Board Thread:Roleplaying/@comment-25828117-20191205184926/@comment-5583506-20191208034834

The Pale Coil was currently destined for Anvil, but had its home port in Solitude, Skyrim. She was a fine vessel that had completed many voyages and charted even some of the more recluse waters surrounding Tamriel. Commandeered by Captain Arnolf Greytooth they had rounded Stros M'kai a few days ago, and were just passing by the island of Stirk. Though the weather was relatively calm, the sky was grey, and the rolling waves of the Abecean Sea patted hard against the hull of the ship, just barely shrouded in a thin mist.

Bad omen, Arnolf reflected with a snort.

They had gotten a good trade from Daggerfall and were now more than eager to further the shipment to the needy people of Anvil... at twice the price of course.

"These winds chill me to the bones, sire", Martinus said.

The captain just looked curiously at his mate with a sunken eye. The young Imperial was just fresh out of naval basics, and it showed that this had been his very first voyage. In a way Arnolf sort of found it endearing how some mild sea breezes could affect the lad so much.

He should spend more time traversing the Sea of Ghosts, he thought.

"Ugolin!" the captain roared, looking up at the crow's nest. "Any sign of land?"

"Nay, cap'n", the smart Bosmer called out from above. "But I do see ... driftwood! Lots of it, in fact!"

''Driftwood? This far out?''

Arnolf wandered about over to the prow of the ship to get a better look, not that he'd need to. Just in the corner of his eye over the railing he would find the sea littered with pieces of wood.

''Boards ... A wreckage ...''

"Eyes sharp, men!" Arnolf ordered his crewmates. "We may be looking at the result of some unfortunates claimed by the sea."

Judging by how they were floating and the fresh smell of tar, still pervading the air, the incident must have occurred not too long ago. But the remains were too spread out, indicating that the site of the wreckage must have been further out and that the waves had most likely carried the pieces for days, slowly rolling them towards land.

"A hellish sight", a Dunmer crewmate mused. "What do you reckon happened, cap'n?"

Arnolf shook his head. "I don't know. Could be the victims of pirates, or maybe pirates themselves. In either case, a bad way to go."

There were no songs or voices to be heard from beneath the waves.

She felt drowsy. And sleepy. Her body ached. Every joint and fiber of her was in pain. She was cold too. Colder than usual. She couldn't breathe as her chest felt heavy. A weight was crushing her down as she tumbled about in a dreamless slumber – the ocean on her shoulders.

She tried to force open her eyes, but found that she was rather content with having them closed. She couldn't see anything down here either way. There was a milky darkness before her eyes; ever-shifting shadows as the waves rolled over her, making her bob up and down like a cork on the surface.

She was so tired. She just wanted to get some sleep. Even with her head half-submerged, facing the unfathomable depths of the abyss below, she wanted to sleep. Maybe if she just closed her eyes again, took a deep breath, she would be fine again. As alert as a preying hawk.

A wave came crashing down over her, forcing her under. More cold. She was completely embraced by the void surrounding her. A small, dancing flicker of light on the veiled, shifting surface above her made her push through, only to shortly after be swallowed by the darkness again.

It seemed to have waited for her, wanted to claim her as its own for the longest of times, and she was ever so eager to just let it. Yet somehow she couldn't stay down as the uneven surface constantly changed, forcing her back up again, as if even the sea itself rejected her.

"THERE!" Ugolin cried from the crow's nest. "Man overboard!"

Arnolf took note of the dark figure bobbing up and down amongst the waves, and signaled for the young Imperial. "Hard to port, Martinus! Hard to port!"

The young lad rotated the steering wheel as the ship slowly came crawling up side by side with the figure.

"Hoist him up, lads!" the captain ordered and watched as his crew made the best of efforts to bring the shipwrecked survivor onto deck.

They were all surprised to find out that the survivor was not a man at all, but a woman. And a Khajiit at that. Her fur was dark, but there were traces on the wet fur that it had been badly singed in some places, indicating a fire or the like had most likely forced her overboard. She didn't seem to be conscious.

"Is she dead?" a Breton asked.

"Would be a bad omen if she was", the Dunmer stated. "Now what the hell was she doing all the way out there?"

Captain Arnolf signaled for the ship's healer Ravin to tend to the survivor, though he definitely didn't like the looks of this. A woman aboard a ship meant bad luck, but there were also the circumstances behind her sudden appearance. A shipwreck itself meant bad business. And then there was something about her appearance that made him feel at unease. Though he wouldn't say that she was ugly, not even by Khajiiti standards, there was something uncanny about the way she looked. Almost as if she hadn't even been alive before the sea had claimed her. When the healer examined her eyes, they would find a pair of rolled back yellowish-white eyes that didn't look particularly healthy, and almost had an eerie glow to them.

As the healer examined her further, the Khajiit all of a sudden spat up the half the ocean and gave the crew a scare for life. She looked like a drowned ghost come back to life, or more appropriately a drowned cat. She begrudgingly and slowly rolled over on her elbows, struggling to force herself up, before slipping and landing chin-down against the deck with a defeated sigh. More water came oozing out from the corner of her mouth, and in there gleamed her sharp canines.

"Vampire!" the Dunmer exclaimed. "Quick! Fetch a stake!"

"Hold it!" the healer called out, not willing to rush to conclusions. "She is no vampire. The sun would have taken her without anything to cover herself with."

"There is no sun out right now", the Dunmer insisted. "Quick we must be rid off this evil!"

"We will do no such thing", Captain Arnolf snorted and strode past his crew and up to the face of the Khajiit crawling about on the deck. "You there, cat. Can you hear me?"

The woman just gave out a vague noise, reminiscent to that of a bursting bubble. It was up to anyone's interpretation whether it was a yes or a no, or neither and she was completely deaf. So far she didn't seem to have even acknowledged them or the fact that she was safe and rescued.

"Can you hear me?" Arnolf repeated sternly. "Tap with your finger against the deck if you can."

The Khajiit trembled. Only the Divines knew for how long she had been out there. If it hadn't been for the thick coat of fur providing her with some insulation, she would have most likely perished from hypothermia. She was weak and completely drenched. Probably hadn't eaten anything for days. Despite all that, she seemed to be aware of the captain's request and so lightly tapped with her finger against the deck.

"Good", the captain nodded. "That's a start. We'll talk more once you are up and about. I want an explanation for ..." He looked her over. " ... all of this."

He motioned for two crewmembers to take her by the arms, which prompted some response from her in the form of vague whimpers and painful lamentations. She seemed very reluctant to be approached or even touched, but didn't have the strength to resist. But the way she turned and twisted in their grip implied she was in some sort of pain or physical discomfort, despite there not being any exterior damage apart from the singed parts of her fur.

As the mates dragged her off towards the cabins, they took note of the fact that she was armed. It was a miracle she had managed to keep a short bow strapped to her back, as well as a pair of two unindentified short blades.

But that wasn't what worried Captain Arnolf the most. Once her back became exposed he took note of the matted pattern just between her shoulder-blades. Even with her fur all drenched it wasn't hard to take note of the skull with the black hand.

And the captain was an experienced and learned man, knowing fully well from where he would recognize that symbol...