Denlo watches from the shore as they load the coffin onto the ship. And he watches as a cloudy, dark mirror of himself begins to row their little rowboat back to shore. “Is that unsettling for you?” Sari asks as she, too, watches, from a perch above them.
Denlo looks up at her. He’s never been the best liar, so he instead does his best to avoid the question. “Ghosts? A bit. Doesn’t stop me from ending them.”
Renalt chimes in. “We did not truly end those ghosts, unfortunately. Unlike the corporeal, they are bound by circumstance to the mortal coil. Death is temporary, and then the spirits shall return to their unlife.”
“That is what I’m talking about. Unsettling, things that avoid death, no?”
Sari shrugs. “We avoid death all the time,” she counters.
Den shakes his head. “No, we don’t,” he replies to her, “We just survive.”
Ren looks curiously at his bodyguard and friend. “Be there much of a difference?”
The boat arrives and, with a nod of its head, the shadowy form of Felazo’s construct dissipates. Denlo begins to load the barrels onto the boat. “Yes,” he states.
Renalt, not helping with the manual labor, disagrees. “I am not so certain. Perhaps ghosts just have a slow reaction time, and so they bounce back to their form of living later than most. That may even be a more effective mode of survival, albeit one with the complication of experiencing death with reckless abandon rather than avoiding it.”
Sari interjects. “Do you know much about ghosts and how they exist?” she asks.
“Only what is in the stories,” Renalt lies. Denlo can tell his old travelling companion is not telling the whole truth. But Renalt, unlike Denlo, is a good liar, and Den is fairly certain Sari could not discern the lie.
“Then perhaps this discussion is one for us to have with our necromantic captain, and until then we just kill any that get too close. Even if they do come back.”
Den grunts in acknowledgement, if not assent, as he finishes loading the barrels onto the rowboat. He climbs into the boat and awaits the other two to join him. Renalt slips aboard. Den looks over at Sari, but she chooses instead to leap into the water, barely causing a splash. As she begins to swim out to the Ekzokia, Renalt chimes in, “‘tis a reminder of the good old days.”
Den begins to row. “Were those days really all that good?” he muses aloud. “I mostly remember constantly looking over my shoulders and eating terrible food.”
Ren smirks at the Elfi’ika. “In all fairness to me, you have very large shoulders so I never bothered to try looking over them.”
That causes Den to chuckle behind his masked helmet. “I notice you didn’t deny how terrible your cooking is.”
“‘Twas not near as bad as yours, if I recall well,” Ren counters, “I still taste the charred rabbit skin in the back of my throat some mornings.”
Denlo shakes his head. “Maybe I just wanted you to appreciate good food better.” Then after a moment’s pause, he adds, “I mean, I didn’t, I just accidentally put the rabbit too close to the fire, but I might’ve.”
“In that case, I do thank you,” Ren jokingly responds, “For every morn since joining this crew has been a true revelation.” As though on cue, Sari crests above the waves, still barely making a splash as she begins to climb the ship’s hull to ready the ropes for bringing the boat up. Tossing the ropes to the pair on the boat, they tie them around the rowlock’s base. Once secured, Renalt makes his way up the hull, then Denlo follows suit. Sari looks at Denlo once the massive man has gotten to the top. He gives her a nod, and together the pair begins to pull on the ropes, lifting the boat up. Den can feel the boat shifting below, and he lets up slightly, slowing down to the elf woman’s pace. He’s trying to be polite, but can instantly tell by her expression that Alessari notices. That’s why he likes his masked helmet. People can’t see his expressions, which makes it a lot easier to hide his reactions, or at least the complexities of them. Once the boat is near the top, Ren ties the ropes down. Then Denlo begins to unload the barrels of alcohol. “Do keep them separate from our own supplies, for some of them may still be vinegar, just less odorously so.”
Denlo nods, but doesn’t change his behavior. He was not planning to carry any of these barrels down to the hold. One of the others can handle that. Felazo returns to the deck from below. “Ah good,” their captain says, as Kalzia climbs onto his shoulder, “I’ve just finished putting our monastic friend to rest and setting up the coffin in my laboratory. I assume you are still alright with a venture into Hetha prior to our delving into the next ancient house?”
Denlo doesn’t care one way or the other. He shrugs. Renalt nods. “I would encourage it, if you are feeling cursed. For if this similar site you believe to have found is truly similar to the home of the ancient mage, you were the one most able to understand what was occurring in the notes and the good sister was indeed necessary to keeping the rest of us safe.”
“Mostly safe,” Denlo notes. The pair of better built individuals finish transferring the barrels onto the deck. The massive man then adds, “If you need me, I’ll be in the hold.” Lifting the now empty rowboat up above his head, he supports it on one shoulder as he unties the ropes from the rowlocks.
“By the by, we were wondering about ghosts,” Alessari asks Felazo while Den is still on the deck.
Felazo smiles at the curiosity. “I know a tad about the dead-no-longer,” he jokes, “What was the question?”
“How do ghosts actually work?” Sari asks, “How do they form, and what makes them come back?”
“The why is a question for philosophers,” Felazo posits, “I do have a pair of related theorems on the subject, but no certainty there, and I do not feel like having that talk while I also have the urge to vomit. That which is not up for debate: when some creatures die, their essence becomes bound by their death to some element of the world. After their incorporeal essence is dissipated, they return within a week. There are experts who claim capability of permanent dissipation, and some disappear without any record of why.”
Denlo shakes his head and starts to head to the stairs. Ren replies, “When you and our pious partner are feeling more yourselves, I would love to discuss the whys in theory. ‘Tis a topic that may come into the forefront of our concern, if delving into the ancient homes of the powerful is to be a habit for our blithesome band.” Denlo does not wait for his captain to respond to his friend before heading down into the ship. Because, as much as he began the conversation, he only began it as a way to deflect the conversation from Felazo’s shadow-made mirror of him. That unsettles him, though not for reasons most people would think, and he did not wish to talk about that. Ghosts are like anything else, they live, they try to kill you, they die. A little creepier, but fundamentally the same. In the hold, he puts the rowboat down.
Sister Hilan is resting in her hammock, with a bucket beside her. Taking off his masked helm, he thinks about next steps. They’re heading for a town. With a sigh, he realizes that Ren might be right. But the musician must not know that he was right. Which means the bath that Den admittedly needs must be done prior to Renalt realizing it is happening. Which means now or never, as Ren and Sari will remain on deck until the Ekzokia has made it out to sea. Hurrying across the ship’s hold to the makeshift bathroom his musical companion had set up, he speaks the word on the wall. As the water fills the tub, he pulls off the leather armor and the tight ancient clothing. Then he steps into the hot tub. It’s weird, he muses, taking a bath in hot water and in private. He’d visited a public sauna before, roughly once every other month while he was living in the Kinslums, but heating water was always too time consuming and inefficient for his private washing. He borrows Ren’s oils and scraper, and scrapes and washes the grime off as swiftly as he can manage.
After minutes, he climbs out of the tub. Dumping it into the makeshift gutter, Den does not even wait to dry off before pulling on the skintight outfit. Picking up his leathers, he heads back to his area of the hold, his hammock. The outfit seems to pull the water off his body, but not remain wet for long. Useful, to say the least. Especially if it does the same for sweat. Putting his leathers down by his hammock, beside his helm, Denlo begins to clean his sword. If this is truly a raid-leader’s sword, in most of civilization he is right to have wanted to keep it hidden. Not just because it was used in a crime, but because it would make people suspicious of him. Of his size. But if half the stories he’s heard about the New City States are true, that should not be a problem in Hetha. Him having it and clearly not being a raid-leader might make people impressed. Which means he wants the blade clean. Shining. It also means he wants it to be worn, not held. He’ll ask Sari or Ren for a pair of belts that match my armor. One to use as a belt, the other to wrap around the sword’s guard and hilt then attach to the belt. It is not ideal for ease of draw, but hopefully he won’t have to. The sword is hard to clean. It seems to almost quiver in his hand, wanting to be used. Wanting to be swung by him. Excited. And as he cleans the blade, it feels like it is always shaking and moving, even when he can see with his eyes that it isn’t. Once it is glistening, he takes it, uncovered, up above decks with him.
Renalt is strumming his lute at the same chord. No, not quite the same chord, similar chords. Denlo recognizes that the human man is writing a new song. Or, working on one, to say the least. “Ren,” he says as he approaches the bard.
The bard looks over at his old friend, relatively speaking. “I see you washed your face at least. A good start. All it took was our imminent approaching of a new city.”
Denlo shakes his head, sighing. “Speaking of,” he adds, “I was hoping you had a pair of belts that might match my leathers?”
“Mayhaps,” Ren replies, “Might I query you as to the why of the matter?”
The massive killer hefts his sword. “I want to hand this off my belt. At least for long enough that I can get a proper sheath for it made.”
Ren nods. “Going to be more trouble to use.”
“A raid-leader’s blade on display, ideally I won’t need to use it in town.”
After a moment of thought, Ren nods. “I can do that. But if I am to do that work, you too shall have to play your part. Clean that leather armor today, so it has an appearance to match my belts.”
Den nods. “Will do. Already cleaned the sword, as you can tell.”
“And when you wrap the blade, do be quite careful. I shall be expecting it returned in equal condition,” the musician adds, then after a moment, smirks and corrects himself, “Perhaps a tad more dirty, but I do understand the difficulties you oft have with cleanliness.”
Denlo chuckles, shaking his head. “Just for that, I’m going to nick it. Just a little, because we both know you won’t notice until it’s too late.”
Comments