Felazo Guiding the Ekzokia to the Archipelago

Leaving port and heading heartward, Felazo is entirely unsurprised by the lack of disruption in the afternoon. While piracy can, at times, happen in the Hethan, it is increasingly rare and almost never happens to Caravan ships. Add that to the very public installation of a cannon and lack of goods, and any who might risk losing access to Hetha’s port would be hesitant to attack during the day. Which is why Felazo had mapped out the quickest route to a hungering. It would take them an extra two or three hours on the other end, but it gets them out of the waters than standard pirates roam by nightfall. And after the failure of Zeltaro’s captain last week, he will likely wait until we are treasure laden to strike out. Likely awaiting the crew somewhere within Rillanso’s archipelago. Less because they believe the Ekzokia to be empty, and more because Zelt, while not a genius, knows most of his ships are roughly evenly powered. So, unless he feels like stepping in himself, he’ll have his ships waiting for the crew to look worn before striking.

All through the night, Felazo takes his notes on the coffin, trying to determine its purpose, and how specifically it can be safely opened. It seems to be some sort of preservation tool. Which means opening the coffin without having some other method of preserving the body at hand would likely cause some problems with the body’s structural stability. So, rather than focus on the box for the moment, he moves on to his books, to research methods of body preservation. To combine aspects of necromantic and temporal magics in some way should certainly be capable of mimicking the coffin for at least some time.

Morning comes, and the smell of breakfast spills into his cabin. One day down. They’ll be arriving in the archipelago’s internal currents this evening. Heading up onto deck, Felazo gives a polite nod to his crew. Sari, who has just finished cooking their perfectly functional breakfast, nods right back. Behind him, Denlo rises for food as well. Den looks at his captain. “Everything going as planned?” he asks curtly.

Felazo shrugs. “So it seems. I suspect your readiness will be required only during and after our discovery of and delving into the cube, not prior.”

Sister Hilan furrows her brow at him. “So, we are out of the path of piracy?”

“The hungering we’ve been riding took us far enough from known, safe coastlines that the only people we need worry about are those capable of traversing the Sea that Once Was Not. The caravan va Cotropla’s more piratical branch will be more hesitant to strike at us while we are at full strength, after their last attempt failed. Which leaves only the raiders, and their vessels are ill suited for ship to ship conflict,” the Sea Elf explains.

The other elf nods, handing out breakfast to her pious friend. “I find it hard to believe that crew who attacked us last week is so organized.”

Felazo smiles, shaking his head. Ren, on the other hand, is the one to reply. “I believe they not be such on a regular basis, but Admiral Zeltaro is the sort of man for whom an embarrassment is not to be repeated,” the musician explains as he serves himself.

The captain nods, before adding, “Which means they will likely wait until we are weak before striking, and if that fails, they may well avoid us entirely.”

Den frowns. “Or bring everything they have to bear,” he murmurs, concerned.

Felazo shrugs as he grabs some food. But Denlo is right, whether or not Zeltaro comes in force is mostly down to opportunity and that branch’s current profit margins. But that is not something for them to worry about. Not yet. For now, they should stay focused on the ancient structures. Because, if the last one is any indication, those boxes rising out from the ground are far more likely to kill them all than some possibility of a pirate fleet attacking them in the distant future. “Then hopefully we never appear weakened,” he says, “And so never have to worry about it.”

Sister Hilan chuckles. Denlo takes his food back down to the hold, to eat while he rests. Felazo looks out over the water. If his maths were correct, he is going to need to tack the catch away oceanward within the hour, to pull away from the hungering and towards the archipelago. Which means they’ll need the sails unfurled and the wind’s aid for a bit. Checking the telltale, the direction the wind is blowing up top isn’t perfect, but is fairly close. Quickly, he pulls out a journal and does some basic sketching based on the strength of the hungering and the wind, what angles are needed to pull them out of the hungering at roughly the correct place and time. Finishing off the fish he’d grabbed for breakfast quickly, he heads over to Hilan and Sari, who are talking about something by the grill. They grow quiet as he approaches, which means it is about one of their fellow crewmates. No matter, as long as they all needed direction, no one was going to make a move against anyone else. “Sister, Scion,” he begins, “Would you mind unfurling the sails and tacking them about twenty degrees oceanward.” Then, realizing that most people cannot tell which direction is heartward by vibes out in the open sea, he adds, “To the ship’s left. No great rush, but sometime within the next twenty minutes.” It would serve nothing but make the ship a bit uneven before he shifted and narrowed the catch, but it needed to be done beforehand if they wanted any momentum to carry them into the ebbing he was hoping, according to Rillanso’s notes, would be awaiting them to carry them into a natural port on one of the islands. A natural port on an island that Rillanso had built a watchtower upon. Because, while they have a general idea of where it should be cropping up, getting eyes on and figuring out escape plans is important.

While he waits, Felazo heads back to his room. Kalzia scurries up beside him, instinctually. Without exchanging a word, the alchemical creation flips a fifteen minute timer and the pair begin to sort through the journals of Rellanso for threats that are likely to be faced. Some wild animals, though he doubts they will be much trouble. One of the isles has okraten, somehow. Not the one with the watchtower, but if his earlier calculations weren’t exact, maybe where the new box is. With a sigh, he realizes that it probably is, as the presence of something as magical as the last ancient house they visited could be enough to twist nature and form okraten, over time. But only if it was closer to the surface, more powerful magically, or larger. The concept of it being more powerful magically than the home of a pre-divergent mage is frightening, so he hopes it is either of the other options. There is also mention of a local sea beast, that is territorial though not ranging. The journal includes lists of common currents to avoid because of the beast. He pencils them onto his map, just as a reminder. Several of the islands lack accessible fresh water, but not all of them. They all do have food, at least. Several caverns that Rillanso claims his crew cleared out of wildlife. And a littoral cavern system on their main island that his fleet used as a wetdock. Sum total, Felazo can see why Rillanso chose to base himself here. Plenty of hiding places in case of attack, limited options for people who don’t know the area. Highly defensible, while simultaneously very easy to escape if necessary. So long as someone has sealed ships and knowledge of the currents, it is basically the ideal fortress.

Kalzia looks up at his creator. The Ekzokia is listing slightly, so the sails are unfurled. And the last grain of sand has fallen. Time for him to turn the ship. Felazo heads up to the deck, and sure enough, the sails are open and full of the wind. Heading to the wheel, he moves the lever slightly, to narrow the catch slightly, and begins to turn the wheel. Kalzia heads up to the lever, holding it in place at about forty degrees off the post. Felazo turns the wheel. And then, he waits. He’s going to be holding onto the wheel in this direction, with Kalzia locking the catch at the weird level that isn’t at any of the standard positions, for almost an hour. But, such is the life.

As he stands, muscles tense from holding the wheel in place, he looks over the deck. Sari is up atop the mast, watching the horizon as she does whenever she isn’t fishing or sleeping. Renalt is plucking a tune. No, not a tune, the same tune, over and over again. Perhaps the musician is working on something, though it doesn’t seem to be changing much from repetition to repetition. Not that Felazo can tell the nuances of it from this far away. Sister Hilan listens to the bard for a while, before getting bored with the same tune over and over again. She walks back and up to the wheel to check on her captain. “Captain,” she says as she reaches him, “Is everything alright?”

Without moving too much, Felazo shrugs. “Sure, well enough. Why?”

“You’re kind of just standing here, not something you usually do.”

Felazo grins. “I used to,” he jokes, before more seriously saying, “Normally I’m less concerned about timing, so I close the catch when leaving hungerings, so the rudder can be held by Kalzia or a less than substantial friend. But if we run too late here, the ebbing will take us into an unfortunately undefined sea monster’s territory rather than the natural harbor we’re shooting for, so timing is of the essence. Which means Kalzia is keeping the catch open and between narrowed and wide, and I get the job of holding the rudder in place against the flow.” Then, not wanting to focus on the discussion of a potential sea monster, Felazo asks his crewmember, “So, how goes Ren’s new song?”

The pious human laughs. “Frustratingly for everyone. He seems to think certain specific words are wrong, and is changing them one at a time, going through the full verse before deciding that in fact the new word is also wrong.”

“Just wait,” Felazo offers, “Perhaps once his song is complete, it will be worth these momentary frustrations.”

Sister Hilan laughs once more. “Maybe, but I don’t have too great expectations of it ever being complete. Back to the point, what is this about a vague sea monster that you are deflecting about?”

Felazo shakes his head with a chuckle, nothing moving below his neck. “One of the threats mentioned in the journal Ultorolim lent us. I believe Rillanso used it as a defense mechanism against invaders, as he explicitly mentions it as not ranging out from its territory. So I’ll figure we just avoid it and we’ll be fine.”

“But where ebbings are involved, that means precision. I get it,” Sister Hilan says. And from the look in her eyes, Felazo thinks that she does. Which is somewhat interesting, given how clueless she was about all things deepsea sailing just yesterday morning.

“You do, don’t you?” the captain says.

The monastic sister nods. “I’ve been reading and studying the ship and my own accounts of our initial journey to the Collective, ever since I realized how out of the depth I was. Why do you refer to oceanward as a direction, when it’s all the Stone Ocean?” she asks, gesturing all around them.

“Where the caravans are concerned, there are four mondial directions: Forward, the circular direction the caravans all generally travel around the Sea; Wayward, the opposite of that direction, how we've been travelling for the most part; Heartward, the direction of the center of the Sea; and Oceanward, the opposite of that direction, towards the great deep Ocean that surrounds the Vyrroltea.”

“The books mention Heartward, but none of the others. I wonder why?” she asks.

Felazo shrugs. “Probably because forward and wayward are normal terms as well, and perhaps many might assume oceanward merely means out to sea,” he proposes.