He Watches the Game Beneath the Sea, ((Open))

[King Monkey]

After Cha'Sult's uncanny death, and Alta'ir's direct orders, all fascination with the sharks following the ship ends. In fact, the crew avoids the back of the ship as much as possible, even going so far as to argue over duties that require someone to go to the stern.

Tempers flare as the bleak weather and incessant wetness grates on everyone's nerves. Harsh words and a few thrown fists provide sharp, but unwanted action to the otherwise monotonous trip.

Of course, a ship is a small, closed community and every person (except their gray guest) is required to report in and work everyday unless they have a very compelling excuse, not too mention the fact that everyone is now watching each other closely due to their captain's orders. So, when one of the crewmembers comes up missing, it takes only until his shift rolls around before someone realizes and reports it.

Still, most of the people on the ship are either working or sleeping at any given time. Only a few of the crewmen can be spared to search for the lost sailor. It takes only an hour or so before the rumor begins that the missing man went the way of Cha'Sult and it gets even harder to convince anyone to go near the stern of the ship.

It takes two days from the time the man goes missing before his body is discovered and then, it is the smell that attracts the required attention to make the discovery. Hidden away in an out of the way spot behind several crates lays the corpse. It is impossible to determine the cause of his death at first glance. There are no stabs, no cuts, and the skull has not been crushed or mangled.

In fact, the most obvious wounds would be quite painful but not fatal. The body is covered in dozens of bite marks. It takes only casual observation to see that those bites were delivered by a human and that the flesh torn away was devoured. There seems to be no rhyme or reason to the locations of the bites. There are marks on the face, limbs and torso. No particular organs have been targeted as would happen if the victim was found by a scavenger or attacked by the average predator and there seems to be no particular malice or fixation behind the acts that left the marks.

Many cannot look upon the mangled corpse and one of the crewmen rushes to summon Alta'ir. More disturbing than the murder, though is the fact that there has been no sign of the murderer. It is clear that someone has taken their time in devouring the body, but no one has shown any signs of madness or homicidal rage. Whoever performed the deed was even careful enough that no one has noticed any blood on their person. A depraved killer lurks amongst the crew and there is no way of knowing who it is.

Though, of course, that gray man is a rather strange one. Who knows what kind of perverse traditions outsiders might have?

[Striker]

Endryn did not change his behaviour after the incident with the sharks. He went about things the same way he had before, working at what tasks he could be useful for and disappearing to his own devices whenever there was nothing left for him to do. The only difference for him was that the crew was far more closed than it had been before. They knew that he could understand what they were saying now, and they were far more guarded with their tongues when he was present. It was somewhat more difficult to determine what the men might be thinking now that they were holding their tongues, but it wasn't so important to Endryn that it bothered him.

As far as he was concerned, he had nothing to fear from these men. He had not come here bearing them any particular ill intent, and he had no intention of changing his habits. For one thing, that would seem to indicate that he was guilty of something or that he might have reason to fear their suspicions. He knew that there were going to be plenty of whispered rumors about him. He knew that they would be waiting for a reason to blame him for everything odd that was going on, but since he knew that he was not at fault, he really felt no particular worry about what might come. After all, he was well aware that, should these men try to make trouble for him, it would not work out very well for them.

They just didn't know it yet.

When a crew member disappeared, he knew it was only a matter of time before the finger was pointed at him. He knew that it was inevitable that fingers would be pointed in his direction. He just wondered if Alta'ir was going to jump at an opportunity to lay the blame on him, or if he would prove once more to be wiser than the superstitious men who served him. He was careful not to change his behavior even after the crewman had disappeared. Changing his behavior would indicate guilt, after all, and since he had not done anything wrong, he had no reason to feel guilty.

When the body was finally found, Endryn joined those who were waiting for Alta'ir to arrive. He was simply waiting for someone to point to him and make the accusation. Any moment now it was going to flow forth from one of their mouths. For his part, he stood back from the corpse, letting his eyes rake over the markings trying to catch some clue that the others may have missed. There were ways of determining who and what had killed the man, after all, but he was not yet certain that he was ready to share those particular talents with his hosts. Not yet, anyway.

[Alta'ir]

This time, it wasn't long before the expedition's leader arrived on deck to deal with this latest disturbance. Last time the ruckus arose, he had passed it off as his men fooling around until someone had come to fetch him. Now he was more attentive of things like this. The ring of men who had gathered around the mutilated body formerly belonging to one of the crewmen split and parted as Alta'ir arrived on the scene, and a hush fell over the crowd. The barbarian leader gazed down at the corpse for a moment, his sharp blue eyes contemplating every inch of the gruesome sight, then looked back up to the grim faces of his crew. Taking that to be an invitation to explain the situation, an indecipherable cacophony of voices rose up at once. Though it would have been impossible to untangle the audial Gordian knot, he did piece together some information from all the discordant shouting. Most of it, after all, consisted of two words - "him" and "outsider" - and frantic gesticulation in Endryn's direction.

Alta'ir commanded his men to silence with a curt wave of his gloved hand, and the frantic symphony fell dead at once. For a moment, all that was heard on deck was the groan of the ship and wet clap of waves hitting the hull below. Finally, the cloaked barbarian turned his thoughtful stare onto Endryn, and spoke in heavily-accented Skaelian, "You put me in a difficult place, stranger. My men wahnt to string you up - hwy shouldn't I?"

[Striker]

There was no fear in Endryn's faded blue eyes when he turned them on Alta'ir. He hoped that even that small, subtle fact would be enough to send a message to the other man. He had nothing to fear because he had done nothing wrong. If nothing else, Endryn was fairly certain these were just men, why else would they be so deeply affected by the deaths of their fellow crew members? If they were willing to unjustly punish an outsider for a crime he had not committed, they would not remain just men for very long.

He would simply neglect to mention how badly things would go for them if they made the attempt anyway.

"Because, good sir, if you string me up to please your men, there will still be a killer loose on your ship." He felt that was a good enough answer. Alta'ir seemed an intelligent man, after all, he didn't see any reason to get down on his knees and plead his innocence - especially since he was sure that would only make them suspect him more.

He hesitated ever so slightly before saying anything else, though he hoped that, if the hesitation showed, it came through as a thoughtful silence. After all, if he was going to offer something of himself, something rather private, in order to bring a resolution to this manner, it was not something he was going to do blithely and without careful consideration.

He could see no other peaceful solution, however, and with a small sigh, Endryn drew in a deep breath and added, "And because if you string me up, you will miss out on a very good opportunity to find out what really happened here." He held up one gloved hand. "I cannot make any promises, of course, but I happen to know some... methods which could be used to determine who or what killed this man." And he nodded his head in the direction of the mangled corpse.

[Alta'ir]

The barbarians' leader met Endryn's gaze with a steady one of his own, his brilliant blue eyes raking over the dark man's form, mercilessly scrutinizing. Judging by his expression, which never seemed to give much away in the first place, Alta'ir was unimpressed by the initial answer he got from the other man. Simple statements of innocence might have been worth at least something if it was one of his men under suspicion, but foreigners had a reputation among his people for duplicity. This sinister edge that Endryn seemed to have didn't help his case much.

Besides, there was more to this than simple innocence or guilt. Alta'ir would never inflict punishment on a man for a crime he didn't commit, but nor could he very well simply leave this situation as it was. The crew were convinced of Endryn's guilt, or at least highly suspicious, and if he let the man be without finding out who was truly responsible for this heinous act, he might very well have a mutiny on his hands. This mission was much too vital for it to be torn apart by petty infighting... though perhaps this was all part of the plan. It was becoming increasingly clear that whatever evil they had pitted themselves against, it was certainly intelligent, if elusive. Was the game already afoot? Was their enemy responsible for all of this?

Fortunately for Alta'ir and Endryn alike, the strange man had something else to offer him in order to prove his innocence and find the true perpetrator. When Endryn revealed this to Alta'ir, many of his men's voices rose up in protest; why should they trust anything this man had to say? He was trying to deceive them! Alta'ir silenced those protests with a curt wave of his hand. "Very well. Begin now."

[Striker]

Endryn bowed his head respectfully to Alta'ir, his expression remaining calm and giving no indication of his immense relief at what he considered to be a very wise choice. After all, things were simply so much easier this way. Besides, it would be nice to know who to direct his own anger towards, considering that whoever had committed the murder would likely have known he would take the blame for it when all was said and done.

Eager as he was to put all of this unpleasantness behind him, however, he did not leap forward and jump to work without taking the proper precautions. After all, he was still among strange people, and though he may have been able to speak their language somehow, he was not aware of their customs. The last thing he wanted to do was to anger the men further by doing something they considered taboo or worse.

Before he took a single step he inclined his body further forward into a slight sort of bow and cleared his throat gently, attempting to indicate that he wished to broach a delicate subject. "Before I begin my work, I would ask a few things of you first, in order that I not somehow... breech your customs in the course of my investigation. How do your people view the care of their dead? Would it be disrespectful to ask for some small token from the body of the deceased; a lock of hair, per chance?"

He straightened while he waited for the answer and considered further how best to go about this. Of course he knew powerful enough magics to unweave the spell even if he could not get some token from the body, but it was always easiest if he had something with which to orient his magic. Not to mention the fact that he would have preferred to keep some of his more... exotic talents from being discovered just yet. "I would ask also that you chose some kind of proxy from among your men. One who can view the results of my work for himself. This way, there will be no question of trust, yes? You would not simply have to take my word on the matter. One of your own could give you the answer that you needed. This seems an... ideal arrangement, do you not think?"

[Alta'ir]

Although Alta'ir had agreed to go along with Endryn's plan to uncover the true killer in their midst - assuming, of course, that the dark man was not the killer himself - it was clear by the sharp look in his eyes that he was less than pleased with the whole idea. Endryn's next request only darkened the expedition leader's features more. His people were indeed quite guarded and superstitious when it came to their dead, and with the terrible blight slowly infesting their homeland, had become even more so in recent years. The idea of Endryn possibly tarnishing their companion's lifeless body no doubt wouldn't sit well with most of the company (that much Alta'ir could see with a cursory glance at the grim faces gathered around them), but the enigmatic stranger was not asking so much that he felt it wasn't worth getting to the truth of the incident.

But it wasn't Alta'ir's concession of a few strands of hair or a fingernail from the deceased warrior that would raise protests from the rest of the crew. It was his response to Endryn's second request. "I will observe myself," he declared to a crushing wave of voices raised in alarm and outrage before he even finished speaking. Knowing that the stranger was somehow fluent in their obscure language, Alta'ir's men were not subtle in their complaints: that they still did not know what he was capable of, that it might be a trick, that even if Endryn was on the level, he may still be corrupted by evil forces in the process. Of course, the barbarian company's leader was well aware of the possible risks - which was why he was determined that the only one among his crew to face those risks would be himself.

[Striker]

Endryn was surprised when the leader of the small band offered himself as the requested proxy. He had never considered this particular turn of events, though it was not an unwelcome one. Certainly there would be no arguing with what their leader told them. That would make this entire process a bit easier.

That settled, he saw no harm in getting to work right away. He again bowed his head to acknowledge Alta'ir's proclamation. "Then, sir, if you would cut a small lock of hair from the deceased? I feel it better if I do not... impinge upon your care of the deceased."

Then he turned to kneel. One of his small packs was at his feet. He had brought it with him on purpose, anticipating the need of some of his tools. While sorcerer he was, he felt it best if he avoid displays of raw magical power. Better if he used something a little more archaic... a little more solid. He thought it might make the whole ordeal a bit easier to swallow. From the pack he removed a mortar and pestle. Then he reached deeper into the pack and pulled free several small pouches of herbs. He measured out varying quantities of the different herbs and sprinkled them carefully into the mortar. A careful inspection would have revealed that they were all common herbs, most of them with common medical applications and most of them carefully dried.

When he'd finished tucking all of the herb pouches back into his pack, he took up the pestle and began carefully crushing the herbs into a fine powder, mixing them together as he went. When he was finished, he laid the heavy pestle aside and held the mortar up to Alta'ir, motioning for him to drop the hair into the mixture. When that was finished he laid the bowl back on the floor and this time reached to the belt at his side.

There was sure to be some manner of alarm when the object he reached for proved to be a small dagger, but it was still sheathed when he pulled it free of his belt. He lifted the blade from the sheath carefully and slowly, so that the act could not be misconstrued as an attack. Then he slowly rolled back his own sleeve to reveal his pale skin and gently pressed the dagger to a spot on his wrist near the place where the leather glove covering his hand ended. The cut was shallow, and he held his wrist over the mortar, allowing several drops of his own blood to fall upon the strange mixture. After all, he needed something with which to bind his magic. His blood was red - the same as any other mans - and where it fell it stained the powdered mixture a deep crimson. That finished, he tucked the dagger away on his belt again and let his sleeve fall back over the wound.

Reaching into his pouch once more he pulled free a small stick of charcoal. Using this he drew four small arcane symbols, one on each side of the mortar. The symbols were obviously arcane, but it was equally obvious that they were harmless. They could not have been mistaken as demonic or evil symbols. Rather they looked quite tribal and were obviously meant to represent each element, with Earth pointing in the direction of North and Fire pointing in the direction of South. Then he pulled another herbal pouch from his pack and sprinkled the substance, which turned out to be salt, across the space between the symbols, connecting them with tiny, barely visible lines.

This time from his pack he pulled a small pinewood stick. This particular stick, and several others he kept on him for occasions such as this, had been impregnated with a touch of sulfur. It was perfect for lighting a fire quickly, which was exactly what he needed here. He held it before him but paused to glance at Alta'ir. He motioned for the man to join him kneeling on the other side of the mortar and symbols. "Put your hands here and here," He said, indicating a space between the magical symbols. "When the fire is lit, breathe deeply of the smoke - I assure you that it is harmless and will leave no lasting effects when we are finished, save, perhaps, a slightly unpleasant scent. When you have done that, look deeply into the flames. There, unless some very powerful magic waits to repel us, we will see how your companion was killed."

He held the stick over the mortar and it took only a small bit of magic to cause a spark. The stick immediately leapt into flames and he let it fall into the mortar below. Then he laid his hands in similar positions to the ones he had instructed Alta'ir to use, his hands laying between the opposite symbols. Leaning forward he put his face near to the thick, black smoke which arose from the bowl and inhaled deeply. Then he let his head fall back slightly and began to let his magic flow. The flames flared brightly, and though there seemed to be no fuel for the tiny, bright fire, it burned strong and steady. Letting his magic reach deeply, Endryn concentrated on the dim energy of the shorn locks of hair. He grasped it with his magic and followed the energy back. Pushing gently, yet forcefully until finally he found what he sought. Then he directed that energy into the flames, and peered inside them intently, waiting, along with his 'proxy', to behold the events which had taken place to cause the unfortunate demise of the dead man.

[King Monkey]

At first, as the smoke and magic engulfed them, nothing happened. Then, as though a dam has broken images and sounds flood into the two men who have entered the mystic trance to learn what happened to the poor dead man lying on the deck.

When it begins, he is going about his duties, finishing his day's work, the low, almost pleasant weariness of a day of hard labor filling his limbs and torso. The signal is given for the shift to change and he begins to make his way below decks to relax. A subtle change overtakes him as he slips below and goes out of sight of the rest of the crew. His back hunches, his posture becoming low and feral, his hands curling into talons, and a wicked rictus that displays all his teeth overtaking his mouth.

He begins muttering something, but it is low and his enunciation is poor as his lips and teeth refuse to open and close, locked into that strange, toothy smile. When he is almost to the very spot where he lies now, he is joined by another man. It takes a moment to recognize him as he has undergone the same twisted transformation as the future victim. His face it deformed into a savage snarl, and his back and hands are bent as though he is ready to pounce on anything or anyone at the slightest provocation.

The muttering becomes louder and clearer and it is echoed by the newcomer, the two men speaking as one. "This...is...necessary. Life feeds on life...feeds on life...feeds on life. This...is...necessary. Life feeds on life...feeds on life...feeds on life."

The words are spoken again and again like some sort of mantra...or prayer. It takes a moment for those watching on from the future to realize that the words are in a language neither understands and certainly not Alta'ir's native tongue. Yet, the meaning strikes down to the soul and resonates there with something primal and powerful and hungry.

The two men draw near each other, their voices rising in volume and pitch though their mouths never open beyond the peeling of their lips from their teeth. The sound does not grow so loud that it is likely to be noticed above the sounds of the sea and sailors from this secluded place.

Slowly, the man who must be the killer reaches out his hands and wraps them around the victim's throat. His grip tightens and tightens and tightens until the muscles in his arms and hands strain and bulge with the effort and his body shakes with stress. Even as the strangling goes on, the mantra is repeated "This...is...necessary. Life feeds on life...feeds on life...feeds on life."

It is only when the other man's grip on his throat is so tight that he can no longer speak at all that the victim ceases the chant, though he strains to continue. That is his only struggle, though. He does not fight to get free, or break away, or try to save his life. He goes to his death willingly, almost eagerly, a look of ecstasy in his eyes. As they blur and glaze, the truth is revealed to him and to those looking on through the haze of smoke and magic.

The man before them is no man at all. His grin grows and grows and grows until it splits his face in two, the blunt, useless teeth of an omnivore becoming jagged and razor sharp, sharper than any blade on the ship and far more deadly. The killer's eyes, too are dead. There is no thought there, at least none that Alta'ir or Endryn can fathom. Yet, there is an intelligence that boggles the mind, a knowledge ancient and deep. And it is hungry, endlessly, incessantly, demandingly hungry. It knows the primal truth...life feeds on life. As the last of the victim's life slips from him, those jaws open wide, engulfing him and snapping him in two before gobbling him up in two glorious bites.

Thanks to Endryn's magic, they are able to see what happens afterwards. The dead man is lowered to the floor and his murderer bends over him as affectionately as a father over his sick child. He hesitates a moment, his head cocked to the side and listening to a faint voice on the wind, a voice the onlookers can hear but not understand. Then, with passionate fervor, he takes his first bite, tearing skin and flesh from the dead man's cheek and swallowing it in one great gulp as still warm, but lifeless blood drips down his chin and coats his mouth.

As the scene fades, he takes another bite and another. When the room returns to the present they don't have far to look to find the killer. He stands with the rest of the men, looking on curiously and anxiously as their leader subjects himself to the alien magic of the foreigner. There is no fear or trepidation in his eyes, no sign of guilt in his posture.

[Alta'ir]

Normally the sort of man who was quite under control of his emotions, the gruesome sights that Alta'ir beheld in that strange, magical smoke proved too horrifying even for him. When the vision ended and everything around him returned to normal, the expedition leader's face had grown pale and shimmered with a thin layer of nervous perspiration. His breath came quickly, yet still softly, as he turned his head to scan the faces of the men around him, their expressions betraying a diverse mixture of concern and curiosity. When his piercing blue stare encountered the visage of the man - and he was not entirely sure if he even was a man - he swallowed against a rising lump in his throat, and forced his voice through a suddenly parched throat, "Ilhan. It was... it was Ilhan."

Their leader's revelation took only a moment to reach his men, and two of the larger warriors aboard the ship quickly moved to seize the perpetrator by the arms. Even as they did so, however, the rest of the crew raised their voices in protest yet again. Ilhan was a good man, and a good friend to many aboard this ship. It had to be deception; Endryn was playing a trick on them, using illusions to cover his own guilt. If he thought he could get away with it, he'd chosen the wrong target. There was no way Ilhan could have committed such a despicable act!

The outraged roar of voices fell suddenly silent as Alta'ir stood and righted himself. He was still shaken by the images he had seen, and had to grip the rim of a barrel for a few moments to keep his balance. "I do not know if this is true, or if it is all part of your twisted imagination," the normally soft-spoken man all but snarled at Endryn with misplaced anger. Truthfully, he could rule out neither the stranger's innocence or guilt at this point, and that was the part that grated on his nerves the most. But if it was true... "If it is true, we may have fallen prey to corruption." With that statement, a wave of hushed panic swept over the crew, but before speculation could run rampant, Alta'ir drove ahead, "I want four men watching the stranger at all times, no more than a sword length away. If he does anything unusual, report it to me right away." He turned to face Endryn, eyes neither trusting nor condemning, merely scrutinizing. "If you truly have nothing to do with this, I fear it will be proven beyond doubt soon enough.

"All the rest of you, do whatever is necessary to get as much speed as possible out of this ship! I want to set foot on that island by tomorrow!"

[Striker]

Endryon was not affected as deeply as Alta'ir by the images which they witnessed in the flames, that much was clear almost as soon as the flames receded and the other man turned to find the killer among his men. He had seen a great many things in his long life, many of them strange, many of them dark... many of them unspeakable to the men with whom he now shared this ship. But he had never quite seen anything like this. It was disconcerting to think that every other man aboard this ship was a potential killer. That any one of them might be taken by this madness and be driven to take their own lives or the lives of someone else on board the ship. Endryn had the protection of his own magic, a palpable force. But even that might not be enough to protect him should the entire crew fall prey to whatever madness had crept into the ship.

When Alta'ir looked back down at him, still kneeling on the floor beside the tools which he had used to cast the magic, he may have caught the first real sign of Endryn's innocence. Worry creased his brows. It was not fear. He was not really afraid. He was confident in his own ability to protect himself. But he was disconcerted. He had expected a fight between members of the crew. He had expected the mutilations to be a poor attempt to frame him for the murder. He had not expected what his magic had shown him. And he did not have the luxury of comforting himself that what he had seen might be lies; he was assured of the truth his magic had revealed to him.

He rose slowly back to his feet, calm and collected in the face of Alta'ir's anger. The shaken expression was gone from his face quickly. He merely nodded respectfully to Alta'irs proclamation, accepting as usual the man's judgment. "I assure you there was no deception on my part. But instead of taking your order that I be guarded by your armed men as an insult, I will accept it as a blessing. How else, after all, may I prove to you my innocence and sincerity beyond a shadow of your doubt?" Not that it would have mattered if he had been insulted by the order that he be so guarded, but he felt it best if he showed his cooperation in the face of Alta'ir's anger. The last thing he needed was to tip the scales while the other man was angry and possibly unstable. After all, when a man was not in a rational state of mind, it was hard to predict how he might react to certain things. Besides that, it wouldn't be long before something else crept up given the circumstances, and there was no better way to prove his innocence than to have men watching over him at every moment. He would just be certain that he took extra precautions to protect his guards from whatever strange influence had crept on board the ship. The last thing he needed was for madness to take his guards, and they all slay each other, leaving no one to attest to his innocence. He had ways of doing it without anyone taking notice.

But there was one last thing that troubled him and before Alta'ir could storm from his presence, he risked mentioning it. After all, if the ship's captain should succumb to this madness... well there was no telling then what would happen to the rest of them. Alta'ir struck him as a level headed, strong willed man, but not knowing the nature of this strange power, Endryn decided it was best not to trust to chance. "My Lord Alta'ir," he said, taking a half step forward, but no more, not wanting it to look as though he was advancing on the ship's captain. "Something strange is happening here. Something beyond even my abilities. It would not do for you to fall prey to whatever power lurks here, either as a victim of the madness or as the victim of someone else gone mad. Please allow me to weave for you some protection with my magic. I can cast the magic into an object so that it need not touch you directly, and you need only keep it near you, not on you, so that if you distrust my intentions you would still be safe from them. Please consider my offer. If something should happen to you, I fear for the fate of the rest of us." Alta'ir, after all, did seem the glue which held this ship together.

[Alta'ir]

Though his stoic expression didn't show it, Alta'ir was inwardly somewhat relieved that Endryn was willing to concede to being put under armed guard. Their enigmatic passenger was wise to see things his way, he thought; this was the only way he could see to prove both to his crew and himself that the strange man was not responsible for the grisly affairs aboard the ship. The offer that Endryn made in return, however, brought him up short. It was not that he entirely trusted the man; he still hadn't seen any concrete proof of innocence that Endryn could not have fabricated himself. If he allowed him to cast some enchantment on him - or in this case, on an item for him to keep nearby - it very well could be a trap. He didn't find the promise that he would be safe if he only kept it near his person to be reassuring, either. If it could protect him at a distance, logic dictated that it could harm him at a distance as well.

By the same token, Alta'ir had a genuine feeling that they were sailing into dangerous waters, that the baron hadn't been exaggerating the severity of his plight. Whatever was happening, they might not get out of it alive if they suspected one another this way; he would have to put his trust in Endryn at some point, even if that trust was blind. After a deliberative pause, Alta'ir finally answered the dark-clad man's offer with a stiff nod, then turned sharply on his heel and stalked out into the middle of the deck. "If you have need of me, I will be in my quarters until we reach land."

[Striker]

Though it may have been wise of Alta'ir not to fully trust his enigmatic passenger, the offer was a genuine one, born of sincere concern, and he would have nothing to fear from Endryn's magic, as would be proven all too quickly. He did not delay the captain any further but allowed him to retreat back to his safe haven. Instead he asked one of his guards to accompany the man back to his quarters and return with the object chosen to hold the protection spell. While he waited for the man to return, he gathered up his magical supplies and returned them to his bag. Then he smudged away the markings he had made on the floor until the herbs and chalk were scattered enough that the magical marks no longer remained. Then he returned with his guards to his small quarters and waited for the object which would hold his protection spell to arrive.

When his guard returned with the object, he allowed the man to rejoin his fellows and set about his work. Once again he seemed to perform an odd ritual which contained several herbs which were in his bag and the drawing of several tame magical symbols. This was all largely for the show of his guards. Most of the weaving of the actual magic was accomplished silently and invisibly through sheer force of will and concentration, but it never hurt to bind the spell with arcane herbs and a few stanzas of chanting.

When the object was finished he returned it back into the same hands of the guard which had retrieved it for him and bid him deliver it to the captain while he once again cleaned up his magical supplies. Having finished laying his magical protections for Alta'ir - and a few extra hidden ones for his guards - in place, Endryn returned to the same routine he had always kept on the ship, once more feeling that any change in his routine would simply signify guilt, and his guards were finally privy to what he did when he mysteriously disappeared. They were probably going to be severely disappointed as it turned out to be rather boring. When he wasn't working on deck with the rest of the crew, Endryn seemed to spend an inordinate amount of time reading from the obscure books which he had brought with him. When he wasn't doing that he was writing in thick, leather bound journal in some obscure script that no one in the crew would be able to read, though he would be willing to translate some of it for them if they asked. When he wasn't doing either one of those things he was spending time performing a ritual that was very similar to meditation. He seemed to sleep very little, but he did sleep for a few hours every night in the wee hours of the morning just before dawn.

Thus did Endryn proceed as he had before, though now he was careful and watchful, always vigilant of his guards, his magical protections always active to keep both them and himself free of the strange taint that had permeated the ship. He was confident that the spell he had laid down for Alta'ir would act in the same way for the ship's reclusive captain. He had even added one extra magical touch, one that would warn him should any danger threaten Alta'ir's safety in hopes that he would be able to react before any ill could befall the ship's captain.

[King Monkey]

Alta'ir's decision to subject himself to Endryn's magic would prove quite beneficial all too soon. Just as his orders demanded, just after noon of the next day, the lookout gave the unmistakable call declaring that land was visible.

Only moments later, that very fact became clear to everyone aboard the vessel as the generally omnipresent fog that covered this particular part of the see parted to reveal bright sunshine and, in the distance, a green jewel of an island floating in the water. Overall, it appeared that the ship had happened upon some hidden paradise. Perhaps the lost girls had simply decided to stay after discovering how delightful the island was. The radiant sun, the verdant lands were almost enough to make one forget about the horrors that have befallen the ship. In fact, since the sharks have disappeared from trailing them, not a few of the crew do forget the journey.

Until one of them cries out. He happened to look over the railing for a moment. "Somethin's down there!" he declares, pointing into the water. "It's as big as the ship!"

Other crewmen, the ones who can be bothered to turn away from the island ahead of them rush to see, but by the time they get there, the murky water is as barren and empty as ever. "It was just shadows" is the nicest of the comments the overexcited crewman gets and his eyes, intelligence and ancestry are each challenged in turn by the men who gathered around.

Soon, they have all turned their attention back to the approaching island, even the man who thought he saw something. Which is why the fin is quite close to the ship before he happens to glance over again and notice it.

As big as a small ship's sail with a leading edge that is serrated like a saw blade and the color of ancient bone, it cuts through the water like a knife, leaving a wake like a schooner running before the wind. The sailor has only time to cry out a warning before that cyclopean fin smashes into the side of the ship with a thunderous crash. When bone meets timber, it is the wood that cracks and splinters.

The ship lurches violently on its side, casting most of the crewmen to the deck and tossing one overboard completely. Shouts of confusion and dismay arise where only a moment before was a sense of peace.

It takes a few moments for the crew to recover and hurry to the railing to help the fallen man. He was treading water, though feebly, noticeably stunned by his fall into the sea. The men shouted encouragement to him and gathered up a rope to toss over the edge.

Just as the man reached for the rope, he abruptly disappeared, his head jerking under the surface. The men looked on, expecting him to resurface any moment when he regained his strength. Several seconds pass and their confusion and dismay rise as he does not reappear.

Before they can develop another plan, however, the ship lurches again, rising straight out of the sea before smacking back onto the surface. The abused vessel begins taking on water like a sieve, much of the lower hull removed in a ragged circle.

Soon, the other crewmen have no choice but to follow their first compatriot into the water. The ship sinks, the water rising and to stay aboard is certain death.

More men disappear, bobbing in the water one minute and falling beneath the surface to never reappear the next. Panic begins to overtake the men and it is not simply because of the danger that they are in. The fear is far more primal, striking at instincts that developed not just before their ancestors climbed out of the trees but before they even heaved themselves out onto dry land.

They are in the water with something that has fed since primordial times, the Eternal Hunter, the Unchanging, Timeless Predator. They have no chance, they are merely food awaiting their time to die. Many of the men strike out for the distant shore, swimming with wild desperation. Others scream ceaselessly, the terror overtaking them. More than one drowns himself, or tries to, trying to swallow enough sea water to kill themselves before they can be slain.

All the while a massive, dark shadow prowls the waters around the floundering ship and wherever it goes, men are plucked like overripe fruit. The bone edged fin, the flesh a grayish green color that pains the eyes, appears periodically.

Only a few yards away from Alta'ir a man is jerked through the water, his body entwined in a tentacle that is as thick as his thigh. It moves with frightening alacrity, almost delicately snatching the man out of the water.

[Striker]

Endryn was alert the moment his magic informed him that something was about to endanger the Captain of the small ship. At the time he first felt the small tug which indicated his magic reacting to something, he had been dozing lightly in his hammock, for the most part ignoring his guards. The men who had been ordered to watch him would likely find it quite odd when he suddenly shot into a sitting position, so fast that the hammock dumped him rather ungracefully into a heap on the floor. He recovered quickly from the indignity, however, gathered up the books which he'd scattered about his small room and shoved them all into his bag. It wasn't until he had finished that he gave the men guarding him, who all looked rather confused by that point, a significant look and announced, "Your Captain may be in trouble. We should hurry."

He had not, however, anticipated the nature of the trouble which they were in. He had assumed that someone was attempting to mess with Alta'ir's mind, or that one of the crew had been somehow seduced by this madness and intended to make their Captain the target of their crazed blood lust. He was surprised and somewhat dismayed to discover the true nature of the Captain's plight... since the sinking of the ship was bound to put Endryn in just as much danger.

The ship was already beginning to take on water by the time he burst out on deck and he came to a dead halt, thinking quickly the best course of action to take. Of course the best course of action was for him to protect himself from the sinking of the ship. But whatever was out there in the water attacking them was probably rather large and he was going to need more than just his own power to take care of it. He spread his arms wide, causing his guards to fall to a halt on either side of him. "Don't move!" He ordered them. "I need you to stand perfectly still if you don't want to end up in the water like your crew mates!" And he motioned in the direction where some of the crew had already begun to fall.

He wove his magic swiftly, closing his eyes long enough to bring his magic into focus. This time he didn't bother with any of the fancy ritualistic garbage. There wasn't time for that. This time he wove his magic around them with his will directly, and each of his guards would feel that they were somehow held up even as the ship fell away beneath them, as though the water that started to rush under their feet was a solid surface. When he opened his eyes again he moved swiftly and without delay. Drawing the knife from his belt he lightly pricked the side of his arm just above where his gloves ended enough to draw several tiny drops of blood free from his skin. Replacing the knife, he swiped the blood from his arm with a finger and bent to hurriedly draw a symbol on the top of each man's boot. That would bind the spell directly to them so that he would not have to worry about concentrating on maintaining the spell actively on anyone other than himself.

That done, he swept back to his feet and hurried on once more. "Hurry!" He called over his shoulder. "Walk normally. We must find your Captain before it is too late!"

He cursed himself silently for being so careless in the laying of his magic. Since the object chosen was not actually in contact with Alta'ir, he could only follow the pulse of the warning to where the man might be, rather than directly to his exact location. With the ship sinking, it wouldn't be long before he wouldn't be able to rely on the magical trace at all. Luckily, he had woven his spell well. Even after the ship had sunk, he and his bewildered guards were still above the water, treading across it's surface as if it were solid ground.

"Careful of those tentacles!" He ordered the men as he could see the creature's limbs swiftly dragging others under the water. "My spell does not make you immune to being dragged under the surface of the water!"

Endryn found Alta'ir just as the man near him was swept under the waves by one of the searching tentacles. He stood above him, completely dry and seeming little phased by the sinking of the ship and the men dying all around them. He bent and offered his hand to the other man, clearly intending to pull him up onto the water with himself and his guards. "Captain," he said, respectfully. "I do believe we should make our way towards the shore with all haste."