Kindred

There weren’t always dragons in the valley. Historically, dragons are meant to be protectors of us mere mortals, but after the Deities’ Demise, they fell into a life of seclusion. This intrepid young reporter has never seen a dragon on their travels, but with more sightings every da–

The young tiefling’s eyes glaze over and drift off the outdated tabloid, suddenly staring at a wall of moldy wood. “I’m so hungry” he thinks to himself, “I even miss Kimon’s bland pancakes… I wonder if any of them realize I’m gone? Maybe when it occurs to them they suddenly don’t have anyone to… I suppose it’s only right I’m alone in this cell.” Like falling down a slippery slope, his mind begins to be bombarded with intrusive thoughts: “I couldn’t do anything… I’m worthless… I contribute nothing… I’m lo—”

His thoughts are interrupted by the sound of bombastic laughter, a sudden break from the creaking of water against wood and rattling chains. “Those two… again?” he looks over in the darkness of the ship, towards the sound, presumably in the cell across from his. “How can they be laughing? Don’t they know we’re all going to be bought and sold when we make it to Nou Ostihna tomorrow?” The tiefling drops the tabloid and finds his way to his bed. He recalls bits and pieces of conversations that he’s overheard from across the way while staring at the wooden ceiling; something about a plan with a key, another about a sister from awhile back. He lets out a heavy sigh, “If they’re planning an escape, I doubt there’s anything I could do. I should just let it play out, if I die at the hands of some abusive master, it’ll be what I deserve.” Self-deprecation continues to lull him to sleep.

The tiefling is startled awake as his body hits the moldy floor, an occurrence that happens more often than he’d care to admit, unaccustomed to life on the sea. He notes to himself how nobody came to wake him up, remembering that his captors have been waking them all up bright and early every morning with the ringing of a bell. Someone has been down somewhat recently, however, evident by the plate of bread and moldy cheese left at the front of his cell.

The tiefling scarfs down the rye bread and cheese, gulps the water down, and checks his reflection in a larger shard of glass left, making adjustments as best he can to look approachable. It’s not until he exits his cell that he realizes the two in the cell across from him are gone, along with the rest of his fellow slaves-to-be. “I wonder… no, I don’t care, I need to just make it off this ship and find someone kind to buy me” he thinks to himself, determined to make the most that fate’s left him. “I can figure out how to survive from there.” The tiefling walks upwards onto the deck, ready for whatever tasks are waiting for him.

His reluctantly high spirits are dashed when he notices an unnaturally quick change to the weather, blue skies changing to black-purple clouds in the time it takes for him to climb the stairs. A storm, he reasons, but even that presumption loses its hold as a swirl of blue, green, and purple winds begin enveloping the ship, heavily obscuring all vision outside of the ship’s deck. Commands are shouted, heavy footfalls run across the deck, and panic settles into all the sailors and slaves while heavy winds begin cutting into wood and flesh, lead by a multitude of incorporeal undead from the Ethereal Shore that wail and curse through the fog.

The wind draws blood from the tiefling’s face, directly below his eye, and his shirt he’d tried to make presentable is now slit in places. “W-what is…” the tiefling thinks, eyes wide and mouth agape, fear creeping across his face as he stumbles across the deck.

Standing there, stunned, he’s grounded back to reality by a sailor crashing into him, screaming “What’r’ya doin’?! Find cover, we ain’t equipped t’ fight an Ether Squall!”

Attempting to shake away the fear, the tiefling runs across the deck, towards the captain’s cabin, hoping it’s fortified enough to handle the squall. Spectral blades slice at his skin and ghostly screams rattle his mind as he stumbles over corpses and splintered wood, dodging the undead as best he can. He trips and falls, groaning in pain as he notices a familiar face: the ashen skinned half-elf that was in the cell across from his, their laughter always a strange occurrence in such a dreary setting. They’re standing calmly amidst the chaos, a sly grin across their face as they stare down the specter of a pirate who is slowly bringing an ethereal blade up to the half-elf’s neck.

In a moment of uncharacteristic confidence (or maybe stupidity), the tiefling pulls back on the collar of the half-elf just as the ghostly pirate slices where their neck was, saving them not a moment too soon from becoming a specter themself. They groan, “Did you just… interrupt my moment?” they say, visibly frustrated, their brow raised under the eyepatch covering their left eye.

“Moment?” the tiefling studies the half-elf, curiously, but not for too long before the specter wails again and charges, interrupted yet again, this time by a right hook punch. The tiefling recognizes him as the dreamer who shared his cell with the now annoyed half-elf.

“Radu! This is not the time for your suicidal theatrics! we need to find a way off the ship, now!” the dreamer yells at the half-elf, the dreamer’s dark turquois, partially scaled skin adding to his intimidating presence.

Radu sighs, “Here I was hoping that a slave ship would be the easiest way to get across the Selean Sea,” they shrug, “Alas, one can scarcely plan for the supernatural, right, Zmitra?”

“Um… did you punch that ghost?” the tiefling says, astonished.

Zmitra holds up his hand, gesturing towards a pair of lead knuckles. The tiefling narrowly dodges another slash by the same pirate, which Zmitra then throws another fist at, dissipating the creature into mist the same color as the squall around the ship. He adjusts his glasses, seemingly unphased by the chaos around him. The tiefling continues to stare at Zmitra, confused.

“Zmitra~! I got the door to the captain’s room open!” Radu yells from a distance away over the panic and screams. Zmitra begins to make his way over to them.

“Wait! Take me with you!” the tiefling screams. “I don’t think I can protect myself” he says, lowering his voice. Zmitra looks his way before continuing over to Radu, which the tiefling quickly jumps to his feet and runs over to these mysterious two. Radu kicks the door open with a bow while Zmitra sighs exasperatedly.

“Howdy! We’s sum simple slaves lookin’ fer shelter from da storm outside, if you dun’ mind helpin’ us, sir” Radu says with a falsified accent. Behind the trio, numerous specters and wraiths, seemingly uncaring of their current quarry now, have begun to charge towards the captain’s cabin.

The tiefling, at the back of the group, holds out his arms in a last ditch effort to block their pursuers. In a split moment of desperation, there’s a blast of monochromatic energy from his hands that resonates with the space in front of him. Seemingly from nowhere, an ethereal barrier of spikes, gnarled roots, and vines fills up the space of the doorway, taking the appearance of a spiny shield that pierces the immaterial invaders, diffusing them. Opening one eye, then another, looking at his hands astonished he mumbles “I’m getting sick of all this weird shit happening at once.”

“My, my, a tiefling and able to use magical abilities? No wonder you were taken” Radu says with an interested smile, completely indifferent to the captain and her cabin now. “What do you call yourself, kid?”

“Nyx” he says, almost shamefully, “that’s what they called me in Irytheios.” Meanwhile, Zmitra approaches the captain, who sits across the room in an ornate throne behind a desk, which is connected to the now destroyed front doors by a red rug with golden filigree. The cabin is flanked on either side by shelves of knick knacks and weapons, and the desk itself has papers and coins strewn across it. Behind the captain, through a wall-to-wall window, the light of the Ether Squall silhouettes her.

“Pardon the intrusion, captain, but we’re looking for shelter from the storm outside, as my associate stated previously. Might we stay here for some time? Until the storm passes outside?” Zmitra says, “In fact, wouldn’t it be best to gather as many of your crew as possible in here? This is the most fortified room on the ship” he continues, motioning towards the metal reinforcements on the wood.

“Aye, s’ppose it’d be the best decision, wouldn’t it?” the captain says, rising upwards from her seat, “Although, you’re making a heavy assumption that I want you slaves to survive this ordeal…” there’s a burst of light from the storm that illuminates the dimly lit cabin, revealing the captain in full. A dark skinned woman wearing a high-collared coat, gloves, and knee-high boots. Her appearance belies a sinister nature as her skin is translucent in some places, revealing skeleton and tendons. “Power is much more valuable than gold, and, as it turns out, sacrificing magical folk to an Ether Squall of my own makin’ is a fun way to gain more” she says, her sinister grin on one side mirrored by the left side of her face becoming more ethereal and grotesque, pieces of incorporeal skin hanging off of her bare mandible.

“Oh! Interesting! A pirate captain turned Fane Spirit” Radu exclaims, now interested in the matter at hand. “Seems like we’ve got a good fight on our hands. Get ready, kid” they say, giving Nyx a wink.