Chapter 4: The Choice

Arrien spent the next four days in a bunk she shared with Giles and two other mages, one dark-haired male with a rather unfriendly disposition who specialized in cryomancy, or frost magic, and the other a fair-haired woman who was a master at twisting the forces of pure magic together, an arcanist through and through. Each of the three had volunteered to help her in teaching her in the way of magic, and she'd been working on casting several new spells they'd scribbled down for her on a piece of parchment. She kept at this quite intently, losing herself in the arcane gestures and ancient words of power. She vowed to never twist her power to the extent of those who had brought destruction to her village, death to her family. Every day she honed her art, still paying special attention to the works of pyromancy, as just uttering the words belonging to the pure arcane spells had a tendency to make her feel physically ill.

Giles was astounded at how easily she had picked up the art of the fireball, and now was trying to encourage her to be careful not to let her fires grow too strong, "lest you set off the powder kegs down below," he'd say with a laugh. Most of the crew was rather uneasy with what the duke had decided to do, though few of them were willing to say anything. Arrien didn't really think about the implications, trying to remain on the train of thought that if they'd landed, she would have ended up like her parents, although her conscience constantly nagged at her.

They had recently made berth at Menethil, and Arrien was grateful to be on solid ground and able to practice her spells. She still kept to herself quite a bit, but not nearly as badly as she had a week ago. She'd finally come to accept that she was an orphan, and that her few friends in the crew were becoming her new family, for better or for worse. At this particular moment, however, she was all alone, in a small clearing on the outskirts of town, doing what she'd been practicing for the past several months: blasting bottle off of fences with magic. With a swift gesture, particles of ice materialized from the air and shot forth, shattering one of the bottles. She then spun about and with all her concentration spouted forth a series of powerful words, glowing violet energy surrounding her hands, forming three purple balls that drifted forth, two of which sprang forward to knock down two separate bottles, the third flying out over the water, apparently harmlessly. However, unbeknownst to Arrien, there was now one fewer seagull flying over Menethil that day. She smiled, quite satisfied with herself.

"Good job!" The voice from behind made her jump, the fireball that was in her hand evaporating into nothing, "Sorry, didn't mean to sneak up on you," Giles apologized and bowed shortly, his near shoulder length blond hair brushing around his face as he did so, "but since you're my student now, I figured I should check up on your progress."

Arrien nodded breathlessly, a bit flushed from all the practice she'd been doing. She then turned about, concentrating on the fireball again, which formed in her hands, large and looming, and sped forth towards the fence. Bottles and fence were all consumed in the resulting explosion. She let out a whooping cheer, turning back to smile at Giles, who applauded her with a grin.

"You're quite a natural pyromancer, Arrien... it would have taken most mages your age months to learn to make a fireball quite that large and still control it well," he said, leaning against a portion of the fence that was still standing. "But how are your defensive spells coming along?" He decided to test this by making a gesture and sending a small dart of ice at her. She quickly made a circle with her arms, a thin violet wall appearing before her, deflecting the dart, but collapsing immediately afterwards. She let out a small cough, apparently weakened by the last spell.

"Good job... we won't worry about that too much. If we run into any enemies, you'll probably have half of them on fire before you even need to form a mana shield," he chuckled, the red-haired mage just grinned back, grabbing her nearby water skin and drinking greedily. "I came to tell you that the duke has called together a meeting... he wants everyone in attendance as soon as possible."

"All right, lead the way," Arrien replied with a short nod.

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The entire crew was congregated together on the boat, some of them in various states of intoxication, a couple of them napping against the sides of the boat. Arrien grimaced at these. They'd tried to get her to try rum a few days ago, but she'd politely declined, though she found the smell appealing... she just didn't like how it turned the men into even worse leches than they normally were.

"Attention everyone," the duke called from atop the stairs that led to the bow, "Attention, you lot of sons of fishwives!" There were a few snickers, apparently not everyone disagreed with the insult that had been flung at them, or more accurately, their mothers, "these ships will not be returning home to Kul Tiras, as I have turned my back on them, and will be considered a traitor upon return. I have no desire to return to that land, by any means, as I have received news of the war. The undead have taken much of our beloved homeland... and as far as I'm concerned, they can have it. The alliance that we so foolishly formed battles them to the north, and the more elves and dwarves and their rotting ilk perish in battle, the better off we humans are."

This brought about a small grumble from the crowd, but no one made any serious voice of protest. "However, at this time... I ask everyone who does wish to fight for their homeland to disembark my boat now... I will not stop you, it is your own choice of free will. I, however, intend to distance myself from the undead Scourge as much as possible. These ships will be heading for the South Seas in but six hours, so make your minds up quickly. We are going to find an island to ourselves and make our way there by the end of our swords, taking what we need from the inhabitants, and since no law or loyalty binds me otherwise... giving nothing back." The more drunken men in the crowd actually cheered at this part, and Falrevere grinned.

"So we'll be pirates then," Giles said grimly, glancing at the gangplank as though it was starting to become more inviting. "Well... I swore an oath to Captain Belnast, and I'll be damned if I don't stay with him."

Arrien bit her lip, considering the implications of what was happening now. By staying on this boat, she was putting her past completely behind her, not even bothering to defend her homeland. Was that truly what she wanted, she wondered. She watched as about a dozen of the crew quickly gathered up their things and departed, many of them to march to their deaths, and subsequent undeath, at the hands of the Scourge.

"Could be fun..." Arrien said softly, "after all... we won't have to answer to anyone. We'll be free."

Giles just grimaced at her, replying, "But the question is... can we live with what the new freedom means?" Arrien shrugged slightly, now starting to think about the tales of pirates she'd been so fascinated with as a girl, robbing the rich and giving to the poor, dashing men on the high seas who lived by no one's rules but their own.

"To the rest of you," Falrevere finally continued, "welcome to the Bloodsail Buccaneers!" A loud cheer sprang forth from those who remained, and Falrevere, smiling proudly, tipped his large hat and headed down below to his chambers.