In which we share confidences, and fight a crocodile

Before we set out this morning Zeni put together a simple breakfast, and we ate swiftly, not wanting to be late for our rendezvous with Captain Dorienn and the Windstriker. Raphael finally put in an appearance just before we were about to leave, making his way downstairs with a noticeable spring in his step. Yesterday he had seemed rather quiet by his standards, perhaps even a little troubled, but now he walked with purpose, and seemed to be looking forward to the day ahead.
 
I am very pleased to report that by the time we were ready to leave the weather had actually improved considerably. The last of the clouds were giving way to a slightly chilly but pleasant autumn day, which I think lifted everyone’s spirits considerably. We saw a few people going about their business in the early hours, but for the most part the town was quiet and peaceful.
 
The ship was ready and waiting for us at the dock, and in short order we boarded and stowed our gear. The crew made us very welcome, and this being only the second time I have been on a proper ship, I was quite excited for the journey.
 
As the sailors bustled around making everything ready, the atmosphere seemed calm and well-ordered and Zeni looked around approvingly, which I took for an encouraging sign. The only slight delay was in getting Sabali aboard - he seemed very reluctant at first, until Zeni called him forward. Even then, he sat by the mast looking most unhappy. The first mate, a tortle by the name of Sorrell, spoke to him gently, reassuring him about the seaworthiness of the ship and the competence of its crew. I don’t know how much it helped, Sabali still looked rather downcast and uneasy afterwards, but it was a very kind gesture from a man who must have had many pressing duties of his own.
 
Enessa stepped up to the wheel almost as soon as she had got her bearings, and I heard the Captain barking at her to leave it alone. I really don’t know anything about ships, but that wheel looks like an important piece of equipment, and I’m not surprised that Dorienn didn’t want anyone messing about with it. Enessa didn’t look too pleased though, and I could hear her arguing with Sorrel (or maybe cajoling him would be a better description), but he patiently explained how much damage mishandling the ship could do and at the note of finality in his voice Enessa turned away shaking her head.
 
As we got underway, Arin (who turned out to be an even less experienced sailor than myself), rather unexpectedly started to tell us about how much he would like to visit Rexxentrum, and the great Library of the Cobalt Soul in that city. Speaking about all the knowledge he could gain from such a journey he sounded eager, almost excited, which was a contrast to his normally reserved demeanor. What exactly prompted this confidence I don’t know, but I feel like I understand him a little better for it.
 
Sabali, who was still not looking completely at ease as the deck of the ship began to move beneath our feet, wandered over to Enessa who stood leaning against the little charthouse on deck. I heard him ask her if there is anything she has done which she was ashamed of - goodness knows why that came into his mind, there is clearly something about a sea voyage that makes people loquacious - but she seemed not to even understand the premise of the question. I don’t know if she was being glib or sincere, but the concept of shame seemed to have no sway over her. In the end, when the question was watered down to ‘something which she wished that she had never done’, she offered up a tale about some attempt at petty theft made in her youth which had landed her in jail (briefly, by the sound of it). She seemed sorry to have been caught, but not in the least ashamed of having made the attempt. At this Sabali looked rather nonplussed. She even jokingly tried to tempt Sabali into joining her to give whatever it was another go, but I think that she has rather missed her mark there.
 
As the ship drew further from the shores of Drynna, and our perspective widened, we could see the northern docks looking small against the shoreline, and a little ramshackle. Tiny figures moved amongst the boats, black outlines in the dawn light. I felt dismayed that their town wasn’t able to do more to protect them, and that we were now sailing away, leaving them vulnerable should there be any more trouble with the fish men. I prayed that Bahamut would watch over them, but even as I did so, I knew that such a task properly fell to me and my kind. He had granted us power specifically to watch over innocents such as these, and perhaps I was failing in that duty by not being there now. I shivered a little at the thought, but no good ever came of second guessing a decision once it was made, and, in any case, I trust that the Light Temple will do all that they can.
 
I turned back to the group, which was now centred on Orlando, who was speaking nostalgically about the powder blend he had invented and which had brought him such great success in Vasselheim and beyond. Orlando sounded almost wistful, recalling triumphs past, but I was glad to hear him speaking of those days without rancour. It would be easy for him to be bitter about some of what happened, but he always seems to bounce back with good humour. Finishing the story, he gestured at the prosthetic which replaced his missing hand and said rather self deprecatingly that perhaps he had turned to invention because he was unable to practice as a tinker in other ways. Arin looked up quickly at that, and assured him that the gods smile on a quick mind as readily as on quick hands, perhaps more so. Orlando, always one for a good philosophical wrangle, expressed his interest in the ways of Ioun, and said that he had long been curious about the teachings of the Cobalt Soul on such matters as whether new inventions are a gift of the gods, or shaped only by our own minds. Arin looked pleased at the prospect of discussing it further, and I suspect that when we are back in a snug tavern the two will find time to continue the conversation.
 
No doubt inspired by this line of thought, someone asked Wind whether she herself had ever made anything she cared to speak about. She seemed initially flummoxed by the question, and I must admit that I smiled inwardly at the idea of Wind making for herself what she could easily dupe another into giving her, but then she rallied in a rather unexpected way. Drawing herself up, she said proudly that what she had made was herself - as different from her humble origins as might be imagined, finding opportunities for entertainment and coin where others saw the prospect only for dullness and drudgery. I think that Zeni said something under her breath at that, but Orlando smoothed it over and anyway Wind is not usually one to take such things too much to heart. When she glanced over at me, I gave her a quiet nod of appreciation, because, looking at it that way, really she is quite right.
 
We whiled away the remainder of the journey talking of this and that, mostly just chatter of little consequence, but when asked about his childhood, Sabali told a tale of such heart-wrenching cruelty that I would very much like to believe that it wasn’t true. However, I have no reason to doubt him, and those of the party native to Tal Dorei did not seem to find it so very shocking, so I think I must accept it at face value. He told us that he had been kidnapped and sold into slavery at a very young age - so young that he has no recollection of where he came from, or who his people were. He was sold on, while still a child, as some sort of entertainer for wealthy merchants and their guests. When his tricks failed to please his masters he was most savagely treated - the tale he told on this occasion, which he seemed to regard as almost unremarkable, involved his tail being set on fire. If he and Zeni supported one another through such a brutal world then it is no wonder their bond is strong, even after all these years. The thought that there are people out there who could treat an innocent child in this way is sickening.
 
A little after noon, we arrived at the designated drop off spot, although to my eyes this patch of swampy lakeshore looked much like the miles stretching off to either side. The plan is that the Windstriker will wait here until sundown tomorrow, keeping a good lookout in case we return sooner than that. Should we fail to appear by nightfall, we will have to make our own way back on foot, which would be unfortunate, to say the very least. I think we will all be keeping a close watch on the passing hours.
 
Arrangements made and farewells said, a tender was swung over the edge of the ship, and we all settled ourselves into the little boat, packs stacked between us. Sabali and I took the oars, with Zeni calling instructions in her best piratical style. This was a new activity for me, and the language she used to describe our rowing technique was, let’s say, colourful, but we got there in the end.
 
We dragged the boat up a muddy bank, and Zeni went to make it fast. She looked like she knew what she was doing, and tried to wave away Wind’s assistance when it was offered, but Wind simply bent down and retied the final stage of Zeni’s knot. Zeni took a long look, frowned, and then grudgingly let Wind’s modification stand. For myself, I would hate to be stuck on this desolate shore without a ready means of escape, so the more knots the better as far as I am concerned.
 
On first impressions, the rootgarden was just as disagreeable as its reputation had suggested. Dank and odorous, the marsh stretched back some two hundred feet before giving way to a stunted forest of some sort. Enessa and Raphael started to have a look around, trying to get their bearings. The conversation was degenerating into a rather absurd discussion about how useful it would be for Enessa to try to climb a tree, when Raphael suddenly narrowed his eyes and looked sharply at something out in the lake. ‘Movement in the water!’ he shouted and we all strained to look. I could see nothing at first, but then Raphael lashed out with a bolt of energy. It hit nothing, but its light did reflect on a narrow v-shape of ripples in the water, revealing that something was coming towards us fast.
 
Those quick enough scrambled further up the bank, while Raphael, Arin and I drew our weapons. As we were doing so, an absolutely huge crocodile erupted from the water, it’s jaws wide and snapping angrily. The ranged fighters behind us reacted first, including Orlando, who, to my astonishment, fired Bayou at very short range. The sound was very loud in the still air, and everyone jumped in alarm, including me. At least I knew he had it on him, I can't imagine how surprising it would have been for the others. My next strike at the croc was a weak one, and it took its chance, seizing my sword arm in its jaws. Thankfully, my mail stopped the worst of the damage, but I was a bit worried that it might try to drag me back into the water. I had confidence however, in my newfound comrades, and that confidence was not misplaced.
 
My friends rallied round in spectacular fashion - Arin weighing in with his mace, and Wind somehow managing to shoot right along the line of my arm and into the crocodile’s open jaws. It was Sabali’s heroics however, which really made the difference. He vaulted right over my head, landed on the croc’s back and grabbed it’s upper jaw, prising it open just enough for me to wriggle my arm free. I staggered back as Raphael drew his sword and struck at the creature, calling out ‘My Lady marks you!’ as he did so. I noticed that this sword was not the one which he had used previously, but something else, far more finely made and, if I was not mistaken, magical in some form. I was very glad to see it - a blade blessed by the Moonweaver would be a powerful weapon indeed, and to be trusted with such a gift from her hand speaks well of the recipient.
 
I didn’t have long to admire it though, because the croc twisted round, faster and more flexible than I would have guessed possible for it, and seized Sabali in it’s gaping maw. Not having the benefit of chainmail, Sabali looked seriously injured by the bite and we watched for a second or two, horrified, as the crocodile shook him violently from side to side, spraying blood and swamp water across everyone on the bank.
 
Zeni moved first, drawing it’s attention with a firebolt, and then Arin dodged into the water, reaching his hand almost inside the crocodile’s mouth to heal the worst of Sabali’s wounds. It was a powerful spell, and the light of it shone brightly for a moment, illuminating a mess of white fur and sharp teeth. In the next moment, a great swipe of the croc’s tail took him off his feet and into the water with a heavy splash. Enessa and Orlando made their shots count, but the creature was still thrashing wildly, the water around it now stained red with blood from several sources. Wind though, it seemed, had had enough of this fight. She came running down the bank, whooping out a war cry of some sort involving handbags, her dagger raised in both hands. As she neared the water’s edge, she tripped on Arin’s prone form and fell headlong - my heart was in my mouth for her, but as luck would have it, the momentum of her fall drove the point of her blade right through the creature’s skull with very considerable force. It died at once, stabbed through the brain, and it’s mighty jaws slackened enough for us to drag Sabali free.
 
Once we had picked ourselves up, and Zeni had tended to what remained of Sabali’s wounds, I looked around at the party. Anyone who had been anywhere near the water looked a mess - dirty, bloodied and wet through. Then I did a double take - Wind looked almost immaculate, even though I had seen her go sprawling in the mud and sand not ten minutes beforehand. When she saw my amazement, she wiggled her fingers in a vaguely magical gesture, looking immensely pleased with herself.
 
We decide to head deeper in, rather than hugging the shoreline, with Enessa leading the way. Arin and I kept to the rear, both still nursing our bruises and scrapes from the crocodile encounter. The going was fairly tough, with the water often coming in over the top of our boots, and the footing treacherous and slippery. For an hour or so we made slow but steady progress eastwards, keeping an eye out as we did so for the plants that Altria had requested.
 
By the time we stopped to take a short breather, I think that we were all feeling the oppressive atmosphere of the swamp. Raphael and I were deep into a very polite but fairly intense discussion of exactly how far from the shoreline it would be wise to go in the limited time available when we both realised that some of the others were ignoring us completely and getting on with another, and better, plan entirely. Enessa had gone a little way from the group and had somehow managed to lure several smallish birds down to perch just in front of her on a low tree limb. Her head was inclined, as if listening to a very quiet voice, and then she seemed to bow her thanks. Returning to the group, she announced confidently that the birds had told her that there was evil to the north, and large dogs. I didn’t know that she was able to converse with birds in this way, but it seems a very useful quality to have.
 
Meanwhile, Zeni and Arin had both been making preparations for some ritual magic. In Arin’s movements I recognised the prayers for detecting the presence of poison or disease, and sure enough he reported that the water, as we had suspected it might be, was tainted. Zeni, it turned out, was looking more generally for magical influences in our surroundings, and let us know that there was a ‘snarled leyline to the north’, whatever that might mean.
 
All signs seemed to point to north as being the most promising ground for investigation, so we duly set off again, bearing in that direction. Enessa, accompanied by Ussi, led the way, guiding us expertly through the murk. Zeni, Arin and Sabali all found some useful plants along the way, and Raphael spotted some tracks, probably made by humanoids, although neither he or Enessa could say when they had been made. At least we have some of what Altria requested now, so whatever happens tomorrow this trip will not have been a wasted one.
 
Around 7.30pm we started to set up camp. It wasn’t terribly well organised to be honest, but hopefully next time we will do better. After a bit of uncertain milling about, we cleared the ground, put up a couple of tents and gathered firewood to make a cookfire. Most people seemed to have brought some sort of tent or bedroll with them, enough that everyone should be able to sleep comfortably. Wind didn’t seem to have anything with her, but immediately declared that she would be sharing my tent, which, given that she was by far the cleanest person present at this stage, was absolutely fine by me.
 
Once everything was sorted out, people settled down to spend the evening in their own way. As the dusk gathered, the gloomy dampness of the swamp became rather eerie. Every now and again strange animals splashed in the boggy ground around our campsite, and unseen birds called mournfully from the trees. I moved closer to the warmth of the campfire, and took out my lyre to practise some of the new Drynnan music which Rebur had taught me over the past few weeks. My fingers were a bit stiff with the chill, and I tried to play quietly so as not to disturb the others from their thoughts, but even so, the melody, and the rhythm of playing, immediately lifted my spirits. It was only when my back and shoulders began to relax that I realised how tense they had been. Music has a healing power all of its own, and, from being stressed and tired after a long day slogging through the muck and mud of the swamp, I felt light-hearted and merry again, confident that tomorrow we would find the answers that we need.
 
I was a bit too wrapped up in my own reverie to take that much notice of what everyone else was doing, but something seemed to go wrong with cooking dinner. I’m not sure what the problem was, but Zeni took a taste from the pot, pulled an absolutely disgusted face and instead of distributing the meal to the waiting mess kits people had left out, dragged the pot over to the far side of the camp, tipped it out, and, well, I don’t know how else to put this...she kind of exploded the contents. No-one wanted to ask too many questions about what was clearly a potentially sensitive subject, so we all dug out our cold ration packs without comment.
 
After we had eaten, Arin, ever dutiful, walked a little way back into the brush looking to gather more herbs. I could see his light bobbing amongst the thin trees, and eventually he returned with a few bundles of what looked like some sort of thistle. He didn’t seem all that pleased with them, but hopefully they will be useful for something.
 
I think that Raphael was trying to get a bit of peace and quiet, a little bit away from the campfire, but Sabali seemed to have chosen the same spot to conduct some sort of complicated business - possibly a ritual of some sort - which must have been a bit of a distraction. Sabali seemed delighted with the outcome though, whatever it was about.
 
Across the fire, Orlando and Enessa chatted about Bayou. I expected Orlando to politely dodge her enquiries, but he was far more forthcoming than I would have guessed that he might be, even going so far as to hand the weapon over for her inspection. Travelling together like this, and depending on one another out here in the wilderness, does invite such confidences of course, but still, it was good to see.
 
I haven’t wavered in my belief that this little group of ours belongs together for some purpose that isn’t yet clear to any of us, and, for that to come to anything, trust will be essential.