1.8
“Prepare to board,” said the captain as the Wavesplitter pulled alongside the ghost ship. Men in chainmail shifted, making one last check on their weapons and armor. Everyone eyed the strange vessel nervously. Who’s ship was this? Was it a trap? Was it cursed? No one knew the answers to these questions.
Sûlmain checked his loadstone one last time. This is it, he thought as it burned brighter than ever and lurched forward.
The boarding planks hit with a sharp crack, the heavy nails driving deep into the other ship’s wood. The marines ran across the plank, weapons bared, and waited for something to happen. The leader, Markus, removed his visored helm to hear and see better. Nothing moved. The only sound coming from the ship was the creaking of wood beneath their feet. Obviously, this ship was old…very old. The design was sorely outdated. That it was still afloat was a miracle.
Markus began walking about. He took two men with him in one direction, sent three in the other, and left four by the plank. While he walked he noticed that the ship did not sway with the waters. It was as if treading on dry land. This played havoc with his sea-legs. More eerie still, he could not feel the winds. The air all around was dead.
The two groups walked slowly around the surface of the ship. They found masts without sails, barrels without contents, and empty chests. Nothing else. There were no signs of struggle. There were no signs of weather damage (though age had a minor effect on the structure). There were no signs at all that anyone had ever been up there. They all returned and gathered at the plank. Markus motioned to Sûlmain to come aboard.
Sûlmain crossed the plank. He immediately noticed the change in the wind and the stillness of the ship when he set foot on deck. He glanced around, but saw only what his scrying revealed: nothing.
“There is nothing on deck,” said Markus. “There is a door over there that will take us below deck.” As he spoke, there was an edge to his voice.
“Very well. Let us go.”
The group moved toward the door revealed in the sorcerer’s scrying. Upon its examination, Sûlmain noticed a single rune branded in its middle. It was not a rune of barring or protection. Rather it was a warning: the rune for painful death. Whatever was beyond this door, it would be deadly. He continued to examine the rest of the door and the nearby wall. There were no other runes or markings of any kind. He returned to stare at the door.
Markus whispered over his shoulder, “What does it say?”
Sûlmain stood pensive for a moment. “It is an ancient rune. One of protection. Do not touch anything. I will take care of it.” The lie caused all of the men to take at least one step back. The sorcerer began to chant. The chant was nonsense, as was his “disarming” of this rune. However, he believed it to be in his interest to make them believe that he was more powerful than this “ancient magic.” It was important that they feel a dependence on his Craft. If the deception worked, morale would improve and loyalty to him would strengthen.
The chanting stopped sharply. The marines jumped. Sûlmain took a deep breath as if his work was taxing. “The door should open now.” And he stepped back.
Markus looked at him unsure of what to say. He certainly didn’t want to open the door. He motioned one of his troops to do so. The marine’s eyes grew wide with disbelief. “Well, go on.” Markus commanded, and the man stepped slowly forward, his knuckles turning white on his broadsword. He cautiously grasped the handle of the door…
Sûlmain checked his loadstone one last time. This is it, he thought as it burned brighter than ever and lurched forward.
The boarding planks hit with a sharp crack, the heavy nails driving deep into the other ship’s wood. The marines ran across the plank, weapons bared, and waited for something to happen. The leader, Markus, removed his visored helm to hear and see better. Nothing moved. The only sound coming from the ship was the creaking of wood beneath their feet. Obviously, this ship was old…very old. The design was sorely outdated. That it was still afloat was a miracle.
Markus began walking about. He took two men with him in one direction, sent three in the other, and left four by the plank. While he walked he noticed that the ship did not sway with the waters. It was as if treading on dry land. This played havoc with his sea-legs. More eerie still, he could not feel the winds. The air all around was dead.
The two groups walked slowly around the surface of the ship. They found masts without sails, barrels without contents, and empty chests. Nothing else. There were no signs of struggle. There were no signs of weather damage (though age had a minor effect on the structure). There were no signs at all that anyone had ever been up there. They all returned and gathered at the plank. Markus motioned to Sûlmain to come aboard.
Sûlmain crossed the plank. He immediately noticed the change in the wind and the stillness of the ship when he set foot on deck. He glanced around, but saw only what his scrying revealed: nothing.
“There is nothing on deck,” said Markus. “There is a door over there that will take us below deck.” As he spoke, there was an edge to his voice.
“Very well. Let us go.”
The group moved toward the door revealed in the sorcerer’s scrying. Upon its examination, Sûlmain noticed a single rune branded in its middle. It was not a rune of barring or protection. Rather it was a warning: the rune for painful death. Whatever was beyond this door, it would be deadly. He continued to examine the rest of the door and the nearby wall. There were no other runes or markings of any kind. He returned to stare at the door.
Markus whispered over his shoulder, “What does it say?”
Sûlmain stood pensive for a moment. “It is an ancient rune. One of protection. Do not touch anything. I will take care of it.” The lie caused all of the men to take at least one step back. The sorcerer began to chant. The chant was nonsense, as was his “disarming” of this rune. However, he believed it to be in his interest to make them believe that he was more powerful than this “ancient magic.” It was important that they feel a dependence on his Craft. If the deception worked, morale would improve and loyalty to him would strengthen.
The chanting stopped sharply. The marines jumped. Sûlmain took a deep breath as if his work was taxing. “The door should open now.” And he stepped back.
Markus looked at him unsure of what to say. He certainly didn’t want to open the door. He motioned one of his troops to do so. The marine’s eyes grew wide with disbelief. “Well, go on.” Markus commanded, and the man stepped slowly forward, his knuckles turning white on his broadsword. He cautiously grasped the handle of the door…
posted by irreverance @ Sunday, May 22, 2005
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