[Act 2 - The Crossing] Storms Afloat

[Gossamer]

Timestamp: 11th of Summer, 510 AV Meeting Place: Aboard the Blue Horizon Reason: The Crossing to Karjin Status: By invite only. Continued from: Act I - The Departure Captain Finn Hanli ran a tight ship and an even tighter crew. The Blue Horizon lacked for nothing when it came to supplies and people to man her. The crew itself was fairly large, consisting of forty men and women that took two twelve hour shifts a day apiece. There was a large galley that supplied food, and a hold that carried cargo. Along with Glav and his party, a female trader with unusual silver hair lead eleven beautiful silver stallions on board that were stalled in the hold to make the crossing. Chickens, sheep, goats and even a cow was brought aboard to fill up the remainder of the beast section. Guests were brought on, including a small section of delegates that were bound for Karjin to offer to improve relations with the city in order to further advance trade opportunities between Syliras and Karjin. The delegation; seemed comprised mainly of four knights: three men and one woman. Two more seemingly independent people were allowed to board as well, seeking passage to Karjin having no other possessions but a pack of supplies. Captain Finn had them all checked out. In fact, he looked at them all intently when they either dropped off their stuff or boarded for the duration after their meeting with the Wind Oak. Then he gave them quarters, four to a room, though the Jamoura got his own room with a modified bed after the crew took one look at his size, and everyone was settled neatly into their berths. Sailing took on a routine after the first day of treacherous shoals and inland sea reefs until they came to more open water and were really able to get the sails aloft and the ship dancing across the waves. The nights were quiet, with exquisite star shows and often Leth kept them company as he sailed across the sky chasing Syna or in turn being chased by her. The weather was good, the sky blue, and the winds never overly harsh. There was no trouble to speak of in those first days. Glav was often on deck helping out Finn, and he encouraged his entourage to help out as well - some in the kitchen, some cleaning some patching sails or scrubbing deck - until they all kept fit and healthy moving on a day to day basis. It was only the fifth day that trouble started. And it came in the form of a cough. One sailor went down ill, then slowly another did until half the crew was laid up with a violent upper respiratory infection. The crew healer, a woman skilled in herbs and medicine kept dosing various things to try and counter the illness, but one after another those that went down slowly took a turn for the worst. On the seventh day of what would be a 22 day crossing... the first of them died. The healer shook her head, perplexed. Her skills should have prevented the first death and even after the second she insisted it wasn't a natural illness. On the forth day, one of the stallions that were loaded on by the silver haired girl died. His beautiful black coat mottled with open sores that seemed to erupt overnight. She cried as they threw the corpse overboard. None of the others seemed effected until a goat showed similar signs and collapsed. Then, they lost all their chickens - same symptoms... coughing then death ending in the skin erupting in boils or sores. On the fifth day, Flinn himself called a meeting, the beginnings of a cough forming in his throat. He explained quietly that they were 'under attack' of some sort and that the disease wasn't natural. They needed to find the source. They were in the middle of the Suvan, their skilled healer hadn't been able to help. Minkala was a good follower of Rak'keli, she should have been able to handle the outbreak of whatever it was. But she was having problems and thus determined it was either exotic or hostile. And they had to find the source of the illness and stop it before it was too late.

[Ulric]

Ulric sprawled near the ship’s stern, his back up against the rail as he coaxed a needle in and out of a sheet of salt-stiffened canvas. His fingers were blunt but nimble – an indication that mending sails wasn’t so different from nets. In out, in out, then repeat, repeat, and repeat. It was the only means Ulric possessed to escape his own fear and paranoia. He was used to dealing with menaces of flesh and bone, not an unseen pestilence that didn’t discriminate between men and beasts. Might he be next? Ulric hadn’t suffered an ailment direr than a slight fever during his twenty-six years, and he wasn’t eager to buck the trend. Kell, his foster-father, had told him that no one in Ravok suffered from such plagues because of Rhysol’s embrace, and yet Ulric had spurned the gift when he’d chosen sides. He couldn’t help but wonder what he’d gotten himself into. Oh, he was still faithful to his oath to protect Glav Navik, but he was terrified they wouldn’t even make it to Karjin. After all, in no more than dozen days the pestilence had incapacitated half the crew and slain most of the livestock. More deaths were imminent. Captain Finn’s healer, Minkala, had tried to heal the afflicted and failed, with neither her skills nor gnosis of avail against this contagion. Will Glav be the next to go? Ulric wondered in his idle bells. Will it be Sharn? Finn? Me? He did not want to die in such an undignified fashion. It was better to fall upon the point of a sword than to suffer a slow and painful decline. So Ulric sewed, and watched, and waited for his turn to come. Instead he received a summons from Finn to attend an urgent council, where the Blue Horizon’s captain revealed the nature of the pestilence. Ulric’s eyebrows rose at the mention of an unnatural source, but he remained silent. He didn’t know who might be responsible. Glav Navik, the priest that was more than a priest, was certain to have powerful enemies – particularly Rhysol. But then again, he knew less of the stakes than any of the other escorts, and that was for the best. Ulric didn’t want to understand them for fear that he’d falter and break his oath, both to Glav and his comrades. Being from Ravok, however, he was not without suspicions. Could this be the work of the Black Sun’s agents? It wouldn’t be the first time they’d sought to infiltrate their enemies. Ulric knew that Rhysol’s adherents were masters of disguise and deceit, and he wasn’t at all convinced they were surrounded by friends. His hand slipped to the handle of his bearded axe for a moment. He couldn’t imagine that a god had intervened in a direct matter, nor did he suspect the contagion was the result of fouled stores. Hadn’t the chickens and the horses and the sailors suffered the same symptoms? Could it be the water? Ulric wasn’t the brightest of the bright, but he didn’t lack for paranoia. “We need to search the ship,” he rasped at last. “Every cask of water and sack of meal, each chest and cabin and scrap of cloth until we find what – or who – is responsible for this. Tell me, Captain, do you trust your sailors?” Ulric’s lips curled into a smile. “Quite frankly, I don’t give a shyke if they’re hale, sick or dead because there’s not a soul aboard this ship that is above suspicion. If there’s a traitor among us I mean to find out who it is,” he vowed, “and kill them.” With that, he pulled the axe from his belt, his expression grim. If there were objections to his methods, then fine. Ulric wouldn’t press the point. In truth, he wasn’t that eager to start an inquisition – not with the flashes of her mutilated corpse in his mind. How would he feel after shaving a finger into coin-shaped rounds or smelling the reek of burnt flesh? Ulric wasn’t a torturer by nature, but he knew he was capable of serving the role in a pinch. Hopefully this wasn’t the darkness the Windoak alluded to when it had spoken of his worth. If only I could sew the rest of my life away, Ulric lamented. He wished he was still on the deck and ignorant of their fate. After all, he’d allowed his fear to take hold just now and lead him down the darkest of paths a man could tread – a path that was all he’d ever known. Oh, if only he could just fight the damned pestilence with his axe and shield. It was surely better than this madness. “If I keep acting crazy,” Ulric muttered to Torc, “don’t hesitate to stick a knife in my back.”

[Leo Varniak]

It hadn't taken Leo very long at all to find out he was no creature of the sea. His body and mind alike bore no great love to a bundle of wood that rocked on with the waves. He spent the majority of the first days grappling the ship's railing and trying to ignore the queasy feeling that assaulted him after each and every meal. There was just too much water, and it moved too petching much. Counting the days and breaking them down into bells and chimes quickly became a favorite pastime of his, what with the others being unfeasible on board a flammable piece of wood and cloth. Deep down, however, something darker bothered him. He could never place a finger on what it was exactly, but the sudden nature of their departure had left very little time for thinking things over. Now, things were settling down and Leo realized there was a good chance he'd never see Syliras again. This had been fast, almost hasty. He could see where the criticism in Glav's friend came from. There were openings everywhere, and plenty of enemies to take advantage of them. Then, the first man fell sick, and the healer struggled to find a cure, to no avail. That much was enough. As Leo held tight to the railing, he knew it had begun. This part of the journey would make or break them, and there would be losses either way. As men succumbed to the illness, Leo took to observing everyone from a distance and touching nothing those men had touched. His eyes became very observant to the symptoms of the disease, but it seemed it hadn't caught up to him yet. He wondered if it ever would. He suspected the infections were far from random, and in fact he'd seen this modus operandi once before. The subtle way in which they snuck their way into a community through subterfuge, contaminating it from within - it didn't matter if it was with drugs or illness, this was just like when he fought the Black Hand. They slowly isolated their targets by making scorched earth around them, until they could strike directly at the heart of the enemy. Leo had no doubt this was happening right here, right now. As the infection spread, Leo took to putting his Azenth powers to good use, releasing the crew's deep fears and uncertainty in small packets of darkness. It wasn't easy, and Leo knew even a better Azenth would have had a hard time fighting the fear of death and the unknown, but every little bit would help. Worse than any sickness, a mutiny would spell their almost certain deaths. In the confusion of an uprising among the crew, perhaps desperate to set the route back to Syliras, an enemy agent would be able to strike at Glav with far greater ease. When the captain called a meeting in his cabin, Leo knew things were serious indeed. He thought the man looked a bit pale, but hopefully it was just the lighting - regardless, Leo kept his distance. When the man known as Ulric spoke, Leo Zaital found himself nodding in agreement. "True. Nobody is above suspicion in this matter. That includes those who are currently showing symptoms of the disease. I... have a bit of a history with Vayt, the Plaguemaster, and his followers." Last time, Leo had cooked one with a firebolt before getting drugged and incapacitated. It had been a hasty decision, and a mistake Leo would not make again. "They are carriers of disease themselves, and might not be immune to their own illness. Frankly, I think this is only a diversion to stir up chaos on the ship in preparation for a direct strike, or perhaps hoping to incite a mutiny." His words were calm, but inside he was burning to find the one responsible and ignite them until the flesh fell off and only their bleached bones remained. The old Leo Varniak had learned patience - moderation, not so much. "Every single person must disrobe in front of the healer and allow themselves to be examined for gnosis marks of a suspicious nature." Leo had no idea if killing the source of the plague would cure the infected or give the healer a fighting chance against it, but every day they waited was a day gifted to their enemies. He wasn't afraid to die, but if he could choose how, it wouldn't be to a stupid cough.

[Torc Ironwood]

For the first few chimes on the open sea Torc’s stomach began to roll and he had hurried over to the side of the ship and lost a meal. Then his stomach settled and he began to feel the rhythm of the ship. Every time it rolled side to side, he felt the balance and gentle shift like a mother cradling a baby in her arms. It wasn’t long before Torc found the joy of work alongside the crew. Multiple tasks needed to be done: coiling of rope, shifting of cargo, scrubbing the deck, even waxing the wood panels. Torc never complained, he set about the task with a whistle on his lips and smile on his face. Some of the sailors thought he was odd, but then again when Torc started doing jobs that they all grumbled about with a smile, they shrugged and patted him on the back. Torc didn’t mind the work and certainly it pasted the time between sitting in a cabin or gambling with the off shift, beside Torc had no head for dice. When the first man became ill, Torc realized that his duty was to the crew. He remembered the soft words of the goddess, ‘And know too... that standing at Glav's side - if that is your choice - will not leave you unaffected. He walks in power. He is power. And power moves towards him urging the world to right itself and balance that which is out of synche. It is not an easy place to be in. And it is not often a place a mortal like yourself will survive let alone survive unscathed.’ So Torc did the bravest thing that he could he spent time tending to the sick. Many bells were spent under the hull of the ship caring for the crew. Wiping their brows, being there as they coughed and spat the foulness that came up in a cloth, Torc was no healer and at times was afraid that he too would contract the illness, but still he stayed doing what he could for the ill. During his time down in the hull, Torc saw Minkala mumble over and over again confused about the illness, struggling harder and harder to save her friends. It even came to a head when Torc finally had to grab the woman and tell her to sleep for a few hours, she was working herself into exhaustion. As Torc saw the gnosis mark, he remembered the stories of Rak'keli and how they would continue no matter the danger to themselves. Torc simply shook his head, and walked back out onto the deck, he needed to stop and smell the salt air, instead of the foul sickness below. As Torc stood at the rail of the ship a part of him wanted to scream at the Gods and Goddesses. He had expected trouble from them, in fact hardship on the journey was expected and welcomed, but this was unfair and cruel. Their power lashed out toward Glav and instead it was killing the crew. It seemed so wrong to Torc, unfair and unjust, a part of him wanted to save the crew just to spit into the God or Goddess’ face that sent the disease, but sadly he was no healer. As Torc was about to go back, when the Captain requested a meeting, as he entered he heard the first signs of the disease in the Captain. As the Captain spoke, Torc began to realized some of what Minkala was saying and only had a moment to think before Ulric began to talk. He shook his head coming out of his own fog of mind. He smiled at Ulric and spoke softly, “We all have to be crazy to follow Glav, and it will be soon enough that the God’s pick up their own daggers.” As Torc heard Leo’s words, he thought about them and then thought about Cheva, the goddess worked through connections just like all of them. Torc put his hands close to his lips and thought about the problem. Finally Torc spoke, “Your both right, we do need to conduct a search. However, there may be another way, I spoke to someone they other night, and she told me that I have a gift of connections.” Torc swallowed fearing that his own thoughts on the matter. “Most people use sight for Auristics. I, however, seem to feel aura’s and their shapes. If the disease is foreign and comes from something, I might be able to sense it or give us a general location where it comes from. I say this because most beings would hide the link to ones aura from sight, but not from the other senses. I can’t see what we lose if I try for fifthteen chimes, and we have a great deal to gain if we can find it quickly. However, it would require the Captain and myself slowly moving about the ship, and I would need someone to help with the Captain if he loses his strength. Is this possible solution worth seeking before the others?” Torc looked about the table waiting for permission from all, but especially the Captain.

[Sharn]

Such a wonderful trip. From the beginning, it seemed that most of his newly acquired family was adapting or already adapted quite well to the see. Ulric seemed to be fine with the rocking boat that tried consistently to hurl Sharn into people and over rails, and even Torc, who seemed more affected by the sea's gruesome charm and resorted to vomiting, became not only well enough to stand it, but to work, and he enjoyed it. Sharn could see that, in between stumbling motions towards whichever way the boat was attempting to throw him. Sharn, not really much of one for prayer, found himself thinking about the Windoak often, the fragment, the remains of the God, Sylir, his sacrifice. Sharn thought about it almost as often as he retreated to his room with writing. That's right, writing. In the first of his empty paged books, Sharn had already begun writing before the ship even made its way from port. What was he writing? Records, for himself mostly. How many sailors? Chickens? Adventurers of his newly acquired family? How many days were going by? What was the weather, the sea, the overall morale of the ship like? What were his companions doing? Had anybody said anything of worth to be written down? Philosophical quotes? Maddened ravings? Insight to their lives? Sharn found that he had already gotten pages and pages of useless records. The people, the subcategories, such as height and general weight class (himself being the only one in the over four-hundred class), noted skills, hair color, eye color. Sharn found his writing almost an obsession, perhaps in desperation to ignore the rocking, the queasiness, the fear of falling into the water. Who would be able to pull up a seven hundred pound man from a water before he hit the sandy bottom? Sharn was no gambler, but he could assume that few would try, and none would succeed. That's one reason Sharn remained in his own room for the longest of times, in his book, scribbling notes, keeping his own personal inventory of the ship, very little slipped past Sharn. Such as a death, then two, then a stallion, dozens of chickens. Sharn's records quickly increased as he attempted to trace the catastrophe the disease was leaving behind, yet he found himself strained. The numbers altered too quickly, too often to record both the stages, the noted symptoms, and the personal descriptions. The first man got a reasonable amount of attention in Sharn's book, full of dates, particular bells of infection and symptoms at what time, yet when the rest of the ship was falling under the plague, Sharn's hand began to ache a great deal, his desire to write did not fade, but it wasn't going too well. There was too much he wanted to write about, too much. Sharn, every once in a while, tried to find time to hover around Minkala, he dedicated such times to what she said, though it was mostly to herself in her doctoring ways. Sharn was able to pick up some insight on the illness, which he of course recorded in his untitled, disorganized, quickly filling book. For some reason, Sharn never felt too much worry about the illness. Would it nab him? He didn't bother to consider it. He probably should have, no, it was logical to do so, but he was too preoccupied. The book, the records, the dwindling inventory, he was in charge of his own little piece of sanity while on the boat, and that was doing it for him. Surely nobody would appreciate a raging Gorilla during an epidemic. Sharn wouldn't want that. - - - - - The next day was slow. Sharn was having great difficulty sleeping while on the sea-worthy vessel, and he found that as each night passed, the nights became longer, the following days too felt longer. Was it a different part of the world they were in where days were extended, or was it just Sharn's exhaustion, sleep deprivation, that made it difficult to accurately judge chimes and bells. Curse the sea, Sharn hoped that once he was on land, he'd never have to so much as look at another boat for as long as he lived, which could be quite a while. But it could also be quite short, there was a plague after all. Sharn, as everyone else, was summoned to the Captain's quarters for a meeting, one in which Sharn dubbed important enough to bring his book, who knows what would be spoken about, what could be written down. Sharn could only contain that faint grin that tried so desperately to cleave open his face, but he wouldn't allow it. There was a cloud of moroseness that covered the ship. That morale that Sharn had tried to record on a daily basis, was not looking too well this morning. It was steadily failing, day after day. Sharn moved into the room, finding a nice place on the floor, yet several paces from any other person already there so that the rocking would not force him to tumble upon and crush anybody he had come to care about. He pulled out his book, and instantly got to writing. Descriptions, his allies' expressions, the captain's worried looks, the conversation soon to come. Sharn found himself in agreement with Leo. It was for several minutes that Sharn considered the work of a God or Goddess on the ship, since it was able to outmatch the strength of their own follower of Rak'keli. Perhaps Sharn didn't know there even WAS a God or Goddess of Disease, but once Leo spoke about it, Sharn knew that they assumed the same things. A Vayt? Sharn would write that down in his notes, his personal book of statistics and such. Vayt, a name he would have to remember. Sharn continued to write during Torc's comments as well, though he couldn't say he agreed. It wasn't that Sharn didn't believe in Torc's abilities, but it seemed unnecessary to risk it. It would be easier to move through the entire ship, search everyone, and... kill the man? Sharn felt a new wave of sickness come over him at the thought. he had never killed someone before, he only saw a few violent deaths in his entire life, which was young for a Jamoura, but older than most on the ship. Sharn wanted to protest, but it wouldn't be logical, he was becoming a victim of his unstable emotions. That couldn't be right. Duty first, his comrades, not some stranger trying to throttle them. "Why would Vayt want to do this?" Sharn had a few theories, but it wasn't enough to just think of them himself. Sure, a God of Disease probably liked a confined ship just as well as any place for such an event. Where was there to run? What could one to to escape? Chaos was sure to happen soon after. Was Rhysol in on it as well? Maybe Vayt had something against Rak'keli, and this was solely to target Minkala, and in essence, Rak'keli. How cruel. "Perhaps we shouldn't take chances on finding the mark, assuming there is one. Maybe we should both search everyone, head to toe, and look for a mark while Torc works with his Auristics." Sharn gulped lightly, Torc was one of his favored amongst the group, but even the thought that Torc's plan was a distraction or part of some plot to never find the culprit bothered him. These thoughts was something that Sharn definitely would not write down. He had no reason to accuse Torc. That man was above such a thing. He was the man that tried to help the ill, to take up more work when death fell upon the crew. The plaguebringer's henchman wouldn't do that. Sharn felt a pain in his chest. Was this guilt?

[Gossamer]

Captian Hanli was decidedly worried. He said little during the meeting, but listened to everyone. There were good suggestions all around. Two of which, however, he hadn't thought of. Both Leo and Torc's suggestions fared well. He liked the idea of examining passengers and crew for god marks. He also liked the idea Torc had of looking for connections. When Sharn suggested they do both, Captian Finn nodded. "Good idea. Minkala can start the examinations. Each can get called in via their listing on the passenger and crew manifest starting with myself and the officers. We'll make that happen first. Meanwhile, until your name is called on the list, Torc perhaps you and two others can go around looking for these 'connections'. Pick two of your traveling companions. I have to admit, I've never heard of such a thing, but I've seen a lot of unusual things in my time that I cannot discount. Any help would be really helpful. After the crew is searched, well search the victums too down in the hold. There's eight people sick that still haven't passed on, and we've already lost three. If we don't stop this soon, there might not be anyone else to look and certainly no food. Leo, here's a list of the crew and passangers. I'll leave it up to you to assist Minkala with the exams since you seem to know what some of these Vayt folks marks are? We might want to check the animals too. Maybe one of them is oddly marked as well." Leo was handed a list of names that held rank next to them starting with the captain, first mate, on down through the crew to even the cabin boy. Then the list continued through the passengers, some of which Leo couldn't' recall ever seeing. "Ulric, Sharn... can you both begin examining animals in the beast hold for anything unusual? There needs to be some action taken there as well. Anything that you see as being sick or remotely looking like its getting sick I want to see thrown overboard. We are in a bad situation. We could loose everything, including our lives, in a matter of days if we don't get to the bottom of this." He added, stressing the importance of their mission. The whole while Ulric had been standing there, something unusual was happening to him. It was somehow exciting, almost thrilling, at the prospect of having outright control of the judgment of someone's life and death - even if it was only an animal. He had been granted blanket control over what lived and what died. Secret pleasure spiraled up his spine, whispering like a goddess' lips pressed against his earlobe 'yes... yes this was something he wanted'... in the distance he could almost hear laughter. Soft, feminine, enticingly dark. It was a necessary task, but one the Captain had no idea would invoke that kind of reaction in someone. Sharm meanwhile wasn't feeling... the greatest. Already his throat was getting scratchy and his limbs felt heavier than usual. He could think clearly and didn't exactly feel sick. But he wasn't comfortable either. And he could sense something was wrong. Something deeply wrong. With that, the healer ushered everyone out of the captain's cabin save the captain and the first mate and Leo to begin the examinations. Both Finn and his mate stripped and the healer along with Leo examined them. There was nothing unusual on the Captain save a wave shaped Gnosis that obviously belonged to Laviku. The first mate was clean of anything at all and so they were allowed to redress as the healer turned to Leo and wondered who was next. After he gave her names, they slowly began to call the crew in as sets, examining them quickly and then asking them to leave and tell others to report. It was slow embarrassing work. Most people didn't have gnosis marks. Most only had old scars and roadmaps of where they'd been in their lives. Glav however was different. He reported in alone and seemed to pause before he shucked his clothing. "Is this really necessary for me?" He asked, peering at both the healer and at Leo. Meanwhile, Torc was on the deck. Invoking his gift from the lady was less difficult than he expected. It wasn't truthfully his own personal stylings as it was Cheva's gift to him. He saw connections, like faint pinpricks of light that danced through and around the ship. Even the ship had its own connections. The problem was, teasing them out. They were like bright twine a child had woven all over the ship, or the colorful ribbons that children danced with around poles in the spring. Impossibly tangled, one stood out among the others. Dark, deadly, leaching vileness... the thread touched very little, but tangled a great deal in all the other lights. If Torc could follow it, he'd find clues. But first he'd have to figure out how to follow it. It wove in and around the structure of the ship, up staircases, down into cabins, deep into the hold, and around the deck so many times it seemed as if someone had paced routinely topside. It was a vile link, one Torc could not touch but could witness just by relaxing his gaze. He had no idea what it meant, not at first, but he could wander with it through the ship - just long enough to know that untangling it would be near impossible... and too identifying its source unless he came face to face with it while invoking his strange overlayed sight.

[Ulric]

“As you wish,” Ulric responded, his voice no louder than a whisper. It was time for him to act, but he could not meet the gaze of his companions – could not let them discern the rapture in his eyes, for She was calling him. Ulric felt himself grow hard, for the lust he felt was both seductive and terrible, sowing his minds with visions of the slaughter to come. He stared at the head of his axe, shivering with ecstasy as he caressed the metal with his fingers, feeling the blood roaring through his temples. I kill, because I am, he realized as the truth of all things crept unbidden into his mind. It was time to show them – her – what he was capable of doing. In that moment, he knew all of them would die here. He would kill the priest first, so the others could sense how futile their hopes had been, and then he would adorn the decks with their blood. Ulric slowly slid the knife from his belt, his eyes fever-bright, a soft moan emanating from his lips. No. Ulric recoiled in dread, his mind reeling from her touch, the rapture that distorted his perception and clamored for blood. I will not let her use me, he vowed – but without confidence, for his resolve was shaken. How does one deny a goddess? he wondered as he turned to leave the cabin.How do we free ourselves from these chains? He did not need to look at the mark on his hand to know the answer. It was only a matter of time before the others discovered the secret he had taken such pains to conceal, the stain that had torn his soul asunder. She wanted him, but Ulric would not let her awaken the monster that slumbered within his breast. He wished only to be left in peace, to mend nets and scale fish, but he knew that solace was but a dream for him – a wish scattered upon the winds. All that remained was redemption, for Ulric could not let her harm those he sought to protect. Not Torc, who was as true a brother as he’d ever had, nor Sharn, the gentle ape with a penchant for records, nor even Leo, for whom he harbored suspicions that would never subside. As for Glav, well, how could he think of harming the priest? I swore an oath, Ulric recalled, I swore to protect him, to protect all of them. No, the only life he wished to take… was hers. Do you hear that, Krysus? I am your death. “Sharn, are you coming?” Ulric called, and left the cabin. He was still reluctant to meet his companion’s eyes, for shame was devouring him from within. Slowly, with taste of bile on his lips, Ulric crossed the deck and descended into the ship’s hold, his face pale with trepidation. It was fitting that Finn had assigned him this task, for Ulric was terrified of horses. Nasty beasts, the lot of them – and these were no doubt the spawn of demon. It was dark in the hold, and smelly. Ulric strode to the flickering lantern and opened the door, singing his fingers its heated frame, so that he could use the candle to light a second lamp. It was only then, when he grasped this beacon in his hand, that he stared at the dark-coated stallions. “How do we tell if they’re sick or not?” he murmured, for the beasts seemed the same to him. Perhaps it’s the shadows, he reasoned, even as he kept his distance. “I’m hardly an expert on these matters,” Ulric said as he looked back for Sharn. ”What do you think? He hoped the ape – who seemed to be acting a bit strangely – would inspect the horses, being larger and presumably less likely to be attacked by the demonic beasts. For some reason, they seemed to glower at Ulric as if he’d just proposed to geld them. I can do the goats, he thought as took a step back, his back prickled by a cold sweat. It would be safer to kill them all, but blood was the last thing he wanted at the moment.

[Sharn]

Sharn, for the first time since he started the journey, found himself growing unwilling to continue his notes. His hands felt weak, the arms heavy, and an unsettling fear welling up in his chest. Sharn wasn't a medical Jamoura, not even close. Sharn did, however, feel that something was wrong rather than know it. He was feeling fragile, ill, a faint, very faint, lethargy was growing on him. Sharn was never the type to be lazy, he was a scholar, always reading, watching, writing, or studying, but all he wanted to do now was sleep. "Beasts? Oh, the animals. Yes, I can help Ulric with this." Sharn nodded for a moment, waiting behind as Ulric had already started to move out, he seemed eager to get to work (or perhaps get away from as many people as possible), perhaps he was just dedicated to doing his best to cure the ship of this plague. If only Sharn could get such a motivation at this moment. "Yes, yes... I'm coming." Sharn stood up, taking his book and utensils in his hand as he stalked across the room, following behind Ulric, and down the bowels of the ship until they were staring into the very foul stench infested pit of two and four legged beasts. Sharn wasn't a medical Jamoura, nor was he an expert on animals, but if he was getting ill, then the animals would probably show signs that Sharn was fighting to conceal. Exhaustion, lethargy, and the urge to clear his throat over and over. "I think they might seem more tired than usual, maybe thirstier. Maybe even too lazy to logically respond to certain stimulus." Sharn, unable to resist the urge anymore, violently cleared his throat with a raspy sound, and even lifted his hand to his neck in futile attempt to massage the pain away. "Ulric, you're in danger being here. With me I mean, I haven't been feeling myself, energetic. I think I may... be ill." Sharn didn't have a problem confession his situation, he would, he already decided, put the lives of others before his in a heartbeat, but there was a fear he had. "Perhaps all this talk of plague and death simply has me paranoid of what might be going on but, should I prove to be ill, could you do me a favor?" If Sharn had known what Ulric was going through, he would never have dared to ask this, or even suggest it for that matter. He waited for Ulric to agree to a favor, or at least show a sign of hesitation. "I ask that you would do what is necessary to save the others." There was only one solution the Jamoura could be talking about. "I cannot end my own life, I fear the water more than death itself, a slow painful drowning, it offers too much time in agony to regret my actions, regret the live I lived, or did not live." Sharn turned quiet a moment as he stared at one of the horses, it was silent, watching him in return as if expecting something. "A swift death would be a merciful one. Mercy for everyone. Glav would understand." Sharn wasn't so certain about the last part. He was actually fairly sure that Glav would argue that it would be best to let the Jamoura fight until disease took him, rather than caving in to early. The risks were already too great though. After silence had snatched up the Jamoura, he began to search the animals. He wasn't sure how to go about doing this, but he did his best to look in their eyes to search for discoloration, feel the muscles of their bodies for any blatant abnormality, wave his hands in front of their faces and lightly clap behind their ears in attempt to examine an unnatural response, or even unnatural ignorance of the effect (searching for blindness or deafness). Sharn would do his best to listen to their breathing and feeling of their chests as they did so, in search of the failed rhythm that was normal. If any of them seemed significantly altered, weak, lazy, or just out of the normal, he would mention it to Ulric. Sharn couldn't bring himself to killing them, ill or not. Even just letting them be slaughtered nearly drove him mad. His own death, he could accept that, but animals, comrades, not so much. After a long moment of searching, Sharn had to drop his arms, letting them hand limp by his sides as he lowered himself to a sit. He would, finally, look at Ulric in silence.

[Leo Varniak]

Leo nodded at what the Captain said. Good man, he thought, practical. An effective leader; too bad he was being tested by the circumstances in which they now found themselves. Leo did not doubt for a second that, had Glav's party not been there, he would have no deadly disease on his hands to deal with. The least he could do was help with the investigation. Leo thought himself a very logical person, albeit possessing a very peculiar form of logic. There were only so many ways someone could have brought sickness on board. They'd get to the bottom of this eventually. It fell to him and Minkala the healer to inspect everyone on the ship. It wasn't an enjoyable task, but it had to be done. Of course, there was no guarantee that the culprit would be found carrying a gnosis mark - if the enemy had seen this coming then they might have embarked someone unmarked... or found an alternative way of infecting the crew. Leo reminded himself he must credit the enemy with at least his own intelligence, if not more. Sending someone with a clear signature of guilt on their body was a liability unless they could either keep hidden or stand so much above suspicion that they wouldn't be checked. After the initial batches of crewmen, Leo began to feel like they were wasting their time, though he did not share the thought with Minkala. He was a fastidious man, after all, and he wouldn't stop until the search was complete, so they could rule out that option from the list. Yet other theories were forming as the latest man disrobed and put his scars on display. An animal? Even an item could have done it. Maybe someone was unwittingly carrying a plague-spreading object that someone had replaced on the mainland. They didn't even know if the disease could spread from an infected to another or only from the initial source. The Zaital scion wasn't afraid, but he could not deny the unease he was feeling. They were fighting an invisible enemy, with nowhere to run and nowhere to hide. If he had his own uncertainties, he could only imagine how the crew must be feeling. They would mutiny eventually, he just knew it. They would ask the captain to set sail back to Syliras. Never mind that no-one would get there alive. Eventually, it was Glav's turn to be examined, and the Alvina voiced his perplexity at the thing. Leo was fully aware of the reason why. Glav had received marks from half the pantheon, and if he stripped then Minkala would get to see them. A fraction of Glav's identity would be revealed. On the other hand, if Glav refused and the rumor of it spread across the ship, then they would be in major trouble later on, when paranoia flared and eyes roamed for an easy culprit. Leo gave a slight nod and answered. "I know you are clean, Glav, but people are jumping at shadows here. If we make exceptions they'll come back biting at us later." He turned to Minkala, an idea forming. "Lady Minkala, my friend Glav does not give his trust easily. Perhaps it would be easier for him if we checked each other first. It's something we would have had to do eventually, so we might as well do it now." The implications hit him, as not even Leo was that oblivious. "I am sorry there is no other woman above suspicion on this ship to do the search. Your honor is safe with me, though." He tried to smile despite the nervousness. A healer shouldn't be too shy around the body, he thought. It couldn't be Minkala, if she truly was a devoted of Rak'keli. Then again, a tiny voice was telling him that if anyone was to poison a crew, the healer would be in the ideal position to do so without drawing attention. He couldn't rule out that someone might have stolen her looks and identity and infiltrated the ship under that guise. Stranger things had happened. And if it wasn't the case, a little embarassment and some exposed skin were a small price to pay for safety.

[Torc Ironwood]

Torc stood in the middle of a thousand spider webs. Connections lay about like a ball of yarn, wrapping themselves over and over on to one another. Yet even an old woman knitting a sweater eventually got to the last of the thread. All it took was time, and time wasn’t a luxury that could be bought. Fear crossed Torc heart like a shadow from a cloud crossing the deck. There wasn’t enough time, for Torc to track down every thread, nor could he just move all the sick people and things to one area. Sure that would effective quarantine them, but it wouldn’t find the source. For in movement of all those that were infected, meant that they web would become like a ball of string, and Torc would never see its end. His idea had worked, but now everything was jumbled. At least he could tell Leo and the Captain that he could see the infected, they wouldn’t necessary receive any more losses. However, with the Captain dead and most of the food and crew quarantine, the chances of their survival at sea seemed slim. For a moment, Torc took a deep breath, slowly he let the clean salt air clear his thoughts. He was reacting out of fear and not love or peace. For a moment, Torc thought over what everyone had said. The healer had said that no matter what she did it wouldn’t heal the infected. So the vile connection still had to be renewed time and time again, otherwise the marked would have to infect new people with something and then the healer would cure them. Torc looked at the vile sick darkening thread. To him it looked like a root or vein, something organic that carried with it a poison for the body. Torc didn’t really understand his mark very well, but he hoped that just like listening to someone in a crowded room, he could tune out the rest of the connections and focus just on the vile one. In a way, it was amazing how the human mind worked, he had never thought about how he could listen to someone across the room, while everyone else was talking, but as long as they weren’t concealing their voices a person could do just that. As Torc tried to narrow his focus, other thoughts came to mind. It had to have been someone or something on this ship to activate the mark. Otherwise they would have been sick sooner out of port if someone had just thrown the object abroad. Though Torc had met the Goddess and the vision still overwhelmed every part of his being. However, her gift seemed to focus on sight, to Torc, a craftsman, he relied on his touch and hearing more than sight. Slowly, he brought up his hands, and though he knew he couldn’t touch the cord of vileness, he wrapped them around it anyway. To Torc auristics had been more about touch then sight at the university. Though someone could see colors of the heart and small whirls of energy, Torc had experienced feel first. Auras had a shell, and the texture of the shell was just as important as feeling the currents within. Perhaps it was simply Torc’s mind, for the Professor Stonemiller had laugh, but to Torc he received more information from feel than anything else. Torc felt his own small energy currents in his hands. This was always the start of his ritual of bringing out his auristic sight. Ever since Professor Stonemiller had laughed, he felt like a blind man; someone who had to grope and feel his way in the world of auras. Yet even now, Torc didn’t push past the feeling to full sight. He began to concentrate instead on the feel of the thread within his hands. As he allowed his sense of touch to gain the aurastic energies, he wished that he had taken a course in shielding. He had no idea if his own aura would be polluted by the energies, or if it would fight it off, but he had to try to find a pulse or current in the thread. He knew that it was a vain hope, Cheva’s sight had given him a way to detect the sickness in people, and should he feel nothing then he would accept his failure, but he had to try everything within him for the crew, for his brothers and sisters. Torc awaited and hoped, he knew that if nothing happened, he might as well go down into the animal hold with Ulric and Sham to tell them which animals were sick, and then afterwards he hoped to convince them to gather up any sick objects and people into the sick room. If he was lucky, he hoped that as they herded people into the sick room, maybe he would see the villain in action marking another object or person before they would be trapped. It had a thin chance of working, but that was the only chances they had.