Indebted (working title)

Port In A Storm (part 1)

There was an eerie silence before it started; it came with a stillness like the world had stopped its spin. Pale white pupil-less eyes stared at the Pirate schooner in the distance without blinking, without feeling. Forty hearts beat as one, because they all belonged to one. Tempest looked upon her creations with pride. She did not know if they were more than human now... or less, but it didn't matter, she knew they were hers, and unlike the countless beasts of the earth that did not have this distinction, she knew she loved them.

Their bones had cracked and reformed harder, "Everything has a cost", she'd told them. Their skin turned hard and glossy like the inside of sea shells, and their blank eyes caught the sun's rays, like polished pearls. They were toys now, things to be owned and used until they were broken or ceased to be entertaining. They lined the deck like ants, holding swords and pistols. In the center of the group, Zion gripped the ships banister so tightly that the wood began to splinter within his grip. He'd have to learn to show restraint with this enhanced abilities, but not today, today was about letting go.

"Hear it comes", said Amobi. In the distance the mortar fired a loud boom and a plume of smoke just barely visible on the schooner's deck. Heavy iron balls launched into the air, from hundreds of yards away. The first came down near the starboard bow, it whistled through the air as it plummeted and it landed with a bang and the cut off scream of a man who took too long trying to get out of the way. Splintered wood and dust shot up in a cloud, and what was left of the man, an arm a shoulder, half of a face too young too die, twitched near the gaping wound in the Almsgiver's deck.

Adaeze turned the ship's wheel nearly ripping it from its housing with her newfound strength. The waves beneath the Almsgiver complied, cradling the ship in a cushion of rising sea and forcing it to turn hard, pointing its nose at the Red Hand in seconds. The hole in Almsgiver's deck began to repair itself, its jagged edges turned black and a dark tar like substance stretched across the gap before hardening into a slightly raised carapace, like a scab on a healing wound.

The ship was a living thing now and like most living things with the capacity to feel, it did not take kindly to the sensation of pain. Fueled by rage and magic, the Almsgiver charged, parting the sea before it and leaving massive waves in its wake. The crew stumbled at first but as the ship reached ramming speed, they found their footing.

The attacking frigate was close now. Ekon had climbed to the top of the crow's nest and was watching the Red Hand with a spy glass. He estimated the that the pirate crew outnumbered the Almsgiver's by fifteen to twenty men, but that wasn't all he noticed. The way these men scrambled, the desperation in their gestures, they were afraid. The Almsgiver was racing towards their broadside with speed the likes of which no sailor had ever seen, and there was not a vessel afloat that could move fast enough to dodge her.

Zion stood near the helm, his grip tight around the hilts of his two blades. His body felt different now, like his mind and muscles were worlds apart, like the thoughts that once commanded his body were now little more than suggestions passing through a barrier he could neither understand nor describe. HE lifted his arm mostly to see if he was free to do so of his own accord, and stared at the crystalline shell that had replaced his skin. Behind him, Amobi knelt , supporting his hulking frame with his war club. He was mumbling something, unintelligible to Zion at first but then... painfully familiar. He felt tears forming behind his blank eyes, and was surprised to find that even like this... even as a monster, he could still cry. The words were spoken slowly and without rhythm, like Amobi was barely recalling them as they were recited... it was a prayer, the travelers prayer, but it was more than that. They were lyrics to a song, a lullaby, a war cry, a requiem for the lost...

"If I cannot find a respite... no port inside this storm", Said Amobi,

Zion saw himself on a small boat, being pelted by rain, a man who he'd been foolish enough to call a friend was bleeding from a sword wound to the chest and Zion was nervously mumbling the prayer as he fought against the waves.