Author's Note: In case there's any doubt, the author of this story does not share or condone any of Viconia's views on sexual and gender politics.
30 – Undertow
"Whoever said 'No plan survives first contact with the enemy' just didn't have the right spells prepared." – Laspeera Inthre, Mageduels: A Manual
Lapping surf splashed the women's boots as they followed the broken coast, walking carefully over wet rocks and pebble-sand. The beach had fallen away, leaving almost nothing between the cliffs that rose to their right and the ocean on their left. It was a rough trail, and they took it cautiously, ears open and prepared to halt at any hint of the sirines' song.
They slowed a little more when objects began to litter their path: first one boot and then another and another, along with mismatched socks. A raincloak lay strewn across a rock, and a little farther up the sandbar lay a green shirt accented with vibrant purple alongside Garrick's leather vest.
Keeping her head low, Ashura quickened her pace. Close to her ear Viconia whispered: "It seems the creatures are unwrapping their gifts. I still say we leave them to it." They stepped past a pair of leggings. "No doubt your males are quite happy in whatever…position they are being put in. And the thief who betrayed us grows farther out of reach."
"How can you be 'happy' with your mind stolen out of your head?" Imoen asked, a tinge of anger in her voice. "No awareness of what's happening around you, let alone free will." She bent down as she talked to carefully pick up Coran's enchanted cloak, shaking a little sand off before pulling it over her shoulders.
Viconia was nonplused. "I doubt they were using their minds for much of anything. Especially the darthiir. He seemed like the sort to happily trade his brains for a chance to get close to anything vaguely female and pretty."
"Think he values his freedom more…" Ashura began, then sharply shook her head. "Look, I'm not debating this shit with you right now. We're rescuing my friends. You can help and follow us or you can go back to whatever cave you crawled out of." As they talked they continued on the trail, and Ashura cringed when they passed another pair of trousers.
"But why exactly?" Viconia continued to push. "You are jealous of these sirines aren't you? Is it that they stole your male?"
"Maybe?" Ashura said with a shrug. "Who cares? We're rescuing my friends. Help us or crawl back to your cave."
Viconia's upper lip twitched for a moment but she finally fell silent. The next discarded object they passed along the sandbar was Coran's bow, followed by Garrick's rapier. At least we won't be forced to fight them, Ashura noted. Past the rapier lay strips of white linen that had probably once been a loincloth. Viconia raised an eyebrow as they silently walked on.
Jealousy? Bah! At the moment Ashura's belly felt as if it were churning with all manner of emotions, but she doubted jealousy was among them. Frustration definitely. And determination. And above all else was rage. Rage would carry her through this. It had pushed aside the enthralling song after all. It would drive her forward, and damn all the terrifying monsters and obstacles and mind-stealing magics in the world, she was going to rescue Garrick.
She had dragged the poor, aimless fellow into this dangerous series of adventures after all. She had also watched those soft, dreaming eyes of his look up at the stars, and watched the sirines steal that light from those same eyes with their magic. She'd get him back, safely. It was the least she could do.
The three women slowed as the sound of splashing and a musical trickle of laughter reached their ears. Large rocks obscured the view ahead, but seawater seemed to flow past. Some sort of inland pool or lagoon perhaps? There was a heavy feeling about the place as well; the air seemed thicker with brine, the late afternoon sun beat down, hot and golden, and the crash of the waves sounded louder.
Beyond the wall of rock and over the trail of seawater lay the layer of the sirines. Even if she had not heard the hint of their laughter Ashura simply knew this was the place. And maybe rage would be enough, but a good plan couldn't hurt.
She turned to Viconia. "That spell we discussed?" she asked.
The drow nodded and flexed her fingers. "It will be ready the moment they open their mouths, alur."
"I can climb up on those rocks," Imoen offered, turning her head up. "Find a good position to shoot from."
Ashura nodded. "Alright. Get into position. I'll take the low road and get their attention. We move fast, take them by surprise, and rescue our friends."
Her companions nodded and with that Ashura strode towards the gap in the rocks. She tried to stick to the sand and high ground, but soon there was nowhere to walk but shallow water, her boots splashing as she went. This would be tricky.
With as much care as she could Ashura cautiously eased her way around a boulder that had been blocking their view of the seawater pool. Beyond, the rocks all sloped down to a sandy, low area where the tidewater gathered. Low cliffs hung over the shallow circle of blue, and at the center of the pool stood a few worn stones covered in glittering shells and pearls and wreathes of seaweed: a primitive throne for the Sirine Queen. Sil lounged upon the rocks, watching and instructing her court as they played with their newly acquired toys.
Still as statuary and wearing just as little, Garrick and Coran stood thigh-deep in the water. Perhaps to the sirines they were statues, since under Sil's laughing instruction the two other creatures seemed to simply be moving the elf and the human through different poses; arms up and arched at first, then down with their shoulders back in a stance that reminded Ashura of sentries. All three creatures were close together at least. Good.
"Should we make them kiss?" one of the sirines asked, half a whisper and half a laugh.
"Not yet," Sil commanded from her throne, shaking her head slightly. "Back to back first. Let's see if our new honor guard can look menacing. Sad there's not much muscle on this pair. Hopefully we'll get some sailors again soon. Those always have a bit more meat on their bones."
An involuntary shiver ran down Ashura's spine as she crept further in, the water sloshing above her ankles. The way that creature used the word 'meat'...
Gripping her swords tight she took a breath, tucked her head forward and advanced. As she moved through the pool her toes kicked aside solid objects that bounced through the silt and felt too light to be rocks. Her splashing steps swiftly caught the attention of the sirines, and as they looked up at Ashura in surprise she shouted:
"Get your hands off of them!" she roared, her voice carrying over the open water. The pool grew deeper as she plowed forward, and she was still at least ten paces from any of them when the shock wore off and the sirines exchanged glances and grins. As one their lips parted, heads tilting back, preparing to harmonize.
It occurred to Ashura that this would be the perfect moment for Viconia to leave her proverbially high and dry. Drow were known for their penchant for treachery, even supposedly bragged about it, and though Ashura had figured the dark elf would respect strength and forceful leadership it was possible that she had given Viconia one too many harsh orders. Well, if that was the case rage would just have to carry her through.
It didn't come to that though. As the sirines all turned towards Ashura and began to open their mouths Viconia climbed atop one of the low cliffs above the pool, her fingers stretched high above her head and tendrils of inky black danced between them. As the sirines sang out their first note the drow's voice eclipsed theirs and she called upon her goddess. "In the name of the Nightsinger: may darkness and silence prevail!"
The note rising from the three sirine's lips died instantly, as did the sound of splashing around Ashura's feet as she plunged forward. An arrow streaked through the air, eerily silent as it struck the sirine beside Garrick directly in the eye. The creature's mouth opened wide in a soundless scream, seawater flowing from her wound in the place of blood as she clutched at the arrow shaft and sank into the pool.
At the same time Sil and the other sirine quietly flickered out of view. Ashura could still follow them though, her vision fixed on the displaced water where one of the sirines had stood a moment ago. She followed the creature's path, plunging forward and kicking her way through the muck until she was close enough to swipe with her swords. As she went her feet knocked against more solid objects and pushed them aside.
Too light to be rocks. Must be bones.
Their battle was as slow and eerily quiet as it would have been if they were fighting at the bottom of the sea, and guessing at the sirine's position was tricky. Bits of torn chain fell from Ashura's armor as she tried to dance away from raking claws, unable to even hear the whistle as the sirine struck at her. At the same time her own swords found nothing but open air, her invisible opponent dodging and slipping away from every slash.
The silencing spell stole the sound of Ashura's frustrated groan, and she found herself hopping backwards as the water parted before her and her enemy advanced. Searching herself, she tried to recall the fury she had felt in the battle at Tazok's camp, and the inner fire that had come along with it. It seemed the furnace was still there, somewhere within her, and the crackling waves were as easy to call up now as they had been then.
A feral grin spread on Ashura's face as the air shimmered before her and bombarded the invisible creature, giving her pause. With a muted splash the sirine seemed to turn in the water, white froth appearing as she hastened and retreated.
Flicking her blades through the air Ashura pursued. That's right! Run! You're not the only one with mind-magic! A slash of her righthand sword created a shimmer in the air, and released a trickle of seawater, but the sirine kept splashing through the pool and it was unclear if anything vital had been struck.
Before she could raise her lefthand blade for another stroke something thick and solid hit Ashura in the stomach and arrested her momentum, briefly dragging her feet backwards through the muck. The pommels of her blades struck at the invisible thing that had grabbed her, but instead of budging it seemed to contract tightly against her ribs. Suddenly Ashura's lungs were burning and she was kicking and struggling frantically.
What in the hells is this thing? Whatever it was it was invisible, slimy and constricting hard. Another jolt of white-hot pain and Ashura threw her head back in a silent scream as she felt what must have been a rib breaking.
Thrashing and struggling hard to think, she managed to draw in one deep breath and reverse the grip on her righthand sword, bringing it down in a stab. The blade had more of an effect than the useless pommel-strikes, and shortly after the fourth frantic stab the invisible thing seemed to slacken all at once, sending Ashura plunging face-first into the pool.
She came up a moment later, coughing and hacking up water as she struggled to find breath again. Motion on the periphery drew her eyes, and she watched as a massive tentacle winked in and out of existence, slithering beneath the water. There were gashes along its trunk and two feathered arrow-shafts bobbed where they had struck the thing.
Once the tentacle disappeared beneath the surface, the water-level of the entire pool seemed to lower significantly. The Sirine Queen, Ashura realized. Shape-shifting. A moment ago she had been some sort of octopus or kraken, but what was she now?
Standing up and still struggling to breath, Ashura noticed motion beneath the surface. Something was darting nearby, fast and serpentine. As she turned and tried to face it with her swords the form whisked out of view.
Where-
Surf splashed Ashura's back and a massive wave buffeted her legs and almost knocked her off her feet as something erupted from the pool behind her. Behind and above now, arcing and crashing down.
All she could do was point her swords up above her head and hope for the best, but -Talos be praised- they pierced something thick and solid! The whole weight of the creature pressed down on Ashura, pushing her to one knee as water stung her face and waves and foam churned all about her. Everywhere the air was shimmering. She saw scales, dagger-like teeth, black eyes. A catfish-like whisker brushed against her face.
Some sort of sea-serpent, she realized as the creature rolled off of her arms and her swords slipped from its jaws. It thrashed and shimmered in the water, shrinking and resolving back into the form of Sil. The Sirine Queen's hands snapped up to press against her bleeding mouth, pain and hatred in her eyes.
Green water leaked from the arrows embedded in the sirine's side as well as great gashes from Ashura's swords. As Sil reeled back Ashura advanced, and when her swords struck again the magical silence that hung above them fell away. The banshee-wail the Siren Queen let out was deafening, but as Ashura twisted her blades it finally turned into a chocked gasp. Within a breath strings of shells, pearls and white sea-foam where spilling from Ashura's swords and falling to the surface of the pool, the body of her enemy dissolving before her eyes.
A moment after the Sirine Queen died the golden glow that hung above the pool seemed to fade, along with the crisp azure of the water. The coral cast to the stone that ringed the pool dissolve as well, grey plainness taking its place.
Desperately trying to catch her breath, Ashura glanced about. Imoen stood nearby, another collection of foam floating in the water beside her. Hopefully that was it for the sirines.
Together they waded across the pool towards Garrick and Coran, who were both blinking through bleary eyes and rubbing their heads. Imoen reached them first and slipped Coran's cloak from her shoulders, wrapping it around the elf. Ashura followed her cue and removed her own stained black cloak. Garrick gave her a grateful nod and pulled the wool tight around his shoulders as she slipped it on.
She leaned closer, hugging the bard. "Thanks," Garrick managed, gratefully whispering into Ashura's ear.
She smiled at that. "Any time."
"You need to take better care of yer cloak," Imoen told Coran with a smile, but the elf still looked a bit confused, and had made no effort to wrap the fabric around himself. Hanali Celanil's face was still on full display, in all her blonde glory, her sharp chin pointing down to the area the elf probably wanted to highlight with the tattoo.
Finally Coran managed a frown. "Did you have to come along and end that most beautiful dream?" he asked. "There were these amazing sea-creatures, and-"
With a deep groan Imoen smacked her forehead.
"I told you," Viconia spoke up, "this is the fate the elf would have preferred."
Coran actually nodded at that, a wistful look on his face.
"Well, I'm grateful…" Garrick muttered, appalled.
Shaking her head, Imoen pointed at the water near Coran's feet. It was still quite silty, but not so much that you couldn't make out some of the objects beneath the surface. "Uh, would you at least look at those, you sex-crazed idiot?" Imoen asked.
Squinting, Coran looked down. "Oh," he mumbled. "Um…well maybe…" The realization made him wilt a bit, and he finally clutched the cloak tight about himself. All around Coran's feet and laying in other spots at the bottom of the pool were bones: long femurs, broken ribs, shattered hips. And skulls.
Dozens upon dozens of very human-looking skulls.
With her arm slung over Garrick's shoulder and her other hand clutching her injured side Ashura had begun guiding the bard towards the gap in the rocks and the beach beyond. She gestured for the others to follow. "Come on, you moron. Your clothes and armor are scattered on the beach. And your weapons. We're going to need them."
"Of course," Coran mummbled, his voice cracking a bit. "And uh…thanks for rescuing me."
With slow and deliberate care Safana placed her foot down, then crept half a step along the wall of the cave. Another step, followed by another, always watching to see if there was a nearby stone to disturb. Twenty paces from her position stood the guardian, a grotesque block of mismatched flesh and frayed stitching, still as stone with its back to her.
Captain Rezar had always boasted so about the golem that protected Exzesus' little pile of treasure in case the sirines failed, and how like the sirine guardians it was a macabre testimony to the pirate fleet's prowess. For each deposit or withdraw of treasure the sirines had to be appeased with male prisoners taken in raids, and the golem had been stitched together from the body-parts of some of the crew's greatest enemies and rivals: an arm from Big Thrum Trayus, the sturdy torso of Horiss the Bearclaw, half the face of Grinning Anassia, the lulling tongue of Devil-Quick Robin, and a dozen other pieces of the dead had been used to build the creature.
Of course Rezar always failed to mention that he had merely been a mate on the Exzesus when those trophies had been taken and the ship's mage had been assembling the golem. Safana had teased him once on the subject; a crack about how little he had done to actually build the fleet that he had inherited. She had never before seen the man's mood grow so dark, and so quickly. That had been the moment, perhaps, when the romance of being a pirate captain's mistress had begun to fade.
Her eyes fixed on the silent creature, Safana continued to ease her way along the wall. It seemed to take hours, but eventually she slipped her way around a bend in the cave and began to slink forward, only picking up the pace a little when she was sure she was far beyond the guardian. She allowed herself a careful breath, half-creeping and half-crawling into the next wide chamber.
All around the walls were slick and gleaming, lit by an opening far above. When the tide rolled in at night these tunnels would be underwater, but for now the central chamber was relatively dry and open. There was a shallow pool in the center, and half-submerged in the gloomy water sat a sturdy mahogany chest lined with bronze. There was no lock, and it swung open silently for Safana as she lifted the lid and peered inside, sighing with relief.
'Black Alaric's Treasure.' What a crock of shit, though the girls had swallowed the lie eagerly enough. It was true that this smuggler's cave was ancient, and perhaps pirates from the era of Black Alaric (if he had ever existed,) had used it, but what Safana sought was much more recent.
And personal.
And there it was, beneath the pile of gold coins and ornate wands. With a triumphant grin she fished the brass signet ring from beneath the treasure and eagerly slipped it on her finger. It still fit snugly, and no doubt the enchantment that recognized her blood remained. At last, after nearly three decades, the long-lost daughter of house Alar could return and claim her father's fortune! Never again would she have to trust her life to the whims of the rough men of the sea.
It had been an adventure, certainly, but it was winding to a close now. She just had to slip from the cave and make her way south, to Calimshan. And the gold laid out before her would certainly help. With a musical clink a handful of coins went into the pouch at her hip, then another.
It was almost over, after all the sacrifice and stealing, backstabbing and hustling. She regretted some of it certainly. It would have been easier on the conscious to lure the bandit gang she had put together into the sirine's layer instead of those naïve, young adventurers, but twists of fate had forced her to improvise.
A shame about the elf, especially. There had been something rather endearing about him, annoyingly persistent as he could be. Something that reminded her of some of the better devil-may-care rogues she had known on the seas. Unreliable and smug, but fun-loving and free. A shame she had met him just as she was leaving that life behind her.
A soft sloshing sound drew Safana's eyes to the water around her, and she froze. Sloshing became a light splash as the surface was broken by something massive beneath, just a few paces to her right. The coins fell forgotten to the water and Safana scrambled backwards, a throwing dagger instinctively raised.
The thing in the pool was slow and ponderous in righting itself, streams of foam and seawater falling away to reveal grey, uneven planes of flesh joined together by lines of stitching and great, meaty joints bolted to the torso with steel. The creature's head was too small for its body, and its sharp little face was as blank as death.
Though…as Safana frantically backed away from the pool and stared wide-eyed she recognized something in the sharp, off kilter chin. In death the face looked different, but that chin had belonged to Captain Astrov of the Knucklejack and the Amnish fleet. She was sure of it! A man she had seen die two years ago, at Rezar's hand no less.
Damn you Rezar! You prideful little man! It seemed he had been collecting grizzly prizes of his own; enough to assemble an impressive flesh golem in her absence. Out of the shallow water now, the construct stood nearly nine feet tall, and though its face remained blank there was no doubt where its attention was focused when it lurched towards Safana.
Gritting her teeth she hurled her throwing knife, her heart hammering and then sinking when the blade bounced off the creature's lopsided chest without a nick. Sand and gravel crunched as its weight bore down and it stomped towards her. The sound reverberated off the walls of the cavern and in her ears as she whirled and fled for the nearest passageway.
Crunch.
Crunch.
Steady and firm and heavy as a siege engine. The pace even seemed to be picking up behind her as she darted through the snaking tunnel. Echoes reverberated off the stone when the golem's fist smashed into one wall, then again when its body careened into the other. It was big and clumsy, but the next stomp seemed to be right behind Safana, dust and pebbles hitting the backs of her legs.
Gods! They're faster than they look! Lungs burning and head pitched forward, Safana plunged through the tunnel as fast as she could.
A flash of daylight greeted her eyes as she rounded a corner. The exit! At the far end of the open cavern. Another flash followed, much closer: the glint of light reflecting on a metal joint. She had nearly closed the distance with the thing when she realized that it was the arm of the first golem.
Safana's eyes widened and her mouth fell open at the shock of the creature looming from the darkness before her, its arm bending back, fist clenched. Maybe she could slip by: duck and wriggle and run past the thing, but time had slowed to a crawl, and hard as she commanded her legs to bend she just couldn't move fast enough. Not as fast as that fist; the great meaty hand of Big Thrum Trayus. It grew and grew until it filled her entire vision.
Somewhere in the cavern a scream reverberated off the walls. Was it her own?
"Slow down, Shura!" The party had been struggling to keep up with their leader as they scrambled along the shore, but Imoen's plea was more a warning, and Ashura slowed and stopped a few paces from the entrance of the seacave. Panting hard, Imeon caught up with her friend and held up a cautioning hand. "The guardian, remember? We need to be careful in there."
Ashura scowled. "Safana was lying to us the whole time."
"Maybe, but there still could be danger in there. Traps or pitfalls or something." As usual Imoen had her bow in hand, an arrow laid out and ready. Ashura noticed that it was one of the ornate red shafts some of the bandits had been equipped with: a fire arrow. "Let me lead, okay?"
With a deep breath Ashura nodded. As boiling as her blood was at the moment she had to admit that plunging head-first into an unknown cave was probably a bad idea. Stepping aside, she cringed and rubbed her side, still itching from one of Viconia's healing spells.
Imoen knelt down slightly and began to silently make her way forward, and following her lead the others crept beneath the worn lip of the cavern and into dripping darkness. A moment after everything darkened Ashura's infravision activated, casting the dim world ahead in faint shades of red and orange. They hadn't gone far, perhaps twenty feet, when they entered a wider cavern and something slightly brighter than the ambient heat caught Ashura's eye.
Someone or something lay in the center of the cavern, and with breathless steps they approached to examine. Imoen seemed to realize what it was first, and let out a little gasp that echoed off the stones. To Ashura it just looked like a red and orange streak on the cave floor, along with a few lumps. On a whim she willed the infravision away, and the dim daylight that wafted through the chamber proved enough to actually give her a better view.
Safana was recognizable by her clothes, her body still and splayed out across the cavern floor with limp arms and legs turned at odd angles. Sprayed across the stone where her head had struck the ground was a long, wide pool of red and black, along with lumpy bits of grey and long clumps of wet, sticky hair. Her clothes were recognizable but her face was not: it had been caved in by some sort of horrific blow.
"What the hells did that?" Ashura found herself hissing in the darkness, the echo of her voice making her cringe. Speaking had been a mistake, and she realized that instantly when movement ahead answered her question.
Two massive bodies slowly stepped from the shadows, their limbs jerking much like animated skeletons, and as one the creatures turned to face the newcomers. Not sparing a blink or a breath, the two masses of pieced-together flesh raised their fists and advanced.
So she hadn't lied about that! A flesh golem guardian. Two of them! And they moved a lot faster than they looked, mismatched feet stomping forward, one of the creature's fists dripping with fresh black blood.
In a flash Imoen stood and drew and loosed, a streak of sizzling fire lighting the cavern walls as it zipped by and struck one of the golems in the chest. There was a burst of cinder and flame where it landed, and as the fire spread along the creature's body its stomps became lumbering steps and it slowed, arms pumping mechanically.
Rapid as she could manage Imoen launched a second burning arrow at the other golem, then whirled on her heel. "Hit and run!" she shouted at Ashura before dashing past her.
Good idea! Nodding, Ashura backed up rapidly, swords between herself and the burning constructs. They seemed to feel no pain, but somehow the flames had made them slow and clumsy, each step monotonous, creaking along instead of jerking.
There was a twang to Ashura's left and a thump to her right: Coran and Garrick firing away at the burning golems. It was hard to tell if the arrow and bolt did any good, but they certainly sank in deep.
The strange battle continued like that for a time, the group slowly backing down the tunnel and unleashing volley after volley of magical bolts and arrows into the walking monstrosities. Soon Imoen's fire arrows had the golems completely wreathed in flame, and they seemed even slower than before.
Doubting that the arrows could finish the job, Ashura took a deep breath and stopped her retreat, ducking and weaving forward towards the closest golem. Unlike other battles it felt less a matter of reflexes and more a careful, methodical game as she avoided the heavy, burning fists of the twisting creatures. Mindful of them both, she slipped in behind her target, ducking low and getting as close as she dared.
Sweat-soaked and face baking, she kept to the creature's back and hacked at its legs again and again. Lean in to slash. Hop back as soon as you manage. Shift to the side again and again as the creature tries to circle and you keep biting at its ankles. Each blow stung her wrists and jarred her arms; it was like trying to fell a tree with her swords.
A burning tree. With flailing fists.
But on the sixth or seventh blow there was a satisfying snap as something holding the golem's leg together broke and it toppled over, legs and arms pinwheeling. It slowly convulsed and tried to right itself on the cavern floor, sliding long the stone. Ashura just gave it a wide berth and worked her way to the second burning golem, hacking away at it the same way she had worked upon the first.
When the two lumps of animated flesh were unmoving piles of foul-smelling, burning stuff on the floor, Ashura gasped and backed away at last, pressing her back against the cave wall. She wiped her brow, a bit relieved that that had ended up more like a job at a smithy than a true battle.
When the flames had finally died they regrouped and gathered over Safana, briefly pondering what this had all been about. The corpse had no answers it seemed, and eventually Imoen led the way again, into the depths of the cave.
"So there really was a pirate's treasure, at least," Garrick muttered, rubbing the back of his neck. They had entered and explored the great chamber with the pool as slowly and methodically as they could. Nothing more had jumped out from the shadows though, and relief and exhaustion were finally catching up with the party as they stood over the large sea chest.
"Maybe," Imoen observed, sorting through the coins, gems and assorted wands. "It's certainly not Black Alaric's though. A lot of these coins are pretty modern. It's not a huge stash either."
"Better than nothing, for all the headache," Ashura observed.
"Yeah. I just wish I could figure out what Safana's game was," Imoen mused. "Something personal to do with the pirates who stashed this but…Hrm."
Ashura nodded, tossing one of the coins up into the air and catching it. "If she had told us her plan, maybe we could have…" She shook her head and tossed the coin back into the pile. What a foolish thing to get killed over. What a foolish thing to betray your allies over too.
Her companions were worth more than any pile of coins. Ashura knew that, sure as anything. It wasn't stupid sentimentality either: working together they had just survived betrayal, sirines, guardian golems and come out on top.
The last ones standing.
Rolling another coin around on her palm, Ashura took a breath, still in shock. It was amazing to still be alive, really, let alone escaping with a large stack of coins.
All in the course of an afternoon she had been knocked unconscious by some sort of sleeping potion, betrayed by someone she had believed trustworthy, thought two of her friends lost forever to hypnotic sea monsters, taken a slash across the face from the claws of one of those monsters and nearly been crushed by the tentacles of another. Then she had nearly been crushed again by the fists of an eight-foot-tall creature built from pieces of the dead, and she was fairly sure her eyebrows were singed. At the same time they had all managed to stumble out of the way of death, both of her kidnapped friends were now alive and well, the monsters were all dead and they were the only ones left standing to claim a substantial pile of treasure.
This must be what it means to be an adventurer. Exhilarating and absolutely terrifying, all told.
Author's Note: I feel like maybe I should have put some sort of warning about the portrayal of the sirines at the beginning of these two chapters, but I was never quite sure how to word it without spoiling the fact that the heroines do quickly come to the rescue of the hapless guys. Writing a story arc where the antagonists are female, mind-controlling sexual-menace-monsters is uh, a difficult needle to thread (to say the least!)
Funny that the two people who reviewed the previous chapter both correctly guessed at the fate of Safana. It was a little predictable I suppose, but eh, it seemed fitting enough.