Dead God's Chest[Semi-Open]

[Klynzahr]

        It was a quiet evening in blacksmith’s row. The last forges had been doused for the night, leaving the lull of the sea to sing solo. Most of the smiths had long since made their way down to the old bar but a handful of late closers remained, tidying their storefronts and offering their nightly prayers to Bryegot.

 

       Iyrnahct was up late, sealing and labeling a massive shipment of axe heads bound for the Gridanian botanists’ guild. Jobs like this were typically left to one of his boys but they had begged to spend their evening with two new carpentry apprentices from the drydock. Apparently one of them owned a particularly elegant greataxe. The knock at his door took the old smith by surprise, but he was far more startled to hear a female voice calling him by the long forgotten nickname. “Oh Ernie!”  

 

       As he pulled the door open, the tiny form of Daniwyda scurried inside out of the wind. It took him a moment to recognize the woman, without her heavy armour and axe, but one glance at her worn green face jogged his memory back sharply. “Oh is’ ye lass, I’ve yer chainmail aready.” He blurted in surprise, forgetting to keep a check on his northern accent. However the odd dialect seemed to give Daniwyda no pause. “I’d hoped ye would. Sorry ter call back so late. I thought we might talk a wee bit.”

 

      The blacksmith pulled his eyes away from her with some difficulty, retrieving her freshly repaired chain coat from behind the counter. It was more than the smiles of a strong and pretty woman, which he had long since believed himself immune to. Something in Daniwyda’s dark grey eyes and sharp face stirred deep memories that he could never exactly place. Each time she passed through the town Iyrnahct found himself wondering for days when and where they had met before, before reluctantly concluding that they never had.

 

        While she examined his work, the blacksmith found himself examining her yet again, with a puzzled smile. Eventually she caught his eye and laughed, sending the old man’s heart fluttering like a schoolboy’s. “Ye look tired, Ernie.” She told him, placing the payment firmly in his hand. “When’s the last time ye’ve been out ter relax over a drink?”

 

     “Oh I donna gerr’out oft’ese days” He answered quickly, forcing his thoughts back to the business at hand. “I’se a shipment good as done ternight…”

 

     “Well ye should. I’ll pick up the tab?” Her dark eyes looked up at him, with an inviting smile, but underneath Iyrnahct could detect a low current of sadness. It was a look that touched him with a familiar pang. He knew instantly that she had lost someone very close.

 

      “Then I’ll jus’ have ter set th’locks an’ hove to.” He replied, folding and packaging the chainmail tenderly. He tucked Dani’s package under her arm and offered the small woman his elbow for the walk, only to pause just outside the door.

 

    “Why’d ye call me ‘at?”

 

    “Call ye what?”

 

     “Ernie. No one be callin’ me Ernie since… well not fer a good long while.”

 

     “Not sure,” She smiled up at the towering smith. “Reckon it just felt like it belonged ter ye.”

 

 

____________________________________________________________________________

 

       They arrived home in the small hours, flushed, and still singing the sad chorus of ’Three Fishers’.  Iyrnahct offered Dani a hammock, with gentlemanly grace. Then stole a kiss when refused. She lingered for a few moments just outside the door before starting out on the long hike to the strand.

 

        Fifteen minutes out from the town, Captain Daniwyda Merlfalkwyn was slowly sobering up humming Three Fishers softly to herself, when the sudden rush of footsteps brought her great axe to hand. The three figures behind her instantly ceased their charge, throwing their hands in the air. She could make out two Sea Wolves and a Midlander, all carrying sea bags and axes. From their silhouettes in the night, she knew they were little more than boys.

 

       “Mam, Please wait! We’ve heard yer Captain o’ a privateer frigate” Their leader called out breathlessly, “We want ter sail with ye!”

 

       As he stepped closer, the boy lifted a lantern and Captain Merlfalkwyn felt her heart leap into her throat. The boy staring eagerly down at her was Merlanka Iyrnachtsyn, the blacksmith’s elder son. The trio begged eagerly, while she wrestled with her conscience. Finally the captain quietly asked “Do yer families know?”

 

     “Yes!” Merlanka blurted, unaware that his young face could be read like a book.

 

      Captain Merlfalkwyn hesitated for a moment more but Merlanka’s eager face woke a deep motherly instinct, which could not be silenced. “Alright,” She sighed “I’ll take ye on. Step quick now.” Towering over his new Captain, Merlanka’s boyish face broke into a massive grin, exactly like his father’s. Daniwyda lead the trio down to her skiff, wondering duly if she would ever have the courage to face Iyrnahct after this.

[Grave]

The captain’s quarters swayed back and forth, with the lull of the hidden bay’s gentle waves. Behind a polished and well-made desk, sat a small Hyur, with his feet resting atop a stack of paperwork. His hand moved lazily over a small candle, feeling its warmth and intently studying every flicker and sway of the flame. The normally bright and elegant windows at the rear of the cabin were covered in blankets to keep the harsh rays of sun away from the aching of his hung over mind.

 

The single hard knock came at no surprise to the Captain of the Eyritrachen. Leveling his white gaze on the door, he cleared his throat and spoke up. “Aye, aye..Welcome’board an’back, Khanafyr.”

 

The giant Hellsguard stooped to step inside, his eyes blinking quickly to adjust to the darkness of the room as he spoke in a booming deep voice. “..See ye found th’bottles I was savin’ fer th’crew’s next victory, Cap’n..Do’nae fault ye though. What with th’luck th’winds be pushin’ at us lately..” He trailed off, his crooked nose wrinkling as he scratched the back of his neck. “..Ye..Ye be havin’ more?” His usual broad smile appeared forced as he looked over to his Captain. “Ye might be needin’ it.”

 

Ginshaw sighed and swept his hand over the candle once more before standing to his full height of five fulm six. His white eyes piercing the Hellsguard as though the difference in their size was hardly worthy of note. “..I only’ad m’self a bottle with th’officer o’th’watch last eve..Nothin’ to get yer ‘ead twistin’ over.” His head shook slowly as he moved around the desk and leaned back against it, crossing his arms over oriental armor. “..But’at look on yer face ain’t got shite to do with what I been doin’ on m’off time... does it.”

 

Khanafyr shook his head slowly, still forcing his broad smile. He looked around the dark cabin, fidgeting under Ginshaw’s gaze. “..Nae, Cap’n Iyrnachtsyn..Nae..” His booming voice lowered as he finally moved to pluck a rolled up letter from the inside of his coat and offer it over. “..Words..From yer Da.” The smile finally faded as the Captain took the letter from him. “..Seemed’n a right panic..” He paused, clearing his throat. “Everythin’ else though I can claim be straight’n narrow from the Isles, got all th’supplies ye or--.”

 

An abrupt gesture from the Ginshaw cut off the giant Hellsguard mid sentence.. Quickly braking the leather tie holding the scroll closed, the Doman began to read. His mouth formed each word, mumbling  softly, then freezing. His jaw tightened and the parchment crumpled in his fist. Shaking his head slowly, Ginshaw muttered through clenched teeth.  “..Th’fuckin’ idiot o’a kid.” He circled back around his desk, sitting down heavily with a sigh, and began rereading the letter under the candle-light.

 

Khanafyr shifted from foot to foot as he watched his Captain’s reactions, his brows furrowing as he followed Ginshaw across the floor and halted in front of the desk. Khanafyr craned his head to peer down at the words, his own frown deepening.

 

“..But..Why?!”

 

The giant’s booming whisper betrayed his surveillance. His massive frame started, as he looked up from the paper. Only to be met with the icy cold, white-eyed stare of Captain Ginshaw Iyrnachtsyn. A broad abashed smile formed.

 

“..Er..’m sorry, Cap’n..Curious, ye see..Ha-ha-harr..” he muttered, the nervous laughter cutting off as he took a noticeable step away. “..But..I mean, th’lad’s old’nuff to start makin’ mistakes like’at, eh?” His smile twitched as Ginshaw’s own fox-like grin began to form slyly. “..B-But..I mean..S’stupid o’im, still! Jest! ..Er..” The Hellguard finally fell silent as he bowed his head submissively.

 

“..Khanafyr..I made ye Quartermaster fer yer grace with th’lists an’numbers, not to be givin’ me yer personal take on th’affairs o’m’blood an’kin.”

 

Ginshaw spoke softly, lifting his right arm stiffly to smooth over his brown and blond top knotted hair. “ ‘Owever! Ye speak sense on’is..That bloody brother o’mine has been rearin’ to seek out fame an’fortune fer years now, jest took a swift kick an’ a rumor ter have’im runnin’ fer th’false pretenders o’th’past..”

 

He paused, leaning forward to snag a opened bottle, giving it a sloshing shake, before pouring himself and Knanafyr a glass. “I’ve’eard the tongue waggles o’folk wantin’ to bring th’ol’Ways o’piracy back, to defy what our lovely Storm-Admiral has done fer us..Jest never thought m’own kin would be stupid’nuff to take th’bite..” Lifting his drink, he took a quick swig as he leaned back in his chair, frowning thoughtfully.

 

With a step forward, the Hellsguard spun one of the spare chairs in front of the desk and sat down heavily. Resting his elbows on the back of the small chair, he spoke softly. “Iffin’ I may, Cap’n..?” He ventured, taking his own glass between the thick digits of his left hand and holding it gently. “..Th’worst th’lad could be gettin’ is a rough beatin’ an’long swim to th’coast..Though..” He took a drink himself, finishing off the glass in a single swig. “..There be th’off chance’e could be caught up’n th’fued brewin’, ‘eard tale pirates be unitin’ under a new flag with their sights on th’ol’ports o’our Limsa..”

 

Ginshaw sighed again, taking another healthy swig from his glass as he slid the bottle to his Quartermaster. “So once they be satisfied with bullyin’ fishin’ folk or coastal villages, they’ll be wantin’ to take th’good life an’unity we be havin’ in Limsa  an’givin’ it to th’Whirl..Sounds’ right likely fer their kind.” The Doman nodded slowly, lifting his right hand to pinch the bridge of his nose. “..Our crew be rightly filled with m’native country folk, ‘bout’ow many o’em be workin’ th’deck an’sails, Khana?”

 

“..I’d be sayin’bout..” The Quartermaster frowned thoughtfully, reaching up to scratch his stubbled jaw. “..Nearly less’n’alf our ‘ands, Cap’n. Why?”

 

“..’cause, Mister Coldsteel, we’re gonna be needin’ to find spots fer’em on neighborin’ ships to keep th’fight on’em Imperial dogs.” Captain Iyrnachtsyn said softly, leveling his gaze on the Hellsguard as a devilish smile began to form. “..I be a good son, an’when my Da pleads fer aid. He’ll always get it.”

 

Khanafyr blinked, staring at the Captain in unfeigned shock. “..Ye swore to not leave ’ese Doman shores till th’Effort be done, sir..Ye can’nae be meanin’..”

 

“We’re goin’ home, Mister Coldsteel. Call th’Captain’s o’th’New Dawn an’ Death’s Door, they’ll be gettin’ our Doman allies an’th’rest be returnin’ with us. We’ave rabble to ‘unt an’a brother to save.”

 

The door to his cabin closed and shortly after the pounding feet of activity and the roaring of his Quartermaster could be heard shouting his orders, shortly followed by the signaling horn to the other nearby ships. The creak of his chair sounded, as Ginshaw leaned forward, watching the candle’s small flame. “..M’blood runs Liminsian no matter where I be born.”

[S'imba]

S'imba stumbled drunkenly into a tavern in Vesper Bay, filled with rough sailors and other thugs. He walks up to the barkeep opening his mouth and slurring out. "Eyyy, gimme summat that salty whale grog..." The barkeep nodded before handing over a bottle of the drink. S'imba took the grog and started to suck it down. "Eyy...all ya's show me some respect...ya be in the presence of captain S'imba...captain of the Sultana's Revenge, king among pirates!" He called out to the bar. "Me an' my crew? We killed us a kraken!" 

 

A few of the men in the bar gave S'imba an annoyed look, while others were impressed most were thinking that it was just the drunk rantings of a Miqo'te. 

 

"People think I'm a monster for it though!" He called out taking another swig of the grog. "Mebee is true bu' not like I had any sorta choice...it was gonna drag us under!" 

 

A few of the rougher looking gentlemen stepped forward. "Oi, cat I recommend shutting yer trap." A rough looking highlander with an eye patch would say to S'imba. "Yeah no." S'imba responded at the three men. "See ya guys can't hurt me. *hic* I got this coin see...has the ghost of the berserker in it." 

 

The three men would guffaw at that. "Ghost huh?" The highlander chortled. "Think ye could come up with sumthin bit more creative than Berserker." S'imba shook his head before responding. "Oh ya prolly never heard the tale." S'imba said opening his mouth to continue before one of the men threw a hook and clocked S'imba up across the side of his face. S'imba hit the floor shaking his head. He growled as he stood back up glaring at the trio. 

 

"Bwa ha ha ha lookie 'ere boys, the kitty is all hissy." The leader of the group said before without warning S'imba lunged at him, he jumped up on the man, wrapping his legs around the highlander's waist with a python like grip. The without missing a beat, S'imba began pounding the man in the face as hard as he could with both his fists. The man fought back but he found it nearly impossible to pry the Miqo'te off himself. The other two men rushed forward both of them grabbing one of S'imba's shoulders and yanking him away from the man. Then one of them would take S'imba by wrapping his arms up under S'imba's underarms and locking his hands behind S'imba's head. 

 

While the third man went and pried S'imba's legs free of the highlander. S'imba growled and struggled but was powerless. The highlander straightened up, his face now looked much more like hamburger. "Oi yer gonna pay fer tha' one cat." He said with difficulty as he garggled on his own blood. He stepped forwards before punching S'imba swiftly in the gut. The keeper yelled out as the air was forced from his body, though before he could take another breath he was struck a second time. 

 

The beating seemed to go on for a long time, the highlander pounding every square inch of S'imba before he stepped back and the man holding him tossed him down to the floor. They laughed at him. S'imba tried to push himself up before one of the highlanders placed a bare foot on S'imba's back. "Ah ah kitty cat...yer gonna stay there on the floor." S'imba groaned as he grit his teeth. "I wish you hadn't done that." S'imba said before giving a growl and felt a second wind burst through him. 

 

He pushed himself up hard. The highlander staggered while he tried to catch his balance the second man lunged at S'imba. The keeper would reach out and grab hold of the man's arm, S'imba would follow up by giving the arm a strong twist. The man yelled out in pain as the Miqo'te kept twisting it would pop as it was pulled from it's socket. The man continued to shout out before S'imba gave a powerful kick to the side of the man's knee another crack and the man yelled out in agony as S'imba ruined the knee forever. 

 

As the man fell to roll around on the ground the first thug would charge him, S'imba sidestepped and tripped the man. The highlander would catch himself on a table before he could hit the floor. However S'imba was already behind him. Raising his arm he would bring his elbow down hard on the the highlander's spine. With a snap the man fell to the floor where he would cry out in horror as he found himself unable to get back up off the ground. 

 

S'imba turned his attention onto the leader. Without a word S'imba jumped up on a chair before he quickly lunged off again. S'imba brought his fist down into the highlander's face and dropped him to the ground. S'imba hopped on the man's back. S'imba grabbed the man by the hair before he began repeatedly bashing the man's face into the floor. The entire tavern looked on in horror as they watched S'imba stain the floor with the man's blood. 

 

Finally S'imba stood the highlander lying there motionless. No one made a move against S'imba at this point. They just stared at him in terror. "The weak are without rights..." S'imba said simply before walking out the door into the night stumbling slightly as he walked back out to wander aimlessly into the night. 

 

He found a spot on the dock where he could lean up against the wall and stare out into the sea. As he sat there he closed his eyes. He had to enjoy this short moment before he came to his senses and realized what he had done. Dreading the moment he would sober up.