When Renalt and Felazo return to the Ekzokia and prepare it to leave the empty ship behind, the musician notes that the holy sister is already hard at work, studying the enchanted wooden plaque that Felazo had picked up at the beginning of their looting process. Renalt, still holding the box of magically potent drugs close, approaches the other magic items. And as the Ekzokia begins to drift away from the other ship, Felazo turns to his crewmates. “Welp, I’ve got a lot of time staring at magic things ahead of me.” He quickly casts a summoning spell of the basic sort, then the half-existent non-entity-being it creates opens the door to the ship and moves within. “If anyone wishes to join me, feel free. I will likely be double checking your work, but that’s mostly because I’m paranoid and full of myself.”
Denlo turns to Renalt, still holding onto the box. “Help,” the Elfi’ika offers, “I’ll stash it.”
Renalt smiles his false smile, for the benefit of the rest of the crew, then nods to his criminal compatriot. “Very well,” he replies, then quickly adds, “Do be careful with it, ‘tis my favorite box.”
Den chuckles and takes the tin box from his hands, then heads down into the bowels of the ship. Alessari, watching the exchange carefully, swiftly follows the killer down. “That shall indubitably spell trouble. Whether it be of the fun variety or the more violent sort does remain to be seen,” Renalt mutters to himself as approaches the pile of things they’ve laid out on the Ekzokia’s deck. He heads right for the armor. Not that he particularly needs the armor, but if they are too keep it, he is the only one of the crew that uses studded leather. And it calls to him. Pulling it to him, he gets to work examining it, looking it over, recalling his old stories and whispered magical secrets that might aid him in recollecting any information about the object. Beside him, Felazo begins looking at the rings, as being rings separated from the generic jewelry, they almost certainly contain some kind of powerful magic.
As they begin their examinations, Sister Hilan nods. “I believe this will be quite useful, seeing as we are approaching a likely haunted tomb,” she says to us. “But I am unsure whom it would provide the most benefit for.” Placing the wooden square on the deck of the boat, she moves on to the embroidered silk bag.
Renalt finishes examining the armor. He can see why he felt it call to him. It likely was. The armor is somewhere halfway between blessed and cursed. Blessed by a powerful devil, one that held nigh divine influence. It could help when needed, but always at a cost. Cautious of such influences, he places it aside. It would quite likely be far too useful for him to pass up, but he isn’t one to dive into such a deal without a night’s contemplation at the very least. He offers up his interpretation to the others. “The armor be itself both cursed and blessed in equal parts. Quite powerful and potent, but possibly problematically so.” He turned to the box of alcohol. Another of his specialities.
Felazo, seeing what the others are doing and finishing his own examination of the box of rings, chimes in. “The platinum ring should be most useful for me. You don’t play in the realm of the arcane, right? The glass one on the other hand should help someone who’s watchful see some of that which isn’t there.” He places the pair of rings on the deck, before putting the platinum ring on. Renalt nods at that. Appropriate, he supposes, given Felazo is their captain. Then, Renalt returns to his examination.
The good Sister Hilan tosses the bag back onto the pile, not with things they’ve figured out. “It is magical, for certain, but I can’t quite grasp what. Beyond my humble ken, I suppose.” She picks up the strange metal sphere, looking it over.
After a few moments Renalt puts down the alcohol. “The somewhat viscous red wine is itself bloodwine. ‘Tis quite valuable, to the right buyer. And, to one who would be not grossed out by the drinking of blood, it can be soothing. The other bottle holds within some sort of absinthe, though I am not quite able to tell if that sort is Elfish or Gnomish. Seeing as one of those is a powerful hallucinogen, I must humbly recommend it not be consumed until an expert might be consulted.” Renalt picks up the bag with a sigh. He knows what this is in general, but the amount it can hold varies wildly. Which might it be, the musician wonders, turning the bag over and running it between his fingers. As he works, he notices Felazo pull the bottle of absinthe over to his side, where his alchemy tools are out and testing the other liquids already.
Hilan holds the ball of metal in her gloved hand and looks at the others. “No one else aboard the Ekzokia wears metal, right?” she muses.
“Indeed,” Felazo replies.
Without explaining anything, she places the strange sphere on to her armor, where it seems to stick and spread out a bit.
“Well if we be merely claiming items of use, that cursed armor seems mighty intriguing for mine own skills,” Renalt says with a smile.
Felazo gestured in assent as he placed the small trio of red tonics with the other identified items. “They’re only tonics to aid in recovering from wounds,” he said, “Though the absinthe is Elfish, so you don’t need to worry about the hallucinogenic aspect.”
Renalt chuckles ever so slightly as he turns his bag inside out. A fancy dress falls out from it. Someone was planning on attending a party, though the bag being in the hold means it was likely one of the pirate’s former victims. Flipping the embroidered sack back around and returning the dress to the bag, he sighs. “This merely be a bag, though it is able to contain much more than it seems. Likely more than we shall need it to contain, at least for the time being.”
As Renalt picks up his new armor, Felazo begins to intently go over their hard work, as well as catalogue the non-magical random things they picked up. The musician turns to face the holy woman. “Shall we descend to our evening rests, pious one?”
Sister Hilan nods. “I believe our work is completed here,” she says standing. Felazo once again gestures absentmindedly in assent. The pair walk down the stairs, into the belly of the Ekzokia. Down the stairs, they see each of their compatriots, one lying down and one seated, staring at one another. The box of drugs, sitting in Denlo’s arms unhidden.
“Truly, you two?” Renalt says, baffled. With a strum of his lute, he sings a tonal song, one of forced restfulness. Then, to Sister Hilan, he adds, “Apologies, good sister, but I’m going to hide this. ‘Tis the only way either of these stubborn fools shalt ever again actually do what they must and should.”
“What is it?” she asks.
Renalt smiles. “Intoxicants, of a specific and erotic variety. Best stay hidden away safe, as I’m sure you understand.”
Hilan nods, and taking that as permission, Renalt lifts the box out from the killer’s grip and takes it over to the corner. Stepping around, he listens for the slightest creak to indicate a flaw. Finding one, he carefully pulls up the single loose board, finding a hollow space beneath and sliding the box within. He replaces the board in its proper spot. Then, to keep it hidden, he shifts some of the empty junk in the belly of their new ship atop the loose plank.
As he is doing that, Hilan walks over to Alessari’s sleeping form, slumped over atop a stool. Shaking her head, the sister carefully lifts the huntress up, making sure not to disturb the sleep, and carries her to one of the hammocks. Laying her down, Hilan turns back to face the bard just as he begins repositioning the junk in the corner of the room. “All hidden?” she asks.
“Hopefully,” Renalt replies.
“Then let’s head to rest and tell the others about our finds in the morning.” And the Human woman begins the process of doffing her newly added upon metal armor.
But Renalt doesn’t go to sleep. He, too, doffs his armor just like Hilan. But his armor is much less complex to remove. And he lies down in a hammock of his own. But he does not rest. He waits. He waits past when Hilan takes off her armor, past when the holy woman lies down. He waits until all the breathing in the room is even. Then he quietly sits back up. Looking at the armor, the cursed armor, he takes a deep breath. Then, carefully, he puts the armor on. He lets his own energy out into the armor, and the armor’s energy flows back into him. As it does, he feels luckier. Better at just about anything he puts his mind to. He smiles as the energy engulfs him. And then, with a well practiced force of will, he overwhelms the coming waves of power. Tames it. And the two become one. The first time, he wants to make sure no one is watching. Just in case something unfortunate happens. Something comes out of him. But nothing does but some sweat. And he gets the feeling this process will be much smoother in the future. Then, he takes the armor off and heads up above decks in his sleeping clothes.
Felazo is still cataloging the items as he walks up. The captain doesn’t stop or turn to greet him. “Trouble sleeping?” the Elf asks the Human.
Renalt answers the man with a vague enough answer that he feels the need to hope it will be considered sufficient. “With the surly scion sleeping and so soon subsequent to a struggle, this humble bard assumed a pair of attentive eyes above might be appreciated. ‘Twas I wrong, clever captain?”
Felazo, however, is far too busy with more important matters to care. More important in his mind, in any case. Because the Sea Elf is cataloguing his new goods. The rocks and the silver. “Oh, how much would you guess the bag holds,” Felazo wonders aloud.
Renalt smiles. “My best estimate would place that at around forty stone, though I myself would be hesitant to put more than thirty in, just in case the weights are off. Because overloading one such satchel is bad for those things one decides to hold within.”
“Thirty it is,” Felazo says, “That will make ferrying things back from a bout of aggressive archeology much easier to plan. And execute for that matter. Less hassle to deal with. Yes.” He returns to the somewhat intense work of putting like rocks beside one another, weighing the piles, and labeling them.
The musician, for his part, heads to the bow and looks outward, in the direction the other pirate ship fled earlier. And taking out his lute, he sits down on the rail at the bow, looking out towards the empty horizon. Then he begins to strum. To hum, and to pass the time. Because while he was partly being honest about wanting someone up top to keep an eye out for danger, Felazo was also right. There is a buzzing within that he doubts he could get to sleep now if he wanted to. He watches, staring out into the darkness. No lights but their own single lantern on the mast. No noises save the rushing of water all around, the slight creaking of the ship, and the crashing of the occasional wave against their hull. And, of course, his song. Once Felazo moves into his quarters, Renalt walks over and closes the lantern, cutting off the air and letting the flame die. As it’s dying, he returns to his seat on the bow. And to his chords. Slowly he tunes everything else out, leaving only his song as he stares out into the darkness, looking for the barest hint of light. And as he plays, watches, and waits, none arrive. Not until the soft glow of morning light pours out over the horizon.
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