• Solo • Friendly Fire

[Eddrick Brodon]

Friendly Fire [Crescent Sea]

Ymiden 6, arc 719

Knots....knots, knots and more sarding knots!! His fingers would have impressive callouses if the abrasive hemp ropes, studded with crystalized salt, did not tear them off as fast as they accumulated.
And swabbing! Oh yes, plenty of that to go around! Blisters atop callouses atop blisters! All left as bloody stains upon knots of every sort, all over the 'Sea Lance'. But he made no complaint.

Eddrick had managed to keep a civil tongue in his mouth as he'd endured training for this mission back in what had been Nashaki's Northern Reaches Fortress. Eddrick had played a significant part in it's downfall and resurrection as the Empire's most southerly extension into the Hotlands. It was a new base of operations for further incursions south and west. But his newly developed skill in 'shutting-the-fuck-up' needed to be even more rigorously applied aboard the 'Sea Lance' itself. It was hard to believe he could find a more harsh taskmaster than those Ithecal commanders back east.

'Live and learn.' he groused silently.

Returning east in haste weeks before, with details about an upcoming fleet of mercenaries taking the side of Nashaki, he had called for an immediate council. It was to his credit that his former enemies respected him enough to comply. Up in Yaralon he had contrived to acquire information about a number of identical naval contracts, their only difference being the names of the mercenary groups being listed as cargo on board. All too familiar and consistent upon each contract was a name Eddrick knew to be directly connected to the Nashaki military. The same that had betrayed him and his Rhakrii men. Now at last, a chance for vengeance!

There was no doubt. He knew of seven separate contracts, each listing upwards of 500 troops. And while 3500 men was not a world-shaking force in most conflicts, in the bleak, sparse, relative emptiness of the Hotlands, it was a formidable detail. Since his last trip to Yaralon, to learn of enemy mercs taking contracts to fight the Empire, Eddrick had managed to get the drop on several, sending them back in tatters or not at all. But that had never been more than one or two hundred at a time. And without the various advantages he'd held, he knew he would not have enjoyed such success.

As the western-most force of Imperial loyalists, he had to consider the possibility that his group was one of the targets intended to be dealt with by this force. His cave stronghold would equalize the advantage somewhat, but not enough to prevent eventual defeat and slaughter. As he presented his plan to his superiors, he was encouraged by the gleam that grew in their eyes. It was true, he was uniquely qualified to undertake this mission. Most important of all, his queen, Raskalarn, agreed.

At the time, he'd been frantic that the enemy fleet's scheduled departure from Yaralon left no margin for error. It was emotionally fortunate that he was never to learn how unexpectedly wrong he was about that fact. The departure was scheduled for the first trial of Ymiden. As such, his crash course in Seafaring was stressed upon him, so that he could be swiftly whisked to Yaralon by that date. Thus it was that the sudden breakdown of Emea's stability had no impact on the schedule. Raskalarn transported him through Emea the very trial before Emea was broken. Eddrick never knew.

The most important thing was his focus on Seafaring skills. There was always a considerable turnover on sailing crews. Drunken brawls resulting in deaths or arrest often left a slot open aboard one vessel or another. As well, going to a maritime crew removed him from most of those in Yaralon that knew him as the 'Sand Flea'. From then on it was only the necessity of being a convincing sailor.

[Eddrick Brodon]

Friendly Fire [Crescent Sea]

Eddrick's obligation to do more than one drudge's share of swabbing came from his own inability to adjust his stomach to the relentless swell and drop of the sea. He was continually re-soiling spans of deck that he had just suffered to get clean. There came a point where he honestly feared he was going to be pitched overboard - not that drowning was all that more wretched a fate than seasickness. But it seemed that either Korlasir had connections allowing for a Captain that was determined to resist this solution, or the sneering comments, making it clear that the crew intended to keep his share of the pay, were entirely legitimate. But Eddrick wasn't planning to be paid anyway.

Truth was, in spite of his failings as a sailor - which were actually growing slightly less obvious as the trials went on - his plans were going quite well. He was rarely hungry. None of the mercenaries aboard this vessel knew him by his Yari nickname, 'Sand Flea'. And his supposedly punitive tasks kept him largely out of sight, and into some of the deepest corners of the ship. All he had to do were check knots, tie new ones - the correct ones, on the correct items, in the correct fashion - and be seen swabbing any time he had nothing else to do, for either the vessel's upkeep, or his own mission. He was pretty much forgotten scenery on board by now.

It was just a waiting game now. When he'd gotten back to Yaralon, he'd reported to the ship he'd been advised to sign on to. Looking back now, it was probably not so much that any agent from Korlasir knew of a convenient Captain to sign on for, so much as knowing which vessels had had a surprising number of crewmen turn up missing at departure, and would be desperate. Eddrick grinned at the thought, realizing that this was a far more universal strategy; one easily understood and undertaken.

After that he had gone to see the Missive Delivery cote. Surprisingly, the cote keeper had charged him extra for NOT using one of Yaralon's messenger birds. It was supremely important to Eddrick's misdirecting scheme that it be the hawk, 'Arrow', known to belong to him, that delivered the message. It would be done as if it had been erroneously sent to Athart, and scripted to be confirmation of a false-flagged convoy of troop ships, bound for the Crescent Docks, flying Nashaki flags, but actually on the payroll of the Empire.

It went on to state that on the trial that they would reach the dock, one vessel would swap out their Nashaki flag for one denoting loyalty to Korlasir. Eddrick already had the Empire's flag stowed below, in one of those dark corners that only his chores seemed to take anyone. It would be a fairly close thing. But having grown up in Athart, and seeing the avriel flaunt their intimidating flight skills, he was confident that a sufficiently large "Front" of winged troops, each bearing a pair of large stones, could catch and bombard what they thought were disguised enemies with stones dropped from a thousand feet up or more.

The impact of such a bombardment would smash holes straight through deck and hull alike. If the avriel even sent a mere two thousand fliers, that would be four thousand stones, or about five hundred seventy per ship. Accuracy would be an issue from that height, of course; but surely half would hit. That would be nearing three hundred hits on each. but the follow-up benefit would be that having seven ships sunk in close to the docks would make them unusable for future ships for seasons to come; maybe even arcs! Mer take the loot! All Eddrick cared about was surviving.

The thought of such a boon to the Empire - the prevention of any further enemy mercs coming through the docks to hamper Raskalarn's agenda - sang proudly through his soul.

As for 'Arrow', he did not worry that the avriel would kill him. In fact, they would want to be sure he was returned quickly and safely. They would believe that the message was sent to Athart entirely by mistake, and would not want any unfortunate harm to come to his bird. That might tip Eddrick off to what they would assume was an enormous error. No, Arrow would be safe and sound back in the Rhakrii stronghold come the 8th of Ymiden.

It was his own safety that was in question now. He would be on board one of the targeted ships, and he had just been guessing at the effects of the avriel's inaccuracy from the projected height of their bombardment. One of those effects could well be a boulder through his brain. He absently twisted the ring his best friend in the Ithecal ranks, Centurion Vierka Gardise, had given him just before he'd been whisked back to Yaralon. He wondered if he would see her again. This was more than likely a suicide mission. At the least, his name would be sung in honor in Korlasir.

[Eddrick Brodon]

Friendly Fire [Crescent Sea]

An unfortunate ceiling of low clouds obscured Eddrick's hope of verifying the success of his deception on the morning that the Crescent Docks came into sight. He would be unable to see the approaching avriel if they flew at their usual military approach altitude. He realized of course, that tothem, such cloud cover was ideal for the surprise attack he hoped would ensue; but he'd been counting on knowing how to time his ascent to the crow's nest for the best effect.

If he flew the Empire's flag too soon, other members of the ship's crew might respond soon enough to take the thing down before the avriel saw it. If he was too late, there might be other signs given to establish their actual allied standing before he could ignite hostilities. The avriel would definitely be suspicious coming in, due to his message, but there would have to be some way of striking the impulse to attack before any significant signals of alliance could be exchanged.

Even the right moment to go retrieve the Empire's flag from hiding was now thrown into doubt. He could hardly go walking around the ship with such an item at a time like this. To make matters worse, he'd been teamed with a young mercenary for morning scrubs. The kid could not be more than 19 arcs; his enthusiasm for the 'glory' of battle marking him as inexperienced. It troubled Eddrick to hear the youngster go on and on about his sense that he was "paying his dues" now with this drudgery, in exchange for how he would ravage the enemy and take spoils back home to bring monetary succor to his ailing aunt and uncle.

His parents had died as a result of a bandit ambush on a caravan many arcs ago in the Hotlands; his mother dying on the sands, with the father giving up his desire to live a few seasons later. Eddrick found some measure of comfort that it had been clearly before his time as leader of the Rhakriis. Young Trelan spoke well of his substitute parents. Apparently infertile, the aunt had been only too happy to take the youth in to her loving hovel. Trelan had grown just enough in their care to wish to repay their kindness by taking up arms for gold.

The pyre of guilt was stoked even further as the youngster began to speak of several others on board his own, and the other vessels, as "just kids". Eddrick tried not to look at him, fearing that the stricken thought of mercenaries even younger than Trelan being bound for the bludgeoning bombardment or drowning that awaited them,would give something away. He tried to just be gruff, giving only grunting acknowledgment so the kids' enthusiasm for talk of glory would find no encouragement.

It worked to some degree, with the fellow suddenly deciding that Eddrick's sailor garb showed him to be a non-combatant by design. He essentially 'apologized', in a probably unintentionally insulting way; citing Eddrick's intent to avoid battle being nothing he should be ashamed of; that those not meant for fighting should serve those that are by staying out of their way. His face showed no sneer of judgement as he said it, just plain, clean, innocence; the kind Eddrick had seen turn to horror in the face of a first real battle many times over.

That eventuality was not to be Trelan's fate though. As the morning wound on, Eddrick managed to scrub the hold, and secure knots, bit by bit, in the direction of where he had the Empire's flag hidden. He had sent Trelan in the opposite direction, toward the bow end of the cargo hold. It was a cruel twist of fate that the kid wanted to befriend Eddrick, and that he'd decided on a casual break from this demeaning duty, thinking naturally that his new friend would be happy to do the same.

Eddrick stood up, patting down where he'd just slipped the folded flag beneath his sailor's tunic, and turned to see Trelan's curious look. "What'cha got there Ed?" He asked, his gaze clearly on the hand Eddrick held tightly against his torso. "Le' me see." he said, without taking a step closer. There was something ominous about how he did not hold out a hand.

Eddrick paused only a moment, a moment he could see was sufficient to spark doubt in the young mercenary's eyes. He could see without a tell-tale look in either direction that Trelan had the advantage of position towards either hatchway access to the deck. The one was plainly behind Trelan, and the other was closer to Eddrick, distance-wise, but the younger man had the far clearer path to it. "It's a souvenir, from a sea battle I got caught up in a few arcs ago." he ventured.

"A few arcs ago? An Eternal Empire flag? In a sea battle?" the skepticism was a major feature of the tone of what were really not posed as questions.

"Well hey, you guys are not the only ones that hire mercen...ar...ies..." There was a frozen moment as Eddrick realized the unspoken admission of opposing sides that his use of the words 'you guys' had made obvious. He realized too late that he'd made a terrible misjudgment of the kid's character. He still felt the youngster would have been in for a surprise as to the nature of the "glory of battle". But he'd been greatly mistaken about the level of his intuition.

They both immediately bolted for the hatchway ladder, with Eddrick having a slight advantage for having been facing that way to begin with. This did not prevent the kid from reaching the ladder ahead of him, but he slammed his shoulders into Trelan's back as the kid tried to shout "Traitor!" He only got the first syllable out before the impact knocked the wind out of him.

Eddrick clutched his fingers into Trelan's tunic and yanked him off the ladder, spinning with him to roughly slam him face-first to the floor of the hold. Eddrick kicked him once in the side of the head right as a voice called down from the hatch above, "Trey? Are you okay?" The bandit realized that the first syllable of 'Traitor" had been interpreted on deck as the first syllable of the kid's name.

"Yeah, that was me yelling. Trey just got the wind knocked out of him. He'll be fine in a bit." Eddrick called back, holding his knife at the ready in case anyone started to come below. But he knew if they had simply looked down from on deck, their eyes would not have adjusted quickly enough to know what had really just taken place.

Now Eddrick appreciated his newfound knowledge of knots as he tied up Trelan, assigning him to whatever fate the avriel bombardment had in store for him. He went above a few bits later, bringing a mop and pail with him and starting to work his way to the mainmast where he could slip up at the appearance of the avriel and relieve the man on watch. He would probably protest and threaten to report the irregularity, but that would not really be an issue by that time.

He could see by the degree of brightness in the clouds directly overhead that the bulk of the morning had passed. he felt sure that he only needed another half-break or so.

[Eddrick Brodon]

Friendly Fire [Crescent Sea]

The brightness of the sun also revealed movement behind those clouds. Movement of a type by which Eddrick would normally have been alarmed. But at this moment, the mottled pattern of dark shaped movements, overtaking the drifting rate of the cloud cover, along with actual streaks of movements, heralded the arrival of the key element in this plan, the avriel!

One other thing arrived as well; something of a decidedly interruptive nature. Another mercenary stood at the hatchway looking down as he shielded his eyes from the ambient brightness. "You said Trelan is down there? Looks like the birds have arrived. Go back and get him. We need him up here for formations. Gotta look professional." Both men looked skyward to see a single flying figure drop through the clouds in reverse imagery to something floating to the top of a pan of boiling, whitish foam.

Knowing he could not possibly accommodate the man without being betrayed, Eddrick scrambled for an excuse, "Well...uhh...it was my fault he got hurt. He told me to get away from him and go get the doc. He's not gonna come up for me." he said, nonchalantly stepping around the man as he spoke.

The merc grunted a curse and squatted down at the edge of the opening, "TREY!! You okay or what? Get your ass UP here." There was no response from below. "TREY? You there?" He looked back up at Eddrick, his expression slowly growing more accusing. "What'd you sarding do to him, swab?"

"A knot gave out and a stack of barrels fell on him." Eddrick responded, sighting a barrel on deck that he knew to be empty. He started over toward it, seemingly ignoring the mercenary's demands that he come back. He drug the thing back, citing some ad lib explanation that he was supposed to bring the barrel below with him and wanted to do both tasks at once.

He noted the positions of the bulk of the crew as he did so, and settled the barrel where it would obscure the most potentially hostile eyes and then drove his boot into the unsuspecting side of the mercenary's head. There was a tumbling series of thumps and thuds as the merc rag-dolled his way into a heap in the hold.

The die was cast, the moment was at hand, and little things like one or two mercs' personal vendettas were irrelevant. By the time they regained freedom and consciousness, Eddrick would have either succeeded or failed. The latter received a sizable boost as Eddrick swung the hatch door closed, setting the barrel atop it, to look up and see another sailor staring at him.

"He owes me money." he said, gesturing at the hatch with his thumb, it being the first thing that popped into his mind. He crossed the deck towards the main mast, opting to act as if he had no further interest in either the sailor, the mercenary or the hatchway. It did not take long before cries focused on his location and description, accompanying orders to 'stop' and soon after, to 'stop him!'

Pursuit was not instantly organized, Eddrick's unrecognized status serving him well for the few trills it took to reach the mast and begin climbing. But that irregularity set him apart from everyone else and bootsteps sounded suddenly in haste on the deck below. He heard shouts NOT to go after him and soon arrows struck and bounced from the mast, or hissed by him.

He jumped from the pegs that served as a ladder to catch the rope ladders that wove in and out of the spars and sails. It was not so direct a route, but the billowing canvas helped hide him from the archers below. He looked to find the lone avriel that had apparently been tasked to investigate the vessels before any attack would be launched, but saw nothing.

The sudden waning of the winds went unnoticed for the few trills it lasted. The accuracy of one of the archers below however, his aim no longer hindered by wind and sail, did not. Agony lanced his side as an arrow found its mark. Eddrick lost his grip, but had fortunately gotten his arm wound in the rope ladder. His uncontrolled swing to his right saved him from a number of other likely hits.

'Embrace the pain.' he told himself as he let loose in time to clutch a different run of rope rungs and start ascending again on a slightly different tangent. The endurance-oriented facet of his Krorros blessing occurred to him as a balance he could draw on for the pain, but he decided he did not need it yet. Once used, any further injury would then become the new level of pain, and the blessing would not provide as much benefit.

And something told him that additional injury was very likely, as he saw the dozens of archers spreading out on deck to find gaps in the sails to shoot through. Only the pitching of the ship remained to disturb their aim.

[Eddrick Brodon]

Friendly Fire [Crescent Sea]

Eddrick found that repeatedly switching from one column of rope rungs to another served to keep the archers from targeting effectively. He also tried to lure misdirected fire from them by showing himself in gaps between sails, as if unaware of the danger, only to duck back or swing wide on some tangent, to dodge responding salvos.

Still, whether by disciplined aim from below or bad luck above, he caught another arrow in the thigh. He nearly passed out from the pain a few bits later when the shaft caught in the lines as he tried to quickly dodge through a clear spot in the rigging. There was an upside to taking a third arrow in the shoulder, in that it drew his attention away from the one transfixing his thigh. He could feel himself weakening. It was time to generate his blessing from his Immortal Queen, Raskalarn.

Warmth spread across his brow as the mark glowed in response to his call to the divine. A new level of strength and resolve surged through him and the injuries were relegated to low priority. The mission was all. Pain was just one of the expected aspects of it. His share was now taken and he would ignore it. He was in sight of the flags now. He looked down, his intent mostly to ensure that he did not catch the arrows he'd taken on any more ropes as he started up and across a spar to approach the mast.

That last arrow had not penetrated his should all that deeply, due no doubt, to his height above those firing at him. But he now saw a half dozen men climbing up to the spars below to reduce the gap. These were men of considerably more experience than he possessed, locking their legs in the lines for stability and swinging additional ties around the posts at hand to free up their hands completely.

Eddrick managed to slip aside of one incoming arrow, but it brought him right in line for a second, which caught him in the hip.That leg immediately lost strength and mobility and he was reduced to a sort of one-legged hop to reach the main mast. The men below had obviously figured out where he was going, if not knowing the exact reason. One last prayer whispered from his lips as three more arrows took flight.

Eddrick could somehow just 'feel' the timing of this volley. But his focus was more on the single avriel that now dropped into sight just ten or fifteen feet forward and above him. The Imperial flag was still in his hands! He had failed...

He sagged in defeat, muttering an apology to Raskalarn, and the feeling that he now deserved this fate. He had come so close. He dropped from the spar, catching himself unconsciously in ropes below, as the flag fluttered free on the coastal currents.

But Eddrick did not consider the appearance of things from the avriel's perspective. It had come down from a 'Storm Front' of three thousand airborne troops above the clouds, and seen the fleet they had believed themselves to have been accidentally warned of. And now a man was supposed to be replacing the Nashaki flag with an Imperial one.

It stood to reason that some commander below had been alerted to the avriels' presence and had called for the flag swapping to be halted. No doubt this human had not heard the call and his fellows had been given no choice but to shoot him down, since he was carrying the damning flag. As an avriel, he had no reason to think in terms of not killing an inconvenient human for the least of reasons. And this was a better reason than most. 'Those below don't want this idiot giving away their treachery!'

The last three arrows, already in flight as both Eddrick's sagging fall and the avriel's insight took place, found a mark. But not the one for which they had been tasked. Eddrick's fall took him out of the line of flight, exposing the avriel to their trajectory. One took him in the wing, one in the leg and the other passed his throat by less than an inch.

The pain from the two hits only enforced the conviction that he had guessed right. With a shriek of pain-fueled rage, he surged upwards in a mad frenzy, screeching Lorien in words that needed no translation to be understood. The men on the vessels below quailed as clouds they had assumed to be grey from threat of rain lightened instead to the promise of death, as they became a mockingly light backdrop against the coordinated dives of three thousand furious avriel.

[Eddrick Brodon]

Friendly Fire [Crescent Sea]

Wishing only to die more quickly and give his apology to Raskalarn in some chamber of judgement, Eddrick hung upside down, his eyes unfocused as the deck of the ship loomed as a ceiling over his upended field of vision. But the sudden din from "above" shook him to at least a modicum of curiosity. Were the men aboard the Sea Lance screaming mockery at him? Were they pounding wooden drums? He had heard such things in the jungles of the Crescent Peninsula, where Athart rose from the vines, back before his citizenship was stolen from him and he'd fled to the desert.

But this was much, much louder, and had no real synchronicity or rhythm to it. The patterns of beats were erratic and had little variance in timbre. As he squinted through the tears, he shook off his disorientation to focus on the deck below. He did not see the avriel, but he saw the shadows of their bodies flash by on the wooden planks, and he saw the devastation wrought by the salvos of dropped stones, hitting with impact beyond any force he'd ever seen, short of magic.

Already the stones hit so fast as to be barely seen before they blasted gaping holes in the deck, flipping torn ends of planks up to spin in the air. Blood, water and nauseatingly maimed bodies and parts spun in the air as well, trailing guts and blood in morbidly acrobatic patterns, draping entrails on the lower spars. One of the ships suddenly exploded in a massive fireball, drawing attention to its former location.

Eddrick recalled that it had been the vessel carrying the experimental alchemical powder, meant to rend great holes in the otherwise stout stone walls of Nashaki's enemies. He could only assume one stone had broken open a barrel, and another had created a spark to ignite it. Screams of the doomed men below were answered in mockery by screeched cheers of the avriel above, who directed the second salvo meant for the now-obliterated ship onto the thrashing bodies of desperate men instead. Men who'd dived overboard to elude the stone bombardment and were now trying to stay afloat in the water, despite the armor many still wore.

The shock wave of the explosion hurled many on neighboring ships overboard as well, most in varying states of unconsciousness.The bulk of these unfortunates sank out of sight immediately, never to rise again. Worse yet, unanticipated movement, screams and thrashings by those still possessing their senses heralded the arrival of hostile Mer, to finish the avriel's task.

The explosion tore the unfurled sails of the nearby ships to shreds as well, which made for less hindered targeting and impact of the follow-up salvos of hurtling death. All six remaining vessels were clearly sinking now, including Eddrick's, two already listing hard to the side. Additional bombardments revealed destroyed hulls as well, as indicated by sea water splashing through torn hull and deck alike, to splatter up top amid the blood and remains.

Staying aboard or going into the drink were now equally lethal options; though some of the more experienced - those who had fought desperate battles before and considered every trial since to be a lucky bonus - fought the Mer with respectable fury and competence.

But weapons meant for a surface battle were of greatly reduced efficiency against a submerged opponent, and the event had all the earmarks of a rout, soon to be ended. The one thing drawing out the inevitable was that the avriel took no measure to avoid hitting the mer near the surface and many of the marine people fell to this bombardment as did sailors and mercenaries.

Eddrick himself viewed all of this in horror as his own death from blood loss slowly came to claim him. Even though it had been the very pinnacle of what his mission had been designed to achieve, and the initial realization of unexpected success had brought a cheer to his lips, the actual spectacle of it churned his soul with self-loathing. He was a soldier, yes, and these men were purchased soldiers, with no truly honorable stake in either Nashaki's or Korlasir's side of the conflict. They knew what fate might await them. But it was not that.

It was not that death engulfed the flotilla of ships so swiftly and completely that bothered him. Such deaths, by drowning, or by having one's skull crushed in an instant by a ten-pound stone dropped from a thousand feet up, were vastly preferable to countless other fates he had personally witnessed, not the least of which were needlessly torturous executions endorsed by the very city these men were intending to side with.

No, it was more the hopelessness of it, the fultilty. The men on the ships tried in vain to launch a few arrows into the air, but the avriel stayed above effective range, allowing this height to only add to the velocity of the stones' impacts. And of course, never did they come down to brave melee with their victims. There was no recourse for these doomed souls but to curse in vain and die. It was the utter unfairness of it that tore his guts. Eddrick tried to assuage his soul with memories of the tauntings he'd received every time he'd been in Yaralon, but it did little to soften the imbalance of this warfare.

For a moment he wondered if his name would now truly be celebrated in Korlasir, or reviled. Would he truly deserve either? Then everything finally, mercifully, went dark as the ropes he was caught met the surface of the indifferent sea, and slowly sank with him...

[Eddrick Brodon]

Friendly Fire [Crescent Sea]

When one has resigned themselves to death and has no impetus to fight it, drowning is not such a bad way to go. A short duration of focus on not giving in to the gag reflex, and very quickly the lungs fill completely and a new sort of balance is restored. There is no further gagging, or oxygen; and then it is just to drift off into endless sleep.

But there should not be any dreaming. There should not even be any awareness of the contradiction existing. There should be no fluctuating pressure on the chest. The dream took a slightly sensuous turn as he recalled kissing Terrilee, back in the southeast Hotlands to shock the possessing male ghost from her body. There was the suggestion of laughter, but it was drowned out by coughing. A recurring sensation of wetness on his face brought Eddrick some semblance of reality and identity. This was no dream!

Suddenly that same gag reflex he'd remembered resisting was the only reality there was. He choked and rolled to the side vomiting and gagging water, both fresh and salty. In truth it was all he'd had in his stomach anyway. Cheers sounded in his mind...Or beyond??....What in all perdition was going on? Was he supposed to be resisting this emptying of his lungs or not? Did the twins or their brother require it before rendering judgement upon him? And why was it so bright? Why would the Immortals have sand for the floor of their judgement chamber?

Realization began to dawn on him and he gaped in semi-blind wonder at familiar faces looking down with the blazing sun behind them. Had they gone into the water as well? Their faces showed wetness. No, they were laughing! These were tears of...joy? "Am I...actually...alive?" Eddrick finally asked.

"Yes!..." sounded the familiar growl of Jeth, the Rhakrii healer, "...but if you ever kiss me again when I'm trying to restore your breathing, I'll kill you all over again." A new chorus of laughter set Eddrick's ears to ringing, punctuated by multiple slaps on multiple backs. "We had to fish you out, and give your lungs a good kick. But you'll be okay." Jeth summed up with satisfied grin.

It waned slightly as Eddrick did not immediately embrace life, but rather, sat with a puzzled look. "But what about the arrows? I was hit three or four times, a couple of them potential life-enders. There were boulders being dropped with lethal speed...Mer in the water...I don't get it. How long was I in the water?"

Several shrugs preceded one of his men's response, "Long enough that ye truly ought ta be dead, chieftain. But there weren't no arrow wounds." a twitch of a restrained grin hinted at an incoming insult. "Could be brain damage though, from lack o' air. But with you, who could tell?"

Another round of guffaws and slapped backs brought Eddrick out of his mood and into the laughter at his own expense. A sudden twinge of pain on his finger brought him up short. But it wasn't like a break or sprain. It was just a quick burn. He looked down to see the ring that his Imperial superior, Centurion Gardise, had given him. It was burnt and cracked, looking with every trill as if it was getting closer to crumbling into dust. A gasp from Jeth brought his attention back.

"I know what that is, Chieftain. A Ring of Revival!" He cried. One of the other men corrected him, "Or, yeah, Reversal! The Queen must have seen that you were likely to die on this mission and had you provided with it, to bring you back. This shows what you mean to her and her empire. You truly have her favor, sir!"

Eddrick found himself speechless. To have previously been doubly betrayed, and forced to live his life as a nomad, truly brought home the warmth of trust and loyalty to his soul. "Did she send you men too? I mean it wou..." Jeth was not alone in nodding confirmation of this fact.

"Yes, sir. We got a bird from Korlasir, telling us you'd be on one of the ships and would need help. We had to finish of few o' them off that didn't get taken by the Mer."

Eddrick nodded to himself, "It all makes sense now. The mercenary captains must have seen you on the shore and been unsure of whether to fly the Nashaki flag or not. They were the ones that shot me full of arrows, not the avriel. The avriel didn't attack you though. I suppose they thought the horror of seeing what they thought were your allies being annihilated like that was enough." His own memory of the horrific mayhem would keep Eddrick's eyes witnessing it for some time to come. But it was war...and it was a victory. He could not let his men's morale suffer.

"Well actually sir, they did for a bit, but we dodged the stones, and they must have run out. They shouted some shit at us. Some crap about letting us live to spread the word of their great might, or some such. But who doesn't expect that from those guys, eh?"

Murmurs of agreement soon rose to cheers of victory. Eddrick gave in to the celebration as best he could. But the grisly memories would haunt him for a while, as well as the knowledge that for all the pep-talk and rhetoric, the avriel were a great threat. He'd just seen it, first hand.

[Pig Boy]

Comments

This was a pretty daring ploy, and I would've been skeptical of Eddrick pulling it off, had it not been at extreme risk, which was covered by the ring of reversal. You died, doesn't get much more risky than that.

Still, you pushed the limits of Eddrick's abilities. Be careful about that! Otherwise good writing and fun story.

Points

10/10 These points may not be used for domain magic.

Knowledge

Skill-Based Knowledge:
Acrobatics: Dodging arrows while in a ship's rigging
Climbing: Rope ladders
Endurance: Pushing through seasickness
Seafaring: Gaining your sea legs
Seafaring: The many kinds of knots used on a ship
Strength: Swabbing the deck again and again
NON Skill-Based Knowledge:
Avriel: As powerful as they claim
Krorros: 'Might of the Conqueror' is best kept until really needed
Raskalarn: Your Queen protected you
Ring of Reversal: Brought you back from death

Loot

Raskalarn has noticed you! Next set of abilities in Krorros

Never Unarmed A conqueror and soldier must remain deadly in any situation. This ability allows a Favored to summon a single martial weapon to their hand. This weapon is one of Raskalarns and uniquely bound to the Krorros. It cannot be broken unless they are and will always retain its edge. If a weapon is not called for in the situation, this ability can also call forth a buckler for defense with similar properties. Only one can exist at any time and if the Krorros drops the weapon, it immediately vanishes.

Necessity and Generosity Necessity and Generosity, as the name implies, can be triggered in two different ways. The first will allow the Blessed to draw energy from those loyal to them in order to replenish their own energy, though they cannot drain others to death or unconsciousness. The second is the inverse of the first, with the Blessed feeding their own energy to their followers, with the same fail-safe as the first method. This ability can be used at will.

Conqueror's Aid Those Blessed by Raskalarn tend to be warriors above the skill of the average soldier, mercenary, or guard. Conqueror's Aid allows the Blessed to aid these lesser warriors. Conqueror's Aid is the only Krorros ability that relies on other people for activation. Those truly loyal to the Blessed can call on their aid as long as they are nearby, and the choose to answer that call, at which point they will appear instantly at the callers side.

Wealth

n/a

Renown

20 for a daring ploy that results in death, then coming back to life.