“Good shot! C’mere y’ lil’—” Pash shouted, leaping to land with both sandaled feet onto the deck of his sloop, though he was too slow to grab for the doll before it tumbled over the edge of his sloop and into the cold brine of the harbor, “—Drown ‘t all!”
He glared into the depths for a moment, waiting, before he hissed and sheathed his dagger, unwilling to dive after the thing just so he could make sure it was broken. Instead, he prayed for U’Frek to make sure it never surfaced again, begging his favor that the animated spy wouldn’t be able to serve its master any more than it already had for the sake of their rescue mission. Hopefully, it didn’t hitch a ride underneath them by clinging to his keel. The seafaring minstrel didn’t skip much of a beat after that, dumping his equipment that he’d carried from The Muse to Padraig and from Padraig back to The Muse, all through Scalvoris Town twice onto his deck without any gracefulness. There was no real time to worry about the doll so much as to get going, so he looked to Kali, nodding in the direction of the mooring lines,
“I’ll get th’ sails ready an’ get us goin’. All y’ gotta do ’s untie those an’ give a good shove.” She knew that much by now, surely, and he smiled before turning to unwrap and unfurl the mainsail and the jib, connecting them back to their respective lines and raising them, inspecting them as he did so for damage just in case he missed something. Then, it was just a matter of catching a little wind, keeping the sails tucked tight in the crowded area near the docks and using his tiller to steer them out into open waters. He prayed for their journey as he did so, again asking for U’Frek’s favor, that he’d keep them safe in the Scalvoris harbor, that he’d give them swift sailing and easy waters.
Once clear of the docks, Pash looked to the shoreline and the setting sun, setting the ship’s direction by the landmarks he knew to point the sloop along the course toward Ishallr. Padraig would have been able to see them by then, the rusty orange of his hull, his crisp white sails, and the speed at which The Muse was soon pulling away from Scalvoris Town with would have given them away, the tall Biqaj giving the boom a shove and adjusting the luff in the sails until they were sailing at a full beam reach—catching maximum wind but with relatively safe containment in the sails. With no storms on the horizon, the harbor waters were relatively calm, though a little choppy in the steady wind. He didn’t want to light a lantern, however, afraid to give any more of themselves away than the wooden dolls already had. Even if whoever had Faith now knew who was coming, they certainly didn’t know how fast.
“Y’ should get some rest. We can trade off a lil’ so long as th’ weather stays this way.” Pash offered, aware that the sail could take the rest of the night but somewhat used to the strange, late night hours with his performer’s life and time at sea traveling, “Steerin’s no’ so hard if y’ want to learn, an’ I can show y’ how t’ know we’re goin’ th’ right way.”
And so he would, gladly giving a basic sailing lesson or two both because it was necessary to trade off for at least a half a break or a break at a time, the exertion required at the tiller requiring endurance and wakefulness but their purpose requiring speed and attention. A bit of steering, a bit of working the sails in the wind, and how to read a compass and stars, though Pash clearly had the advantage when it came to navigation, his racial vision of the night sky allowing him insight into their location and direction that the dark-haired Sev’ryn didn’t have. Still, the compass worked as well, and Pash showed her the way the sloop should go according to the little mysteriously floating magnet. If he rested at all, it was on the deck, sitting nearby should she need him, instead of bothering to go belowdecks.
While it was easy to keep an eye out for Padraig, it was also somewhat … stressful? Humorous? Indescribably strange? The owl clearly had its own mind, occasionally diving after what Pash could only assume were fish, most likely to the other man’s horror and surprise. He did not envy him at all, quite comfortable with the familiarity of his sloop—his home—instead of on the back of a large predatory bird without any training.
Dawn felt like it was just on the dark horizon by the time the rocky shores near Ishallr could be seen. The next choice was a bit of a hard one—to wade in the freezing waters with all of their equipment and risk it getting terribly wet (and thus not so protective against the cold) or to run aground and hope the tide was in their favor once they moved to escape? Pash’s sloop was far too small to have a dingy; he either swam to shore or moored to a dock. Because his small vessel was made for faring across the entire Orm’del sea, just large enough to be safe on solo journeys that lasted entire seasons sometimes, the hull was made to keep an even-keeled ballast in deep water.
“I’m gonna have t’ run aground a bit an’ hope for th’ best. ’S long ’s we stay in a bit o’ water, we should be able t’ shove back out t’ sea. Otherwise, we’ve gotta swim an’ I don’ think that’s a good idea here. It’s too cold.” This made the tall Biqaj frown, and his displeasure at both ideas was obvious for Kali. The risk of not being able to shove the sloop back out in time was high, but the dangers of swimming before heading out into the mountains was far higher. No one could do any rescuing with hypothermia.
“Hang on, then—” He grumbled to Kali, raising the tiller and setting it in the brake in hopes of keeping it safe against the rocky ground. A broken tiller would leave them dead in the water, too. He spoke to his sloop, too, feeling a pang of worry at what he was about to do on purpose, whispering in Rakahi, “I’m sorry, friend. Hold together for me so we can get back to town and away from this place, okay? U’Frek, keep my Muse.”
With that, he set about tacking the sails and pulling back in the boom, slowing their speed until they were moving as slowly as possible, though still gliding toward the shore. The sloop itself didn’t have a brake, per se, but he could turn the sails and adjust their position enough to slow The Muse to a slow crawl through the cold water until the crunch of the sand and sea floor could be heard against the hull. The grinding grew louder and the ship lurched to one side, Pash having braced himself with a jib line and the railing, putting his weight against one side so the ship leaned one way. Wood groaned in protest, and the seafaring minstrel could only think of scraped paint and damaged hulls before the whole vessel finally came to a bone-jarring stop, sideways and still in waist-deep water.
It was the best he could do, given the lack of a dock.
He lowered the sails but didn’t take the time to wrap them protectively so much as store them in a way that would make their getaway as quick as possible. The air had noticeably shifted in temperature, the mountains of Ishallr looming above the rocky beach in the pre-dawn darkness. The seafaring minstrel grabbed his gear, hoping to keep all of his warm clothes and equipment from getting wet, and offered to help Kali down first before following after her over the lower tilted edge of his sloop. It wasn’t without a second and a third worried glance that he waded away from his home, his precious ship which also held his lute and the past eight arcs of his life, but still he made his way carefully and frigidly toward shore through the rocky shallows, sticking close to the dark-haired Sev’ryn. The water was so cold—Immortals, it just took the breath from his lungs and made his muscles ache—but he managed to wade in it without stumbling too much. He even managed to keep his equipment dry, even if the rest of him was soaked to the bone.
Once on shore, wet and cold in the not-quite darkness, he quickly changed into dry, warm clothes while his teeth chattered and his hands shook. He had the presence of mind to fold up his wet things, stowing them by some rock that he hoped he would recognize on the way back. Then, it was a matter of watching that enormowl land with Padraig still clinging to it, still amazed at the feathered creature that he’d somehow convinced to carry him here in one piece. The other man had glowing stones for them, which were just bright enough it seemed to help them see where they were going but not necessarily broadcast their existence like a torch or a magical light. Though, it wasn’t as if whoever had Faith didn’t know they were coming.
Hopefully they still had some element of surprise before sunrise, their travel swift thanks to the favorable weather and Pash’s somewhat undaunted sailing speed. Not that it mattered in the end, surprise or not—their goal was the same.
It went without the need to say that they were ready to follow once they were all geared up and ready, the tall Biqaj hoping the enormowl proved itself helpful given they only had ocean behind them and mountains before them. He didn’t bother worrying about how little experience he had climbing mountains or braving the cold. It didn’t matter. There wasn’t a choice.
He glared into the depths for a moment, waiting, before he hissed and sheathed his dagger, unwilling to dive after the thing just so he could make sure it was broken. Instead, he prayed for U’Frek to make sure it never surfaced again, begging his favor that the animated spy wouldn’t be able to serve its master any more than it already had for the sake of their rescue mission. Hopefully, it didn’t hitch a ride underneath them by clinging to his keel. The seafaring minstrel didn’t skip much of a beat after that, dumping his equipment that he’d carried from The Muse to Padraig and from Padraig back to The Muse, all through Scalvoris Town twice onto his deck without any gracefulness. There was no real time to worry about the doll so much as to get going, so he looked to Kali, nodding in the direction of the mooring lines,
“I’ll get th’ sails ready an’ get us goin’. All y’ gotta do ’s untie those an’ give a good shove.” She knew that much by now, surely, and he smiled before turning to unwrap and unfurl the mainsail and the jib, connecting them back to their respective lines and raising them, inspecting them as he did so for damage just in case he missed something. Then, it was just a matter of catching a little wind, keeping the sails tucked tight in the crowded area near the docks and using his tiller to steer them out into open waters. He prayed for their journey as he did so, again asking for U’Frek’s favor, that he’d keep them safe in the Scalvoris harbor, that he’d give them swift sailing and easy waters.
Once clear of the docks, Pash looked to the shoreline and the setting sun, setting the ship’s direction by the landmarks he knew to point the sloop along the course toward Ishallr. Padraig would have been able to see them by then, the rusty orange of his hull, his crisp white sails, and the speed at which The Muse was soon pulling away from Scalvoris Town with would have given them away, the tall Biqaj giving the boom a shove and adjusting the luff in the sails until they were sailing at a full beam reach—catching maximum wind but with relatively safe containment in the sails. With no storms on the horizon, the harbor waters were relatively calm, though a little choppy in the steady wind. He didn’t want to light a lantern, however, afraid to give any more of themselves away than the wooden dolls already had. Even if whoever had Faith now knew who was coming, they certainly didn’t know how fast.
“Y’ should get some rest. We can trade off a lil’ so long as th’ weather stays this way.” Pash offered, aware that the sail could take the rest of the night but somewhat used to the strange, late night hours with his performer’s life and time at sea traveling, “Steerin’s no’ so hard if y’ want to learn, an’ I can show y’ how t’ know we’re goin’ th’ right way.”
And so he would, gladly giving a basic sailing lesson or two both because it was necessary to trade off for at least a half a break or a break at a time, the exertion required at the tiller requiring endurance and wakefulness but their purpose requiring speed and attention. A bit of steering, a bit of working the sails in the wind, and how to read a compass and stars, though Pash clearly had the advantage when it came to navigation, his racial vision of the night sky allowing him insight into their location and direction that the dark-haired Sev’ryn didn’t have. Still, the compass worked as well, and Pash showed her the way the sloop should go according to the little mysteriously floating magnet. If he rested at all, it was on the deck, sitting nearby should she need him, instead of bothering to go belowdecks.
While it was easy to keep an eye out for Padraig, it was also somewhat … stressful? Humorous? Indescribably strange? The owl clearly had its own mind, occasionally diving after what Pash could only assume were fish, most likely to the other man’s horror and surprise. He did not envy him at all, quite comfortable with the familiarity of his sloop—his home—instead of on the back of a large predatory bird without any training.
Dawn felt like it was just on the dark horizon by the time the rocky shores near Ishallr could be seen. The next choice was a bit of a hard one—to wade in the freezing waters with all of their equipment and risk it getting terribly wet (and thus not so protective against the cold) or to run aground and hope the tide was in their favor once they moved to escape? Pash’s sloop was far too small to have a dingy; he either swam to shore or moored to a dock. Because his small vessel was made for faring across the entire Orm’del sea, just large enough to be safe on solo journeys that lasted entire seasons sometimes, the hull was made to keep an even-keeled ballast in deep water.
“I’m gonna have t’ run aground a bit an’ hope for th’ best. ’S long ’s we stay in a bit o’ water, we should be able t’ shove back out t’ sea. Otherwise, we’ve gotta swim an’ I don’ think that’s a good idea here. It’s too cold.” This made the tall Biqaj frown, and his displeasure at both ideas was obvious for Kali. The risk of not being able to shove the sloop back out in time was high, but the dangers of swimming before heading out into the mountains was far higher. No one could do any rescuing with hypothermia.
“Hang on, then—” He grumbled to Kali, raising the tiller and setting it in the brake in hopes of keeping it safe against the rocky ground. A broken tiller would leave them dead in the water, too. He spoke to his sloop, too, feeling a pang of worry at what he was about to do on purpose, whispering in Rakahi, “I’m sorry, friend. Hold together for me so we can get back to town and away from this place, okay? U’Frek, keep my Muse.”
With that, he set about tacking the sails and pulling back in the boom, slowing their speed until they were moving as slowly as possible, though still gliding toward the shore. The sloop itself didn’t have a brake, per se, but he could turn the sails and adjust their position enough to slow The Muse to a slow crawl through the cold water until the crunch of the sand and sea floor could be heard against the hull. The grinding grew louder and the ship lurched to one side, Pash having braced himself with a jib line and the railing, putting his weight against one side so the ship leaned one way. Wood groaned in protest, and the seafaring minstrel could only think of scraped paint and damaged hulls before the whole vessel finally came to a bone-jarring stop, sideways and still in waist-deep water.
It was the best he could do, given the lack of a dock.
He lowered the sails but didn’t take the time to wrap them protectively so much as store them in a way that would make their getaway as quick as possible. The air had noticeably shifted in temperature, the mountains of Ishallr looming above the rocky beach in the pre-dawn darkness. The seafaring minstrel grabbed his gear, hoping to keep all of his warm clothes and equipment from getting wet, and offered to help Kali down first before following after her over the lower tilted edge of his sloop. It wasn’t without a second and a third worried glance that he waded away from his home, his precious ship which also held his lute and the past eight arcs of his life, but still he made his way carefully and frigidly toward shore through the rocky shallows, sticking close to the dark-haired Sev’ryn. The water was so cold—Immortals, it just took the breath from his lungs and made his muscles ache—but he managed to wade in it without stumbling too much. He even managed to keep his equipment dry, even if the rest of him was soaked to the bone.
Once on shore, wet and cold in the not-quite darkness, he quickly changed into dry, warm clothes while his teeth chattered and his hands shook. He had the presence of mind to fold up his wet things, stowing them by some rock that he hoped he would recognize on the way back. Then, it was a matter of watching that enormowl land with Padraig still clinging to it, still amazed at the feathered creature that he’d somehow convinced to carry him here in one piece. The other man had glowing stones for them, which were just bright enough it seemed to help them see where they were going but not necessarily broadcast their existence like a torch or a magical light. Though, it wasn’t as if whoever had Faith didn’t know they were coming.
Hopefully they still had some element of surprise before sunrise, their travel swift thanks to the favorable weather and Pash’s somewhat undaunted sailing speed. Not that it mattered in the end, surprise or not—their goal was the same.
It went without the need to say that they were ready to follow once they were all geared up and ready, the tall Biqaj hoping the enormowl proved itself helpful given they only had ocean behind them and mountains before them. He didn’t bother worrying about how little experience he had climbing mountains or braving the cold. It didn’t matter. There wasn’t a choice.
