The only sound was the pounding of the ocean waves and the pounding of John's heart as Dave pressed against him, arms tight around his chest, breath hot on the back of John's neck.
Vriska had crammed them both into a barrel. It was very awkward. "Don't worry boys, Jake's a pro," she said, face contorted into a devilish sneer as Aranea, standing beside her, tried to suppress a giggle. "He's going to launch you into that window no problem!"
"How the fuck did you get us in here?" Dave muttered.
"Can you stop breathing so hard?" John asked, turning his head. "It's making me uncomfortable."
"Your cheek is touching my cheek," said Dave. "It should not do that ever."
"But seriously," said John, ignoring Dave, "weren't we just having dinner? When did we arrive?" Aranea grinned, and winked her seven-pupiled eye.
"Fuckin' trolls man," Dave muttered.
"One more breath out of you Dave and I swear to Farore…"
Ignoring the arguing boys, Vriska shouted over her shoulder. "Jake, just fire the stupid thing!"
"Still accounting for wind resistance," he muttered, scribbling on a pad.
"It's fine," Vriska growled, strutting over and pulling the lever.
The Forsaken Fortress was a massive, crude structure that seemed to have been carved from the living rock. No, shaped. The monolith of bluestone was so warped and crooked that it must have been poured as molten rock into a poorly made mold, the work of some apprentice to a cosmic craftsman. A very poor work, but a grand one. No wall was completely flat, every edge seemed either too sharp or too dull, and the great tower had branches, lengths of stone jutting out into the free air hundreds of feet above the sea or the tiny clump of rocks on which it was founded, thin, narrow branches hung with anchors and figureheads of plundered ships, ending in huge lumps that must have been far too heavy for them to sustain, but they did. It was on one of these that the monster Abraxas made its nest, but that was not the strangest sight. Atop the highest branch, higher even than the top of the tower, sat a mighty galleon. Or most of one. Judging by the warm lamplight streaking through the portholes, it was inhabited.
John perceived all of this as he streaked through the air, but didn't have time to properly interpret the information, other than thinking "eh?" before the barrel exploded against the wall mere feet from the window they'd been aiming at. He and Dave plummeted to the water below. Something bright and shiny streaked through the air. He could almost swear he saw something brilliant and pink leaping from the same window.
The water hit him like a barrage of icy daggers, punching the breath from his chest. He almost lost consciousness, but something warm welled up from within him and brought the strength back into his limbs. He swam to a stone ledge, grabbing hold, panting like a dog. His hammer was gone, and Dave was nowhere to be seen. "Fuck!" John took a deep breath, slipped off his glasses, and dove back into the water.
Dave had sunk nearly to the bottom, pulled down by his heavy cape. He looked almost bored as John hauled him to the surface despite having nearly drowned. Of course, he panted much the same as lamer people.
John clambered up onto the ledge and put his glasses back on. "Dave, your shades," he mumbled as his teeth began to chatter.
"Shit are they broken?" He actually sounded concerned.
"Uh, no, but it's pretty dark—"
"When I said I wasn't going to take them off," Dave said, "I meant it. Never again. Not even to sleep." John was stunned. It was so nonchalant, as if Dave hadn't just told his best friend that he was in love with his sister. John said nothing and they began to walk. There was a staircase leading up to a sort of central courtyard that was being absolutely swept by spotlights. There on a step was the broken-off hilt of Dave's sword. He picked up the blade, now only a foot long, with a grimace. Something suddenly started rumbling in John's pocket and he jumped, barely stifling a scream as he slowly pulled it out. Dave watched in silent judgment.
It was a black sphere, semi-transparent with a glowing pink Spirograph embedded deep inside that seemed to move when it was turned. Rose's voice sounded loud and clear inside his head. My sincerest apologies for mis-launching, she said, I assure you Mr. English shall be reprimanded. He is an excellent artillerist, but puts far too much stock in what the Serkets have to say.
"No, it's okay, we weren't hurt badly," Dave stared at John as if he were going insane. It occurred to him that Dave couldn't hear her. "It's Rose," John explained. "She's talking to me through the ball thingy!"
"Okay you've clearly hit your head," said Dave, adjusting his cape. "I'ma go rescue Jade now you stay here and make sure you don't get eaten by your own skin or whatever delusional people do."
"Fuck you Dave," said John, just as Rose sighed exasperatedly. "Come touch this thing." Dave sighed and took hold of the sphere. If you want to respond, don't speak but simply direct your thoughts towards me. To Dave's credit, he did not visibly react with utter terror.
"Oh," John said, then caught himself. Oh, sorry.
Now, said Rose authoritatively, what you want to do first is disable those searchlights. Look up at the tower. There was a narrow stair snaking its way along the outside, jutting out towards the open air without so much as a handrail. A spotlight trailed all up and down the stair, illuminating it with stark clarity. Let me guess, Dave thought with a sinking feeling, that's the only staircase.
Indeed so Mr. Strider, said Rose, dryly. I suggest you disable those searchlights before doing anything rash. At least the one that is actively shining on the tower, of course. John looked around, and located the offending machine atop one of the squat, squarish towers set in the fortress wall. He sent an image of himself nodding determinedly. You are a fast learner, Mr. Egbert, she said, impressed. The things should be simple enough to disable, once you get up there.
And how do we do that? Asked Dave.
I'm confident in your ability to think critically, said Rose, tone dripping with sarcasm like blood from the throat of a freshly butchered hog. Once you've done it though, I suggest you head for the tower immediately, as we will circle around to that side and commence bombardment. There was a crackling sound and the sphere flared then went dim, burning a brilliant after-image in John's eyes.
"Wish you had shades at night now, eh?" Said Dave, the slightest hint of a smile on his lips.
"I'm getting real tired of your shit Dave," said John with faux anger.
"And what do you see in the flighty pirate wench anyway?" he continued.
The Bokoblin picked its nose, examined the product, and ate it. He went back to work. It was awfully tedious work, manning the spotlights. Just pulling the levers, looking left and right occasionally. By the stairwell, there was a barrel. He was almost certain it hadn't been there before. Oh well. It wasn't his place to pull levers, it was his place to rip things with his tusks. He wished he was up in the tower with the Moblins. There were girl-children in there, and it had been long since he'd eaten one. They had the softest skin and the sweetest blood, and made such lovely music when you bit into their throats. Of all the things he'd eaten, no flesh had had such rich and complex a flavor, no bone as satisfying and crisp a crunch. It did not occur to him that thoughts like these are why he was being isolated from everyone else and none of the other Bokoblins liked to sit with him at lunch.
Something hard pressed against his throat, yanking him off the controls and sending the spotlights flailing upwards. His feet struggled to gain purchase on the ground but he couldn't, and his sharp little fingers couldn't pry off the fearsome grip. Something was choking him with his own Boko stick, and it was inexorably strong. A voice like a child, but surely it must have been a mighty warrior, called out. "Come on Dave, he's breaking free!" The barrel upended itself and out stepped a figure all in red, pale as a ghost. The Bokoblin tried to scream as the black-eyed monster from his childhood nightmares rammed a broken sword into his belly. His last thoughts were of his dam, scolding him with tales of the monster's boogeyman. The man in red. The Knight.
"Oh look," John said, rifling through the Bokoblin's pockets. "Another one!" He cheerfully held up another butterfly shaped pendant, nearly identical to the one Dave had. "Shit," said Dave, looking at his own pendant. "Here I thought it was all unique but it turns out they get mass produced in some sweatshop in Labrynna for two rupees an hour by half-starved lizard guys."
"I think it's real gold," said John, weighing pendant, testing the metal with his thumbnail. "So even if it fake it's still worth something."
Dave nodded. "Right, I knew that. We both trained under the same sensei, remember? We both know the same things Egbert, stop trying to one-up me." John chuckled. "We should leave though. Like now." The two rushed down the stairs, leaving nothing but the puddle of spilled magenta on the floor. Off in the distance, the Grimdark readied its cannons.
John and Dave snuck through the dark halls of the Forsaken Fortress. The place was labyrinthine, sprawling and disorganized. The main hallway that should have circumnavigated the building for example, ended abruptly at a balcony overlooking a barracks of some kind. Across from them was an identical balcony, with a door that would lead them to Jade. The problem was getting across.
"Check it," said Dave, pointing. The barracks was supplied with an enormous amount of bunk beds. The Bokoblins, not quite knowing how bunk beds were supposed to work, had assumed that you were supposed to keep stacking them, and so, along the northern wall, there was a creaky, uneven row of beds just a few feet below the balcony. The only problem, aside from the very real danger of the whole structure coming crashing down, was that most of the beds were occupied.
"Fuck that," said John. He pointed to the sole source of light, a lantern on a swinging rope. "I'd rather risk falling to my death. At least I wouldn't be eaten alive."
"Fine," said Dave, "you go one way and I go another, and last one there buys the other one lunch." They looked at each other a second, and John took a running leap for the lamp. Dave sprinted over to the north wall and jumped down, landing deftly atop the wooden frame of a bed, not inches from a Bokoblin's head. He strode with fluid grace across the path of mattresses.
But John made it first. "Hah!" he said, poking Dave in the chest. The door opened and in walked a Moblin, a burly ogre with the head of a boar, a lantern in one hand and a gargantuan spear with a blade like a sword, hung with red tassels. His blue-green pelt was covered in stiff hairs, and his little beady eyes searched this way and that. The boys stood still. These monsters had terrible eyesight, and would not see them if they didn't move. It bent down low and started sniffing, suspicious. He turned to leave—
And the fortress shook with the first salvo from the Grimdark. He turned and saw John staggering from the blow, and bellowed, hurling his lantern at the boys. Dave sidestepped it easily, and it went sailing through the air, shattering against the beds. Those few Bokoblins who hadn't been roused by the blast would soon be roused by the smoke, or burned to death.
John swung the stolen Boko stick with all his might, smashing it against the monster's face. It broke, inflicting minimal damage. It sneered, as much as a pig can be said to sneer, and wound up its free hand for a punch—
John stabbed it in the eyes with the two halves of the broken stick. It bellowed again, this time in agony, and charged. John leapt away from the blow, but the monster's fist caught on Dave's cape, and pulled him down over the balcony.
"Holy shit!" John screamed, watching helplessly as his friend fell through the growing smoke cloud to his certain death—
The Moblin broke Dave's fall, and he stuck his sword into the thing's neck. "I'm fine," he said, limping to his feet. His left foot was at a very awkward angle, and his voice barely carried over the sound of screaming Bokoblins. "Don't worry. I'll catch up, you go get Ja—"
A Bokoblin, skin smoking and cracked, covered in blisters, lunged at his face with a burning brand, screaming a cry of rage and pain. Dave struck him down in one blow. "So as I was saying Egbert," he said, sounding impatient. John nodded and ran to the door just as a passel of similarly singed Bokoblins jumped onto his balcony. He had no illusions about fighting them, and went right on through the door, barring it behind him.
Ahead of him was the tower, much more daunting in height than he had first assumed, and he'd found it pretty daunting to begin with. He took a step, just in time to hear a hideous crashing in the room behind him. It was almost certainly the sound of that towering inferno of straw and dry wood collapsing under its own weight. There was a pounding on the door, first angry, then panicked. The sound of shrieking Bokoblins was a dull roar in the background, in harmony with the roaring of the flames. John told himself that Dave would be okay, and ran across the path to the door at the foot of the tower.
The sphere buzzed again just as he reached it. Rose I think I might have lost Dave, he said, and quickly lost coherency.
That's enough John, she said sternly, but not unkindly. Dave can take care of himself, but now it falls to you to lead this little expedition. A leader must be firm in his convictions and show no doubt to the world. Be strong. Open the door. Out at sea, John could see the Grimdark, the muzzles of its cannons flashing in the dark, the now familiar whistling sound of the catapult cutting through the air as it flung powder kegs at the fortress, followed by the deep, sonorous boom that John felt more than heard. Rose was out there, leading her crew in what must surely be their most dangerous mission yet, and she was fearless. Thank you, she said, mildly amused.
He opened the door, and muttered an expletive. The room was a sprawl of catwalks over some sort of shipyard, and there was a pair of Moblins on patrol in here. He'd have to be careful. You're going to have to be my replacement Dave, John explained. Quick, say something ironically, he thought as he ducked under a barrel.
Oh, said Rose, with feigned enthusiasm. I simply adore being compared to your best male friend. It is my favorite thing. Are you in yet?
Glaring at the Moblins through the bunghole, John responded. A pair of fat ugly pigmen blocking my way. They're too dense to go check out all the EXPLOSIONS, he complained.
Rose sighed. Hold the sphere up to the bunghole, she said, sounding more amused than she let on. I want to see. John did as told, wondering—
The sphere flared the brightest pink yet, and there was a hideous roaring, ripping tearing sound, followed by a howl of purest agony followed by a heavy splash. John looked again once the white starbursts in his vision had cleared. There was a greasy, burned-out smear on the floor where one Moblin had been, and the other was gone. I exploded him, Rose explained. Happily, the other was caught in the blast, so I didn't have to expend too much mana. John nodded as if he understood. Then he slapped his forehead and sent an image of himself nodding.
"So Moe," said Roxy, playing with a loose strand of hair. Boys loved it when she did that. "How's about we go behind that curtain over there and I make a proper pig-man out of you?" The Moblin stared at her with an expression of confusion. He grunted questioningly.
"You seriously don't know what I'm sayin'?" Roxy deadpanned.
Jane moaned. "Maybe you should just stop before—"
"Janey I love you like a sister but shut the fuck up," said Roxy, draining her wineskin. "My self-esteem is about to take a serious blow if I'm unable to seduce something with a face so ugly not even its mother could love it." Turning back to the Moblin she started shouting. "You! Me! Snu-snu! Now!" The Moblin took a step back and started grunting animatedly with his companion.
Roxy sighed and retreated to the far end of the cage. She fished into her pocket and pulled out a spoon. The edge of its bowl had been sharpened to military grade lethality. "Here Jane," she said, handing it to her. "I want you to have my prison shiv."
"No, Roxy, please don't give up—" The Moblin opened up the cage door and beckoned with his finger. Roxy smiled with barely restrained glee. She kissed Jane on the cheek. "Keep it, I have an extra," she said, and skipped off through the door. The Moblin locked it shut behind him, and they disappeared behind the curtain. The shrieking of seagulls briefly filled the room.
"Look away dear," said Jane, covering Jade's eyes. "This isn't for children's eyes!"
Jade growled. "I'm the same age as you are!" And then there was a horrible gurgling sound and the Moblin fell back through the curtain with a fork in his throat, tearing it off its rod. Roxy stood on the windowsill, grinning victoriously. The other one screamed in rage and threw his lantern, igniting the curtain and his friend's corpse. He leveled his spear and charged. "I won't forget you guys," she shouted, and jumped out the window. An instant later, something crunched against the window. The second Moblin roared impotently.
"Aw, I missed it!" shouted Jade, shoving Jane away.
Clinging to the slick, smooth wall with nothing but her fingertips, Roxy felt a moment of cold sobriety. What the Hell was she doing? Maybe she should have just waited out her time. Surely whatever happened to the girls at the end of their month couldn't be—
Many yards away, dread Abraxas stirred in his nest, a sliver of orange light seeping out from his eye. He mumbled and went back to sleep, the air rippling in the wake of his dreams. Okay, nothing associated with that could be any good for her. Lizardlike, she made her way down the wall a few feet at a time, whishing she hadn't been wearing such bright colors when she'd been captured. Of course, the fact that she was captured at all spoke volumes about her value as a proud Sheikah warrior, but it was what it was. Her blasé attitude concerning her heritage also spoke volumes, but goddamn those people were too strict. She decided she wouldn't go back to Chosen. She really didn't have it in her to serve some broken crown all her life with stalwart determination, ready to give her life for princes and princesses long, long dead. Maybe she'd become a pirate.
Upon reaching the bottom, she infiltrated the shipyard. Now she would just have to sail out of here and—
All of the ships here were pieces of crap. She figured clumsy fingered goblin-folk wouldn't be much use at ship-building, but none of the damn things were even sea-worthy. What would she do now?
"Psst," a voice whispered from the shadows. She looked around, but saw no one. "Over here!" Off in the corner, there was another ship, run aground on a pile of slag and sand, covered with a tarp. She rushed over to it and pulled back the coverings. "No fucking way," she squealed, "this so totally perf!"
Clinging to the slick, smooth wall of the tower, Help up by nothing but his fingertips and the narrow stair underneath, John felt a thrill of exhilaration. Soon, he'd be back with his sister. Then it was just a matter of finding Dave and meeting up with the pirates again. He wondered how they'd manage that, and figured that they would send Vriska and Spades out with the boat again. No big deal, the hard part was almost over. As if in confirmation, his foot finally stepped on solid ground; the narrow stair had ended at a broad path. It was twisted and full of holes out to oblivion, but a high wall protected from the icy breeze, and it looked like a short walk up to the top. He strode up it with the confidence of a hard-fought victory. Just there, in the middle of the path, was his hammer. He grinned as he picked it back up, loving the already familiar weight of the thing. Everything was finally looking up.
Soon, a pair of heavy wooden doors twice his size set with a heavy bar were all that stood between him and his sister. That and a pair of green-skinned Bokoblins armed with heavy machetes and crude wooden shields. The goblin-folk had an odd caste system whose complexity rivaled that of the trolls, but John was sure that the green ones were considered the best warriors outside of the Moblins.
The green-skinned creatures hissed menacingly, flashing their violently purple tongues and began to circle John. He drew his hammer and his shield, and assumed the defensive stance sensei had taught him. True, he was wielding a hammer and not a wooden practice blade, but sensei had been right. John was made for the hammer.
He snapped the hammer overhand, too quickly to see, and smashed it right into the face of the first Bokoblin. Shocking purple blood spattered on his face as he pulled it back and swung towards the second, swatting his machete away just in time. But the creature was quick and raised his shield; it cracked under the hammer blow, but it held. While John was overextended, the Bokoblin sliced with the machete, and John just barely raised his own shield in time to ward off the flurry of blows. The decrepit old thing looked as if it should shatter, but not even the enamel was chipped. John smirked, and the Bokoblin seemed thrown, surprised.
John took advantage and swung again. The shield went up, and exploded under the force of the blow. The Bokoblin leapt back, left arm hanging uselessly at his side. They both swung their weapons simultaneously, and the machete went flying, clattering against the ground. John took his hammer in both hands and thrust—an unexpected move, but he had been trained with swords—lodging the head into the Bokoblin's throat.
John belted the hammer and hung his shield on his back. As the dying creature lay burbling out of its ruined throat, John picked up the bar and tossed aside. He didn't spare a thought to the amount of strength he'd just expended.
A great room, filled with empty cages. John's heart sank, as he walked into the center. A dead Moblin with what looked like a spoon lodged in his spine lay in front of an open cage. Off in the corner, there appeared to have been a fire. There was no one here, he thought, until he heard a voice shout in concern. "Oh no! Roxy's gone, just when our rescue arrives!" He heard the patter of feet running towards him, and was nearly pushed to the ground as something inexorably strong grabbed onto him.
"Shit!" he shouted.
"John!" Jade shouted. Huh? She dropped down from his shoulders and hugged him from the front this time. "You came to save us!"
"Us?" He turned around and saw a pretty girl with short hair, dressed in bright blue clothes and metallic red jewelry. "Uh, hi," he said. "I'm John."
"Jane Crocker," she said, curtsying. "You didn't by any chance happen to see a girl in pink running around, possibly inebriated?"
John shook his head. "We'll look for her on the way out. But we have to hurry, the pirates are attacking, but they can't keep it up forever—"
"Whoa, you joined the pirates?!" Jade asked excitedly. "That's so cooooool. Have you hooked up with Rose yet?"
John laughed, only a little embarrassed. It was nice to be the cool one for once. Wait. Shit, he'd nearly forgotten about Dave—
A hideous shriek pierced the air, like the crow of a rooster combined with the screaming of a man and filtered through something completely insane, and the orange eyes of Abraxas suddenly filled his vision as the girls screamed. Hell, he probably screamed too, paralyzed under the obscene, lamplike gaze of the monster. It picked him up, squeezing the breath out of him, and flew upwards toward the ceiling. It wasn't there anymore; there was only the open sky.
The heavy wingbeats like thunder filled his ears as Abraxas steered himself over to the broken galleon, on the highest branch of the treelike tower. A man stood there, waiting. He was big and powerfully built, wrapped against the cold in a bloodred cape embroidered with neon colored serpents, a black cane gripped tightly between his gloved hands. His deep green face was like a grinning corpse that someone had defiled with rouge at the cheeks, and he had a mouthful of green fangs and a single golden tusk. There was not a trace of hair on him except for his curiously long and delicate eyelashes. His eyes though were hideous, piercing the darkness with ever-changing flares of color, pupils stretching and distorting into symbols—numbers?
Abraxas waited patiently. So this was the new lord of the Forsaken Fortress. He considered John very carefully, his eyes wide with something like recognition. Then he spat and turned on his heel, limping back into his cabin. With a single motion, Abraxas hurled John out and away, into the endless sea.
John drifted in a state between unconsciousness and waking for hours. Drifting, drifting, drifting. The deathly cold of the water soon warmed with the heat of his body, becoming the soothing embrace of a mother, rocking her child to sleep. There was a voice in his dreams, soothing, feminine, with a low, loving timbre. You are healthy and whole John. Sound in mind, body and soul. All of these broken things don't know what it is to be thus. They hate you and want you to be broken like them. They can't understand that a man should laugh, and a man should cry. Be brave, and come to me.
When the sun was less than a hint of rose-gold on the horizon, the sound of drunken singing broke into John's dreams, and a soft paddling on the water. "The Naygvy—Navy would never had—have, Sheikahs at sea, because they're a buncha bitches—Holy shpit! Shit I mean. A boy in the water! It's fuckin' destiny is wat. What."
Author's Note:(Law & Order sound) After weeks, we have at long last finished the first hour of gameplay *trollface*. I tapped this out really, really quickly. Hope you guys got your action fix with this one, because the next chapter is going to just be about buying a sail :P But Gamzee's in it though.
I know what question is burning on all of your minds; who is the boat? Those of you who have not played the game; that isn't a typo.
Chosen is a madeup place, the new Sheikah homeland in this story. Yes, Roxy has ninja ancestry if it wasn't clear.
I think John has a high amount of emotional intelligence. He's often able to get to the truth of a matter, especially in person, hence his two very different reactions to Vriska, online and then off. Of course, that rarely happens in canon.
In proud Zelda tradition, I will be teasing John with everybody. You have been warned.
This is the latest chapter of this fic, we are officially caught up! (blows noisemaker). This will now be updated more slowly, as I complete the chapters in real-time.