Cold Pursuit [Pash, Kali, Delta]

[Maltruism]

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Cold Pursuit

67 Zi'da, arc 717

The tides could be inconsistent in the seasons leading into Cylus. The lack of two of the three moons left them more vulnerable to other influences. Once the other two moons crested the gravity well of Idalos, the more common and reliable tides would reassert themselves. But for now, they were awash in confusion.

Perhaps some mischief of Chrien, or even some well-intended, but excessive reaction by Uf'rek; coupled with the waves of Water Defiance being tasked in repeated, combative streams off the coast of Etzos' Bailey Peninsula, had moved the Orm'Del Sea into temporary shifts of current. Whatever the reason, all was not well...

The Doom of Valaris, and the largely uncontrolled defenses, borne of zealous divinity gone to the grave, were in a new state of flux. This was not necessarily a tremendously rare occurrence. But usually, the manifestations of this untended power tended to impede each other's wandering, keeping the hazards well above a latitude most would wish to avoid simply due to the temperature. Such was not the case this time.

However, it would be fair to say that any sailor experienced with the northern marine climate would realize something was amiss when they slipped into what would be considered "Rynmere waters" and still found it necessary to stay wrapped in several layers of clothing, and chip the ice from their beards. If they'd ever encountered any of the supernatural hazards of The Frigid Main, they would know to be alert for anything out-of-the-ordinary.

This far south, a half-dozen icebergs would have to be considered very much so. But the three travelers aboard the schooner now rounding the "Eastern Armpit" of the Frigid Main, meaning to turn south toward Rynmere, were not as learned as some of the crusty old salts spouting tall tales for drinks in some Scalvoris pub.

What did these weary old men care if no one believed them? Their tales were enjoyed for what listeners assumed was merely a picturesque gift of gab, and not the panic-ingrained memories that could never be dimmed, regardless of their blood-alcohol level. And even if these old men uniformly expressed no desire to return to the sea, it was chalked up to approaching infirmity, and not cold reality.

Should these three travelers survive the impending ordeal, there would at least be three future listeners that could attest to the truth of these old sailors' stories...

[Pash Raj'oriq]

A larger vessel proved to have its own quirks and challenges, Pash had quickly discovered, none of which were at all made lesser issues in the frigid chill of Northern Idalos at sea. By all the Immortals, this was the kind of cold he'd almost forgotten, despite having made the same journey almost exactly an arc ago when he arrived in Scalvoris in his little sloop, The Muse, in Ashan. How long ago that had been, and yet it didn't feel it.

More familiar with a tiller than a wheel, more familiar with having all of the rigging within reach, the seafaring musician had quickly learned that he had to delegate, that he had to rely on the hands of Kali'rial and Delta to keep the schooner sailing smoothly. That realization was also burdened by the fact that not only did he have to rely on them, but he also had to teach them. For the first few ten-trials, there had been some room for error, for once they cleared the tumultuous weather of Scalvoris Harbor and made their way into the open sea itself, the waves rolled differently and the weather cleared for a few handfuls of trials at a time. It was cold—so damn cold—and yet when the sun shone on the dark waters, everything was easy.

Understanding the rigging had been first, knowing the difference between the mainsail and the jib, the foresail and the stay sail, the gaff top sail and the fisherman sail. All the sails! Second was simply keeping one's head safe—nowing how to predict the motion of the boom and to keep one's body clear when it shifted to sweep across the aft when tacking and gybing.

It was, perhaps, only appropriate to the spirit of adventure that just when everyone was beginning to feel like they were getting the hang of things that the weather fowled and the sea became icy and hazardous. This was just how life went, and if no one else embraced it with optimistic recklessness, Pash did. Dressed in his ever-warm cloak, enhanced the tall Biqaj was extra careful to-trial at the helm, having decided breaks ago that his gloves were not enough to keep his hands warm, let alone the very few layers of clothing he generally preferred regardless of the weather.

The cold winds had picked up considerably, and Pash felt as though his fair and lovely new schooner, The Songbird, would soon be traveling far too fast to allow him to react safely should they run into ice or rocks. They'd need to work together to slow down, and as much as Pash was used to mostly doing it all himself, this was a task best spread out among the hands he had on deck,

"Qau'ma, th' winds 're stayin' a bit strong. I need y' t' reef th' sails—d' you remember what that means?" His question wasn't condescending so much as instructional, nodding his hooded head toward the rigging for the headsail and the mainsail, "Tighten 'em up so we take on less wind an'—"

His tide pool gaze shifted to Delta, "Trim us up a bit while she does that, please, an' set th' sails on a closer angle to th' wind."

The salty bard scanned the horizon for signs of danger—ice or rocks or other vessels—the next chilled gust of wind biting at his skin beneath the warmth of his cloak and clawing at his face, enough to bring hot tears to their edges. The route was familiar, and Pash stuck to the current and direction he'd traveled all those seasons ago, but in reverse. With U'Frek's blessing ability, he was not much more confident about the course he'd set than he had been an arc ago without it, but in order to double-check his normal sense of direction, he'd have to wait until evening.

[Kali'rial]

67th Zi'da, 717

“Mezo! Look at the ice!” Kali’rial exclaimed, hanging onto rigging as she ducked under sails and booms and such to move to the bow of the ship, pointing at the chunks of frozen water as it bobbed in the rocky ocean before them. Not ever could the huntress remember seeing them before, the trade ship between Desnind and Scalvoris never venturing far enough north-east. The strong breeze pushed her ever-warm cloak’s hood down, allowing long dark tresses to whip in the bitterly cold wind whilst she moved with the rocking of the Songbird, her sea legs well in place after so many seasons in The Muse. Beside her, Sarkis stood, invisible to Delta and Pash in his spirit form but yet ever watchful over the pack.

At the biqaj’s command, the Sev’ryn turned away from the amazing and yet deeply daunting frozen shapes to nod firmly, resolute golden eyes looking for the rigging as instructed and moving to loosen the rope from its hold and tug hard. The new ship was beautiful, and bigger than the little sloop by far. A proper vessel made for long oceanic journeys. Being brighter however, meant that the tall inked sailor could no longer be a one-man crew. As such, the huntress from the jungles found herself very quickly becoming accustomed to seafaring.

The wind fought her, pulling at the sail as she worked, but the brunette used her core strength to force the feisty canvas to her will. Tying the rope again, the way Pash had shown her, Kali raised an arm to protect her face from the icy shards that blew in with the gale. Dressed in her thicker winter breeches, her beige knit dress, a warm winter tunic, Immortals-forsaken furred boots and the ever-warm cloak, Kali didn’t feel the cold as much as she could have. Still, she had to take medical tea daily to help stave off the persistent cold that haunted her in the colder seasons, the chill still managing to creep in anywhere it could find.

Under all her clothing, the southerner wore her light leather armour, almost a prerequisite for any travelling with the sunkissed bard. At her sides, hosltered to her belt, she carried a mastercraft set of push daggers—a new addition to her weaponry—and her small quiver containing both her mastercraft cobolt arrows and the six sky pearl arrows. Of course, safety slung across her chest was The Huntress, rarely leaving her person nowadays, and strapped safety to her thigh was the beautifully ornate rainbow stone skinning knife fondly named The Aurora’s Wrath after the amazing light the stone in the pommel refracted.

One might say, she was over prepared for the worst. Kali would say, walk a mile in her shoes before making a judgement call.

“Delta, do you need help?” The short huntress asked, before moving to join Pash at the wheel, faintly glowing blue with U’frek’s blessing.

“It’s a fine trial for sailing.” She said with a small smile, before turning her eyes back on the choppy seas before them, smile fading to a more serious and focused face.

[Delta]

Life on the ship was best described as a barrel of contradictions, if Delta were forced to put feelings into words. She was an experienced seafarer - she had thought she knew it all. She actually didn’t know much. But she wasn’t learning much more because Pash was taking it slow. But she didn’t have the wherewithal to just.. get on with it. At every turn, she looked back for Pash’s approval. It made her look incompetent.

Maybe she was.

When Pash called over his commands to his unlikely crew, Delta glanced up, squinting, as if that would make it easier to listen to what she had been bidden to do. There were a number of challenges: the word never made it easy to hear any shouted command; Delta still refused to bother to learn the Common Tongue properly; and Pash’s accent was thick enough when he was using Rakahi, and it was far worse to understand when he didn’t.

The girl frowned, he wanted what? She turned to watch Kali’rial for a few moments and, through the context of what she was doing, quickly made her way over to the ropes tied to the side of the ship. Watching the sail above carefully, Delta centred herself, trying to feel the draft of the ship in order to feel the balance as she pulled the rope through her hands, causing the sail to go taught. She was arcs out of practice - so many arcs on the land had caused her to forget what it was to move in tandem with the waves and winds, working as one to reach a destination.

Glancing away from the sail, she noticed that no one had fallen over, nor was Pash hurrying over to her and repeating her work, so she can’t have been going too wrong. When Kali offered her assistance, Delta’s git reaction was to brush off the other’s support. What did a land dweller know of the sea? How could she be any better at this to try to teach Delta? Her eyes rapidly shifted in shade and colour as she opened her mouth to push the other away, before returning to a more neutral cerulean and biting her tongue, deciding better of it.

“Thank you,” she managed to reply, slightly gruffly, as she stepped to the side slightly. “I was child when leaving ship. Did mostly knots and ropes, but too small to…” she gestured upwards, and at the ship in general, unable to find the words. She forced a smile trying to make light of her need for help, “Father had bigger ship. This is like a… row boat.”

[Maltruism]

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It's entirely possible that the unfamiliarity of this larger vessel took enough of the focus from Pash's mind that he did not give adequate thought to the tidal adjustments that occurred this time of arc. He was an experienced sailor and would normally be aware of the small tugs and pulls of renegade currents that had broken the normal patterns that would fully reset in Cylus.

Or perhaps he blamed it silently on the inexperienced "crew". A mere three to fully man a schooner was approaching the definition of the term "skeleton crew". Things were staying more or less in line though, but he felt it was only by taking it as carefully as he was.

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In fairness, it was not that the eddying currents truly impacted his ability to keep the ship on its heading, even with a mere trio to see to everything.

The real problem was that the true nature of the peril encroaching on his ship, was unaffected by these inconsistent, lingering currents as well. Tales told in taverns spoke of it, to mugs raised more in amusement than true belief. There would be one or two that would not cheer; weathered faces, grim with memories of death and terror. But the sight of a single iceberg, miles to the north was not something to trigger the recall of a night spent listening to old salts spin yarns for drinks.

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It is a rare, but not unheard of thing for packs of predators in the wild to travel toward their prey in a straight line. But to give credit to the natural order of the food chain, there is no malice in this tactic; it is simply an effective ploy, used to delay the panicked flight of the target. As well as allowing for a closer, last-minute spread, to better cut-off angles of escape.

Keeping an eye on an iceberg miles away was not a priority meriting tremendous scrutiny. It was more of a 'corner-of-the-eye' verification that its own heading followed his knowledge of the current trends north of his position.

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This unexacting verification of the iceberg's path led to it getting closer than Pash would have allowed had he been heading north. It was possibly even the realization of a more clearly defined wake that caught his eye than its size and apparent defiance of the currents.

This curiosity turned to alarm as four identical bergs began to emerge to the sides from behind it, forming a spreading five-berg "front" that bore down on his schooner with inexplicable speed. Still, it was not that there was any immediate danger. Hopefully, some of the currents their ship was tacking against would stifle the odd following path the bergs seemed to be on. But there was now good cause to keep an aft eye.

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A few breaks passed with only one significant change. It took Pash several bits to verify it. But once verified, the skin began to crawl up the nape of his neck at the unnatural aspect of it. The two bergs on each side of the center berg had definitely stopped their drift to the side and were now paralleling their "leader". In defiance of any natural tidal tendency, these five bergs now stayed in a consistent formation. And they looked to have gotten even closer, their wakes icing the waves in white crests reminiscent of hostile fleets.

If he had not already, Pash would be likely to inform his crew of his concerns