Back to the Deep

In the space between heartbeats, Hethir's view changed from the monster's toothy maw to gleaming armor. Struggling to haul himself upright, he saw Trace standing in front of him, shield held up as though he would fend off the massive monster with it. Strangely, it seemed to be working. Golden sparks fizzled and shot away from the shield, and Hethir realized that the knight was using the shield as a focus; blocking with magic and not mere steel. The teeth of the beast continued to grind and gnash on the barrier to no avail. Though as Hethir watched, he could see Trace shaking with exertion. The effort of holding the beast back was clearly taking its toll. "Trace, do you think you could kill that thing if I got you close enough?" Hethir regained his feet shakily, but his gaze was steady again.
"Maybe? It isn't of this world, Lumis will want it destroyed."
"Good enough, get ready."

From Deep Below

Hethir was barely managing to stay ahead of the tentacles and teeth that seemed to endlessly seek after him, but it seemed like he was getting better at avoiding them. It doesn't seem to be trying as hard...
Sparing a moment to glance behind him, he immediately saw why. Dozens of tentacles--and the blinded head--had become tangled up in the rigging, sails, and masts. This would be cause for celebration, except that it was now struggling to free itself, and would soon begin destroying the ship in its efforts.
Mary was casting again, though she was no longer dancing, and her spells were not having quite the obliterative effect of earlier, but the monster was clearly injured.  Garius and Michael had each grouped up a few sailors and set to keeping the tentacles away from the masts as much as possible.
Much as the man seemed like little better than a thug most of the time, Hethir had to admit that Garius had more than earned his pay on the voyage so far. Val had hidden herself in the cabin; a wise choice considering there was nothing she could do to assist in this fight. That left only Trace unaccounted for.

Wave Wreck

The Storm Hawk made progress towards the wreck slowly. Michael was approaching cautiously, letting the wind carry them well beside the wreck before closing on it. If they did need to leave, the wind would be full in their sails. As they got closer, Hethir and the others on the poop deck were able to get a clear look at the destruction which had been wreaked. The ship had once had three masts, but it had been nearly been broken in half by something, and the mast itself was missing completely, only the broken deck and lines indicated where it had once stood.

Stilled Seas

Days passed slowly for the group on board ship. While the nights were still fairly enjoyable for Hethir and Val, the gloom over the ship was nearly palpable. Ironically, the only one that knew exactly what they were sailing towards was almost painfully cheerful.
Nezys had taken to dancing around the  rigging of the ship, her projection gliding easily from one rope to the next. While it was not quite true to say she was singing--the sounds she made were too tuneless for that label--the joy expressed by the notes was unmistakable.

Storm Hawk's Flight

The information Nezys revealed raised many disturbing questions. She had been sent into the temple to seek out a store of gems that was locked in the temple vaults. While the majority of the gems were confirmed by the Archbishop to be ordinary stones, there were seventeen hidden amongst them that were considerably more.
They were part of a greater focus that had been used by the gods to create the barrier around the world in the ancient past. While Nezys had not been informed of too many specifics, she did know that D had already acquired several of the other necessary implements.

His centuries laid plan was coming to fruition, and they had only discovered it by sheer dumb luck.
Hethir was not confident of their odds anymore.


Unfortunately, the Archbishop seemed to think the best plan was to simply play along with D until they could actually track him down and end him. This meant Hethir was supposed to carry out the job that D had originally hired him for--at least on the surface. So it was that he found himself back on the Storm Hawk with a very particular magical chalice on board, and two sacks of gemstones. All the important gems had been carefully hidden inside a magic-proof safe deep inside the ship, and the Archbishop had laid minor enchantments on seventeen random stones to attract attention to them. Really he had done so masterfully, making it seem as though the enchantments were abjurations meant to shield the gems from detection that had faded over the years and become somewhat more obvious. It would take a detailed look for the enchantments to even be noticed, so it was likely the ruse might hold for a time.
Trace and his companions were also back on the ship, something Hethir couldn't actually decide how he felt about. On the one hand having more competent combatants was rarely a bad thing, and Trace especially would be incredibly useful due his newly acquired deific power. However, their presence seemed somewhat to undermine the ruse that they were attempting to build.
Hethir snarled at their wake as the ship left port. The whole situation was spiraling out of his depth far too rapidly, and he hated being dragged into conflicts that he didn't have a hand in starting.
"I understand why you don't like the Archbishop's plan... I'm not fond of it either... can't we just cut and run?"
Nezys' voice was soft in his mind, their connection allowing for a more subtle touch than most telepathy allowed for. It was much to Trace's consternation when Hethir insisted on taking Nezys with him, and in fact had taken to wearing the sentient sword openly. The Archbishop had been less upset, but wanted to refuse outright as well. The two holy men had not been silenced until Hethir had delivered the ultimatum that if they wanted his assistance, Nezys was part of his price.
"I know it isn't from any misplaced loyalty to that church..."
No, Nezys, it isn't. I will nto be running because no matter my thoughts or policy... no matter how much I don't want this, it is happening. D must be stopped, or this world and everything in it will be destroyed...
"You actually believe that?" Nezys's voice was skeptical.
Beyond a doubt. Hethir sighed and placed a hand on Nezys' pommel.
I felt the geas he laid on you Nezys... the mind that crafted it was not sane, it wants destruction. It desires pain. That kind of mind is not something that should exist, it shouldn't be able to exist, but it does... and it must be stopped.

Nezys was quiet for a moment, though Hethir could feel her thoughts swirling in the steel under his hand.
"Then what about me? What happens when he takes me away and ruins me again... turns me into a twisted thing like he is."
I won't let him... No matter what happens, Nezys, I'm not allowing him to destroy any more of my crew, or my friends. He looked at the sword with a wry grin, if I get lucky I'll also stop him from killing the 'holy men' but we will see just have to see how that goes.

The laugh they shared managed to lighten his mood considerably.

In a Mind of Steel

Consciousness swirled, eddied, and finally stabilized. Hethir could not see his surroundings, but he knew where his mind was.
Nezys...
"What? How are you in here?!"

Shapes, sights and sensations suddenly whirled in a frenzy, and Hethir found himself looking across and endless ghostly landscape. He looked down and was startled to see that he actually had a body. Of sorts, it was more akin to an astral projection than a solid form, but it was still not something he was used to.
"How have you entered like this? No one has ever managed it!"

Bladed Mind

The three of them--Trace, Hethir, and the Archbishop--were in a tiny room lit by a single torch. On a bare table before them rested the strange sword. They had run hard, hoping to get the sword out of influence of anyone else. The Archbishop had pulled them aside into a hidden passage, and finally into the cell they now occupied. Buried beneath at least ten feet of stone in each direction, Hethir figured it should block the sword from controlling anyone--at least that's what he hoped.

Bloodstains in the Temple

Hethir and the Archbishop sprinted right on the heels of Trace and a few other knights as they wound through the temple. "They're trying to break through to the vaults!" Shouted a knight ahead of them. He clutched at his sword arm, trying to staunch the blood that poured around his fingers. For a moment the Archbishop began to slow, reaching a hand out towards the man, but the knight gestured forward with his chin. "They need you more than me, I'll live! Go!"
Hethir wasn't sure he believed the knight--there was a good-sized pool of blood beneath him--but didn't feel like arguing, the man wouldn't be able to help them anyhow. Turning a corner, Hethir gets his first sight of the combatants. It was definitely not what he expected.

Circles in Circles

The Archbishop led Hethir to a small chamber, only the two of them were admitted in. Mary, Garius and Val were brought chairs--Hethir was honestly surprised to see that they were padded and looked rather comfortable; he had expected differently. Inside, the room was bare to a fault. The walls looked to be rough stone crudely scraped smooth, the floor only improved by thousands of footfalls having worn it smooth. There were no ornaments or furnishings; and the room's only other notable feature was a round stone table set in the exact center of the room.
That was merely the physical appearance of the chamber.

Anger of the Archbishop

The Archbishop of Santure was not a physically imposing figure. He was not quite six feet tall; and skinny enough to border on emaciated. But if anyone was foolish enough to judge the man based on that, it wasn't Hethir. They had met before, and engaged in a mental duel that would have had bards fighting each other for the honor of composing a ballad--had anyone but them known it. Besides being among the most capable spellcasters in the world--power amplified even further by the temple--the Archbishop was a very powerful psychic. Their duel had ended in something of a draw the last time, and if he was honest with himself, Hethir would have to admit he wasn't certain of winning even if he fought dirty. Also that duel had been out in the city of Santure, not inside the temple. And the Archbishop had been delivering a speech to a gathered throng and at least somewhat distracted. Now he was in the seat of his power, entirely focused, and had no illusions to maintain. Hethir was still trying to get his mind functional, had no useful allies around, and had apparently lost his connection to Michael back on the ship.
This could go very badly for him.

Avatar Knight

It had been a long time since Hethir's mind had been this silent. Even when knocked out he was generally lucid in mind, even if his body couldn't really act.

This was different. A white void suffused his mind, leaving him little besides his identity. It was impossible to tell how long he had been like that, but slowly he became aware of a changing landscape. Shadows had begun to appear in the blank space he inhabited. The world began to filter back into consciousness, and

his eyes opened.

Holy Hellfire

Hethir's group managed to reach the temple without drawing too much unwanted attention. Trace was doing his best, but he was still unmistakably gawking at the temple as they drew closer. For a few minutes Hethir had given Trace the mental equivalent of a shoulder-jostle to snap him out of it, but he soon gave up. Trace's jerky attempts to act casual drew nearly as much attention, and he looked like he was hiding something, so he just sighed and let the knight gawk.
As they neared the front entrance, Hethir's heart began to beat faster. The last time he had been here... had not been a pleasant experience. He suppressed a grimace; hopefully this time would go better. They crossed the massive threshold and entered the cavernous front room, and Trace checked out of even attempting to restrain himself. His eyes fairly bugged out of his head and his mouth hung slack as he looked up towards the vaulted ceilings. Hethir had to admit that he couldn't entirely blame him. He imagined that even after seeing it a hundred times it was still a stunning sight. Every surface of the walls and ceilings was covered with elaborate and intricate carvings and murals all interwoven with each other. In one place carvings were made to support and frame images from history; while other places had carvings spewing forth from them. No two were alike, it must have been the work of thousands of artisans working for years to create them all. Of course these were not the Temple's most impressive feature. Weaving through the carved pillars that supported the distant ceiling was a massive flying serpent. Its scales glowed with the brilliance of a forge-fire, and its eyes were brighter still. It wove through the room in complex and seemingly random patterns, but watching its sinuous length sliding through the air was hypnotic. Hethir knew that it was an illusion, but that did little to reduce the awe that the sight inspired.
It was a constant reminder for those who visited the temple that Lumis would not abandon his followers.

Discomforting Dillemma

The Storm Hawk made port in Santure a few days after the prisoners' failed attempt to escape. The knight had gotten himself into a righteous fury over Hethir's treatment of the prisoner, until Hethir informed him that if he was so worried about it, he should either heal the man or give him a mercy-killing, because anything else was just hot breath. Trace did not respond after that, but had spent the past few days in silence and looking troubled.
Hethir preferred it that way.

Bloody Wake

Adrift in dreams, Hethir's mind wandered. He had always been lucid during his dreams, for as long as he could remember at least, but tonight at least he wasn't bothering to exert much control.
He and Val had finally collapsed--satisfied and exhausted--some hours after their tryst had begun. After ensuring that she was not actually hiding daggers in her underskirts, Hethir had joined her in sleep gratefully.
Now he was simply allowing his dreams to play through the events of the last few days. He watched idly for the most part. Occasionally nudging something a different way just to watch; but even that was more idle curiosity than anything else. He frequently used his dreams to plan and train, it had saved his life a number of times. He practiced odd patterns of thought that would confuse anyone else with powers like his; and even more frequently ran through combat scenarios. The dreamscape turned into a great wargame, and it made him far faster in tactical situations than most opponents were prepared for.
He was mulling over the thought of doing just such a thing when something in the waking world began to disrupt his thoughts. A voice. Screams actually, words maybe?
"Brig! Brig! All hands to arms!"

Doubled Deception

The sun continued its inexorable march forward, and the ship continued its journey. Hethir spent most of the day near the helm. Occasionally he corrected course, but mostly he just didn’t want to look at the knight, Trace. The mercenaries had been given run of the ship, all except the rest of the quarters and the poop deck. The man Garius had made brief attempts to convince the crew to gamble with the cards he had, but Hethir had made clear to his crew that the mercs were to be ignored as much as possible, and they followed orders well.

A Conversation over Steel

Hethir got below deck as an argument seemed to be boiling over in the quarters the mercs had been given.
"Just for once Trace, would you relax, everything isn't about your holy crusade!"
"For me, it is! I don't know how many times I've explained this to you Garius, I cannot simply lay down my mantle when it is inconvenient for me, or for you! My 'holy crusade' as you so put it is what I am!"
A woman's voice broke in, "Gentlemen, please, you are giving me a headache. Garius, stop antagonizing Sir Trace, you know you will never convince him of anything, you aren't clever enough for it."
"Why you little..."
"Enough Garius! I know you do not share my faith, nor understand why I hold it, but I will not betray my god for the sake of your pocketbook and that is final."
"Yeah? And what about our lives? Huh? Does that matter to you! If we really did get drug in with pirates then you're either going to have to play along or end up in a quick trip to the bottom in all that fancy knight's armor you're so proud of."
"Garius, we don't know that they are pirates, in fact you have no proof of that at all, and Trace, please just promise me that you will not do anything rash before all three of us are willing to act? I for one do not wish to repeat what happened in Trahern."
The second voice--the knight--sighed with resignation, "very well Mary, I will wait for your lead, though my heart is troubled about this situation."
"As well you have reason to," Hethir muttered to himself. Michael must have spoken to only a few of the mercs, he would never have hired a knight knowingly. Well, the damage was now done, he would just have to do his best to contain it.
Without bothering to knock, Hethir toggled the clasp and thrust the door open. The three mercs jumped to their feet at his entrance. The one in patched leather and chain armor he guessed was Garius, and he held a notched but lethal-looking axe in his hand, already in position for a quick strike. The knight was almost painfully obvious--no, Michael definitely didn't see him. His hair was brown, and tied back behind his head in an intricate braid, and his plate armor gleamed even in the dim ship lights. He had been sitting with his back to the door, and had only managed a half turn, but he had dropped into a defensive stance, clearly ready to use his better armor to defend himself and his two companions. The woman, Mary, had reacted the least. She had only straightened in her chair rather than standing, but one hand had dropped to a pouch at her belt, and the other had been lifted in the first of a series of gestures. An arcanist, well that made things a little better, provided they could keep the knight from wanting to kill him.

The tense moment released after only a moment as Hethir spoke. "Excellent reactions, Michael seems to have chosen well--as usual."
Garius responded first, "You the cap' then?"
"I am Captain Hethir, Michael is my first mate."
The knight Trace had finished turning to look at Hethir, and Hethir swore he could feel the man's holy heckles rising.
"Sir Trace was it? Before you go and declare me an unholy beast that should be slain let me inform you that I am not in fact a demon; neither have I ever had dealings with them. Believe me, I've seen that look in your eyes more often than I care to recount, and we can do without the next step."
The knight blinked once in response, but that was the only answer he gave.
Hethir sighed, "I didn't hire you for piracy, or to muscle someone, I hired you because I'm going to need help protecting my ship and my own skin."
"Protect you from what?" Mary spoke up, "You seem to have a substantial crew, and unless I greatly miss my guess your first mate is no slouch."
"I honestly don't know yet." Hethir admitted, "I have been contacted by an underground criminal organization, they want me to fetch something for them. Frequently this is how I make my money, but this time it's different."
Hethir looked straight at the Knight, "they want a set of chalices from the church, specifically the Archbishop of Santure."
Trace looked like he was about to make an outburst of some kind, but Hethir cut him off, "I have no idea why they want these chalices, or what they are capable of that would make the church want to lock them away, but quite frankly I don't care."
"You would ask me to defend you from my own brethren while you make off with holy relics?! You dare..."
"No, holy man, I do not, and I am not. Whatever these relics are, I've no doubt they're better off locked in the church's vaults than in the hands of criminals, especially ones with access to magic of the sort we have seen them display."
Trace closed his mouth, but still eyed Hethir venomously. "No, I need your help because I have no intention whatsoever of following these criminals' demands, and that will not sit well with them."
Hethir paused for a moment and met their eyes, "What I need the three of you for, is to keep me alive long enough for me to figure out why 'D' wants these chalices. Because if they are as powerful as I'm beginning to suspect, I think the church--and everyone else--would want to know what he is up to."
Garius shrugged, "told you we weren't dealing with pirates." Trace sighed and relaxed back into his chair, "you were the one who suggested it in the first place, Garius, stop being tiresome."
Mary just shook her head.
"I can see that the three of you have been around each other a while," Hethir remarked with a smirk. Mary looked at him and shrugged, "sometimes we all wonder how that is."
"Captain."
The Knight stood and turned to face him. Hethir was surprised to find himself looking up at the man--it wasn't common to find someone taller than him.
"Yes, Sir Trace?"
"What are you? You say you are not a demon, but you carry their stench. Explain yourself."
"Most call us tieflings. Our heritage is certainly of the lower planes, but it is long removed. The fiendish powers leave enough of a mark on humans to reoccur many generations later. I was born this way. For a while I was cared for by the church. A priest in a tiny hamlet decided that I was not evil and worth caring for. A Knight came by when I was 12 and decided otherwise, killed the priest for association with me and then came for me next. I left and never looked back."
Hethir matched the knight's steely glance with a molten one of his own, "while you may doubt me by appearance, knight, I doubt you on actions taken against innocents by your entire order, innocents whose only crime was proximity to one whom the knights disliked. Fortunately for you, I refuse to lower myself to their standards, I will judge you personally, not for your association."
Hethir's long-buried anger suddenly surfaced in a boiling flash, "but make no mistake, Knight, attempt to harm me or my crew..." The chair he had been sitting on suddenly smashed into the deck, and shattered to splinters,"...and I will be very happy to see your corpse grace my deck."
Trace glanced from the ruined chair back to Hethir, but he had already walked away, unwilling to spend any more time in the knight's presence.
"Well Trace, you managed to restrain yourself, but barely it seems."
"I checked him Mary, he didn't seem to be an evil man, but I still do not trust him."
"And you're sure giving him plenty of reasons to trust you, I thought you knights were supposed to be diplomatic." Garius shook his head and stuck his axe back through his belt. "If even half what the Cap' said is true, he has equal reason to hate you as you have him; maybe even more."
Trace scowled, "such obvious lies should sway no one, a knight would never harm an innocent! Nor a child."
Mary looked up from her seat and met his eyes, "Trace, not all knights are as dedicated as you, and not all of them are immune to the corruption of power." He glared back at her for a moment, then his face softened. When he spoke again, his voice was quiet, "I know, Mary, but I don't want to believe it. I don't believe so much could be changed."
Garius let out a heavy sigh and looked at Trace with something that almost resembled pity, "you're in for a lot of hard lessons lad, and I don't envy you their swallowing."

Dangerous Dance

Despite Valeras' implicit threat, Hethir managed to get both of them back to the Storm Hawk without anyone's skin being punctured. Their feet had hardly touched the deck before the sails were unfurled and the ship pulled away from the dock.
How do we fare Michael?
Captain, four men attempted to infiltrate the crew, one shortly after our arrival, the others after we had reached the inn.
And now?
Three are in the brig, two of them are still unconscious. Two came at the same time earlier, one of them tried to flee, I shot him down, his body will be thrown overboard later, one crewman died as well.
Unfortunate. Very well, I will attend to our unwanted guests shortly. Keep the helm, get us well out to sea, I want to be out of easy range to be tracked.
Aye sir.
Where have you situated the mercenaries?
In the rear quarters, I informed them to stay there until you came to speak with them.
Excellent, thank you Michael.

A Bloody Courtship

Tastrel was not the pirate-infested sump port one would usually expect from a city full of hired blades. It was clean and bright--white marble was the primary construction material used--and every citizen wore brilliant colors. Tastrel was a town of nobles. Nobles that threw around money like they pissed it, and who were constantly trying to get one-up on the other nobles around them. Mercenaries came here frequently both to relax, and potentially to be hired by the noble families. The nobles were forbidden from arming their own servants, but all of them avoided that royal decree by hiring scads of mercs. That is what brought Hethir here.

A Deadly Proposal

As the sun set bloody against the distant horizon, Hethir sat on the topsail spar. One hand held a line loosely for balance, the other held a piece of parchment. His dark eyes stared unblinking away from the sun, into the deep shadow cast by his ship. Far below him the crew worked in somewhat eerie silence, setting the Storm Hawk at sea anchor. For a long while he didn't move, then he lifted his hand to look at the parchment again.
The delivery of it disturbed him greatly, for many reasons. Foremost among them was the messenger that had delivered it. The small obsidian statuette was unpleasantly cold in his pocket. An hour ago it had been a huge raven, bearing down on his ship with uncanny speed with the parchment clutched in one razor-sharp talon. It had flown straight to Hethir, and no sooner had his hand touched the scroll than the bird shrunk down and stopped moving, becoming a crude statuette on the deck. A magical messenger of that sort--especially one that could seek its target as well is this one--was no small investment, and implied a certain level of power, affluence, or both, that Hethir was never very comfortable dealing with.
Then there was the message itself...