The Quest for the Celestial Aegis (@Nightcrawler)

[wandering_giraffe]

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.

[Nightcrawler]

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."

[wandering_giraffe]

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." 

[Nightcrawler]

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?"

[wandering_giraffe]

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.

[Nightcrawler]

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.

[wandering_giraffe]

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.

[Nightcrawler]

"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."

[wandering_giraffe]

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?"

[Nightcrawler]

"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..."

[wandering_giraffe]

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."

[Nightcrawler]

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?"

[wandering_giraffe]

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.

[Nightcrawler]

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.

[wandering_giraffe]

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."

[Nightcrawler]

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.

[wandering_giraffe]

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."

[Nightcrawler]

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?"

[wandering_giraffe]

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!"

[Nightcrawler]

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.