Renalt Continues his Composition after the Rescues

Renalt and Felazo, with the aid of Azugari, map out a path through the archipelago, avoiding the monster’s hunting ground, to gather up as many survivors as they could muster. The stalking scion and the shielding sister join their crewmates in setting off on their voyage. After the Ekzokia has left the cavern, on that initial leg out to a tidal sandbar that the ebbings would have pulled a large portion of the second sunken ship towards, the dwarfish demon summoner of the piratical crew climbs onto the deck. His hands be still bound, but otherwise Renalt notes it seems that Denlo has left the man free to wander.

From the side, as they slow, the assassin Azugari looks at the short man and says, “Raglissim, you are helping with the rescue?”

“Best I can,” the summoner, evidently Raglissim, replies. “The slayer on the run has sworn our safety through Hetha.”

“And the hands?” the mighty Sister Hilan asks as she begins to lower a ladder off the side of the ship.

“‘Tis this studious scholar who does study the dastardly demons, is it not?” Renalt regales, “And I do believe he be able to call to them across the realms, allowing those foul creatures to come forth into our world.”

“Not anymore today, but the masked one was concerned nonetheless. Which is fair, even without extraplanar aid, I could burn this small boat to ash,” the nervous dwarf admits. Captain Felazo, getting ready to descend, seems more offended by calling the Ekzokia a boat than the fact that the mage could burn it to the ground.

Though not as many as they had hoped, there were quite a few survivors treading water over the sandbar. It had been high enough to stand on until the last half-hour or so, but it is thin and underwater, so not everyone could manage, evidently. Along with the eight caravan folks, there were two non-elfs. One, a scarred orkish warrior of some kind, the other a human in a plague doctor’s mask. The ten were more than happy to be rescued, and the specifics of how and why seemed to matter little to them.

The next stop was one of the rocky beaches, where the Ekzokia found several corpses and two survivors. Both of the caravan, they seemed nervous to be rescued by prey until the brawler Zalenno explained the circumstances. That they were being brought back to civilisation, and to the caravan itself, not any outside nation for judgement. This seemed to quell their concerns of being rescued just for a summary execution. Renalt is unsure of the punishment for piracy, but evidently to the members of the Caravan va Cotropla, the punishment from Lisato is seen as more lenient than that of at least one nearby nation. Neither Hetha nor the Union of Vyrroltea Peoples dislike piracy that much, but both are also systems that work on selective ignorance more than active allowance. If those who run either are forced to acknowledge a pirate, Renalt truly does not have any idea what that would look like. And perhaps, neither do these caravaners, as that unknown would likely contribute greatly to fear of being turned over to those sorts of places. After rescuing the pair, the Ekzokia continues on its mission of salvation.

Taking the long way around the isles, the ship stops by two more beaches. One is empty though has some scattered planks of wood and waterlogged bodies, the other has four living pirates. One dwarf, who seems rather relieved to see Raglissim, and three caravaners who are happy to be taken away from the monster. They sailed to the final beach on Felazo’s list of likely ebbs and flows, and found another trio of survivors, and yet more deceased. This trio, while led by a caravaner, were two rough looking outsiders. A Dwarfkin and an Elfkin. The number of possible enemies about the ship seems to have Sari on edge, as Renalt notices she does not leave the nest, choosing to keep a watchful eye over the ship and horizon. But Renalt knows people, and these people are half dead and broken. They are not the sort to mutiny without encouragement. And so, so long as their captain does not show up aboard, none among them, save possibly the warrior below decks with Den, would have the nerve to stand up first. They all know the first into the fight will likely die, especially in the state they are all currently in. And the warrior woman below decks has their own killer’s full attention, which should keep her in check.

As they prepare to leave the archipelago, the light has already faded from the sky. Navigating the seas at night is easy enough for the small crew when they are out in the open waters, but with that monster so near them, they move slowly and carefully, with Felazo constantly checking their heading and distance. Renalt sighs. This means in all likelihood the travel back to Hetha would take more than the day it took to arrive here. The musician begins to head below decks, to fill the bath and muse on his incomplete masterpiece. Saying the word to activate its magic, their tub begins to fill itself before him, and the bard’s mind turns to how this particular scene will change his work. Not the rescue, that has nothing to do with the song of time long gone, nor do the crowd of threats lingering.

Unless they did. After all, the doors were locked, but how did those who locked themselves away know what was happening, know who could be trusted. The stanza of paranoia, a story of mistrust giving way to a familial bond due to the absence of anything else to do but bond. Renalt removes his clothes and reclines in the tub of hot water, thinking on the possible tune. Transitioning itself from the confusion of the initial moment, to this new phrase of paranoia. Early in the song, but not the first phrase. He still did not see how the song would begin, even though he knew how it was ending. But the ending was the battle, this was a prelude. Perhaps the family built here could be inspired by the warrior-scholar of the ending to join in, only to fall with him. That would be fitting, would it not, to the events of history, as well as to the story of those final elements. In repose, the musician begins to envision the scene as he writes the tune. The people, locking themselves away in a church. Some monks, and some worshipers, locked together as monsters claw at the doors. The clawing stops, and their attention turns to one another. The voices ring out, each their own couplet in the song, questioning why they are here, why the noises stopped. The priests retreat, locking the others out of their inner sanctum. And the worshipers begin to talk. Come to the realization that they are not, in fact, untrustworthy. That they are all here for similar reasons, to find an answer that does not exist. And as they have these conversations, the tune turns from nervous, frantic with the scratches coming out in the chords, to uncertain and dangerous as the priests lock themselves away deeper in the temple, to gradually becoming comforting and calm as the voices of the song come to trust one another. A song of hope, but only in the worst of circumstances. Taking the scraper and oil he begins to remove the day’s grit and grime from his shoulders, back, and legs.

Cleaning is, as often be the case, a fairly slow process, but quite important to keep oneself ready for making a living. Renalt stops several times to listen, as he hears the sound of people moving and talking, but no cries for aid and no one approaching the bath, so he decides it can be put off until later. He can smell the cooked fish’s odor wafting in through the door’s cracks, the edges of the window, and even the drain in the wall. It smells worse than usual, likely due to Felazo cooking rather than Alessari. Felazo, while perfectly competent cook, does tend to be more worried about spicing and the other aspects of the meal than merely making sure the meat is seared to perfection, meaning it frequently ends up a bit burnt.

After a few minutes of enduring, Ren’s own hunger overwhelms his desire for perfect cleanliness. Standing up out from the bath, Renalt empties the water from the basin manually, letting the water seep out of the hole in the side of the room, then he begins to dry himself and puts on a fresh pair of the ancient, water-wicking undergarments. Then, the musician heads out from the bathroom.

He sees his old travelling companion perched and watching the prisoner, who is still chained, but seems somewhat relaxed rather than unconscious. Perhaps, much like the demon summoner, Denlo has come to some sort of terms with the duelist. Renalt smiles. Curious, he thinks. Perhaps, even though his demeanor has always been less than hospitable, to this sort of individual that gruff direct nature helps appeal to their nature with more ease than his or the monastic sister’s more pleasant demeanors can manage without mystical aid. Or perhaps it is merely that, without his own glorious personage around, his more murderous friend can flex his more underutilized capabilities. When next the pair have some time alone, he decides he must ask how the Elfi’ika pulled it off. But he also knows that is not the sort of conversation that is for public consumption. May not even be the sort of conversation they wish the scion or the captain to overhear, depending upon the specifics of the scenario. Renalt gave his old companion a look.

Den looks at the bard and gives him a nod, then gestures towards the topdeck. Ren knows what he’s asking. He wants some food without the risk of leaving his prisoner alone. He likely, having seen the others passing by giving a wide berth, came to the same conclusion as the human man, that this one was the only real threat so long as the piratical captain did not return. Ren returned the gesture with a nod of his own, then a quizzical look and a point towards the woman. Den shrugs in reply, though he does nod hesitantly along with his shrug. So it isn’t important one way or the other but they might as well be kind. Ren nods back and holds up his hand, five fingers extended. Then, he heads up deckside.

As the smell had told him a bit ago, it was Felazo who stood at the fires, cooking the food. They were fairly stationary, likely awaiting some current that would distract their captain from his cooking. Sister Hilan is serving the meal to the not quite prisoners who were awaiting around the deck. The scion is nowhere to be seen, likely off lurking in the darkness above them. Gathering a plate for himself, his friend, and the prisoner, the musician stops by the monastic sister. “How fare our partially willing guests?” he asks the woman.

Sister Hilan looks over, notices his cleanliness, and nods, understanding he has not been interacting with the starving people they were delivering to their judgment. “Uncertain,” she admits, “Though most are thankful for the food and rescue, there is some nervousness. Mostly among those outside the caravan, who are trying to figure out what they will do once they are deposited at the port.”

Renalt has an inkling of an idea. Criminals oft like helping other criminals in need, especially when they can get something greater out of the help than what they give up. “Captain, dost thou think mayhaps your old friend would like the hired aid of some new helpers?”

Felazo thinks for a moment about the bard’s words. “I can ask her, but she may think me weaseling my way out of a deal,” he answers.

Renalt nods. He can disseminate the idea to them later, after having a good sleep. They have a day long journey ahead of them after all. He takes the three plates down into the hold, handing one to Den and putting the other near the duelist. She opens her eyes, looks at him, and asks, “So you are the nice one?”

Ren chuckles. In one of the more upsetting sounds of the day for their prisoner, Den joins in on the laugh. Ren jokingly replies with a smirk, “Hardly, detained but daring duelist. You clearly have yet to savor the flavor of our captain’s creative cooking.”