1st Day of Ash, 122th Year of the Age of Steel
Continued from here.
Continued from here.
The Pterincus plunged into the water. Inky darkness consumed his vision. Small membraned wings struggled ineffectually against the chill saltwater. There was a moment of terror as he struggled with an unfamiliar body to get the cumbersome beak above the surface. Then Masagh remembered that while he may presently be a pterincus, he was always undead. He grew calm and let his ichor supplement the need to breath. Water filled his mouth, then his lungs. He grew calm as he did not, in fact, drown.
The pterincus sunk to the depths of the bay, past the pair of merchant vessels flanking him. As he did so, the thing grew and shifted. It’s bones broke and elongated until amongst the sand and weed in the dark crouched Masagh the ghoul.
He tucked the pterincus totem back into his belt pouch and pulled the crocodile totem out. He could not make out the details in the dark water, but he knew the feel of it because it was the largest and heaviest of the three. The hard amber was a comfort in his hands. Masagh had never transformed underwater before. It was not much different, besides the fact that he could see nothing.
Bones broke and extended or shrunk. His decayed human skin became decayed reptilian scales, hard and dark. The crocodile was the largest form he had ever inhabited. Masagh felt his face broaden and grow long, the teeth pushing violently through the gums.
After a few minutes the sixteen foot crocodile lay against the seafloor. Quickly Masagh started thrashing his tail, guiding his form towards the surface. The storm still battered the ships in the bay, and Masagh used the crocodile’s powerful tail to propel himself through the waves.
The form was ideal for such work, being basically a wedge. That did not mean he made good time. It was not evolved for the crashing waves of a sea. Regardless, he was not going fast enough to make up for the lost flying time. Masagh contented himself with dipping below the chaotic waves into the calmer water below.
He followed the coast of the bay north, coming up for air every few minutes and slipping below the surface again. He followed the coast up into the storm. The moon was blocked out for most of the journey, though he kept to the coastline so it was not an issue. Masagh passed one natural cove that bore no shipwreck. Then another.
His tail began to ache. Perhaps it had been rash to attempt the journey alone and without the Creth boat. The storm was still dangerous. What if he was swept out to sea and the sun rose? Emerande would never have let him use their rowboat, and it was meant for the sewers and river. Besides, it was just nerves. The sea was calm under the surface, and he could make the distance if some survivor had done it in a dinghy.
Then he saw it. The broken mast breaking the dark horizon like some sort of tower. A trill of victory filled his gut at the sight. He would be able to bring something back to his mother and prove it had been worthwhile. He made his way into shore once the silhouette of the ship was plain. About half the ship was strewn on the stoney beach, amongst the boulders there.
A few minutes later and Masagh was feeling a slight strain as the last of his body parts rearranged themselves into his natural form. He had used more Animus than he had in years to get here.
He spit sea water onto the beach and began to stubble his way over.
Immediately upon reaching the wreck his heart sank. Fresh tracks broke the slate and pebbles of the beach. A cold torch was also stuck into the ground near the wreck. Masagh frowned, the Imperium had already ransacked what they could apparently. Masagh stared at the broken ship, the only sound the waves crashing on the beach for a long moment. It was dark, cold, and very far from safety and home. There was no promise that the ship help anything.
The undead ghoul climbed onto a boulder and through the shattered planks. Inside he found the cargo hold, turned on its side and shattered for the most part. Masagh pulled a lantern from where it remained on its hook miraculously. A moment’s fumbling with his flint and steel brought a flickering light to the interior of the ship.
Holding the lantern behind himself so as not to blind his eyes, Masagh gazed about. Barrels lay broken with what looked like sodden textiles strewn haphazardly about. He rummaged amongst the negligible goods for a long while. If there turned out to be nothing of note he would be reprimanded for rashness when he returned.
But the gouges that Imperium wagon had made were not shallow. It had been decently laden when it left. It was near the water line that he found the only indication of something more than trade goods present on the ship. A chest banded in iron, and runed with a scriveners script. Someone had wanted it protected. He pulled it up the slanted bulkhead where he walked, heaving the chest out of the water.
Fumbling for the latch he found it already broken and bent.
“Spirits damn them…” Masagh muttered.
He flipped the chest open and let the lantern light fall inside. As he thought, empty save for a honeycomb of wooden slates padded with cotton. Dragonshard storage.
Masagh looked around for more of its kind. Someone had been shipping at least a chest of arcane stones into Gel’Grandal… So what had made them fuck it up so badly? He moved about the interior carefully, struggling against barrels and broken beams. Masagh spent the next hour combing the wreck for more of the same. It had to be an Imperium shipment, a chest of the most basic dragon shards like that had to have been worth a fortune.
That was why they had been so quick about the recovery. They were expecting it and when it did not show up and instead they got a handful of soaked survivors they wasted no time. He knew deep in his gut that they would never have left a dragon shard in the wreck. Sure enough, he found two more empty chests similarly runed but no booty. He left the wreck in a foul mood.
Masagh tossed the lantern down on the beach and turned to stare at the wreck. He would have to endure seasons of his mother making his existence a living hell. He had risked life and ,limb to come out here just for a few empty chests and the knowledge the Imperium had become just that much more powerful.
“Damn drop in the ocean.” He tossed a pebble into the black waves. He blinked. Standing completely still his eyes stared at the torn wreck, face blank.
In the ocean.
The other half of the ship wasn’t here on the beach… but it was somewhere.
“It’s in the ocean.” Masagh told himself calmly, his face splitting into a grin. He watched the waves break against the jutting rocks just beyond the wreck.
He entered the water. Waves pressed him back hard, but he was able to wade out and swim down below the crests with a few minutes of miserable labor. The seabed gradually descended into the ocean, save for the jagged reef where the ship had run aground. A mast lay at the bottom of the ocean, still tethered by a length to about ten feet of planking that was probably the starboard hull.
His hopeful spirit quickly grew sullen with the debris spread out along the ocean floor and away from his sight. He was no expert on nautical anatomy, but it looked like about a half a ship crushed against the seafloor along with anything worth bothering about. He was about to turn about when he noticed dark shape wedged between two jagged, volcanic rocks. Masagh swam to it.
As he approached, he realized it was a cluster of sail and mast wrapped about a chunk of the ship. It was hard to tell what part of the ship it was beneath the surface and tangled. He swam under a stream of sailcloth and found that the wreck had an opening between the volcanic rocks. Masagh pulled himself through and was startled to find his face was met with air. The interior was black and dark.
The ghoul pulled his form into the room, seeing the sea through a pair of circular glass portholes. The captain’s quarters. A bed lay crumpled against the wall, which he now stood on. A chandelier had smashed against the ceiling to his left and a corpse lay at his feet. Masagh bent and found it was a human, punctured through the chest by a shard of the bed frame and rigid with rigor mortis. His mouth was open and a torch was tight in his grip, though dark. Masagh frowned and crouched beside the man.
“Bad luck, friend.” He reached out and closed the man’s eyes. “All over now, though.”
He relieved the corpse of the torch and worked at it with his flirt and steel. The quarters burst into sharp relief with a yellow light. The wall he stood on was littered with the trinkets and treasures of a captain’s life. Nothing that interested Masagh. The desk was still on the deck, standing on its side to the right of Masagh’s head. It was a proper sailing desk, bolted to the desk to avoid toppling. Masagh opened the drawer in the center with one hand.
A few coins, a crude painting of a woman, and a waxed, leather-bound logbook. The coins he ignored, the logbook he stuffed in his pack, and the picture he gazed down at. It was framed in brass and the water had done nothing to harm it, as the room was mostly dry still. She looked… young. He glanced over at the corpse.
He looked young too, now that Masagh saw him in the light. He sighed and tucked the painting into the captain’s hand that had gripped the torch. There was nothing of value left here, and now it had the feeling of a tomb rather than a wreck. Masagh slid out of the sunken remains of the ship and made for shore again.
He had lost the appetite for treasure.
On the beach Masagh dropped down next to the lantern and stared out at the waves. After a moment he lit the lantern again and pulled the ship’s log from his bag. Perhaps he could return with some idea of what exactly the Imperium had recovered. It was not a ledger book, but a log of the weather and events of the days at sea by the ship’s officers. Masagh flipped a few pages, staring at the mundanity that had prefaced these sailor’s death.
On a white he flipped to the back and started turning pages forward until he found the last entry. It was a shaky hand and read:
Ship’s Log
Officer of the Day: Capt. J Cuthbert
Date: 30 Calid March, 122 Steel
The storm came hard and we were forced into one of the coves north of Gel'Grandal. Took shelter in cove of ruins. It was an odd place, old columns rose from the water and the men were uneasy. Ruins depicted skeletal horses and some believed it a cursed place. I have been many places and I must admit I agree. That night we were forced from the cove back into the storm by some creature that lurked within. An unnatural evil resides there. Four souls were lost to it before we escaped.
Officer of the Day: Capt. J Cuthbert
Date: 30 Calid March, 122 Steel
The storm came hard and we were forced into one of the coves north of Gel'Grandal. Took shelter in cove of ruins. It was an odd place, old columns rose from the water and the men were uneasy. Ruins depicted skeletal horses and some believed it a cursed place. I have been many places and I must admit I agree. That night we were forced from the cove back into the storm by some creature that lurked within. An unnatural evil resides there. Four souls were lost to it before we escaped.
They hadn’t rushed the delivery. They had fled something. What sort of monster could make a hardbitten crew of Imperium sailors flee into a dangerous storm? Masagh read the entry again, frown deepening. It seemed by Captain Cuthbert’s recollection that the monster they had been accosted by was laired in this cursed cove.
Interesting. Masagh did not know how this information could be used. Not yet, but it was interesting. He stood up and stared up at the black clouds of the storm. He still had about three hours of darkness left. More than enough time to return safely home, if he left now.
Tucking the ship’s log back into his pack carefully, Masagh made his way to the water’s edge. He didn’t want to risk another plummet out of the sky as a pterincus. He brought out the totem of the crocodile again and evoked the spell.
It was two hours later when he finally pulled himself into the Compound out of the sewer river, exhausted and stinking. He had returned his ghoulish form, but still ached all over. His spine radiated a hot, dull pain that only came from swimming. Still, Masagh wasted no time returning to the Grand Hall.
Most of House Creth were still there, though the meal had ended. They had dispersed into groups. But as Masagh entered from the main entrance, dripping wet and shuffling with fatigue, all turned to look. Emerande Creth stared down at him with worried eyes, though her face remained stern. He smiled faintly up at her.
“I thought you were planning to fly to this shipwreck?” She inquired after he had come to a stop below her dais.
“The storm changed my plans. I swam there in another skin.” Masagh said. “But I found it.”
“The shipwreck?” Emerande seemed surprised. “What did you find?”
Masagh hesitated a moment. “The Imperium had already scavenged the wreck. But I did find a few empty chests that were runed with script and bearing indicators of dragon shards.”
“A few chests?” Cyran asked, leaning forward and looking worried.
Masagh nodded. “Three, all empty. No indication of what type they held, or whose they were destined for.” He cleaned his ear hole out with one clawed finger. “But who else? The Imperium.”
Emerande made a noise of agreement, still frowning faintly down at him. “Hmm, and you are alright?”
Masagh gave a grin. “A bit wet, but nothing a good sit by the fire won’t cure.” He assured her.
“Good, I worried. At least now we know what we all lost out on.” She smiled, clearly relieved he had come home safely. “Did you find anything else?”
Masagh set his thumbs in his belt and looked up at her. He met her concerned gaze and shook his head. “No, only driftwood and corpses.”
The Ship’s Log remained in his pack, safely hidden.
