05-21-2018, 02:18 PM
Thunk! Thunk! Thunk!
Tia Dalma and Captain Deudermont paused in their conversation. They sat on opposite sides of a magnificent mahogany desk, the accents of the dark wood expertly carved into various underwater creatures--merfolk, sharks, sirens, and many-tentacled octopi and squids. Behind Captain Deudermont at the rear of the cabin, floor-to-ceiling bookshelves of the same dark wood held innumerable scrolls, navigation devices, and trinkets. The walls were blue like the ocean, the carpet plush and red--the very picture of opulence.
Deudermont cast Tia a concerned look and rose from his chair. At that moment, the same thought was on both their minds. Over the past three days, the sea captain and the priestess had compared notes, pored over maps, and even utilized some of the perplexing Omniverse technology to confer with their network of allies across the Vasty Deeps. The evidence they uncovered only confirmed their suspicions. Something was coming--something dangerous.
Thunk! Thunk! Thunk!
“Enter!” Deudermont called, bracing himself for word the Sea Sprite was under attack, or soon would be. When the door swung open and Whirda stepped inside, he felt a wave of relief.
His relief proved short-lived when he noticed the telltale signs of the contagion, signs both he and Tia Dalma had come to know intimately from their dealings with the infected woman over the past several years.
“Dear Whirda,” Deudermont began, sitting back down and running one hand through his graying hair, “how may we assist you?” The sea captain appeared nonchalant, but the desk concealed his other hand as it reached for a flintlock pistol fastened to the desk’s underside with a leather strap.
The question set Whirda back on her heels, blinking. In the guttering candlelight of the small cabin, the room’s other two occupants could see the blackness fading from her eyes. She shook her head, trying to make sense of the scene before her. Where a moment ago she had been leaning on the railing on the ship’s forecastle, she now stood in Deudermont’s private quarters with no memory of the time in between.
“What is it, child?” Tia asked. The voodoo priestess stood and approached Whirda cautiously.
“I--I don’t--”
Tia swooped in and caught the swooning Whirda in strong arms, easing her gently to the floor. She placed the back of one hand on Whirda’s forehead. Even before skin met skin she could feel the fever, a palpable aura of heat surrounding the afflicted woman. Muttering a healing incantation, Tia watched as a stream of glowing energy coalesced in front of her hand encompassed Whirda. Instead of entering the woman’s twitching body and combating the shade’s foul contagion, the healing energy merely hovered around her for a moment before dissipating. Tia frowned, puzzled. Never in her time as a practitioner of the healing arts had she witnessed such a phenomenon--the abject failure of one of her spells. It seemed the darkness in Whirda had grown beyond her capabilities.
“We gotta get to Costa,” Tia said, looking at Deudermont.
The sea captain picked up on her fear and did not relinquish his grasp on the flintlock pistol. “We are five days out, perhaps,” he said. “Four, if you lend a helping hand. Short of that, I believe we are out of options.”
In Tia’s arms, the unconscious Whirda twitched and groaned. Her skin grew darker with each passing moment as the contagion seeped further into her. If they did not act quickly, Tia knew well what Whirda was capable of when her shadeborn powers took hold.
The voodoo priestess stood, smoothing her skirt anxiously. “She needs ta be tied down,” Tia said, “bound at the wrists and ankles. We must make haste, captain. Four days might be too--”
In that moment, the starboard wall of the chamber exploded inward, hurling Tia Dalma from her feet and pelting the three companions with sharp splinters of wood. The voodoo priestess groaned, scrambling backward into a sitting position. The dull thudof a cannonball dropping to the deck, its momentum stolen by the impact, clued them in to the reality of their situation.
As the dust cleared and Tia’s ears stopped ringing, she heard the cries from above.
“Attack! We’re under attack!”
Tia Dalma and Captain Deudermont paused in their conversation. They sat on opposite sides of a magnificent mahogany desk, the accents of the dark wood expertly carved into various underwater creatures--merfolk, sharks, sirens, and many-tentacled octopi and squids. Behind Captain Deudermont at the rear of the cabin, floor-to-ceiling bookshelves of the same dark wood held innumerable scrolls, navigation devices, and trinkets. The walls were blue like the ocean, the carpet plush and red--the very picture of opulence.
Deudermont cast Tia a concerned look and rose from his chair. At that moment, the same thought was on both their minds. Over the past three days, the sea captain and the priestess had compared notes, pored over maps, and even utilized some of the perplexing Omniverse technology to confer with their network of allies across the Vasty Deeps. The evidence they uncovered only confirmed their suspicions. Something was coming--something dangerous.
Thunk! Thunk! Thunk!
“Enter!” Deudermont called, bracing himself for word the Sea Sprite was under attack, or soon would be. When the door swung open and Whirda stepped inside, he felt a wave of relief.
His relief proved short-lived when he noticed the telltale signs of the contagion, signs both he and Tia Dalma had come to know intimately from their dealings with the infected woman over the past several years.
“Dear Whirda,” Deudermont began, sitting back down and running one hand through his graying hair, “how may we assist you?” The sea captain appeared nonchalant, but the desk concealed his other hand as it reached for a flintlock pistol fastened to the desk’s underside with a leather strap.
The question set Whirda back on her heels, blinking. In the guttering candlelight of the small cabin, the room’s other two occupants could see the blackness fading from her eyes. She shook her head, trying to make sense of the scene before her. Where a moment ago she had been leaning on the railing on the ship’s forecastle, she now stood in Deudermont’s private quarters with no memory of the time in between.
“What is it, child?” Tia asked. The voodoo priestess stood and approached Whirda cautiously.
“I--I don’t--”
Tia swooped in and caught the swooning Whirda in strong arms, easing her gently to the floor. She placed the back of one hand on Whirda’s forehead. Even before skin met skin she could feel the fever, a palpable aura of heat surrounding the afflicted woman. Muttering a healing incantation, Tia watched as a stream of glowing energy coalesced in front of her hand encompassed Whirda. Instead of entering the woman’s twitching body and combating the shade’s foul contagion, the healing energy merely hovered around her for a moment before dissipating. Tia frowned, puzzled. Never in her time as a practitioner of the healing arts had she witnessed such a phenomenon--the abject failure of one of her spells. It seemed the darkness in Whirda had grown beyond her capabilities.
“We gotta get to Costa,” Tia said, looking at Deudermont.
The sea captain picked up on her fear and did not relinquish his grasp on the flintlock pistol. “We are five days out, perhaps,” he said. “Four, if you lend a helping hand. Short of that, I believe we are out of options.”
In Tia’s arms, the unconscious Whirda twitched and groaned. Her skin grew darker with each passing moment as the contagion seeped further into her. If they did not act quickly, Tia knew well what Whirda was capable of when her shadeborn powers took hold.
The voodoo priestess stood, smoothing her skirt anxiously. “She needs ta be tied down,” Tia said, “bound at the wrists and ankles. We must make haste, captain. Four days might be too--”
In that moment, the starboard wall of the chamber exploded inward, hurling Tia Dalma from her feet and pelting the three companions with sharp splinters of wood. The voodoo priestess groaned, scrambling backward into a sitting position. The dull thudof a cannonball dropping to the deck, its momentum stolen by the impact, clued them in to the reality of their situation.
As the dust cleared and Tia’s ears stopped ringing, she heard the cries from above.
“Attack! We’re under attack!”
![[Image: drink-pepsi-cola.jpg]](https://lph5i1b6c053kq7us26bdk75-wpengine.netdna-ssl.com/wp-content/uploads/2014/08/drink-pepsi-cola.jpg)