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In The Mist Of The Erie Isles

By Mantrid Brizon

Episode Fifty-Eight: A Volley Of Passion, Pt 1.

Standing on the main deck, the wind rustles his blonde hair, the spray of the sea speckling his skin. He takes a deep breath, inhaling the sweet aroma of the ocean. Soon, it'll be replaced by the rather pungent odor of the harbor. He looks toward the horizon, gazing upon the modest isle.

“Almost..." He says with a delighted sigh.

“Sir?"

Captain Kristoff Mayweather turns away from the railing to find one of his crew standing a few feet away.

“I thought you liked the sea." The crewmember remarks.

“Oh, I do! I'm just eager to set foot on land. We've been away for a little too long." Captain Mayweather replies, before turning back and once again leaning against the wooden railing. “It'll be nice to take a few weeks as we set up this garrison."

“You never struck me as the land-dwelling type, Captain."

“We weren't born with gills." Captain Mayweather chuckles. “I like a still bed as much as the next man."

“Perhaps they'll have some nice, warm beds on Fol?"

“Is that the name of this place? I'd already forgotten."

“You forgot the name of our destination?" The crewmember asks with surprise.

“That's why I'm not a navigator." Captain Mayweather smirks.

As Mayweather's ship, the Kieran-Dahl, sails around Fol, carrying a detachment of soldiers intent on establishing a new outpost on the isle, a set of sails comes into view. Did Einyr Icefang send a galleon ahead of them?! As they draw nearer to the ship, it's clear to Captain Mayweather that this isn't a typical galleon. His eyes bulge and he chokes on his next breath, shocked to see the strange, metal chimney protruding from between the ship's masts.

“It's her!" The human coughs.

“Captain?!" His first mate turns to him.

“That ship! I recognize her!"

His first mate squints as he focuses on the vessel, only to quickly adopt a similarly shocked expression.

“By the Seraphs! That's the Arona-Dahl!"

“Oh, thank the Seraphs, indeed!" Captain Mayweather chirps.

“What are your orders, Sir?!"

“Prep the dinghies and send the soldiers ashore in groups. We'll anchor within cannon range and keep her in our sights."

“Are you sure you don't want to moor across from her and let the soldiers off all at once? She's tied down."

“You and I both know how fast that ship is. I want to block her path of escape as soon as possible. It won't matter how many soldiers we have if she leaves by the time the first man sets foot on the docks! We'll be racing to catch up, and that's a losing game." Captain Mayweather retorts.

“As you wish, Captain!" His first mate bows his head.

Emerging from his cabin with a filled chamber pot in his arms, Steingar makes his way for the main deck, eager to dump the putrid contents.

“STEINGAR!" Trellan's spirit roars, his hologram appearing atop an Onyx plate at the end of the hall.

“Ahh!" He jumps. “Don't do that! I nearly spilled last night's dinner all over my ugly fur!"

“That'd be an improvement, I'm sure." The elderly Vizhek's ghostly image scans the bright pink and yellow dyed Helngar. “But we have bigger problems."

“Such as?"

“Look outside..."

Entering the lounge and peeking through the row of windows at the aft of the ship, the Helngar's glowing, golden eyes grow wide.

“Oh, no..."

“Oh, yes..." Trellan murmurs.

Steingar hangs his head and sighs, still clutching tightly to the chamber pot. He lifts his head and looks outside once more, only to see the broadside of a Sloop Of War aiming for them. Men atop the main deck stand at the ready, and a familiar looking human in shimmering plate armor barks orders at them.

“They arrived while you were 'preoccupied'."

“Why didn't you flee?!"

“And abandon the others? Forfeit the mission? They'd have no idea where we went, and if Harokian is on Fol, he'd likely be arrested alongside them. If they focus on us, maybe the others will be able to slip away." Trellan explains.

“I don't particularly enjoy being bait." Lutala remarks as she enters the lounge.

“Neither do I, but he's right. What else are we to do?" Steingar turns toward the Lahnyt priestess.

“I've retracted the gangplank, and I may be able to keep them from boarding, but if they take too long..." Trellan hesitates to finish his sentence.

“Hopefully the others move quickly." Lutala murmurs.

“I know you're a priestess, but what do the Yashuvanites say about violence? Will you fight?" Steingar asks her.

“When I must. Righteous combat and especially self-defense is permitted in my faith." She replies.

“Good. If I were you, I'd prepare yourself for battle."

“Fine..." She says with a sullen sigh. “But you might want to pour that out, first." She glances down and points a clawed finger toward his chamber pot.

“Right... Good idea."

Pacing back and forth, Harokian runs his fingers through his gleaming, golden hair. He turns his matching eyes toward the others.

“This is ridiculous. Surely, there must be a mistake!" He exclaims, his eyes scanning the strangers and landing upon the dainty Falmun.

“There is no mistake, and my name is Mairlynn." She cutely giggles.

“Your true father, King Euralian, entrusted Okolana and I to watch over you. He and I became close when I had spent time at the palace, repairing some weather damage to the west wing. He wanted you to grow up away from the corruption of the palace, to know the life of the commoners, so that when the day came for you to rule you'd be understanding of them and show your people true compassion. He didn't want you to be spoiled and selfish, uncaring and unfeeling for those who inhabit your Empire." Cydren continues.

“Nonsense! I'm just a stone and brick mason!" Harokian retorts.

“No, son." Cydren approaches the younger Vizhek. “You're only a mason because that's my profession. You're of royal blood. You're the Prince."

“... I don't want to be the Prince. I liked my life before."

“I'm sorry, son, but that's over now." Cydren rests his hands upon his son's shoulders.

“Vashalak is running amok, ruining the Empire with his greed and lust." Valan speaks up.

“He's clearly ruined your island already." Jarae chimes in.

“Remember Saya? Who do you think ordered her to be taken? Who is using racial superiority to justify her suffering?" Cydren pleads.

“Please, Harokian. Please come with us. Your people need you." Irzain tries to appeal to the Vizhek's heart.

“If you don't, this world will only become worse." Kirsta sternly warns.

The elven man stares at the group in utter shock, his mind reeling. However, his thoughts return to Saya. Perhaps if he takes the throne, he could find her and order her release? Perhaps he could save her?! The fear swells within him and a knot, like an iron fist, forms in the pit of his stomach. As he seems to ponder his thoughts, Jarae glances out of the window once more, looking for anyone out of place.

“But... But what if I'm not good? What if I can't-"

“Oh, no!" Jarae gasps and jumps back.

“What is it?! What's wrong, my love?!" Valan turns to her.

“Soldiers!"

The others jump back and press themselves against the wall and doorway, staying away from the window. Three men, soldiers of the Crown, march with arquebus in-hand. They appear to be searching for something.

“We don't have the time to argue! You must come with us, for the sake of the Empire!" Irzain forcefully whispers.

“Go with them, son. Even if you do not believe them and do not wish to go, it's no longer safe for you here... Please." Cydren pleads.

Without uttering a word, the heartbroken Harokian subtly nods his head. A tear streams down his light-blue cheek at the prospect of leaving his parents behind. Perhaps they truly are guardians and not his blood, but they're the only parents he's ever known. With the soldiers turning another corner, Jarae peeks around the window frame.

“There must be a ship nearby. All the soldiers left after their last visit." Cydren remarks.

“I hope Trellan and the others did not abandon us." Kirsta murmurs.

“And you're certain they don't know of Harokian?" Cydren asks, turning to Irzain.

“Positive. I collected the scrolls and tomes and fled before they could capture me. They may know that an heir exists, but they won't know his name or where to look. As far as those soldiers are concerned, Harokian is just another Vizhek." The Scribe replies.

“Good."

“Alright... It looks clear." Jarae whispers.

Creaking open the front door, Jarae pokes her head outside, looking from left to right. She slithers through the doorway, followed by her fiancée, Valan, who himself is followed by Kirsta and Mairlynn. Irzain grabs Harokian's wrist and pulls him from the workshop. As they make their way down the street from whence the soldiers came, Harokian looks back to wave goodbye to his father, only to see a soldier leaning against the house next to the workshop and lighting a pipe with the lit fuse of his arquebus. Seeing the group and the waving Vizhek, the soldier turns toward them. He raises his hand to wave back, only to see Jarae's tail swaying as she leads the group.

“Hey! Inferiors!" He shouts, spitting out his pipe and raising his weapon.

“No!"

As the others turn back, Cydren dashes out of the workshop and toward where Harokian looks, tackling the soldier as he takes aim at the Prince, the true heir to King Euralian's throne.

“Father!"

“Go! Run!" Cydren roars as he wrestles with the soldier.

Valan draws his harmonica pistol and takes aim, grasping the weapon with both hands.

“I can't get a shot! Cydren is in the way!"

“Forget it! We have to go!" Kirsta growls, drawing her sword and raising up her crossbow pistol.

“Come on!" Mairlynn whines, pulling at Harokian's large hand.

The young elf is frozen in shock at the sight of his father struggling with the soldier. Dropping the soldier to the ground with a powerful strike with his own forehead, Cydren turns to Harokian, extending the hand which now holds the soldier's arquebus.

“GO!"

Bang! Chunks of skull fly from Cydren's head as he falls dead. Harokian jumps back from the sight, only to look to his left to see the three soldiers who had earlier passed by the workshop.

“Get them!" The disarmed soldier cries out.

With Irzain and Jarae both joining Mairlynn, they yank Harokian backward as Kirsta fires a crossbow bolt and Valan opens fire with his pistol. Bang, bang, bang, bang, bang! Two soldiers fall dead, while the third dives to the ground, beside the unarmed soldier, who covers his head and cowers. The group dash down the street, struggling with the Prince, who is overcome with emotion.

“No! By the Seraphs, no! Father!" He weeps.

“Faster, damn it! Run faster!" Kirsta roars, struggling to reload her crossbow pistol as she sprints.

Another group of soldiers appears, which the group briefly engages as they continue to run. Valan's remaining shots miss, as he rarely fires while sprinting, but the soldiers still duck down and take cover. The dock is in sight now, but their hearts sink. The Arona-Dahl is still there, but now there's a ship blocking her escape. It wasn't there before! Valan reloads his custom-built harmonica pistol with a spare ammunition bar, pocketing the used bar. As he cocks the hammer, a door to a nearby building flies open and a man rushes out.

“Woah!"

Bang! Valan turns and fires on impulse, seeing the man's silvery looking clothing. Was that a soldier charging him?! The human stops, however, upon seeing that the man is just a civilian. The Vizhek falls backward, into the doorway of his home. He lies dead with a hole in his face, his head oozing blood which rapidly pools and begins to drip over the threshold and onto the ground outside. A little girl whimpers and drops to her knees, clutching her own face in shock and horror. She is a hybrid of human and Vizhek, her bright pink skin and blue hair showing her heritage. She turns her bright blue eyes toward the man who's just murdered her father in front of her, slumping back as she shifts her whole body to face him. The little girl, barely eight-years-old, weeps.

“Why, mister?" She sniffles. “Why did you kill my papa?!"

Jarae grabs the horrified Valan by his bicep and yanks, drawing him away from the door.

“Why, mister?! Why did you do it?!" The little girl shouts from within the house.

Valan turns to Jarae, who can see the horror and shame written all over his face. She presses her clawed hands against his cheeks and leans in, kissing his lips with considerable passion.

“It was an accident, darling. Please. We need you. I need you."

“Right..." He nods his head. “W-we have to get back to the ship."

Kirsta and Irzain would not dare risk Harokian by delaying even for a moment, and so the couple finds themselves alone, shooting at several soldiers who are now far closer than they had been. They race to catch up to the others, but Jarae can see Valan's hand shaking. His rounds no longer strike true, though the soldiers still duck for cover. Glancing back, Harokian can see that the human and Jaliscan, whose random encounter started all of this, have fallen behind. He stops and turns, causing Kirsta to growl and Irzain to turn back. Mairlynn, who sees the Arona-Dahl only a few dozen meters away, doesn't stop for anything.

“Come on!" Irzain yells, growing impatient.

Harokian lifts his arms to call out to the stragglers, taking a moment to recall their names, which he'd heard the others use. Before he can say a word, however, he feels his body heave.

“No!" Kirsta screams.

Crying out in pain as he falls to the ground, blood spurts from a wound. It's clear that he's just been shot by a soldier. Kirsta turns to her left to see a man near the docks. He was hiding between a building and some crates. She swiftly takes aim with her crossbow pistol and fires, striking the man in the face as he clumsily attempts to reload his arquebus. He screams in agony as he falls to the ground and writhes. Valan and Jarae reach the others, who find Harokian struggling to sit up with a lead ball in his right shoulder.

“Ow! By the Seraphs! Ih-is there supposed to be that much blood?!" He nervously asks, looking at the wound.

“Come on! We have to go!" Irzain roars as he yanks at the Prince.

With Valan and Jarae's help, they pull Harokian to his feet. They race to catch up to Mairlynn, who has just reached the space where the gangplank used to be. She jumps up and down, frantically waving her arms above her head.

“Hey! Over here! Let us aboard! Are you listening?!" She screams at the top of her lungs.

As the others make their way along the docks, Steingar and Lutala emerge with firearms in-hand. Steingar holds his prized, golden wheellock pistol in one hand and a generic pistol in the other, while Lutala grips an arquebus rifle. Trellan's spirit, always watchful, extends the gangplank. Mairlynn hastily scurries across, reaching the ship before the others can even set foot on the wooden walkway. Irzain and Kirsta shove Harokian along, while both Steingar and Lutala open fire on a small group of soldiers, who dive for cover. Valan empties his second ammunition bar in their direction, giving the others, but especially his lover, Jarae, a chance to escape.

As the last one to cross the gangplank, he nearly falls into the water as Trellan begins retracting the wooden platform while the human dashes across it! He falls onto the main deck, landing on his hands and knees as the others dive for cover. Trellan opens the mechanical jaws which hold the ropes that keep the ship tied down. He simultaneously raises the anchor. However, the sight of this causes Captain Mayweather to give the order. Cannonballs and grapeshot fly across the deck at an angle, from stern to bow, ripping off chunks of Arona's wood and damaging the mizzen mast. Some of the grapeshot dings the metal chimney, making it ring like a bell.

With the steam engine set to idle, it doesn't take long before the ship lurches and turns. The crew slide across the deck and toward the wooden railing as the ship whips around, moving past the Kieran-Dahl. As they turn around and race past the port side, Captain Mayweather shouts another order. The Arona-Dahl and her crew keep their heads down, lying prone on the main deck as they endure a second volley. Like the first, it rips more wood from poor Arona, but as they feel the wind rushing over them, rustling their hair and fur, they examine themselves to find that, aside from Harokian's gunshot wound, none of them are injured.

“By the Seraphs!" Mairlynn exclaims, her hands gripping her modest bust through her shirt.

“Thank Yashuva, we've survived." Lutala remarks.

“Yeah... For now." Kirsta murmurs, looking back at the enemy ship.

“So, is this the Prince?" Steingar asks.

“So I've been..." Harokian stops mid-sentence as he looks with surprise at the extremely colorful, male Helngar. “Erm... Told... Are you a?"

“Yes, I'm a man, and this is just a disguise!" Steingar growls.

“Oh... Well, it's pretty!" Harokian remarks.

“Okay, shut up. I can smell the blood. Are you hurt?"

Harokian shifts his body, revealing his wounded shoulder to the Helngar.

“Oh, no... Damn! We need to treat this right away!" Steingar drops to a knee.

“Yes, please do." Harokian remarks.

“Lutala! We need your skills! The Prince needs your healing powers!" He turns and calls out to her.

“No."

“... What?"

The crew are dumbfounded. They turn to Lutala, who drops the fired arquebus atop the deck and crosses her arms before her ample breasts. She glares at Steingar for a moment.

“You heard me... I will do no such thing, not until you take me back."

“Lutala..." Steingar speaks softly as he rises to his feet.

“I want to return to Mishgan! I'm tired of this mission!" Lutala roars, her fiery eyes once again filled with passion.

“Must we remind you how important he is?" Irzain asks, pointing to Harokian.

“I don't care!" Lutala says with an almost joyous chuckle. “I came back with you solely to return to Mishgan, and to do it sooner than chartering a regular ship. If you don't take me back, not only will I not treat Harokian, but I won't treat the rest of you ever again!"