Osrik is a character from Emu777's story Guardian. I have his personal permission to use Osrik, and have his approval on the interpretation of the character.
Chapter Fifteen
The Voyage Begins
Yura arrived at the fishery within half an hour of the encounter with the drunken man. After returning to Harry and Edward, he had helped them to pull the cart. The thing rolled much more smoothly after that, though they attributed it to some rust on the axel cracking, or something like that.
Next, the cargo was unloaded onto a large wooden platform, connected to a massive wooden crane by sturdy chains. On the end opposite the platform was a net filled with rocks, acting as a counterweight.
After a few more rocks were added, the balance was near perfect, and it took only a few men pulling on a series of ropes to lift the platform to get it up and onto the boat. More men on the ship's deck shifted the position of the platform slightly and placed it down so that four cut holes in the platform aligned with four large bolts on the ship deck.
Washers and nuts were attached to the bolts to hold the platform in place. After that, the cargo on the platform was more securely netted down.
Finally, a hand-powered winch was used to extend the chain and gently lower the counterweights to the ground. The crane was then attached to another platform and the process was repeated twice more. The ship was ready to sail.
The crew, unfortunately, was not. As Osrik and Yura had claimed, they knew their way around a ship. The Claymore, however, did not. They did some practice drills before setting off, and they were nearly catastrophic.
While tying a rope for the sails, Clare pulled to hard and shattered the wood it was tied to. There were more posts, but it showed just how inept they were.
Helen's poor excuse for a knot nearly sent a sail, and the wooden beam at the bottom of it, crashing down on Osrik's head. A quick catch by Deneve prevented that disaster.
Miria fared fairly well. She followed directions perfectly as she navigated the upper rigging. Tying lines and trimming sails was little issue for her.
The others caught on to the simpler tasks quite quickly, and though Yura and Osrik would need to cover most of the more complex jobs, the crew was deemed seaworthy.
Yura clapped the dirt off of his hands and declared "just one more thing to wait for."
"And what's that?" Deneve asked indignantly. They were already hours overdue, mostly because of the practice session, and she was getting impatient.
"Our supplementary crew member."
"What?" everyone said in unison.
"Hm. Could have sworn I mentioned it. I met him while I was getting my new jacket. He was a drunkard on the street, but he has plenty of experience on a ship. More importantly, I think he may have seen your target."
"What did he say?" Miria looked at Yura with eyes that were intense, but not suspicious this time.
"He said that something happened right around the time the killings started. He heard a song on the water, lost track of time, and found some of the crew dead shortly after the music stopped."
Helen huffed, crossed her arms and said "he's just old and nuts. And drunk. Are you really going to trust him?"
"Yes, we are." All eyes turned to Miria in shock.
"Please explain that to me." Deneve quizzically scrutinized Miria as she hefted her pack and prepared to board the ship. "Why should we trust the word of a drunken old sailor?"
"Because I believe he has seen our target, or at least heard it." Miria's eyes unfocused a little bit as she looked back into the past, struggling to recall the important details. "I was in Doroway, a city on the Voron Peninsula in my region. The pattern of the Yoma attacks was much the same as it is here.
Much like the local attacks, no one saw the target, and the only three people had any recollection of the encounter at all over the course of the year's worth of attacks. Every one of the witnesses was known for regular drinking."
"Let me guess" Deneve said cynically, "they also talked about a mythical 'Siren' warning them of the attack?"
"That is exactly what they said, what they all said. They claimed that they heard a Siren's song." Miria turned to the ocean and scowled. "Though I doubt there was any such creature, it is possible that the Awakened Being has an ability that hypnotizes its victims. At first, I had assumed the perception of a Siren was a result of the men being drunk. A spreading rumour of the first encounter, and the hysteria that followed, would have explained why the rest of the witnesses claimed the same thing."
Clare nodded calmly. "With this separate account of a Siren, the previous ones seem far more credible. And it's possible that being drunk limited the effects the Awakened Being could have on the person's mind, so they remembered a little bit of the encounter."
"Alright, so if we've figured this all out, why do we have to wait for the old drunk?" Helen leapt up onto the boarding ramp of the ship, at a point double her own height. "Come on. Let's just go."
"Old drunk?" a gruff voice rang out from the door to the fishery. "Who do you think you're talking about?"
Helen turned to see an old man, but one very different than she expected.
"Ah, there you are." Yura walked over to the man, face as creased and wrinkled as ever. Red veins were visible on his red nose, a result of years of hard drinking. But unlike before, every speck of dirt was scrubbed from his skin. It was hard to believe it was the same person.
In place of the tangles and filthy matted dreadlocks was finely combed hair of both face and scalp. Rags were replaced with a simple grey suit. He stood with his feet shoulder width apart, hands clasped behind his back, like an old military man.
"So, I see my money was well spent." Yura sniffed the air quickly. "And hardly a trace of liquor on your breath. So you really haven't had a drink since we spoke?"
"Not yet, sir" he said brusquely. "I've never gone on a ship without some drinking, but it's never affected my work"
"I can respect that, but I'm still not letting you get drunk on my ship."
"Alright, sir, but I should tell you, I get irritable when I don't at least get a little booze now and then."
"Well, we'll just have to live with that I guess." Yura turned to climb aboard the ship. "Oh, yes, I never did ask your name."
"Cyrus, sir."
"And I'm Yura. I'm glad to have another seasoned sailor aboard. Now, as we are already behind schedule, we'll make the rest of the introductions once we're on the water."
The three men and three of the women went up the boarding ramp to the Ocean Spider. Clare stayed behind for a while to give Raki a few parting words.
"Take care of yourself Clare." He had a hard time meeting her eyes. Despite his accommodating words, he still wished that she would stay behind, or that he could at least come with her.
Still, he understood that going would only put him in danger, and distract Clare. That might get them all killed, so he was willing to stay. Clare put a large bag of gold in Raki's hand.
"This will last for several weeks at the inn. If we are not back within a month, use what you have left to get to Rabona. Father Vincent and Galk will take care of you."
"This is just like before. You leave me with money and go off on a dangerous mission." Raki wasn't crying, but just barely. It wouldn't do for Clare to see him that worried.
"This isn't the same as last time. The money I gave you won't last forever, and I don't know how long this trip will take. Yura says that a storm could divert us as far as the northern ocean, or dead air could strand us at sea for a week or more. Either or both of those could happen. Even if we never find the target, the hunt may take longer than the money will last you.
I have no intention of dying, and I am much more confident that I'll live to see you again this time." Clare gazed off into the clouds. She thought of the worst scenario, her dying and leaving Raki alone in the world.
Clare forced a slight smile, making this entire discussion seem more of a formality than anything serious. "But if that should not happen, I've arranged to have word sent to you, so at least you will know for sure what happened to me."
Raki's face lifted as some of the weight from the past few days lifted from his shoulders. Reassured by Clare's words, the two said goodbye, and Clare boarded the ship with the rest of her team.
Cynthia walked up to him as the sails unfurled, and the ship prepared to set off. "Here," she said to Raki, handing him a glass bottle.
"What is it?" He examined the bottle, filled with a blood red liquid, appearing brown through the green glass.
"It's a tradition," Cynthia answered. "You break it across the ship, and they say the crew will find nothing but good fortune on the sea."
Raki smiled happily as the Ocean Spider turned away from the dock, and out towards the exit of the bay. It was already out of his reach. He stared thoughtfully at the bottle of wine. Gripping the bottle by the head, he hurled it with all of his strength at the departing ship.
The bottle spun end over end, and shattered upon striking the ship's stern. The red wine sparkled brightly in the afternoon sun as it flowed down the polished wood. "Good luck Clare."
Outside of Charrow, on the road to Malamar, a dark gathering was taking place. Only a few men were visible, all resembling common bandits. But even in the city itself, the people felt something inhumanly sinister in the air as it drifted down from the countryside into the stone streets.
A very plain-looking man dressed in simple traveler's leathers paced slowly across the grassy hills towards the mounted figures. When he was within one hundred paces, the armoured rider, with a scar running from his left cheek to his chin drove his animal to meet the traveller. The smaller man would have looked very much out of place had it not been for the air of purpose with which he walked.
"Any progress?" growled the scarred. "You know what it means to have failed."
The traveller smiled maliciously. "Yes, I have made progress. After seeing what you did to the last one to return a failure, do you think I would return otherwise?"
"Do not mock me." The armoured figure's slightest angry glance sent a chill of terror running down the smaller man's spine. "Now what do you know?"
"As you instructed," the now chastised man continued "I took people who would not be missed, to avoid drawing attention. The one you see now saw what happened to those sent here. He did not know, but I believe he saw the one you seek."
"I cannot allow uncertainty." The armoured bandit smiled viciously. "Show me."
Before the fear could even begin to register on the traveller's face, the larger man had dismounted from the horse and grabbed hold of the wrist. The scent of burning flesh filled the air.
Veins crawled slowly from the man's bare bicep, and painfully slithered farther and farther towards where the armoured man held him by the wrist, where the flesh singed.
The man never even had a chance to cry out. The pain was so intense and so immediate that he couldn't even scream. He stood, frozen in place, hardly twitching for the agony filling his senses, penetrating every fibre of his being.
When the dark veins of the trapped arm reached the caught wrist, and spread into the hand, the armoured bandit drew a bare finger across the palm, drawing a line of viscous, purple blood.
The hand was dragged up over the larger man's head. He opened his mouth and let globs of the gelatinous fluid drip down his throat.
For a moment, the bandit's eyes flashed the colour of molten steel, but streaks of blood red flooded the eye, quickly burying the blazing yellow.
The two stood like this for several moments, more and more thick blood dripping into the scarred man's mouth as his victim twitched in unspeakable agony.
The tortured victim was eventually released. The moment the wrist fell from the larger man's grasp, the smaller man collapsed, writhing on the ground. His contorting limbs scraped the soil, and his throat finally loosened enough to release a single tortured scream.
The larger man, eyes now the dark brown that they were before this incident, walked over to the small group of other bandits. "Deal with that one." He said, jerked his head back at the pathetic, sobbing wretch behind him. Deep-set hatred clouded his features. "He was here, and he left towards the town called Malamar."
"Then we will burn it to the ground" fanged smiles were spread around the few beings that could be seen, and the jubilation of those hiding nearby could be felt as clearly as the wind.
"No. He comes first. We cannot have the witches interfere yet. There is only one road in or out of that town. We will wait for him there." The man's smile now reflected those of the men around him. His voice rose in a crescendo, until it reached deafening volumes. "Then, we will burn that little town, and feast until not one heart still beats!"
Brutal, bestial war cries rose from the field, and dozens more flooded from around the landscape. The shadow that had settled around Charrow shifted, and faded to the horizon, towards the coast that lay miles away.
Author's note:
Next chapter will get back to the good stuff, and hopefully answer a few questions that some of you might have about Yura's past.