Anselm felt it, in a sense that escaped categorization, explanation. He sensed the shark slip, with vein inelegant defeat, downward into the depths, its gills matted securely by gagged stone. There was hatred, and severe pain. But, also a mutual appreciation. It was finally over.
Poole came forth again, with a much required task he excelled at. The bandages moved in a blurred flurry from the perspective of the mainly overgiven and slowly recovering crew. Poole was frightened as well, but he hid it with productivity. With a loud proclamation that the sea was great for wounds, and already cleaned it out, he made a halfhearted attempt at being gentle while binding the women's head. He still believed a boat was no place for a women. It would stop the bleeding, but would win some scowls from the next doctor to see uncover it. Should would survive.
Poole looked to Leigo. His hand was cut, rather deep, but across the palm where the tenderness of cold hadn't reached yet. Despite that he would be fine. Poole gave a bravo of a nod, lip perked in deliberate stoic strength, and he left the young man along, tending to other various wounds around the ship.
He checked the status of everyone on the ship, those still conscious, before giving another one of his nods, not wasting a moment to take up two oars for himself.
Anselm's words won a literal growl from the grizzly man. "Don't think we didn't see what you are, creature! You will shut your mouth, and do what the University asked of us, or I won't hesitate to see you thrown from this ship." He glared strait at Anselm, but eyes reluctant to look past the darkness of his reestablished hood proved his fear.
He sat down. "We passed Laviku's test. Lets petching hope the prize was worth it." He declared, leaving no room for objection, and began calling his strokes as he helped propel them forward toward the towering mystery, bobbing with resistance in the narrow boat, which now had large grooves disrupting it's hydrodynamics upon the bottom. Still the hull held sound, without holes, and Poole only had to demand the free hands bail out access water from the splashing once. Had they been lucky?
The trip was eerily still, boat slipping over the slate glass y surface of the again calm Mathew's bay, and larger and large the opal Obelisk towered above them. Anselm felt it first, a tingling warm sensation in his dead gut, like a warm body's reaction to a few swigs of alcohol on a cold day. There was definite magic in the air. Even those without the sight felt their skin stand on end at they finally drew within oar's reach of the thick base.
Wide enough that a trip around would take a full crew a fourth a bell to encircle the stark white tower showed no taint of wildlife upon it, no green stain of flora, nor fauna swimming near it. Neither was there a single inlet, or entrance to be discovered. Instead, there shown clear and masterfully carved grooves, in an enchanting, almost mesmerizing pattern, wrapped never ending around the mysterious landmark. Each valley of a groove set deep enough for a grown man to reach his arm into, the pattern has no recognizable meaning or pattern, though it beckons those, especially those learned of magic to decipher something into it.
"By Laviku..." Poole said, more aghast than impressed, as he pushed the small vessel closer to the gargantuan abomination. The water surrounding the tower in a circle lay completely flat, without a single ripple, even when oar's were forced through. It wasn't long before the boat itself came reluctantly to a complete stand still, the water too solid to push any farther. Brow knit fiercely together Poole reached his hand out of that boat, and touched the water around them. Like hard packed clay it did not move, and his hand did not sink inward. Clear, like glass flooring the water maintained it's opaqueness, it's reflective nature, but it had become solid. Not frozen, but altered in some way that made it like earth.
Wind blew softly over the crew, most uncontentious, as Poole cast a look back, seeking for the eyes of somebody who might be braver than he, and attempt to draw closer. "It's solid..." His voice was rough, and almost unbelieving. If attempted the water would hold, absorbing the step like forgiving clay, and adopting a footprint for a few moment before flattening out with flawless integrity.
Papers, and pencils lay in a chest near by, unsoiled by water, and ready to take notes on the obelisk's size, and appearance, including it's dizzying designs. Poole decides quickly to remain in the safety of the boat, not at all invited by the structure, and the bazaar nature of the water that surrounded it, and began using navigating instruments to take measurements of the structure, and writing it down.