Kraken's Fang
Vision: Betrayal of Trust
Through a porthole window, you can taste the warm salt mists rising off the waves, while the rhythmic slapping of the water sways the ship back and forth. In front of you, a singular bead of black ink drops onto a sheet of bare parchment. You furrow your brow in frustration as you carefully dip the quill back into the inkwell and slowly press the fine feather tip onto the paper, gracefully moving the brush back and forth. In the top right corner of the parchment, you write: 888 O.V. You pause. Quill still in hand. Has it really been 22 years since your time as a soldier? The quill in your hand trembles as you recall your brutal beatings as a child of Fort Joy, the powerful surges of arcane energy as you climbed ranks in the Sarkonos military and the blackened and mangled bodies of Khar civilians. You shift uncomfortably in your chair and gently place the quill onto the scuffed mahogany table at which you sit. Richly lit by faceted alchemical jewel-lamps in gold frames, the space around you is piled with layers of tapestries and silk pillows. Several sea-chests support a lacquered table top in the middle of the room covered with empty dishes, folded maps and navigation instruments of obvious quality. In the corner, a double bed draped with rich red linens. Outside your quarters, you hear the hull creak and groan as strong winds propel the ship across the dark waters of the Abyss. The intense flapping of the sails and the clanging of ropes indicate sailors struggling to maintain course. Over the roaring wind, you hear a shrill call, “Captain Hale. Problem on deck!” Rising from your chair, you make your way across the room. Accustomed to the sway of the vessel after 15 years at sea, you walk steadily towards a wooden door. Immediately upon turning the brass knob, white capping waves spray water into your face leaving a salty essence under your nose. In the distance, an ugly scarlet haze looms on the southern horizon like the shadow of an angry god. You step out onto the deck, your soft knee high leather boots clinking.
Slicing effortless through the water, The Juggernaut was a mighty three-masted galleon with a soot-colored hull fashioned from witchwood and sails of pitch black to ghostly grey. As a pirate vessel, The Juggernaut’s most infamous features included her black sails and the innate carving of a dragon’s skull set at the prow of the ship capable of setting other ocean dwellers ablaze. Despite the turbulent waves, she slices majestically through the water, then luffs-up as orders are shouted from the quarterdeck. Sailors crowding her yardarms and deck railings. Gathered on the starboard side, a group of distressed sailors are huddled together waving their arms. Leaning against the rail, a young man with slicked back shoulder-length brown hair, dark brown eyes and a faint mustache is staring into the churning waters below. No longer a child, Draven stands just under 6 feet tall wearing a white shirt with bishop sleeves and a v-neck, exposing his chest. The collar of his shirt is folded over a brown vest that is only halfway buttoned at the bottom with dark grey beeches and brown buckled boots. Fastened at his hip, a rapier fashioned from the fang of a kraken. Watching him, you feel a sense of accomplishment and pride. Noting your presence, he ushers you over. “Over here, Captain.” You can tell from his stern expression and serious tone that they’ve encountered something concerning. You make your way across the deck, your long brown coat thrashing in the strong winds. You rest one hand on top of your faded leather tricorn that has been scorched by the sun and beaten by harsh sea winds. Waves slapping against the hull are pulverized to spray, filling the air with the smell and taste of salt. You can hear the panicked sailors hush as you approach.
“Why have we stopped, son?” Draven turns, leaning and resting both elbows upon the wooden railing. “Dragon Turtle.” He answers coolly, “About 100 yards. Large one too.” A sailor on your right hands you an amber spyglass. You step towards the rail and raise the spyglass to your left eye, your right covered by a thick leather eye patch. Through the glass, you see the sea buzzing with strength. Dark towering walls of water rush to meet the sky, driven by powerful winds. Across the vast stretch of water, large ominous clouds release relentless rain. You shift the glass across the stretch of endless ocean, failing to spot the jagged shell of a surfacing dragon turtle. “There’s no…”
You feel a hot burning sensation as steel punctures your side, the spyglass falling from your hand into the dark turmoil waters of the Abyss. You feel winded as though a heavy object has slammed into your chest. Your hand immediately drops to grasp your side and as you turn your palm you see the familiar red stain, hot and sticky. You feel the steel retract as you struggle to catch your breath. You turn, your back leaning against the rails. In front of you, Draven, rapier in hand, the steel stained red. Your eyes widen, mouth agape.
“Draven… son...how could…” The words struggle to roll off your lips. The pain in your left side intensifies at the thought of betrayal. “Captain Lemont Hale, this is a mutiny. The Juggernaut no longer requires your leadership. You have been deemed unfit to lead these men. I, Draven Hale, sentence you to death.” You look into Draven’s dark chestnut eyes anticipating regret and sorrow, but you're met with a grim cold stare. Around him the crew stand, motionless. Their eyes bearing into you. For a moment, you can feel the arcane energy begin to swell. You could stop him. You could kill him. Right here. Right now. You could raise your hand and turn these men to dust. You clench your fists as your heart hammers violently in your chest. You can’t. You could never. You raised him. You love him like a son. You uncurl your fingers and let your arms fall to your side. The wound you were holding spews onto the wooden planks of the deck, and you begin to feel your body sway. “My son...” Your words are barely audible over the roaring winds and thrashing waves. You watch his eyes narrow into a sinister stare, and as he steps forward he thrusts the rapier deep within the crevices of your chest. You feel the blade hit bone catching your breath in your throat. “You killed my father 15 years ago. I watched them burn alive. I've been waiting for this moment my entire life. You’re no father to me Lemont, ye blitherin’ pox-ridden old salt!” You don’t remember what happened next, but suddenly you are falling. Plummeting endlessly into the dark depths below, the kraken’s fang rapier lodged in your chest. It feels as though time has stopped, as you watch Draven and the crew grow smaller. Right as you hit the water, you feel your bones break and your insides turn to sand. Your vision flashes with sparkling lights that meld together and are followed by blackness. Not unconsciousness, blackness.
You can taste the salty brine of ocean air and grains of sand stuck in your teeth. Crashing against the shore, you feel small waves crawl across the pebbles to caress the bottoms of your bare feet. In the distance, you hear the hungry cries of gulls, their shrill squawk vibrating in your ears and causing a relentless throbbing in your head. Not unfamiliar to pain, you are barely able to move your battered body. You open your eye, blinded by the sun’s reflection on the water and slowly drag your body further into shore using only your arms. Nestled against some rocks, you find a piece of driftwood, beside it the glimmering fang of a kraken. Halfheartedly, you chuckle. Resting against the piece of driftwood, you begin to list your injuries. Lacerations on face, arms, and chest. Outer layer of skin stripped away in several patches. Caused by prolonged exposure to winds. Puncture wounds to chest and left side. Stop the bleeding. Clean with antiseptic, apply a dressing and monitor for infection. Strained tendons, ripped muscles, bruised and cracked bones, and pervasive soreness caused by extreme conditions. Enforce bed rest by any means necessary. Check for large and persistent bruises caused by internal hemorrhaging. That can be life-threatening. Hypothermia, caused by extreme cold. Warm subject and force him to remain seated. Do not let him sleep. If he survives a few hours, there will likely be no lasting after effects. If he survives a few hours.. Persistent fever, accompanied by cold sweats and hallucinations. Likely cause is infected wounds. Clean with antiseptic. Finally, trauma to the head. Enforce rest. Administer fathom bark to reduce cranial swelling. Firemoss can be used in extreme cases, but beware letting the subject form an addiction. If medication fails, trepanning the skull may be needed to relieve pressure. Usually fatal. You wince, forcing your arms underneath you as you attempt to stand, your legs trembling as you sink into the golden hue of the sand. In front of you, a thick green canopy made up of a thick tangle of branches and long vines hanging loosely making rope bridges between the trees. The air around you is warm and filled with the orchestra of a thousand colourful birds and insects hidden out of sight beneath the umbrella-like leaves. It is unlike any place you have ever visited. Behind you, waves continue to crash against the shore. Above the treeline, white wisps rise from the top of a mountain like fumes that give away a secret smoker. From deep within the dense forest, you hear a deafening roar.
Through a porthole window, you can taste the warm salt mists rising off the waves, while the rhythmic slapping of the water sways the ship back and forth. In front of you, a singular bead of black ink drops onto a sheet of bare parchment. You furrow your brow in frustration as you carefully dip the quill back into the inkwell and slowly press the fine feather tip onto the paper, gracefully moving the brush back and forth. In the top right corner of the parchment, you write: 888 O.V. You pause. Quill still in hand. Has it really been 22 years since your time as a soldier? The quill in your hand trembles as you recall your brutal beatings as a child of Fort Joy, the powerful surges of arcane energy as you climbed ranks in the Sarkonos military and the blackened and mangled bodies of Khar civilians. You shift uncomfortably in your chair and gently place the quill onto the scuffed mahogany table at which you sit. Richly lit by faceted alchemical jewel-lamps in gold frames, the space around you is piled with layers of tapestries and silk pillows. Several sea-chests support a lacquered table top in the middle of the room covered with empty dishes, folded maps and navigation instruments of obvious quality. In the corner, a double bed draped with rich red linens. Outside your quarters, you hear the hull creak and groan as strong winds propel the ship across the dark waters of the Abyss. The intense flapping of the sails and the clanging of ropes indicate sailors struggling to maintain course. Over the roaring wind, you hear a shrill call, “Captain Hale. Problem on deck!” Rising from your chair, you make your way across the room. Accustomed to the sway of the vessel after 15 years at sea, you walk steadily towards a wooden door. Immediately upon turning the brass knob, white capping waves spray water into your face leaving a salty essence under your nose. In the distance, an ugly scarlet haze looms on the southern horizon like the shadow of an angry god. You step out onto the deck, your soft knee high leather boots clinking.
Slicing effortless through the water, The Juggernaut was a mighty three-masted galleon with a soot-colored hull fashioned from witchwood and sails of pitch black to ghostly grey. As a pirate vessel, The Juggernaut’s most infamous features included her black sails and the innate carving of a dragon’s skull set at the prow of the ship capable of setting other ocean dwellers ablaze. Despite the turbulent waves, she slices majestically through the water, then luffs-up as orders are shouted from the quarterdeck. Sailors crowding her yardarms and deck railings. Gathered on the starboard side, a group of distressed sailors are huddled together waving their arms. Leaning against the rail, a young man with slicked back shoulder-length brown hair, dark brown eyes and a faint mustache is staring into the churning waters below. No longer a child, Draven stands just under 6 feet tall wearing a white shirt with bishop sleeves and a v-neck, exposing his chest. The collar of his shirt is folded over a brown vest that is only halfway buttoned at the bottom with dark grey beeches and brown buckled boots. Fastened at his hip, a rapier fashioned from the fang of a kraken. Watching him, you feel a sense of accomplishment and pride. Noting your presence, he ushers you over. “Over here, Captain.” You can tell from his stern expression and serious tone that they’ve encountered something concerning. You make your way across the deck, your long brown coat thrashing in the strong winds. You rest one hand on top of your faded leather tricorn that has been scorched by the sun and beaten by harsh sea winds. Waves slapping against the hull are pulverized to spray, filling the air with the smell and taste of salt. You can hear the panicked sailors hush as you approach.
“Why have we stopped, son?” Draven turns, leaning and resting both elbows upon the wooden railing. “Dragon Turtle.” He answers coolly, “About 100 yards. Large one too.” A sailor on your right hands you an amber spyglass. You step towards the rail and raise the spyglass to your left eye, your right covered by a thick leather eye patch. Through the glass, you see the sea buzzing with strength. Dark towering walls of water rush to meet the sky, driven by powerful winds. Across the vast stretch of water, large ominous clouds release relentless rain. You shift the glass across the stretch of endless ocean, failing to spot the jagged shell of a surfacing dragon turtle. “There’s no…”
You feel a hot burning sensation as steel punctures your side, the spyglass falling from your hand into the dark turmoil waters of the Abyss. You feel winded as though a heavy object has slammed into your chest. Your hand immediately drops to grasp your side and as you turn your palm you see the familiar red stain, hot and sticky. You feel the steel retract as you struggle to catch your breath. You turn, your back leaning against the rails. In front of you, Draven, rapier in hand, the steel stained red. Your eyes widen, mouth agape.
“Draven… son...how could…” The words struggle to roll off your lips. The pain in your left side intensifies at the thought of betrayal. “Captain Lemont Hale, this is a mutiny. The Juggernaut no longer requires your leadership. You have been deemed unfit to lead these men. I, Draven Hale, sentence you to death.” You look into Draven’s dark chestnut eyes anticipating regret and sorrow, but you're met with a grim cold stare. Around him the crew stand, motionless. Their eyes bearing into you. For a moment, you can feel the arcane energy begin to swell. You could stop him. You could kill him. Right here. Right now. You could raise your hand and turn these men to dust. You clench your fists as your heart hammers violently in your chest. You can’t. You could never. You raised him. You love him like a son. You uncurl your fingers and let your arms fall to your side. The wound you were holding spews onto the wooden planks of the deck, and you begin to feel your body sway. “My son...” Your words are barely audible over the roaring winds and thrashing waves. You watch his eyes narrow into a sinister stare, and as he steps forward he thrusts the rapier deep within the crevices of your chest. You feel the blade hit bone catching your breath in your throat. “You killed my father 15 years ago. I watched them burn alive. I've been waiting for this moment my entire life. You’re no father to me Lemont, ye blitherin’ pox-ridden old salt!” You don’t remember what happened next, but suddenly you are falling. Plummeting endlessly into the dark depths below, the kraken’s fang rapier lodged in your chest. It feels as though time has stopped, as you watch Draven and the crew grow smaller. Right as you hit the water, you feel your bones break and your insides turn to sand. Your vision flashes with sparkling lights that meld together and are followed by blackness. Not unconsciousness, blackness.
You can taste the salty brine of ocean air and grains of sand stuck in your teeth. Crashing against the shore, you feel small waves crawl across the pebbles to caress the bottoms of your bare feet. In the distance, you hear the hungry cries of gulls, their shrill squawk vibrating in your ears and causing a relentless throbbing in your head. Not unfamiliar to pain, you are barely able to move your battered body. You open your eye, blinded by the sun’s reflection on the water and slowly drag your body further into shore using only your arms. Nestled against some rocks, you find a piece of driftwood, beside it the glimmering fang of a kraken. Halfheartedly, you chuckle. Resting against the piece of driftwood, you begin to list your injuries. Lacerations on face, arms, and chest. Outer layer of skin stripped away in several patches. Caused by prolonged exposure to winds. Puncture wounds to chest and left side. Stop the bleeding. Clean with antiseptic, apply a dressing and monitor for infection. Strained tendons, ripped muscles, bruised and cracked bones, and pervasive soreness caused by extreme conditions. Enforce bed rest by any means necessary. Check for large and persistent bruises caused by internal hemorrhaging. That can be life-threatening. Hypothermia, caused by extreme cold. Warm subject and force him to remain seated. Do not let him sleep. If he survives a few hours, there will likely be no lasting after effects. If he survives a few hours.. Persistent fever, accompanied by cold sweats and hallucinations. Likely cause is infected wounds. Clean with antiseptic. Finally, trauma to the head. Enforce rest. Administer fathom bark to reduce cranial swelling. Firemoss can be used in extreme cases, but beware letting the subject form an addiction. If medication fails, trepanning the skull may be needed to relieve pressure. Usually fatal. You wince, forcing your arms underneath you as you attempt to stand, your legs trembling as you sink into the golden hue of the sand. In front of you, a thick green canopy made up of a thick tangle of branches and long vines hanging loosely making rope bridges between the trees. The air around you is warm and filled with the orchestra of a thousand colourful birds and insects hidden out of sight beneath the umbrella-like leaves. It is unlike any place you have ever visited. Behind you, waves continue to crash against the shore. Above the treeline, white wisps rise from the top of a mountain like fumes that give away a secret smoker. From deep within the dense forest, you hear a deafening roar.
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