Within Earshot [modded]

[Yeva]

42 Ymiden 720

Josef's tales of swashbuckling adventure were something special, and Yeva, more than once, found herself knocking shyly on the father's door to ask for 'just one more' while his son busied himself with captaining a ship of his own. Some were simple, straightforward and easy to believe - getting into fight with the harbor master, for instance - others were more embellished, like the time a storm ravaged the waters so terribly they thought they saw Chrien herself, making Yeva hold her breath in anticipation.

"You're a very good storyteller," Yeva gushed after he had finished, tying off the past stitch in her patchwork. Without a woman around, Darius and his father had managed well enough in the trial to trial domesticity, but some details had gotten overlooked as men were wont to do. She had offered to hem some tattered holes, matching up thread colors with a bit of spare cloth she had in her stash, "And a good teacher," Yeva tucked away the needle and thread, pushing upwards to rise from where she had been sitting cross-legged in his cabin, "I've learned a lot about the craft just listening to you.... I'll put this here," she smiled, folding the old trousers and laid them on the table. A candle burned on the bedside, signifying to the woman just how time she must have been spending with her friend's father, "I won't keep you, I know you have other things to do, other adventures to be reminded of," she gave a bow, happy, "Thank you, again, Mr. Baer. This has been a lovely way to pass the time."

Yeva gathered her things and began to head to the door, tucking her Order cloak under her arm. Her old one had been destroyed in Faldrass, and this one had replaced it, showing no wear and tear from the former winter, "I'll go find Dari," she reached for the handle and then glanced back, realizing the slip of nickname, "-erm, Darius. I'll tell him to come stop by and see his father."

She excused herself and slipped into the hallway, shutting the door behind her. Had he noticed the slip of nickname? That wasn't a problem, right? Would he think it too familial for a woman to call his son? Surely not... They were friends.

Yeva glanced back at the door, and clutching her bag, went hunting for the captain's corners, greeting fellow sailors as she shuffled past in her buttoned blouse and pant. She always felt a bit out of place but smiled politely at the sight of their tattoos and piercings. Did Dari have any? And...

She slowed, contemplative.

Did he want any?

A mischievous curiosity took her and she knocked on the man's door.

[Darius Baer]

Arc 720, 42nd of Ymiden

Josef liked Yeva. Of that, there could be no denial. The elder Baer had relished the opportunity to regale his son's pretty redheaded friend with stories of his maritime exploits. In fact, he almost enjoyed talking about his time at sea as much as he did actually being at sea again.

In return for the tales of his unverified aquatic exploits, Yeva was mending a pair of his trousers that had become frayed through a combination of wear, tear, and typical male neglect.

Both of them seemed to consider it a fair trade, although both probably would have been willing to keep their side of the bargain for free. Josef certainly would have.

"Thank you, lass," he smiled as the young woman rose from her seat. "You're very kind."

Leaning over to one side, he reached into a pocket in his leggings and pulled out a small book, barely large enough to fill his palm.

"I'm no master of storytelling, lass," Josef chuckled, "but if I can give you one piece of advice, it's to write things down. They might be ideas, or things you've seen or experienced, or even dreams...but keeping a record of them can help."

He passed the book to Yeva. It was bound in blue leather, and although its pages were blank for the time being, many were dog-eared or had creases - a by-product of the wear and tear associated with living in Josef's pocket.

"Take this," he added, "and tell my lad a story, hmm?"



The die clattered across the surface of the desk. Darius watched it bounce and slide, dark grey eyes studying it intently.

It was four-sided, and the lack of numbers on any of the faces revealed it to be a work in progress, but the finish was smooth and the angles appeared even. The blond woodworker picked it up and rolled it again, and he suddenly realised that he was not the only one watching its movements. Katara was also there, standing on the desk and cocking her head as she watched the die like a...well...like a hawk.

Darius chuckled at the sight, but his attention was interrupted by a knock at the door. He quickly rose, moving across the room to his woodworking kit which sat in one corner, his sudden movement causing Katara to flap her wings, though she didn't initially take flight. Darius deposited the wooden pyramid into one of its many compartments and closed it, before making his way to the door and opening it.

"Oh, Yeva," he remarked in surprise, feeling a pang of guilt for it was she who he wanted to hide the die from. "Would you like to come in?"

Darius stepped back from the door, allowing Yeva to step past if she wished. In doing so, he also revealed that Katara had found a new perch atop the woodworking kit, where she was fruitlessly poking at it with her beak.

[Yeva]

42 Ymiden 720

When the door opened, Yeva's brown eyes did not look up quickly, even after Darius offered the invitation to come inside. She was transfixed by the item in her hands and only met the man's eye when it was time to walk past him, "Look what Mr. Baer gave me!" When she took her first steps past him, Yeva lifted the tiny blue book with bouncing delight, turning as she did so. She watched his reaction, expecting her friend to share in the excitement. In fact, her happiness was bordering on infectious, hands never still as they thumbed through the pages and felt the softened cover. The edges of the spine were worn, the color nearly rubbed away from his pockets, but to Yeva the material might of well as been made of gold, "At first I was a bit shy, because I didn't know if it would be alright to bother him; if spending time together was okay without you, but then-!"

Yeva's voice rose in sound, building, "We started talking, you know, and he tells these most amazing stories! Like about when younger and sailed like you, and," the book was now held against her chest, her brown eyes dancing in the warm light of the cabin, "Sometimes he does these voices, because he knows it will make me laugh," she giggled, remembering one in particular that had sent her to stitches, "And he knows all these fun little facts about seafaring and he says he's not a master storyteller, but he has great timing. The suspense he builds sometimes is just-"

In her rambling, the redhead failed to notice the rather obvious and watchful flaming bird, and catching sight of it silenced her as if she had been smacked in the mouth. She blinked and then, realizing what the creature was after a pause, turned her smile towards the hawk. Yeva took a slow and careful step forward, her excitement turned to a simmer, "You're beautiful," she breathed in Scalveen, captivated by the wings licked by flame, "Wow."

The only other Fire-forged Diri she recalled meeting was Balthazar's, a tiny rock with a shy and almost childish disposition. This one was much different. Why was that, she wondered. Did they manifest differently based on the FireForged they were bonded to? A curious thought, and Yeva wished for a pen, to write down the inquiry as he had instructed, "What's your name?" she asked, unsure if this spirit spoke in Common, or Scalveen like her own. Unlike another, who may not have known of the nature of spirits, Yeva spoke to the creature directly. A sign of respect. Diri, she knew, were no minor beings. They outranked Anaks, which were the lowest cast, only capable of a simple concept. Diris were somewhere in the middle, if her time at Mount Orthunus had taught her anything.

She looked back at Darius for confirmation, "Would you both like to see Baskara?" It struck her as funny now, that they had been together and yet knowing the other was Fire-Forged, had not shown their otherworldly companions.

Yeva lifted a hand, slipping it behind her neck, fingers dipping into the mass of hair and tucking her chin as she seemed to be rummaging for something, "Come say hello. Darius is one of my closest friends."

"Dariussssss," a voice repeated, bordering on amused. Feminine, raspy, "Dariussss. Another Fire-Forged?"

A tendril of fire wrapped around Yeva's wrist and the medic began to pull a thin coil from her locks, the orange flame twisting in the girl's fingers as the thin body of a small snake emerged, to sway and wrap around Yeva's hand. Baskara's form was slight, cute, and her tongue flickered as she regarded the large male before them both, "You are Scalvoran," the spirit stated, turning her head to eye the other diri upon the table, neck extending downward, the fire stretching, lengthening as she began to reach towards the floor, "This pleases me."

[Darius Baer]

The first part of Yeva's waterfall of words didn't register with Darius. He was still trying to regain his composure and convince himself that the redhead hadn't seen anything, even though there was nothing she was doing that should have led him to think otherwise.

As the realisation slowly dawned on him that she had not noticed anything untoward, he was able to relax and take in what she was actually saying. A grin crept across his face, growing into a smile when he recognised that she was waxing lyrical about his father's ability to, well, wax lyrical. Her enthusiasm was contagious, and Darius quickly forgot about his earlier panic as he watched the light of excitement dance in the woman's honey-brown eyes.

"Aye, he has a few tales," the younger Baer chuckled. "He used to come back with a new one each time he returned to port."

The captain leaned forward, a cheeky grin across his face as he looked into Yeva's eyes.

"I won't be so brave as to claim any of them are made up," he added, "but I dare say a few might have embellishments, for the sake of his audience."

A wink followed, for the redhead was the audience that trial, but she caught sight of Katara just as the sailor had begun to forget the diri had been making a nuisance of herself upon the woodworking kit. One eyebrow rose at his friend's use of Scalveen, but it didn't last long he looked over his shoulder to see the hawk had lifted her head, cocking it to one side as she considered the woman addressing her. She considered the man who she was sworn to protect, and he nodded slightly, his thoughts reassuring her that Yeva was indeed a friend.

When Baskara revealed herself, Darius took a deep breath, resisting the temptation to step back. He wasn't overly fond of snakes, but despite the fact that it was a powerful spirit, it strangely seemed less intimidating than the last snake he'd seen curled around Yeva's neck.

"Aye, Scalvorian through and through," he managed in the tongue that was native to his homeland.

He wasn't as fluent in it as he'd like to be, but he tried to use it where it seemed prudent, and he made a note to ensure he practiced it more when he returned to Scalvoris.

"Well met, Baskara," he continued in a soft voice, then watched as the hawk fluttered her way back to the desk, her large talons obscured slightly by the thin trails of smoke that followed her feathers. "This is Katara."

The hawk cocked her head again, chittering quietly as her eyes flitted between the redhead and her serpentine protector, displaying no small amount of curiosity.

[Maltruism]

MOD BOMB!!

While there are certainly differences in the various sounds of ship and sea as one sails upon it, after a few trials they tend to become a drone of those different sounds, with small shifts in prominence being a part of the pattern forming that drone. Even the voices of crewmembers take on patterns within the drone.

One of the men, whose contribution to this pattern was to reliably mutter complaints as he retied lines along the port railing, became a blank in the ambience. His bootsteps led the timbre as usual, yet his voice did not follow them up. It's not that any severe reprimand would be forthcoming over a few snippets of grousing, so long as it did not interfere with the work. But the creak and sigh of ropes being pulled through guides was also subtly missing.

An alternative pattern, featuring a second set of bootsteps as First Mate Astra came to administer "motivation", also broke pattern, with voices being couched in uncharacteristic whispers, as opposed to being raised in authority. Notice of such departures from routine will sweep through the crew under a seeming power of their own aboard a ship at sea, and within two bits most of the small crew lined the port rail, the spyglass making the rounds as the speck on the horizon came under magnified scrutiny.

'A man on a raft' was the unanimous consensus.

Maritime tradition required bringing such survivors aboard, regardless of schedule or weather, neither of which were a pressing concern for The Libertalia at the time. The course diversion had no long-term implications, and it was a short time later that a haggard, weather-burned and beaten travesty of a body was lifted on deck. The next several trials, as they applied to him, were to be coaxed back to a normal diet and to checked for any signs of infection or contagion as coma relaxed into mere sleep.

"Survivor" is an interesting term inasmuch as it's an indication of both incredibly bad and incredibly good luck encompassed in a single event and entity. "Survivor" was also an interesting term in that it was what was engraved on the name plaque still riveted to a corner of the wreckage. This detail was not immediately relayed to the crew, as it was not felt to be of any importance.

But neither was it withheld from passing comment, and for the same reason. Once spoken though, one of the deckhands took issue with it, his face draining of color and his steps retreating instinctively from the one who spoke the name, as if infection and/or contagion were to be found in the very sound of it.

"It's a ghost ship!" he whispered, seemingly in fear of being overheard by some spirit of lost ships. "Taken down to Chrien's Closet nigh on forty arcs ago! That man ain't more'n twenty five. It ain't natural!"

Sailors are a superstitious lot, but that is not to say there is no truth to the tales that make the rounds of seaside taverns. A few other crewmembers began to think they might have heard of the Survivor as well.

[Darius Baer]

Katara and Baskara's introduction was short-lived. Only a few trills after Yeva had brought her diri into Darius' quarters, a cry went up. It was a solitary yell, initially, and it came from somewhere else on the ship. On its own, it would barely have even registered with Darius, for sailors were hardly known to be too shy to raise their voices.

But then came another, and another, and the stamping of boots of hurried men soon followed.

And then...silence.

Darius had already apologised to Yeva and risen from his seat, and was heading towards the door of his quarters when it opened before him to reveal Astra. Her facial features were stoic, but the yellow tint in her eyes was a hue he hadn't seen before. The first mate looked over his shoulder and saw Yeva, before returning her gaze to the captain.

"You should see this," she spoke quietly, and by the time Darius had followed her to the deck, he realised that the crew were using the same hushed tones as they pointed towards something out at sea.

The bearded blond squinted his dark grey eyes, straining to see the shape through the sea spray. Astra passed him the spyglass and he looked through it, catching a glimpse of the figure on the raft. He could feel the eyes of a dozen people upon him as he spoke.

"Ready the ropes," he announced. "We're bringing that poor soul aboard."

Arc 720, 45th of Ymiden

The rumours had begun, almost as soon as the refugee had been pulled up onto the Libertalia. They started as little more than whispers among the crew; superstitious susurrations from suspicious sailors. Darius knew there were murmurings, but it wasn't until a few trials later that he discovered their nature.

He was in his quarters once more, with First Mate Astra and his father Josef. Yeva had been welcomed into the room as well, for although she was not a member of his crew, he trusted the Rharnian implicitly, and he knew he could rely on her judgment.

"Some of the crew are getting nervous," Astra began. "Scrobbs says--"

"Scrobbs says a lot of things," Darius interjected, shaking his head.

"Aye, that he does, lad," his father responded, raising a hand in caution, "but not all that Scrobbs says is nonsense."

"What are you saying?" Darius replied, unable to conceal the surprise from his voice.

The elder Baer paused for a few moments. His grey eyes sent glances in the direction of each of the others present before he proceeded.

"There's a tale," he went on, "that is told in every tavern within sight of the ocean. It varies from port to port, of course, but some parts of the story remained consistent: a ship named Survivor that was lost at sea many arcs ago. Some say it veered too close to land and was shattered on rocks. Others say the captain got drunk and sailed headfirst into a squall. Still others say Chrien herself pulled it beneath the waves."

Darius' father paused again, as if to check that the others were still listening.

"But all of them," he added, "talk of a lone survivor, who sails the seas in the wreckage of his ship, luring others to a similar fate."

"Da, that's just the rum talking," Darius protested, though his father's serious tone meant his rebuttal lacked conviction.

"Aye, I used to think the same thing, lad," Josef admitted, "but that was before we rescued a survivor from a ship that was lost before you were born."

Darius felt the lump in his throat as he attempted to swallow, and he looked towards Yeva, wondering what she made of it all.

[Yeva]

42 Ymiden 720

She felt out of place in a conversation including more seasoned sailors regarding, well... sea related matters. Yeva had only taken a few voyages in the past - once to Athart, and then from Athart to Scalvoris, but neither have been nearly as adventurous as her time upon the great Libertalia. In her short time traveling with her best friend and captain, Darius Baer, Yeva had shared stories with his father, met another Diri from Faldrass, and lost a very good toothbrush to a becoming monstrosity. One could argue that she was learning from experience, but the young woman was very much wet behind the ears so to speak. Or was it gills?

See? Next to useless.

Yeva's attention flickered between the first mate and Darius, wincing at his sharp interjection. She could practically feel his stress and silently sympathized while scribbling in her blue notebook. The others doubted him. There was an uneasiness that had lingered. And it was all up to him to solve it...

She wanted to help, but due to her previous experience with the last thing that emerged from the water by the name of Rakvald, there had been reluctance in her involvement with this new discovery, and so, despite her experience in healthcare, Yeva had allowed for the crew's doctor to take charge while she lingered about, gathering tidbits of gossip and story as testimony should the worst fate overcome them - at least, that's what the other sailors were prattling about. In times like this, it seemed they were worse than school children, but Yeva knew there must have been some truth... somewhere.

With a quill unlike the others she owned, she drew a line and continued beneath it. The words were written with no ink, instead engraving themselves upon each page, as if somehow carved. But when a finger was ran along the parchment, it remained smooth to the touch. All the other words might have been lost to the water, but these would remain. She wrote:

It's been three trials since we found the body, floating in the water. I can still hear the shouts of the men, calling for the captain. Calling for guidance. It was an ill omen, they say. A mistake to bring him aboard. The rumors spread like fire, and threaten to consume the ship. And so they must plan. Astra says the crew is nervous, but the Captain disagrees.

And his father?

Yeva looked up, listening intently as Josef gave his insight. A story told by ocean taverns - one Yeva had never heard in the hundreds of drinking establishments in Rharne, but she knew the Lightening City was on a smaller body of water, a lake. And her times in Scalvoris had been fun, but she was far from a routine drinker. She transcribed each word as best she could, struggling to write quick enough.

The myth of the ghost ship demands attention. Is this man of the Survivor, the same ship that was once brought to destruction? Will this be our demise?

Goosebumps rippled across her arms with every letter. When she looked up, Darius was watching her.

The medic cleared her throat and stood from where she sat in the corner. Outside of Astra, she had grown familiar with the company of the room and did not feel so nervous with sharing her thoughts, "I think you did the right thing," she answered honestly, "You saw a man who needed help - how were you to know if it was a trap or a curse? I can not speak for your men on this ship, but if I am to die, let me die trying to save another."

Yeva snapped her notebook closed and moved towards the door. When the man had been brought aboard alongside his debris, she had rushed to snatch up the large board of broken wood and now had its residence hidden in her room beneath a cot. She had lied to some of the others - poorly - regarding its end. She had claimed to have thrown it back into the water while most were distracted by the excitement of finding a man lost at sea. She had of course, told Darius the truth, hoping she might have been able to glean the age of such wreckage or means of demise, as if it held the secrets to the myth's validity.

And, if she was being just a little selfish in her youth, thought it might make for a nice and eerie souvenir. One she could perhaps offer to Cassion or Friell with his collection, at the Spirit of Adventure back in Scalvoris, "Nevertheless, we can speculate all we want. If this man means to lure us to a wicked fate just for helping him, then he should know that I will not let him decide that for me. We write our own story, don't we?" she winked at Darius in shared secret. He had met Cassion; he understood. Yeva nodded at Astra and Mr. Baer with a smile, grabbing her Order cloak that hung upon the hook by the door and tucked her journal in its pocket, "I'm going to go see what's taking the doctor so long."

It was time to learn the story's ending.

ooc

Yeva is writing in her journal with an engraving quill, acquired via the point bank. Around her neck, is a corded necklace with a gem containing two charges of the Yvithnai ability Diagnosis, earned via the Scalv-enger Hunt:

• Diagnosis: With a touch, the user can determine the name, severity, effects, and transmission method of a sickness or poison currently effecting one person. Curiously, this ability can also tell the general health of an individual and the state of their internal consistency.

[Maltruism]

MODDED

For all its ability to clarify the nature of sickness or poison within a body, Yeva's use of her blessing revealed nothing of that sort. But there was....something. Like a worm eluding a shovel in soft soil.

While the man's health was surprisingly stable, there was a core of inconsistency that eluded definition, or even location. It rankled Yeva to find such a conundrum within a man she felt she should be needing to save. All the talk of a missing forty-arc span only increased the mystery. As did his relatively stable condition. Comatose he seemed. Yet for all, she could not find reason. Dehydrated he was indeed, but not perilously so. Sunburned as well, but not to where even skin would be lost.

There was no evidence of any severe malnutrition. Nor was his fever more than a degree or two in excess of normal. And while his features were weather-beaten, it ended up being his clothes that had truly given him his haggard look. A change of clothes and a general washing up gave him to look like just one of the crew. It defied reason.

But that something still bothered her. Some odd connection had touched her. Not a connection to him personally, he was no lost brother or cousin. But there was a way in which they were similar. If she could use her blessed ability to look within herself, she would find herself possessed of a disturbingly similar aura. Not precisely similar though; more like the flip side of a shared coin. And one that defied definition within herself to the same degree that it did him. A similar source, but on an opposing tangent.

It made her strangely angry, the resentment an unusual emotion to burst from her kindly soul. Surely the man was a victim of fate, but at times she wanted so much for him to wake and answer questions that she found her palm reddened from a slap to his face. She would tell herself it was only an attempt to awaken him, but the very memory of having approached him to do it was a blank in her mind.

Even her sleep was disturbed by his presence, her dreams wending their way to his side. She wished now that she had not tried to touch him with her Diagnosis. But that thought only brought shame and a new resolve to solve the puzzle. There was clearly something "wrong" about the man and whatever discomfort she had to endure to remedy his malaise was simply the price of being in the Order.

That thought caught like ice in her heart as the briefest flash of a superimposed face brought it to her throat. So brief that only the eyes remained clear in her memory, the rest of the face seemed to recall as one made of smoothed bone, unnaturally elongated. It was blurred and distorted, but the hunger of those red eyes brought her gasping to wakeful sitting along the side of her cot.

Even more alarming now was the fact that the ship was abuzz with the news that the man had awakened from his coma.

[Yeva]

42 Ymiden 720

The doctor did not know what was wrong, and soon it was clear that Yeva did not know either, "It doesn't make any sense," she grumbled, unable to hide her disappointment in the failed attempt at intervention. His chest rose and fell and the medic turned. She stared at the necklace in betrayal. Had it been some sort of dud, gifted to her after the Scalv-hunt without knowing its particulars? Had she used it incorrectly? "He shouldn't still be sleeping," 'Why?' she wanted to whine, 'What was she doing wrong?'

The frustration was undeniable, building with a ferocity that surprised her. She prowled at the bedside back and forth like a caged animal, mulling over every possibility and starkly reminded her of her time in Athart. She hadn't been able to solve that problem either. More frustration, resentment. Wrath. 'What is wrong with you?' she wanted to shout, 'Speak!'

She shot out towards the bed. She blinked, hand stinging. There was no memory of her moving, of striking.

Yeva gasped, drawing back with wide eyes as her palm burned pink. The force of the blow had sent the slumbering man's head to the side, but still, he rested as if craddled by the clouds themselves, "I-I-I-I wa- I didn't- I..."

"I just wanted him to wake up," she squeaked, voice as small as she sounded.

What was wrong with him?

What was wrong with her?

She needed to lay down.

The medic made quick haste to her own quarters, where she locked herself up with little explanation. She rationalized as best she would. She was desperate. Worried. Yes, worried for him. She had let her emotions take over, she wasn't getting enough sleep, she would never.

It was to her journal that she revealed the truth, the lapse in memory that tormented her. To hit someone out of fury? It was so unlike her, but how could that have anything to do with a curse?

Yeva drew her blankets high around her shoulders and closed her eyes. Sleep was what she needed and so, allowing herself to relax against the rocking of the waves, she slipped into slumber. Hopeful for a moment's rest.

***

Emea

She was by his bedside again, angry. Waiting. Stretched thin between shame and worry and obligation.

"Wake up," she whispered, the room swaying as if the room floated along the sea. The desperation to see him stir sent fissures of water spurting from the corners of the ward. It began to pour in from beneath the doorway and before she knew it, icy water wrapped around her ankles, "Wake up!" she shook him, as the water level rose and fear began to frazzle her nerves.

The frustration thrummed like a song inside her and the monstrous feelings returned.

"I said wake up!" she roared, lifting a hand to strike him again.

The flooded room vanished in an instant and a twisted face of bleached, smooth stared back the ocean's blackened depths. Red eyes, ravenous, watched her. Consumed her.

***

Yeva gasped so loudly and with such force she nearly choked. Her body raked with coughs, her feet kicked and she tried to get away. Awake and returned to her own room, she began to still, eyeing the room with heavy distrust. What time was it? Footsteps thumped and faded outside her door, she hear voices. And then, with a sharp knock that sent her jumping out of bed, a voice called her name.

The castaway had finally awoken and the ship was abuzz with the news.

Yeva gathered her Order cloak but her bare feet were heavy as she approached the door to open it with a peek. She could hear the news better now, sailors gossiping as they stomped down the halls with purpose. If this was what she wanted... why?

Why was she scared?

[Maltruism]

MODDED

For perhaps different reasons, one being the disposition of the crew, the other being the health of the 'survivor', both Darius and Yeva would make haste to ensure that nothing got out of hand. It was likely that the sailor's superstitions about the mysterious origins of the man's raft would quickly escalate to accusations and threats, if not outright violence.

But there is a second truth, outside of an excess of superstition, about the nature of sailors, and perhaps all thinking peoples of Idalos as well, that the one thing that can offset such concerns are tales of treasure. And the stowaway now spun yarns of a trove that would have stolen the breath from a dragon.

Suddenly the bulk of the crew were more than ready to accept the stranger as a victim of fate, one lost to the random whims of luck on the sea. And who can deny such a course of a man's path when it comes into contact with that tyrant of luck, the Immortal Chrien.

It could not be said that the man had ever given a denial of those initial causes of concern his appearance had inspired among the crew; he'd been comatose at the time, after all. But now his clear reluctance to clarify the course by which he'd arrived at his situation seemed to have turned full circle in the mindset of the crew, and endeared him to them as someone they would encourage and support, rather than ostracize and vilify.

One did not need Yeva's necklace to diagnosis the onset of gold fever, and its infliction upon judgement and sensibility.

His tale, told of the ship, of which he was a crew member, and that he did not deny was named 'Survivor'. He told of its dread encounter with the goddess Chrien, and the seeming salvation of being tasked to do her a favor, for which the reward would be great. Though the maelstrom by which they were dropped into the briny depths was more than sufficient inspiration for volleys of terrified screams, they reached the seafloor unharmed.

A traverse of an hundred yards or two was accomplished through the courtesy of a 'tunnel' of air, culminating in the discovery of a small cave entrance. They could only assume that Chrien did not wish to indulge in a form of standard mortal size so as to enter the darkness within. Some sort of glow inherent in the rock walls allowed enough visibility to make their way in.

A long break of walking ended in the satisfaction of finding that the sea mistress had not lied to them. A treasure of truly immeasurable proportions lay before them in glimmering heaps of gold, gems and exotics of every conception. It was more than their ship could possibly carry and remain afloat.

Murmurs of avarice hummed through the listeners aboard the Libertalia as the stranger, who had by now given his name as Garen Tarvallon, described literal statues of gold, temples of crystal and silver, chests of gems and weapons radiating the gleam of hidden power.

Then the other shoe dropped...

A guardian. So terrible that the struggle to find words evoked tears instead. In choking gasps, he described a figure of bone, or perhaps some white stone; emerging suddenly from the very midst of the crew, twenty feet tall with eyes that glowed with the fire of pure sadistic hate. Yeva would find the words amply describing the vision she'd had when she'd attempted to use her 'Diagnosis' gem.

It generated shards and spears of its matter to both launch and hold as both parrying and impaling weaponry. And the weapons of Garen's shipmates did little more than chip the monster's outer surfaces at best.

Garen did not try to describe the futility of his fellow sailor's brief fight with the creature, falling to tears of shame as he recalled his near-mindless flight to escape, his only company the echoes of the death screams of the rest of those that had disembarked from the Survivor at Chrien's bidding.

His only salvation was that the white monster had been too big to follow him through the same cave mouth by which the sailors had entered the death-trap. Spears of its white substance flew from the limbs of the creature as it tried to squeeze its way out, the very fact of its contortions providing the very inaccuracy of its aim, enabling Garen's escape.

But...escape to what?...

The tunnel of air was gone, as was the maelstrom that had brought the Survivor to rest upon the bottom. And though he managed to torture his lungs with refusal to breathe long enough to reach the surface, only wreckage of his ship welcomed his eyes.

From this wreckage he had fashioned his raft and set himself adrift against the long odds of rescue. He could only fathom the guess that Chrien had actually followed through on her promise of reward and allowed his discovery by Libertalia's worthy crew. He did not deny, nor could he account for the obvious discrepancy in the span of time his tale spoke of, when the current arc was mentioned by those still holding to some suspicion and skepticism.

But he insisted that, for his own mind, it did not matter, as he did not intend to ever return to that undersea grotto. Not every face reflected this same sentiment.