium dealer. Fletch would have to come up with some way to wedge in and get him to talk. A wager, maybe, on a game. The loud table wasn't of interest. Mutineers weren't so at ease. His gaze slipped past them and landed on the table closest to where Dog Lady sat. He pulled a face.

"Eugh," he murmured beneath his breath. It was that damned horse monster again. He looked away in disgust, but not before noticing that the creepy thing was having a very in-depth conversation with a fellow sailor. Alright. They'd start there. He turned, grabbed the drinks, nodded a quick "thanks" to the barkeep, and headed back towards Fenris. "Bottoms up," he announced as he slid the whiskey across the table before plopping down on a stool and taking a sip of his own. He hissed and made a face. He knew he shouldn't be drinking. Hell, he didn't want to drink. But they had to keep up appearances for this little game. And the whiskey did burn awfully nice as it rolled down his throat.

With one ear towards the horse monster, he cocked an eyebrow at Dog Lady. "So," he began in an effort to keep the ruse up. "How d'you know her, then? The Captain?"

Fenris took one drink of the whiskey and wrinkled her nose. This stuff was atrocious.
"Oh, me and the Cap'n go way back...her and some of the crew stumbled into my tavern oh, about 5 years ago...she didn't have this ship then, a much smaller one. They weren't the typical raucous group so I gave 'em their first round of drinks on the house. Well, I was wearing this old necklace, and she recognized it. Was from Thanatos. Long story short we became kindof close and she'd bring me random artifacts and the occasional cool weapon; and I'd give her and her crew a place to hide."
Fenris dropped her voice lower, much lower to where no one else but Fletch could hear and acted like she was showing him something on the table.
"Elara has never been like this...she's always been a bit reckless...but ever since that map...no, ever since that centaur joined up, she's gotten so much worse. Careless. Murdered her first mate. Selfish. I took a cruise once with her and the crew, before Aikios...the crew would have sacrificed themselves for her. But now...well, I think you get the picture."
She quietly looked around the room.
"Do you still have your pistol?"
She dug around in her pocket and drew out five bullets, which she quickly slipped to Fletch.
"I have a feeling you're going to need those."
Then Fenris put on the act again, downing the whiskey and setting the glass down with a thunk.

Nik sauntered into the bar and looked around. He knew everyone here at this point, but he wasn't feeling particularly sociable. Normally he might sit with Aikios, the horseman was...well...a horse man, but he had always been the most welcoming of the lot. In fact, Nik owed a lot of his success on the boat to him. He knew everyone, offered good advice, and kept them all from dying.

All seemed like good qualities.

Even if he was a horse....man...

"You know what I want." He sat at the counter and waited patiently for his drink. Once it touched his hand he threw it back and banged it down for another, which was granted and, once again it went down smooth as silk.

He wanted to be drunk. He didn't want to deal with Elara and her issues. He just wanted to destroy the map and get on with his life.

"Fucking map." He muttered deep into his third cup. Ale this time instead of harder stuff. The kind of drink he could use to nurse his wounds. The first few took the edge off - got him on the other side faster. Soon the stories would start pouring from his mouth, the kinds that no one knew if they were real or not.

Fletch set one scuffed, dusty boot up on an empty chair and adopted his usual expression of casual disinterest — half to keep up the act, and half to keep Dog Lady at arm's length. But the more the woman talked, the more he couldn't help but lean a little closer, until he hung on her every word, his drink forgotten entirely in his hand. From the way she'd been holding it together, Fletcher never would have guessed that the Elara was about to break. She seemed tough, you know? No bullshit. Sharp as a tack. But what Fenris told him now painted a completely different picture. No ship could afford to indulge an unstable captain, least of all a pirate crew. It was no wonder she had a mutiny on her hands.

Of course, none of that mattered. Elara was the one with the map, and the map was his last chance at staying alive. Even if he agreed with the mutineers, his survival depended on siding with her. On keeping her going long enough for them to reach the desert. He sighed heavily and took a draught of his whiskey. As he set it back down, his eyes widened.

"Do you still have your pistol? I have a feeling you're going to need those."

He glanced quickly around the tavern, then hurriedly snatched the bullets up and stuck them in his own pocket. Was she crazy? This was hardly the place to show their hand. "Yeah," he murmured as he made another scan of the room just to be sure. "Me too." His gaze landed on her again. "Thanks," he said earnestly. "Normally I'm keen on a good fight, but...not here. Not now. You may have just saved my arse."

Fletch took another sip, still mulling over all that she'd told him. Suddenly, something clicked into place. "Huh," he murmured, keeping his voice low enough that the horse monster couldn't hear him. "Aikios. That's horse man, yeah?" He scratched at his stubble, deep in thought. "You said it started with him? And he's the medic, right? Something's off, there. Is there...any chance he's poisoning her? Putting something in her favorite rum, maybe?"

He caught a glimpse of the first mate and shut his mouth. Nik, was it? He didn't know the man, though he seemed honest enough — if a bit of a twat. "Fenris," he muttered. "Do you trust him? Should we bring him in on this?"

Fenris nodded.
"We need to get into the medbay somehow...maybe we can find a poison there? If it is poison," She whispered.
"Somehow, we need to get into a fight."
Her tail flicked as she spoke, deep in thought.
"And Nik...I'm not sure about Nik. He seems trustworthy," she said, stealing a glance at him.
"I don't trust Aikios at all. The hard thing is going to be convincing Elara, if Aikios was the guilty party. Or getting her alone, without Aikios.
"We need more proof," Fenris whispered.
"Maybe we split up? I'll go talk to Nik and you to Aikios? See what we can figure out?"

They needed to start a fight. As soon as she said it, he flashed a wicked grin. It was risky, but she was right. It was the quickest way to get into the horse monster's sick bay. Besides...he really had no interest in talking to that horrible thing by himself if he could help it. "Nah," he murmured, his raspy voice turned dangerous. "I've got a better idea." He upended his whiskey, slammed the glass on the table, and stood. He swaggered and stumbled back over to the bar and leaned there next to the first mate. "Barkeep," he called, slurring his words together in an expert impression of drunkenness. "Another."

He looked up at the first mate and made sure to catch his eye. For one split second, he let the act down and flashed the man a deadly serious and determined expression. He winked. Had this Nik bastard seen it? Was he sharp enough to know what a warning looked like? Then Fletch was back to playing drunk again, and with the whiskey in his hand, that made for easy work. He downed his second dram and set it back on the counter. He was nowhere near a buzz, but nobody in this tavern — no one save Fenris, anyways — would know it.

He stood up as straight as he could and puffed out his chest. He took one wobbly step towards Nik, then another, until he was uncomfortably close.

"What's your problem, mate?" he began, making damn sure to let his voice carry. "You've had it in for me since I stepped aboard. You want to settle this like men, then? Hmm? Come on. Let's fucking go."

He gave Nik another pointed look. Throw a punch, you bloody moron, he thought.

Nik was already feeling the effects of his first few drinks and was halfway through the ale when the new guy approached. He planned on ignoring him. They weren't friends. They weren't really anything at this point besides on the same bloody ship.

It was ridiculous that Nik was feeling so protective of this boat after the past few months, after Elara basically scooped him up from the bottom of a barrel. How bad could Fletcher actually be if Nik was just a wonderful delight? Maybe there was a method to her madness.

Or maybe she was just lucky.

But could she be lucky twice.

At first he buried his nose into his glass, expecting a drunkard and getting one, but then...

What the actual fuck. Was he winking at him?

"Sorry, mate, on'y date sirens." He slurred, about to turn back to his glass when...

What was his fucking problem! Now he was starting a fight? Gods he was too close. Super close. Uncomfortably close. Picking a fight close.

What? Why?

Nik stood, his chair toppling behind him with the force and stared down Fletch. He looked drunk. But he didn't smell drunk. And, actually, his eyes were too clear.

He frowned. He was an expert bull shitter and this guy was trying to bull shit him.

He took a step forward and pulled on Fletch's collar so they were nose to nose.

"T'fuck you doin'" he hissed. Either he was about to get beaten to a bloody pulp or something weird was happening.

It was definitely a mix of both.

Fenris facepalmed, acting like she just really did not like her drink.
Fletch, you absolute twat.
She sighed and stood up, setting her glass down and walking over to Nik and Fletcher.
She took Fletcher firmly by the arm and pulled him away a little bit.
"I'm sorry, is he bothering you? We just got married like a week ago, and this like sort of a honeymoon for us. Fletch wanted to go to Serendipity but I thought it would be fun to go on a ship. As you can see," she gestured to Fletch, "He's still not happy about it."

Fletcher shot Dog Lady the sort of deranged, wide-eyed look that he typically reserved for people who ground his last nerve. Then he went right back into it, tearing his arm away from her grasp and tumbling back into the first mate. He grabbed a handful of the man's hair at the back of his head and stuck his face up close again. "We think it's the horse. I need to look around sickbay. Fucking hit me, you daft bastard," he hissed through gritted teeth. Then he took a breath, released his grip, and shoved off. "Come on!" he roared. "Let's go, Candy Arse."

Nik was shocked. Truly, feet frozen for a few moments, surprised. What...had he just said? It was Aikios? The horse? What did that even mean?

And then, slowly, his drunken brain started to parse things together. Hazily. Was he talking about the Mutiny? And why would he care? The man had just come on the Midnight Marauder and had literally zero stake in this game.

But he was so earnest! That couples with the fact that he had had to walk all the way over to where Nik was sitting just to start this fight...

He fought every urge to look over at Aikios and the group that was huddle together. Instead he tried to remember who he saw sitting there and...oh Gods...at least two had come to Nik expressing concerns about Elara. That couldn't be a coincidence.

With a growl, Nik grabbed his mug and chugged the rest of the ale before grinning wildly at Fletcher.

"Don't tell me what to do." He commanded and then smashed the glass over his head.

There was the sound of glass shattering, and then Fletcher collapsed to the ground.
Fenris sighed, acting annoyed.
"Thanks for that," she snapped at Nik, but before she could say anything else, a voice sounded through the room. Aikios's voice. He had gotten up as soon as he heard the glass break, and was concernedly glancing their way, a shred of nonchalance in his eyes.
"Is everything alright? Can I do anything?" He asked, begining to make his way over to them. The other patrons in the room seem unphased, except for the werewolf fighter that was with Aikios, him right on Aikios's tail.
"Hmm. No. He's been hit worse." Fenris said, pretending to be annoyed and impatient.
"Wait. Actually, You can let me borrow your medbay," Fenris finally said.
Aikios looked shocked.
"What, and let you just use all my supplies? I think not."
Fenris sighed, her eyes darkening alittle.
"A moment of silence, please, for this poor soul's intelligence."
She stepped up to Aikios, eyes narrowing at him.
"You listen to me, horseflake. I'm taking Fletch to your medbay. I'm going to tend to his wounds. Savvy that?"
The fighter next to Aikios bristled, a growl emitting from his throat.
Fenris turned her attention on him.
"You rescind that," the fighter ordered.
"Hmmm. No. I don't think I will," Fenris said, her canines glinting in the candlelight.
The fighter lunged for Fenris, and Fenris dodged to the left, grabbing a wooden chair and slamming it into the fighter, the chair shattering, and the fighter falling to the floor.
"Oops."
Aikios merely watched all of this unfold, eyes narrowed, but saying nothing.
"You can go tend to your fighter's wounds...after I tend to my friends," she said.
And with that, she picked up Fletcher and left.

He was there, and then he was out. And then he was back again, with his ears ringing, and everything was blurry. There were voices, but they were too garbled to understand. Someone carried him. "Lyssy?" he mumbled. Oh. Wait. No. Not the blonde. Now he remembered. He  blinked the blur away and slapped weakly at Dog Lady's arm. "Ungh. Pummedown, doggie, I can walk."

Nik still didn't quite understand what was happening, but Fletch had seemed so adamant and sure that they needed to get into Aikios' things. And then he was down.

Oops. That...he didn't mean to hit him that hard. But he was also very much feeling the shots and the ale at this point and the room was spinning. Not his best performance by any means, but now he felt like he needed to make it up to the man.

"Whas his problem." He asked the horseman with a shrug, "Whadd I do t'him?" He made a show of his drunkenness, playing it up to a level of intoxication that far exceeded his current condition - not that his current condition was a good one anyways.

"Talk widme horseman." He slapped Aikios on the shoulder, "Tellme 'bout looooove. I looooove love."

He kicked the seat next to him away from the bar and waved for Aikios to join him.

TW FOR MURDER

Aikios didn't really know quite what to make of the whole thing that just happened. He shrugged. Maybe Nik had a point. He did need something to drink.
He sat down in the chair Nik offered, suspiciously eyeing the door Fenris and Fletch had just walked out of.
He cocked an eyebrow at Nik.
"I thought you only dated sirens? Of which, I'm afraid, this ship is out of," Aikios joked, ordering a Scotch from the bartender.
"Do you know what those two were on about?" Aikios asked, trying to glean some information out of Nik. He was trying to figure out just exactly how much of a threat Fletcher and Fenris were.
The bartender slid a Scotch to Aikios, who caught it and sipped it.

The werewolf fighter had gotten up and gone back to his table, nursing his jaw where Fenris had hit him.

The door to the tavern opened and in walked an elf, who walked up to Aikios and Nik, seemingly not noticing Nik.
"Everything is ready, but Elara hasn't touched the map today. Should I switch out her drinks again—-oh shit," he said, noticing Nik.
Aikios tensed up and then played it off.
He set down his scotch on the bar and stood up, excusing himself to Nik.
"Excuse me. I'll be right back," he said, forcing a smile.
Aikios motioned for the elf to follow him. As soon as they were out of the tavern and down the hall, Aikios pushed him into a storage room, pushing the elf against the wall, drawing a knife out of his belt.
"What the fuck were you thinking? That was Nik sitting next to me! You could have jeapordized this whole mission! You might have now!"
Aikios shook his head.
"You just had to fuck this up," and stabbed the elf in the torso, over and over, until the life went out of the elf's eyes and he slumped to the ground, dead.
Aikios didn't even bother wiping the knife off and just stuck it back in his waistband, and stacked up a few crates, hiding the elf's body from view.
His eyes widened as he remembered something in the med bay.
"Oh fuck," he whispered, closing the door to the storage room and heading to the med bay.

————————————————————————————————-

Fenris gently set Fletch down on one of the beds.
"Don't move around too much. At least not until I clean it up. None of the cuts are terribly deep."
She walked over to the shelf above Aikios's desk and rummaged through all the medical supplies, grabbing what she needed.
"Oh my gods..."
There was a book on Aikios's desk, a potion in the book being circled. Elara's name was written in red next to it.
The potion circled was abstract of Lycan and manticore. Which induced irritability and rashness.
There was the said potion on the desk.
She grabbed the book and brought it back to Fletch.
"Look at this..."

Fletcher waved her off with one hand while holding the other to his head. He groaned. What in the bloody hell had that man hit him with? He'd meant to start a fist fight, not be a murder victim. This ship was full of crazy people. It was a floating asylum manned by zoo animals. For the eleventh time that day, he wondered if he was hallucinating it all.

"Cuts are the least of our problems, woman," he grumbled as he slid off the bed and joined the search. "Focus. If it's him, he'll be on our arses in a minute." He fiddled with the bullets in his pocket as he looked around. Then he realized something. "Fuck me," he hissed under his breath. "I haven't got powder or wad for this fucking thing." So all he had was his damned belt knife, and it was too short for comfort. He'd keep his eyes out for a rapier, he supposed. Swords weren't his favorite, but...Rolls had used him for practice enough times that he probably still knew his way around one. He hoped.

"Look at this..." said Dog Lady.

"Hmm?" Fletcher glanced over. She held a book out for him to examine. He scanned it impatiently, chewing on his lip in lieu of puffing on a smoke. The further he read down the page, the more skeptical his expression became. "Bit on the nose, innit?" he grunted finally. He straightened and rubbed at his forehead. "Little too convenient. He doesn't seem the sort not to cover his tracks." He checked over his shoulder to make sure they were still alone. "Still. Let's take it and get out of here, yeah? Before someone sees us rummaging around."

It took every bit of practice becoming other people that Nik had in him to remain seated at the bar with his attentions fixed completely on his drink to ignore the conversation between Aikios and the elf. He couldn't move, couldn't react, just had to exist like a too-far-gone idiot while every part of him was screaming.

What the fuck. What the fuck! What the actual fuck!?

When Aikios just calmly got up, Nik forced a loopy smile and procured an off-kilter salute.

"Sure thing horsemansir." He slurred, "'Nother time then yeah? Tells me aaaaaall 'bout th'world n'shit." And then he turned back to his drink and seemingly forgot about Aikios all together. He felt the eyes of everyone from the horse's table on him - they had to have heard the exchange. They had to know that Nik had the power to ruin everything. Maybe they'd just kill him. Maybe this was it then? Maybe it wasn't the sea that would take his soul after all.

Nik waited, pretending to finish his drink while purposefully allowing a good amount to slide out of the sides of his mouth. It added to the overall drunk fool effect while also bathing him in a good odor to sell the facade.

Dammit he had already had a bit too much before this all happened to be completely sure of himself, but he'd have to make it work. Aikios left far too quickly for anything good to come out of it. He had to follow. He had to get up and make sure that...what? That Elara was ok? That the ship wasn't just going to turn into a bloodbath? That he wouldn't die?

Gods dammit.

He stood, slamming purposefully into the stool, then the bar itself and apologized loudly to the table. He could see the table with Aikios' crew visibly relax as he stumbled out of the bar.

Once he was out of sight he dropped the act and he picked up the pace. Fenris and Fletch were going to the hospital which meant that had to be where Aikios was going, too or he wouldn't have left so quickly. Right?

A noise caused him to skid to a stop, heart racing as he was just passing storage. Thuds. Grunts. Squelches.

Oh Gods oh Gods oh Gods.

He turned the corner and held himself still against the wall, listening for the door that opened and closed. A quick peek told him to everything he needed to know.

Aikios...was covered in blood.

"Oh fuck," Aikios muttered, and instead of going to the infirmary, he went straight to Elara's room. He knocked hastily on the door, and Elara opened it, a charters map to Essyrn in one hand and a compass lying on the desk.
She gasped, seeing the blood on him.
"Oh gods, Aikios, what happened?!"
"Oh, just a minor fight in the tavern. You know how it is, pirates need to blow off their steam and shit. I got to let them win some, you know? Keeps morale high."
He needed to stall her for just one more day...
"But I'm fine," he said, walking around to her desk.
"You've not drank very much today...is something bothering you?" He questioned, casually inspecting the maps strewn across her desk.
"Just the rumors circulating on board," she sighed.
He nodded.
"Well, as concerning as some of them sound, I think honestly, if you just get the crew a good loot before we get to Essyrn, we'll be set. You know I've always got your back," he said, discreetly adjusting the maps so that the traders shipping lane maps were on top instead of the mercenary ship maps.

"Can I borrow your washroom real quick?" Aikios asked, the dried blood on his hands beginning to irritate him.
She nodded, absentmindedly studying the Aegis map she was holding.
He came back from the washroom, his hands clean but his clothes still stained.
He took out his flask and smiled.
"A toast? To make you feel better and to wish luck upon our next venture?" Then his smile faded and he shook the flask.
"It seems my flask is empty. I keep my extra special stash in the medbay. You can come along if you aren't needed above deck."
Elara shook her head.
"No, I need a good drink. My stash is low anyways."
Aikios and Elara walked to the medbay.
"I see that you survived the fight," he addressed Fletch, one hand now tightly gripping Elara's arm. 
"Now if you'll excuse me, we have a toast to drink to, Aikios said, choosing a nearly empty matte black bottle and then attempting to shoo Fenris and Fletch outside.

Fletcher startled. It was the horse. Why would it be anyone but the fucking horse?

He thinks you're tipsy. Play dumb, he thought in a panic. He turned slowly and blinked even slower. He held his hand to his forehead and stumbled a bit as he did so. It took all of his willpower not to bolt away from the horrid beast. He hoped to the emperor that Dog Lady had hidden the book in time. It was too late to check now. "Erm...yeah," he replied sheepishly. "Guess your first mate packs a wallop. Shouldn't've picked a fight with him. Learned me lesson."

Then he noticed that the horse blocked the door. And that he gripped the captain awfully hard for one of her underlings. Fletcher could have cut the tension in the room with a knife. He cleared his throat. "Oh. Yeah. Captain...your man...Nik, was it? I think he's looking for you. Seemed important. Very important. Might be worth skipping that toast."

Nik stayed behind the wall for a lot longer than he probably needed to, but his heart was beating heavily in his chest and it took awhile to figure out how move his feet again. Gods...what the fuck was happening. How the hell had he been so wrong about horseman all this time?

"Breathe, Nik." He muttered. He didn't know for sure it was Aikios...maybe there was a barrel of cherries in storage. Gotta fight off scurvy.

Yeah. Cherries. Had to be cherries.

He had to check.

Fuck he had to check. Why couldn't he just be the fool he pretended to be? Why couldn't his actual personality be the one he created to survive.

The horseman was long gone when Nik opened the door to storage and the smell of copper was enough to confirm his darkest thoughts. But he kept moving. He had to see. He had to see the gurgling form of the elf that had slipped.

Nik fell to his knees and immediately started applying pressure, but he knew it was too late. There was nothing he could do. The elf stared up at him, blood gurgling from stained lips, "It's ok...it's ok shh. You're ok. You're going to be ok." It was a lie. They both knew it was a lie. But as the life left the elf's lips, at least they weren't alone.

He wiped sweat from his brow, leaving a streak of blood across his face. He'd come back and make sure they got an appropriate burial at sea. It didn't matter that they were in league with the centaur, no one deserved to go that way. There was so much blood. It was a frenzied attack.

Nik couldn't stay here. He had to find Aikios. The horse was unhinged. Unhinged and going after Elara.

Oh fuck no.

With a hasty wipe of his hands on the elf's pants, Nik stood and fled, hoping to find Aikios before he could do anything to the captain. He just hoped he wasn't too late...but where to first? Would the horse go after Elara or go to medical? He had to pick...he was too drunk to reason this out, despite the quick sobering up that finding a fucking dead body offered.

"Med bay." He decided, and slipped back into the hall.

He moved swiftly but quietly, slipping around corners like a thief using his many skills of stealth he'd picked up over the years - skills that had kept him alive this long. He didn't encounter anyone on the way which was a fucking blessing, but his heart was threatening to burst from his chest.

Then, voices.

Voices coming from Medical.

"Nik, was it?" But that wasn't Aikios, that was...he peaked around the corner to see the backs of Elara and horseman and made the briefest of eye contact with Fletcher. He didn't have time to think, didn't have time to decide if it was the right decision or not. Aikios had just murdered someone as if he was cutting up a steak. Gods knew what he would do. And he was holding onto Elara with a vice-like grip. And now he might turn and actually see Nik thanks to Fletch's words.

Gods fucking dammit!

The short blade at Nik's hip rang quietly as it was pulled from the hilt and, before he could decide against it, he swung the blade down, severing Aikios' hand from his arm in a desperate attempt to free Elara from him.

"Fuck you, horseman." He growled.

Damn, the tension in the med bay was so thick. Elara's eyes went from Fletcher to Fenris to Nik.
"What's going on?" She nervously asked.
Aikios yelled in pain and released Elara, whirling around onto Nik.
Elara, startled as well, turned around, seeing Aikios's hand on the floor and blood dripping from Nik's sword.
Her eyes widened and she stepped backwards, away from Nik.

Aikios cunningly, despite the pain, made himself look every bit the victim.
"I wanted to tell you in private, Captain, hoping that maybe we could take the perpetrator aside, but I don't have a choice now," Aikios took a deep breath.
"It's Nik, Captain. Look at his hands, they're stained with blood. He's been planning this since before you and him went overboard. Don't you think it's a huge coincidence that the week he comes on, a siren attacks the boat?"
Aikios looks pleadingly at Elara.
"I would have said something earlier but it's difficult to get you alone!"
Elara lunged at Nik, her hand drawing a knife from her belt. She was going to kill him.
"You traitor! I-I trusted you! How could you?" She wasn't even angry. She was sad.
But before she could reach him, Fenris managed to grab her from behind, wrapping her in a strong hug and disarming her.
"Stop this, Elara. You'd kill a man because he was merely accused? Let him defend himself," she said firmly. But Fenris's tail was stiff, and her ears were alert. She was ready to fight. She knew something didn't add up. It didn't make sense.

He flinched and cried out in surprise as the blade cut clean through the horse man's wrist. The hand fell to the floor with a sickening thud. Fletcher's stomach churned at the sight of it. His ears began to ring. He'd seen blood and bile and brains, sure. That was life. But somehow, dismemberment never got any easier to witness.

The horse spoke. How the ugly thing didn't pass out from the pain and the blood loss, Fletch had no idea. The ringing grew louder. He thought he might puke. Focus, damn it, he thought, and caught the tail end of the monster's string of excuses. "Don't you think it's a huge coincidence that the week he comes on, a siren attacks the boat? I would have said something earlier but it's difficult to get you alone!"

In the blink of an eye, Elara lunged for her first mate, but Dog Lady pulled her back. As she did, the book — the evidence — fell out of her hands and face down onto the floor. The pages began to drink up the blood. "Shit," Fletcher hissed. He wove behind the scuffle and snatched it up, narrowly dodging a boot to the face. "Elara," he snapped as he rose again. He had dropped the drunken act. The fear was plain in his eyes, and his fingers shook, but he held it together. He circled back around to face her. It put him perilously close to the monster. "Captain. Pull your head out of your arse and look."

Fletcher hastily peeled the pages apart until he found the one that had been dog-eared. The moisture from the blood had begun to smudge some of the ink, but it was still legible enough. He shoved it under her nose and glared. "Your horse-man had this on his desk. Now, I know fuck all on the subject, but this looks damning even to me." He held it in front of her for a moment longer, then clapped it shut. "Your rum. Whatever it is you drink. Does he have access to it?"

"The fuck you listening to him for!?" Nik practically shouted, his short blade dripping blood onto the deck. Sure, he hadn't known Elara as long as Aikios, but she knew him and knew his history. They had survived Thaleia together and Nik was clearly not in kahoots with her.

"You don't even question the fucking blood spatter on Aikios? The actual proof of who committed the crime isn't from what's on my hands but what's on him. You're not stupid. Think!

"He murdered one of the crew and left them to die in one of the cargo holds. I tried to save them but it was too late." His teeth were clenched so hard it was hard to talk and his voice came out like a low growl. He was ready to kill the damn horse.

He was about to say so himself, but Fletcher and Fenris had been busy and the mystery only kept getting deeper. Why did they care about her drink? Why did he want to know if Aikios had access to it?

Oh Gods...that couldn't...but that would mean the horse had been planning this for a long time. A really fucking long time.

"Of course he has access to it!" Elara's hands were shaking. She didn't know who to trust.
Then Fletch showed her the book. That was pretty damning evidence.
That shocked her. Aikios had been poisoning her, or corrupting her. But why?

Her heart was pounding. Her heart felt ready to shatter. Elara fought to think, forcing her mind to ignore the betrayal, anger, and sadness she was feeling. If what Nik said was true, and she really had no reason to not trust him, for he saved her life countless times; and if he was leading the mutiny he wouldn't have saved her.
"Fenris, let me go!"
Very reluctantly, Fenris released her, keeping one hand on her arm though in case things went south.
Elara did notice Aikios had a huge blood splatter on him...
"Did anyone see the dead crew member?" She quietly asked, a strange, unreadable expression on her face.

The question went unanswered. During all of this Aikios had been quietly weighing his options and watching the chaos unfold. He was grossly outnumbered.
Very calmly, he walked closer to Elara and Fenris, stopping quite close to them.
"I can explain everything," he said, beseechingly looking into Elara's eyes.
"That book was..."





"A mistake on my part."
Then, in a flash, inhumanely fast for someone of his size, he grabbed Elara's hand holding the knife and twisted it, taking the knife and stabbing it into Elara's chest.

It was pandemonium after that, as soon as Aikios stabbed Elara, Fenris shifted into her werewolf form, grabbing Aikios by the throat and pinning him against the wall with one hand, her claws digging into his throat. 
"Somebody help Elara!" she yelled.

"You fucker!" Fenris growled, her canine teeth bared and her eyes feral. Her eyes had changed to red. She looked absolutely terrifying.
Fenris knew Aikios deserved to face justice...despite the overwhelming evidence pointing to him being a murderer on top of everything else.
"I want to know why," she commanded, her 3 inch claws sinking deeper into his neck, blood beginning to seep down his neck. Fenris was going to kill him.

Aikios coughed, his eyes glazed over from pain, his voice hoarse.

"Elara attacked the wrong ship...a few months—-fuck—-a few months back.
Opus Dey is not a forgiving man. So, he sent me to—-to deal with her. I almost had her, too."
Fenris retracted her claws, but held him there.
"Someone else want to deal with this bastard? I-I need to see to Elara.

The Captain hit the floor with her own knife still in her. And then...and then, time stood still, and everything twisted into a freakish nightmare. Dog Lady wasn't Dog Lady anymore, but a massive wolf on its hind legs. The first mate looked equal parts horrified and stunned by it all. Fletch dodged between the two monsters and narrowly avoided Fenris's razor claws. His foot caught on hers and he stumbled to the floor. His knees struck wood. He caught his fall over Elara just before his weight sank the knife in even further. "Shit, shit, shit," he whimpered as he scrambled back to his feet. Wasting no time, he grabbed fistfuls of her coat and dragged her away from the scuffle. The exertion sent sparks flying across his vision. "LITTLE HELP HERE, BLONDIE?" he roared over the cacophony as he glanced frantically around him.

Nothing. Not a single thing in arm's reach that could stem the flow. "Fuck me, not again," he hissed as he tore his coat off and flung it over Elara. He bunched it around the blade and held it firm. He didn't dare pull the knife. As he knelt there, crimson coat staining darker with the captain's blood, he caught two very familiar words: Opus Dey.

He thought of the blonde. Not...the first mate. The woman. The one from before. The one who'd been stuck in a web. The one who reminded him of an old friend. His expression darkened. Just how far did that man's influence reach?

"Someone else want to deal with this bastard? I-I need to see to Elara," came a voice. Fletcher blinked. Dog Lady?

"Bit busy right now!" he managed. "You want answers, woman, you're going to have to hold him. Wouldn't mind them meself," he added venomously. "Tie him up, maybe. Or knock the fucker out."

Nik lunged the moment he saw the blade flash in Aikios's hands. He had seen the body. He knew what this monster was capable of and it still shocked him completely to his core. Despite his love of ridiculous nicknames, it wasn't because he felt any disrespect towards the centaur, quite the opposite. There were times when Elara was off making questionable decisions and Aikios stood with Nik as the voice of reason.

His heart was breaking. This entire disaster was making his head spin and then he was too slow and the blade had sunk deep into Elara's chest.

The sailor was already on his knees and removing his shirt before Fletcher even had the chance to call for help. He didn't care about the scars that were now visible on his side and in sweeping slash marks across his back that were clearly blue-green scales now instead of flesh. Normally he would keep them covered, not wanting to risk questions he didn't want to, nor could he, answer. Now, however? Now he just needed something to staunch the blood flowing freely from the wound and a shirt was replaceable.

He pressed it tightly against the stab wound, "Elara you son of a bitch, y'gotta stop getting stabbed, ok??" Why was she always stabbed??? And this time the person who could actually heal her had fucking done the stabbing in the first place.

"Hold this. Here. Firmly. Don't you dare let her die do you understand?"

And then he stood, blood once again on his hands, and pressed his blade against Aikios' throat to free up Fenris.

"Help her." He told her firmly, making sure the blade was pressing so hard it was starting to draw blood.

"We trusted you." he hissed.

It all happened so fast.
One second her brain was trying to comprehend everything Nik had just said, a blind rage about to make her attack Aikios; then the next second a searing pain and a sickening crunch as Aikios stabbed her in the chest, right in the middle of her sternum.
Elara was so much in shock that she merely looked down at the blade in her chest and then back at Aikios, who was now pinned against the wall by—-she faintly figured that must be Fenris. One hand went to grab the knife, trying to pull it out, then she collapsed to the floor, a betrayed "why?" leaving her lips before her world went black.

Fenris tried to keep a level head...but it was awfully hard when rage was clouding her judgement. She wanted to make him choke to death on his own blood. Her feral side was wanting to rip his throat out. But she pushed it down. She grabbed a strip of coarse cloth annd roughly tied Aikios's hands with it. Then she let Nik take over. Nik hardly had the blade against Aikios's throat before Fenris was rushing to Elara's side, dropping to her knees next to Fletch
"Hold pressure on it, don't stop holding pressure."
She couldn't tell where the knife had punctured.  Gods she prayed it wasn't anywhere vital...
She ran over to Aikios's shelves, picking out a few potions she recognized from back home, and then rifling around in his cabinet for the medical supplies she needed.
Having her supplies, she ran back over to Fletch.
"If you don't know how to do a surgery you're gonna learn."
Elara was already unconscious, but Fenris placed a hand on her forehead, closing her eyes and drawing on her ancestral magic, muttered an incantation that would keep Elara's heart going.  Her hand barely glowed red, but it worked.
"Very carefully, stabilize the knife." She ordered Fletch, already uncorking a glass vial with a substance in it that looked like it was liquid pearl.
"Nik, I could use another set of hands...could you somehow subdue Aikios and come over here?"


Aikios was in pain too. The fucking werewolf had practically impaled her claws in his neck, and she had made it realllllly difficult for him to breathe.
When Nik pressed his blade against Aikios's neck, Aikios could feel it cutting into his neck.
"You trusted me?" Aikios hoarsely whispered, a dangerous malice in his eyes.
Aikios was dangerously clever, and he knew he was probably going to die anyways. So he decided one last time to try to turn it all against Elara.
"You have Elara to blame for all of this. She was stupid enough to attack one of Opus Dey's ships? She gets the consequences," he sneered, not an ounce of regret in his voice.

The first mate added his own shirt to the pile. "Hold this. Here. Firmly. Don't you dare let her die do you understand?"

"I'm trying," Fletch hissed through gritted teeth. He pressed down harder around the embedded blade, determined to slow the bleeding. "She won't croak if I can bloody well help it." Then the sailor left, presumably to deal with the horse, and for a moment he was alone with the unconscious captain. "You don't get to do this to me," Fletcher growled down at her. "Show me a chance and then take it away. You aren't dying. Not when I'm so close."

The next instant, that massive wolf had knelt down on the other side of Elara's unconscious form. He startled and avoided her gaze. How had he not known? She was just as much a monster as the horse. Was it really just him and Nik and Elara? Were they the only normal ones on this nightmare ship? For a split second, occupied by his own fear, Fletcher forgot to press down.

"Hold pressure on it, don't stop holding pressure."

"Shit, alright, alright, I'm holding," he insisted, and redoubled his efforts. He still refused to look at her. At the mention of surgery, he went even greener, but he followed her instructions and held the knife steady. All the while, the horse kept spouting the utter bullshit of a dead man.

"Oh, shut your fucking trap," Fletch snapped at him. "You failed. Four against one, you're down a hand, and you can't even fucking stab right, you absolute cabbage. If I were that Opus prick, I'd be embarrassed. From what I hear, he doesn't take too kindly to his minions cocking up, either."

Nik had heard of Opus, but only so far as to know getting entangled with him was bad business so he tended to steer clear of that kind of crap. The man had a reputation and Nik wasn't a fool. Mostly. But he also didn't blame people for getting trapped or making poor decisions. Hell, he was the poster child for poor decision.

But to hear Aikios try to blame Elara again just made him angry, "Shut your damn mouth." He hissed at almost the exact same time as Fletch told him practically the same thing. He didn't know the man very well but already he felt more of a kinship. Maybe he had his own set of problems, maybe Elara was erratic and shouldn't have brought him on board, but he seemed like good people. The attempts to help Elara proved it.

"You're lucky we want answers or I'd kill your right now." Nik continued to hold the blade firmly. As a general rule he didn't like killing. He did everything he could to make sure things didn't come to that, but here? Now? Knowing what this person had done and seeing it with his own eyes? He was angry. But he was also unsure if he'd be able to knock out a horse....if he failed then it would put them all in danger because he'd be free and...well...he was a horse. One switch kick with his hind legs could kill them and Nik wasn't too keen on dying.

"Is there a potion of something?" Nik asked Fenris, "I can hit him, but there's no guarantee it'll be hard enough to knock him out. He is a fucking horse."

Kkärsvig, meanwhile, couldn't find the captain or the first mate anywhere.
He knocked on Elara's door, no answer. He knocked on Nik's door, no answer.
So he made his way to the medbay and stopped short. What in blazes is going on in there? It was really hard to tell, but it didn't sound good. He could hear Elara though, and Nik. And Aikios and the two new people.
He left, and came back with two of the cannoneers.
"Just stay right outside the door...I don't know what's going on in there but I'm going to go see."
Kkärsvig grabbed his skillet and cautiously went in.
He was not prepared for what he saw. Elara looked dead, on the floor, and the two new people-wait a WEREWOLF?!-were kneeling next to her. There was blood everywhere. The first mate had Aikios up against the wall with a knife to his throat.
This didn't look good. This didn't look good at all.
"What's going on?" Kkärsvig asked, his grip on the skillet tightening.

"Aikios, he's not who you think he is...he tried to kill Elara," Fenris hurriedly explained.
Kkärsvig's eyes narrowed, before gingerly making his way over to Nik and Aikios.
"Need a hand?" He asked, and then knocked Aikios out with the skillet.

Fenris, meanwhile, had taken another potion and sniffed it to make sure it was the right one.
"No, I can't look right now, sorry," she apologized to Nik.
"Ok you're going to have to very quickly lift pressure so I can pour this over the wound. Just remove the clothes you were using. As fast as I can, I'll pour this. It will stop the bleeding. Then, I'll take the knife out."
As soon as he lifted pressure she poured the potion, the potion bubbling and then seemingly disappearing. The bleeding stopped. Quickly and smoothly Fenris pulled the knife out, pouring more of the potion onto the wound afterwards.
She threw a roll of gauze and bandages at Fletcher.
She cut off Elara's shirt, and carefully set the potion and scissors down, grabbing the needle and thread.
She stopped and glanced at Fletcher, who looked alittle green.
"Just think of blood as life giving fluid, it's not that bad, Fletcher."
She quickly sewed the wound shut and then checked Elara's pulse.
It was weak. Concernedly so. Fenris's face paled alittle. But at least Elara was stable.

Then she heard Kkärsvig speak. Wait, when did Kkärsvig get in here?
Fenris summed everything up.
And then Kkärsvig just...knocked Aikios out.

Well.

That took care of that problem. She shrugged.
"You're in charge, Nik, what do you want done with Aikios?" Fenris asked.

Between the monsters and the cut off hand and the weird magic shite, Fletcher still thought he might faint. Hold it together, he told himself. He shot another glance at Elara's pallid face as her head lolled limp to one side and her mouth hung open. "You don't get to die here," he repeated, his raspy voice wavering. "The crazy ones don't go out like this. Yeah? They never do. So don't embarrass yourself dying in a half-assed mutiny. Save it for something that counts."

Then Dog Lady started with the orders, and he got small and quiet. Until, that was, she began to cut the shirt off. "Hey — " he sputtered, and threw an arm up to block the view. "Warn a man, will you?" He tossed the gauze down, swallowed, and looked pointedly away, mortified at Fenris's dismissiveness towards the Captain's modesty. It was a room full of men. What was she thinking?

"Just think of blood as life giving fluid, it's not that bad, Fletcher."

"Yeah — that's not what — just give her some damned — "

But she didn't seem to get it. Flustered, Fletch huffed, gathered his bloodied coat, unshook it with an agitated little jerk, and held it up as a makeshift curtain. "Privacy," he finished. "Let me know when it's over." He turned and bored a hole in the horse-man instead. Ugly as the thing was, it still felt good to look it in the eye and watch it contemplate its own failure. Nik and this newcomer — a big man with a frying pan — seemed to have it in hand. But then...not entirely.

BAM.

Fletcher watched the would-be mutineer crumple to the floor. Well. At least big man was on their side. He thought back to the tavern. Best to warn the two of them before it was too late. "Oi," he barked. "Keep your guard up. It might not be over. The horse wasn't alone." He shot a quick glance over the top of his coat at the thing Fenris had become. "She could still be a target. We need to hole up somewhere and keep her safe."

Well....that worked. The skillet was definitely a heavier weapon that the hilt of a short sword and Nik wasn't sad to see the centaur go down. He spit onto the floor next to him in disgust and took deep steadying breaths to keep from smashing his face in with his foot.

"Thank you." Nik told the cook, clapping his hand onto his shoulder before turning towards Elara with concern. Fenris was working quickly, but it still felt too slow and he was powerless to do anything about it. "Dammit, Aikios...." He muttered to himself, still reeling from the hurt and betrayal that came from all of this.

But also....it all was starting to make sense and to fall into place. The first few sailors who had come to Nik about their concerns had sent Nik to Aikios for advice – mutiny wasn't unheard of on ships, especially pirate ships, but he had mostly been on merchant vessels and trusted the more seasoned folks judgements over his own. But, but going and confiding in Aikios, he had been convinced they were petty grievances and nothing more.

Fuck, this was his fault, wasn't it? His gut had been right from the beginning, but he put it off because he trust the man...er....horse....

"I'm in charge...." He repeated, blinking a few times as the weight settled on his shoulders. No no no, he wasn't the right person for this job. He was the king of bad decisions and bad relationships. He had trusted Thaleia, he had trusted Aikios, and now they were both out to destroy him...not just him, but everyone he cared about.

He ran a hand over his face, completely sober by this point.

"Ok. Ok." He looked around the room and found a length of heavy cord which he cut into three lengths and handed on to Cheffy, "Tie up his hind legs. Tightly. He can still talk if his hooves fall off."

Then he leaned down and began fastening his own piece around horseman's hands before moving onto his front legs. If he woke, he wouldn't be able to do much else.

Gods...this wasn't over. This was just beginning.

"Gather the people you trust." He commanded Kkarsvig, "Get everyone on deck as fast as you can. Make sure that you're armed in case things go south. Five minutes. Got it?"

Kkärsvig tied Aikios's hind legs tightly, and then looked at Nik.
"I've got two men outside this room that can take him down to the brig, if that would help. They could manage him."

Fenris bent down and wrapped a blanket around Elara, carefully lifting her up and laying her on one of the beds.
"Ok Fletch, she's modest again," Fenris said, standing up and checking Elara's pulse again.
"Nik, I don't know if she'll ever wake up. Her pulse is slow enough that she's either in a coma, in shock, could even be a mix of both."
Fenris angrily rubbed her eyes.
"I know she was reckless, but gods she didn't deserve this!" Fenris yelled, a growl seeping into her words.
She took a deep breath and tried to calm herself down.


Kkärsvig nodded at Nik's orders, and started to leave, then paused, a worrisome thought creeping into his mind.
"Did anybody see how many, if any, were in the tavern?"

"I'll gather as many as I can," Kkärsvig promised, running as fast as he could. Slowly, a general commotion could be heard building up as the crew learned of what was happening.

"Did anybody see how many, if any, were in the tavern?" Big Man asked.

"There was at least the one wolf-looking...thing. Like her," Fletcher called to the man as he left. He jerked his head over at Fenris as he spoke. He still wouldn't look at her. He'd finally lowered his coat and slipped his arms through the sleeves again. The Captain's blood made it cool and heavy against his shirt.

He stared down at Elara. Dog Lady was right: she didn't look good. She'd lost a lot of blood. She'd be on bed rest for weeks, and that was if she ever woke up. In the meantime, the crew's hierarchy would shake out, and if someone took charge who didn't give a fig about the map, he could lose it all. He eyed the book that he'd thrown to the floor when she fell. "I know fuck all about how this magical fairy shite works," he muttered. "But...Fenris. Was there anything in that witchy...potion-y...book...thing...that could help her?"

"No." Nik said firmly, "If we move him we risk spreading that we know. It could light the fuse of a fight we're woefully unprepared to win. Keep him here, put someone trustworthy to watch'im."

Nik ran his hand across his face, thankful the blood had already dried and didn't leave streaks. This was too much...this wasn't what he wanted for his life. It wasn't what he wanted for Elara. Hell, Fletcher had just joined them and even without knowing a lick about him he didn't deserve this either.

"Get the whole crew on deck. Everyone, do you understand? Tell them the captain is going to relay plans for our next mark, nothing else. Got it?"

He didn't wait for a response before turning to Fletcher and Fenris.

"Fletch, are you good in a fight?" He asked, halfway to the door, "If any of us are going to make it out alive, we're going to need you if things go south. Elara brought you here, help us save her ship."

He paused.

"Uh...please."

Kkärsvig nodded and leaned out of the door, motioning for his two men to come in.
"You don't let this bastard escape this room! And you protect the captain with your life, savvy?" The two men nodded and took up positrons on either side of the collapsed Aikios.

Kkärsvig hurriedly gathered up everyone he could find, merely telling them what Nik told him to say. Soon enough, all of the crew had gathered on deck. Well. Almost all of the crew. Seven were missing, having figured out that Aikios had not come back, and had promptly hid somewhere in the depths of the ship, planning their next move.

Fenris anxiously picked up the book and skimmed through it.
"The magic isn't quite the same...but I can try to find something. Maybe an antidote of some sort..." Fenris's brow furrowed as she flipped through the pages.

Meanwhile, up on deck, some of the crew were getting restless, murmuring among their selves.

Fletch shot a pained look at the first mate. Did he want to say it? Should he reveal his cards to this complete stranger? He didn't make a habit of being honest, but seemed like the only option left. And so did backing the man on flushing out this mutiny once and for all. Fletcher rubbed at the bridge of his nose, glancing blearily between Elara and the horror show that was Fenris. Yeah...she seemed like the mothering type. She knew medicine. She could handle it. He was no use down here anymore. He returned his attention to Nik and let out a weary groan.

"Mate, look. You don't know what you're asking. I'm one bloody nose away from taking a dirt nap, here. And I haven't any powder or wad for this fucking thing, either." He gestured at the pistol Fenris had given him. "You'd be better off deputizing the ship's cat. But...yeah. Alright. Fine." He glanced around sick bay for a better weapon. Unless he wanted to borrow Elara's sword, there was nothing in sight. He got the feeling she'd cut his hand off for something like that, anyways.

"You got a spare rapier, at least?"

Nik breathed a noticeable sigh of relief when Fletch decided to join him. He understood the man, probably more than he would ever let on. This wasn't what he was good at. Subterfuge and infiltration was where he thrived, but this? This moment of violence and death....he didn't like killing ever. It wasn't his style. Knock out? Rough up? Maybe a little, but only if he absolutely needed to do so. He stooped down and took Aikios' blades from his person making sure to keep them firmly in their sheaths.

His face was pale and his lips set in a firm line when he stepped forward and clapped the man on his shoulder, "Thank you. With any luck you won't need to. Hang back on the deck. Keep your ears open." Then he unhooked the sword at his hip and handed it to Fletch.

"Not a rapier, but it'll have to do."

Then he turned and began exiting the room, thought better of it for just a moment and paused in the doorway, "You're a good, man."

And then he was gone.

Nik needed to act quickly. The blades he'd taken were draped over his shoulder as he made his way back to the cargo hold. He passed a few people making their way to the deck and they eyed him suspiciously.

"Oi, Nik, where'd your shirt go, eh?" one of the crew that had always been friendly asked with a chuckle as they passed. Nik just shrugged and made some kind of snarky remark he couldn't remember before slipping through the door. There, he found a bag of clothes and slipped a loose jacket around himself, not even caring to put on a shirt. That would take too long.

There was the elf...still covered in blood with dozens of gaping stab wounds. His stomach churned, but he leaned over and hoisted the body across his shoulder and then made his way to the deck. He couldn't have been more than five minutes, but already people were getting antsy. Where was Elara? Where was the captain? Why had she summoned them but wasn't waiting on deck?

Then they spotted Nik and the conversations stopped. They stared, wide-eyed, surprised.

Nik laid the body down gently in front of them and then stood, sticky blood smeared on his torso and the jacket he had commandeered. Then he tossed the sheathed blades down next to them and silently looked each person in the eye before speaking.

"Many of you came to me. You voiced your concerns. I didn't know how serious the situation was. I'm sorry I didn't act faster. I know you're angry, you're upset, you're looking for something better and you think you found it." Then he gestured to the body, "This is how Aikios repays his friends. Killed in cold blood in the cargo bay. Don't believe me? Look at the blades. You'll recognize them. They're his. He carries them every day. They're still covered in blood. C'mon then. Look." He took a step back to allow members of the crew to examine the blades, the blood, and see that the size of each wound perfectly matched the blades.

"I'm not your enemy." He added softly after a moment, holding his hands wide, "I'm not even armed."

TW: VIOLENCE, DEATH, UPSETTING SCENES

The crew that had gathered on deck was getting restless.
Nik finally showed up, the elf's dead body over his shoulder, the crew falling silent in concern.
They listened to him explain what was going on, concerned murmurs about Aikios filtering through the crowd.
"Where's Elara? Why isn't she here?" S shout from the back of the crew.
A quiet conversation began among some of the crew. Th tension was slowly building.
One burly pirate stepped forward, his arms folded. More followed, and they all inspected the body. What Nik said was true. The wounds matched up with the swords.
"What about Aikios?" One of the pirates that was inspecting the body cautiously inquired, one hand resting uneasily on the handle of his sword.
Agreements and shouts from 3 others in the crew went up, the tension uneasily getting worse.

Down in the medbay, after searching through Aikios's shelves and his desk, she finally found an elixir that might help Elara. After administering it, there was literally nothing she could do but wait. She impatiently paced around the room, the two men guarding Aikios concernedly looking from Fenris to the captain.
"Is...Is Captain going to make it?" one of the men quietly asked.
Fenris stopped pacing and looked at him.
"I honestly don't know."
Aikios groaned from where he was on the ground. He was slowly regaining consciousness again.
A small, very weak movement of Elara's chest made one of the men point at Elara.
"She was breathing!"
That made Fenris immediately rush to her side and check her pulse again. It was slightly stronger than the last time she had checked it. That was an improvement.
While Fenris was tending to Elara, leaning over her to listen to her heart, the discordant tension from up above was filtering down from the main deck. The two men exchanged glances.
One discreetly knelt down next to Aikios to check his pulse, except he wasn't checking his pulse. He was quietly cutting through the ropes that had Aikios bound, the other man quietly drawing his knife and backing towards the door.
He mouthed "it's time," to the other man and opened the door and disappeared down the hall.
Fenris turned around.
"She's improving-where's the other guy?"
An uncomfortable feeling gnawed at her brain.
Her ears went back, and a low growl formed in her throat.
She stood in front of the bed on which Elara was lying.
"Whose side are you on?" She asked the man, her claws were out and her teeth bared.
"Cmon, wolf. I just need to make sure Elara's dead. Then I'll leave," the man lied, a dagger in his hand.
Fenris took an empty potions bottle and threw it on the ground.
"You cross that broken bottle, and you'll wake up in the afterlife," she threatened, her eyes daring him to try.
In the background, Aikios slowly rolled over and very slowly pushed himself up with a groan, his good hand going to the large lump on his head.
"Is it just us two now?" He worriedly asked after a minutes pause.
"No...the crew I think is up on deck...some of ours could be down in the hold waiting. Vær went to alert them."
Fenris growled.
"I was hoping Kkärsvig actually killed you."
Before Aikios could reply, the sound of boots in the outlying hall could be heard, and the mutineers that had been hiding filed in.
Aikios counted. There were seven not including him.
"Two of you...stay down here and finish...that," Aikios gestured at Fenris and Elara.
"The rest of you get up on the main deck...when I give the signal, fight like hell. I'll be right beside you."
The mutineers nodded and left, except for the two that Aikios had ordered to stay.
Aikios took a careful step and groaned again. Someone had stolen his weapons. Kkärsvig packed a wallop, he had to hand it to him. Vær tossed him his sword, having two daggers in his belt already. 
He turned to leave and then paused.
"I don't want either of them making it out of here alive."
And with that he left, heading up to the main deck.
The two mutineers turned and split up, circling around Fenris. She hadn't attacked while Aikios was in here because there was no way she could have beaten all eight. But two against one were pretty good odds.
She smiled, an unnerving, feral smile.
"The doors right there if you want to leave."
Vær lunged at her, drawing a dagger. She dodged and kicked his legs out from under him.
The other mutineer managed to land a slash across her back, and she whirled and brutally slashed him across the torso with her razor sharp claws, the man falling to the floor clutching his chest. She managed to grab his dagger by the blade and wrest it from his hand as he fell. She turned around—-where did Vær go? Two explosions of pain in her torso let her know that Vær was in fact behind her and had just ran her through the back with two daggers, and then viciously yanking them out.
She howled in pain and tried to turn around but a swift, harsh kick to the back of her leg downed her.
"And stay down, bitch," Vær sneered with another kick to her ribs.
He walked almost languidly over to where Elara lay on the bed, raising the crimson stained daggers over his head for the death blow.
Fenris, breathing heavily, and with much difficulty threw the dagger she had grabbed. The dagger landed right in the center of Vær's neck, him collapsing with a spray of blood.
Fenris let out the loudest, most agonized howl she could before her world faded into black.

Fletcher took the sword. "Fuck," he muttered. He didn't know how to use one of these great, bulky things. There wasn't any speed or finesse to a weapon this heavy. But the first mate was right: it would have to do. He gave the man a strange look that lingered after he'd left the room. "'Course I'm good," he muttered, like it should be obvious to anyone at all. He turned to Dog Lady. "You're sure you've got this? She's going to be alright. Right?" And then, without any further delay, he headed above deck.

He arrived before the mate to a gathering of restless sailors who'd been promised answers. He did indeed hang back. It wasn't because the man had told him to, mind. He could just see for himself just how deadly this could get, and how fast. Finally, Nik showed up with the evidence hanging limp in his arms. "I hope you know what you're doing," Fletcher murmured, stepping aside to give him space. But before the crew could decide for themselves which way the wind was going to blow, a howl echoed up through the hatch. Then another.

"Something's wrong," he hissed. "Nik. Someone's infiltrated sick bay. Never mind this, we need to go." He started for the hatch. It opened before he reached it. Five more crew members climbed out on deck. And they did not look friendly. "Look out. More of the bastards." Fletcher backed away slowly, hand on the top-heavy sword, hoping to all hell that this wasn't the end.

Nik watched with bated breath as the crew stepped forward to examine the body. The murmurs that followed should have made him feel more confident, but he couldn't relax. It certainly sounded like they believed him but the situation was charged and could change at any moment into a bloodbath.

And he had given away his short sword.

It had been a calculated risk and if anyone decided to charge he'd have to do his best to dodge and deflect until he could get to the edge of the ship and jump overboard. He fingered the ring in his pocket anxiously but did his best to keep his face as passive as possible.

"I'm not lying to you. Aikios killed our friend here without thought. He also stabbed Elara – your captain. She's fighting for her life at this very moment."

Gods when did he become a diplomat? When did his life become being a leader? He wasn't a leader. He was a fucking idiot who didn't know when to leave well enough alone and got entangled in too much shit he could have otherwise avoided.

"Good." A voice from the back pierced through the whispers, "Elara's been nothin' but a loose cannon these past months.  We don' want her t'be our captain."

Dammit.

Nik tensed, but no one moved against him. They were oddly still. They weren't even reaching for weapons.

"But we sure as hell don't want Aikios." He added, pointing at the dead sailor, "We'll follow you, though."

Fuck.

Fuck!

But he didn't have time to respond. At that point he, too, heard the howls from below deck and heard Fletcher shouting.

There wasn't time. There wasn't time!

"Go!" He commanded Fletch before turning to the rest of the crew.

"Then prove it." he shouted, "Raze them to the ground!"

And then the fighting began.

When Aikios got onto the main deck, the fighting had just started. Aikios hung back from the main fighting, internally fuming that some of his men hadn't waited for his signal and had just attacked. His eyes searched for Nik. There he was. Sword in hand, Aikios crept behind him and swung, but missed, his sword glancing off of a metal pulley with a loud clang.

Kkärsvig had also made it on deck. When the howls sounded from below and the fighting started, Kkärsvig swore and ran for the hatch, knocking a mutineer overboard with his skillet on the way to the hatch.
"I'm right behind you," Kkärsvig yelled to Fletch just to let him know there wasn't a hostile pirate following him.

Much of the crew followed Nik's orders, viciously fighting the mutineers, who were slightly losing ground but still fighting. A few indecisive pirates nervously hung back, swords drawn, but unsure of what side to take.

Fletch didn't need to be told twice. Well — he didn't need to be told at all, really. His job was to stay alive, and that meant keeping Elara breathing, too. He wanted nothing to do with this mess on deck. Nik was capable enough, anyways. The man could handle it. He dashed for the hatch, gripping the shortsword and swinging it with a distinct lack of finesse at anyone who came for him. "How does anyone use these things?" he complained as he narrowly blocked a mutineer from taking his nose off. He aimed a kick and sent the woman tumbling back down the stairs. "Come on, big man, let's move!" he called to Kkärsvig before disappearing below deck.

It was quiet down here — almost deafeningly so. The fighting manifested in distant cries and thumps against the deck above them, but as they delved further into the bowels of the ship, that cacophony grew fainter and fainter until nothing could be heard but the creaks and groans of the hull. The back of his neck prickled. Quiet meant that the fighting in sick bay was done. It meant that either the remaining mutineers were dead...or Elara and Fenris were. "Shit," he muttered, and sped up the pace.

The scene that met them was a gruesome one. Horse man's blood was everywhere. Two more mutineers lay dead in it, and...Fenris, too. "Shit. Fuck," Fletcher breathed as he strode towards Elara and pressed his fingers to her neck. There was a pulse, but it was faint. Still, she breathed, and he released a heavy sigh of relief. "Right. Next." He approached the monstrous form of what used to be Dog Lady and knelt next to her. Two stab wounds leaked blood near where he assumed her kidneys were. Was that it? Were there more? She was massive like this. He'd never be able to check on his own. "Hey. Mr. Frying Pan. Help me turn her over. See if she's alive."

In an instant the deck turned from a situation that was heading towards peaceful resolution to one of chaos and death. They were all pirates so they all knew how to fight and were good at it, but they were also caught by surprise just as much as Elara and that elf had been earlier. Thank the Gods that most of the people on deck decided to side with Nik, if only because they liked him and not Elara, but that was a situation he would deal with later. He didn't have time to think about what her death would mean or what her living would mean either. Too much to worry about. Too much to deal with.

For now he just needed to stay alive.

And he had given his sword to Fletcher.

Gods Dammit. Fuck all!

It took some time for the swarm to reach him, but when they did they were thankfully far outnumbered as only a handful it seemed remained purely loyal to Aikios. And hell, maybe they had come on board at his discretion with the sole purpose of mutiny. He wouldn't put anything past the horse anymore. Nik had been duped. He had truly thought that the guy was upstanding and whatnot.

Serves him right. He had never been a good judge of character.

Then they were through. Just one, it seemed, but she was making a straight line for Nik.

Fuck.

This was it.

He never did like fighting, which actually served him quite well now. Instead of relying on blades and blood, he dodged an dodged well. The woman took a swipe towards his face and he was gone before the blade even came close. Then she saw him to her left and lunged, but again, he was gone like smoke. People never knew what to do with this kind of altercation. They expected to be met head on, but Nik liked to keep them confused – disoriented.

So he kept moving. Left, then right, then a quick duck onto the ground. Then he was behind her and had managed to pilfer two daggers from her belt where they sat forgotten while she held her sword. Then her belt was sliced in two before she realized what was happening and, like a bad short story, she became distracted by her now-too-loose pants. Nik was able to pressure her then, continuing to dodge, until they were at the edge of the ship and he threw her into the ocean.

Good.

That was over.

Now for the others.

He turned and his eyes were instantly met by Aikios who was making his way straight towards him.

Kkärsvig's eyes went wide as he saw the carnage in medical.
Kkärsvig muttered something in the language of his people before rushing over to Elara, trying not to panic. He had left her here. He had abandoned her. His breathing quickened before he got ahold of himself, seeing Fletcher put a hand to Elara's neck, seemingly searching for a pulse.
"Oh gods...she's dead isn't she..." and then his eyes landed on Fenris. Fletch was a step ahead of him, and was already telling him to help him turn her over.
He dropped to his knees beside Fletcher and set his frying pan down that he was still holding.
"Aye, I can help," his voice was tinged with sadness. He cared for Elara...he saw her as a daughter.

He helped Fletcher turn Fenris onto her back.

"Erm...I don't know much about medicine...but she don't look good..."

Fenris was still in her shifted form. Fenris's chest wasn't moving at all, and her eyes were frozen open, staring blankly at nothing. Blood leaked from her mouth. Her pupils however, had changed into eclipses, a strange light emitting from behind her pupils, giving her eyes a sort of ringed light effect.
Kkärsvig looked around.
In the chaos, the map that Elara had been so obsessed with had landed on the ground, and despite being soaked in blood, had the same eclipse on it, and was slightly glowing. Just enough to look unnatural.
——————————————————

The fighting on deck had stopped. Much of the ship deck was stained red.

Aikios meanwhile, had spotted Nik and made a beeline for him, murderous intent in his eyes.
"Oh Nik...Elara I always knew was a fool but you?" Aikios laughed. A cruel, taunting laugh.
"You I thought would figure it out. You seemed like a smart one but what can I say?" Aikios shrugged.
"Birds of a feather I guess," and then he lunged at Nik, intent on ending his life.