Blood in the Ocean: Tales from the Sapphire Shores

It was the third moon of winter, and the occasional stream of ships had braved Umberlee’s wrath in order to seek their fortune on the newly revealed isle of Verdwenen. Octavia Ael’Hahriss, an exiled Merfolk gypsy brawler from the mainland had been one of the first few to secure safe passage under the blue banner of the Arcane Academy. Their proposition of passage had seemed most appealing to her and her companions at the time as they quickly decided there was the least amount of inherent danger attached to the contract of voyage.
The Academy had requested she and her companions searched for temples and artifacts of the newly revealed Verdwenen. News had reached the mainland swiftly that the Roil had reverted the island back into existence, after concealing it in a magical veil for many years, removing it from chartered waters entirely. Having secured herself work in the local tavern entertaining the clientele with her dancing, concertina playing and singing of popular sea shanties she had seen a great deal of new faces fill both the tavern and the streets, these past few weeks. Some of those faces friendly, some mysterious and some that sent a chill through her, colder than the coldest Verdwenen sea breeze.
The only other Aquan on the isle that she had seen was her employer, the innkeeper and owner of The Sea Crest Inn; Pvorsa. He was some five seasons older than her, mild mannered with a sharp wit and a keen eye for trouble. Very little passed by Pvorsa, though it often fell to Octavia to weed out any potential threats to business and see them on their way, with varying degrees of persuasion. Octavia drew in a crowd most nights, given that civil Merfolk were somewhat of a rarity to the isle. Some would come to admire her blue skin and mysterious purple ringed markings that had earned her her name at birth as they so closely resembled those of the blue ringed octopus. Some would come to admire her svelte Aquan figure as it would dance enticingly silhouetted by the tavern fire light. Other drunken clientele would foolishly make the mistake of coming to hurl racial abuse or lewd comments at her. These customers soon regretted their actions as she would transform from a beautifully enticing nymph into a raging flurry of fists, swearwords, backhands and kicks that soon saw them leaving the Sea Crest Inn by the nearest door or window.

It was on a more quieter night, during her usual routine that a mysterious figure caught her attention. Raised as a smuggler’s daughter and having worked coastal taverns on the mainland for most of her adult life she had a well trained sense for those who were out of place, betrayed by their mannerisms, accents or other subtle behaviours. This person stood out to her as unusual, as they had opted to keep their hood up on entering the warm inn. The last remnants of snow dripped to the floor as the stranger ordered her drinks from Tula, the human waitress who was working that night. Aside from the nearby table of rowdy trappers who fought to compete with Octavia’s spirited sea shanties, the tavern was dead.
It wasn’t long before Tula made her way over to Octavia with a drink from the stranger. She had chosen to sit in a private stall that was cast in shadow from the tavern’s central fire.
“It’s from her” said Tula as she turned to nod in the direction of the hooded woman. “She said she wanted a private audience with you, when it was convenient.” explained Tula pulling a face and putting on a regal sounding accent. “By the hells!” replied Octavia smiling “It starts with a bloody drink an’ before we know it I’m either in bed with ‘em, or in debt to ‘em!”

Tula chuckled and turned to leave. “She bought you the good rum. That Amnsih shite that Pvorsa keeps under the counter. Whatever it is, I’d say she’ll pay well.” Octavia looked over to where the shadows obscured the shady figure and walked over. “You don’t strike me as a lover of coastal ditties and fine dancin’ m’lady.”

Octavia offered a well practiced smile as she invited herself over to the table, brushing the frills of her dress under her slender legs as she sat. Her concertina let out a short distressing burst as she placed the instrument on the table beside her. She looked the stranger up and down, assessing the person before her.

From what she could discern in the half-light, the woman was a striking elven female, she held herself in a manner that suggested this was someone of some nobility or high social standing. The cut of her clothing and intricate face paint revealed more about the elf than the elf herself: Black vine-like face paint, jet black hair and pale skin told Octavia this was one of the Mul Dayan elves who worked closely with the Ebony Brotherhood and were renowned for their ruthless nature, interest in the dark arts and artifacts that Verdwenen was rumoured to conceal.
“I’m Vharri” said the elf, still not engaging directly with Octavia’s curious glance. “I thought you danced well tonight, though I will admit the music was not to my taste.”

Before Octavia could reply Vharri continued, finally engaging her in the eye. “I hear you keep the company of Vampires Octavia?” Vharri’s voice was calm and chillingly distant; a trait not uncommon to the Mul Dayan mystics that would come into the tavern at times. Octavia had not seen this female before and assumed she must be new to the isle of Verdwenen. Whatever had bought her here to brave the cruel oceans and hostile terrains, it must be of some importance.
“I keep the company of many, love… It’s my job.” replied Octavia as she turned her attentions to the fine naval rum in front of her, the rich scent of the liquor enticed her senses as she lifted the tankard to her mouth and took a sip. “What business is it…” but before Octavia could finish her sentence Vharri replied.
“There is something that I, no... we, need from you and your friends. My order is looking to establish ourselves here in Verdwenen but our resources are still stretched finely.” Octavia took a moment to savour the drink in her mouth before she replied. “And let me guess...” she said as she placed her tankard to the table in front of her, “You need US to fill your ranks and take up your slack for you, hm?” Octavia offered Vharri a mischievous grin and before Vharri could reply she said “We work for gold, no banners, no orders, no masters or any of that shite. We’re good at what we do and, if you’re here, then you know we can be discreet.”
“That’s what I was told, or at least something similar.” said Vharri offering Octavia a grin that was a blend between humour and malice.

“How much are we talking? We have investments ourselves that we hope to see blossom.” Octavia cracked her knuckles and stretched her fingers doing her utmost to make the silence as uncomfortable as possible. “We’ll offer you eleven hundred gold and perhaps overlook your enterprises here for a while. We could make your life very comfortable if you chose to work for us when you’ve proved to be of more use.”

Octavia smiled at the Mul Daya elf “It’s a good offer, and we’ll take your money.” her smile dropped into a face of sincerity,

“But that’s as far as it goes love. Whilst yer fancy rum is a true delight and yer gold is tempting, we know what kinda shite you could wrap us up into. I think you need to tell us more about what’s involved afore ye start assumin’ we’ll dance around like expendable meat puppets at the beck ‘n’ call o’ the Ebony Brotherhood.”

“Two thousand.” Replied the elf, the offer sounding more as a threat than a pact of negotiation.
“Three, and you’ll have our attention.” retorted Octavia brashly, partly expecting the elf to either get up and leave, or pull a poisoned blade and stab her in the chest.

Vharri sat in silent contemplation for what felt like an age. “Very well. You have yourself a deal” sneered the elf, looking off distantly at the rowdy trappers as they revelled in making Tula’s job more difficult than it should be.

“Fine.” said the elf as her gaze returned to meet Octavia’s “What they say about you is true. Now, if I may, I’ll tell you what it is that we need, and where to obtain it.” Octavia fought away the uncomfortable feeling the Mul Dayan elf was giving her and feigned bravado choosing to sit back and listen to the proposal. “There is an artifact we believe is a ten-day journey to the south east of here, in a place locals have named the Crags of the Dark Sepulchure.”

Octavia leaned forward, raising a finned eyebrow, casually showing some interest. “Artifact?” she said as she began to pull a cloth map of the island from a pocket in her bodice. She laid the basic map out on the table before her, whilst looking to see who else might be observing them in the room. With two taps of her webbed index finger, she motioned for Vharri to mark the spot on the map.

“The artifact is known as the Shadow’s Heart. Our scholars suggest the artifact is ancient and…” “What does it look like?!” interrupted Octavia.

“We don’t know,” replied the elf vaguely “Although the tomes we’ve deciphered suggest the Shadow’s Heart will be recognised by its dark beauty, so we consider it to be made of one or many rare shadowstones.” Vharri marked the map with a small wooden stamp she produced from her elegant, dark robes.

“If, for any reason, you fail to return the artifact to us, then we will not view this favourably.” warned the elf,

“That said. Any information you have that helps us understand the artifact will be open to negotiation of some small compensation.”

”Aye, we’ll get yer bloody thing fer ye, of that ye can be sure!” replied Octavia dismissively with a slight frown. “You ain’t givin’ us much to go by, but the gold tells me yer serious enough.”

The tavern’s firelight flickered fiercely in the Aquan’s ink black eyes, and for a moment Vharri could see why this Merfolk had already begun to earn her tough reputation throughout the town. Octavia leant in towards her patron “Now, before our business is done m’lady, is there anythin’ else that ye be wishin’ t’ share with us about this damn thing?” Vharri grinned briefly at Octavia’s choice of words.
“I would advise against touching it directly, so perhaps you might want to transfer it into this.” The Mul Dayan elf produced a medium sized leather satchel, making a familiar clinking sound as she laid the container down. “A small down payment is within, as is the…” again, Octavia interrupted the elf which finally earned her a scowl.
“Aye, aye. Lovely, lovely!” Octavia hastily opened the satchel to find a bulging coin purse containing what she estimated to be two hundred coins.

She removed the coin purse and swiftly stowed it in a secret pocket in her frilly dress. As she placed her hand in the bag she felt something else and removed the object. It was a skull shaped chest made of ebony, its deathly grin stared ominously at Octavia, it’s hollow orbits appearing to be foreboding and sullen. She went to open the skull chest, that was about the size of a human skull but before she could work the latch Vharri leant forward and placed a dominating hand over the scalp of the ebony skull. “This is the container for Shadow’s Heart.” Explained Vharri with a cold calmness to her voice “Keep it in the bag, hm? And don’t open it!” Octavia looked up to meet the elf’s eye but they were eagerly scrutinising the shadowy corners of the tavern once more.
“We’ll hear if you are successful or not.” explained the elf confidently without meeting her glance. Octavia didn’t doubt that she was speaking the truth. If she was really part of the Ebony Brotherhood as she suspected, then she thought the elf would have known how she had her eggs for breakfast.

Octavia chose to remain silent as Vharri stood to take her leave.

“Your drinks are on me tonight, but I’ll need you to have a clear head if you and your companions are going to leave early in the morning.” Vharri slid two gold coins across the table towards Octavia. “Four horses wait for you at the stablemasters. Which you’ll return on completion.” Octavia nodded as the elf left the Sea Crest Inn.

Octavia waited until the Mul Dayan had left before she spoke. “I think she dropped these.” She held up two potion bottles victoriously and swung them in between her fingers.

She grinned as she turned to the darkest part of the chimneystack that stood central against the booth where they had struck their bargain. From the shadows a tall, thin shape emerged.
“You have such a way with people Octavia, my friend.” Said the Vampire assassin and he stealthily glided over to sit beside the Aquan. Octavia had long overcome the stigma that went with the Vampires of Zendikar.
“Xe? You know what these are?” She held the two small bottles containing a dark blue liquid up to her Vampire friend.
“I’d say they were magical potions of some kind. Quite what, I couldn’t tell you.” The Vampire replied. “Although, I’d say Pvorsa would be more accomplished with drafts and liquors. You should ask him.” Octavia slipped the potions into a side pocket and nodded to her companion.
“Where’s the others?” She asked, looking across the table at the ancient creature.
Xe bore all the typical traits the race of Vampires shared: slightly pointed canine teeth, dark hair, pale skin and a hunger for the energy derived from the blood of living creatures. Whilst his vampirism wasn’t caused by being undead, the eldritch disease from which he, and all his kind suffered still afforded him unnatural long life and an immunity to necrotic magic.
“I saw Kaetra in the market place earlier on talking with the smith. I think she’s getting her axes sharpened.”
“Again?!” Blurted out Octavia as she finished the last of the expensive rum. “Any sharper, and those things would cut through the fabric of time itself!” Xe chuckled and nodded.

It was true his companion, who was also a Vampire, had a penchant for spilling blood. More often than not it was for sport as well as for sustenance.

“And, what about our latest bosom buddy, Ellah? You seen anythin’ o’ her of late?” asked Octavia indifferently. “As sure as I’m standin ‘ere, ‘avin’ just talked gold, can I be sure she’ll be here in a flash to get ‘er cut within the hour.” Little was known about Ellah, except that she was a Gnome who had disgraced herself within the Gnome community, and had ventured to isle to continue her training as an assassin as well.
“We can certainly be sure she’ll be here by sunrise. Though, to be safe, I’ll leave word with Pvorsa, should he see her.” Before either of them could continue their conversation the light from the fireplace was obscured by the silhouette of three of the five drunken trappers whose odour was as offensive as their looks. The burliest, and most drunken of the three men slammed a fist on the thick wooden table and swayed in a briefly silent state of intoxication before he found the words he was looking for. Octavia winced, not through fear, as drunken patrons were almost certainly a nightly occurrence at the Sea Crest Inn, but partly through the humiliating state the trapper presented himself in, and that she already knew these men were going to lose whatever dispute their intoxicated minds had dreamt up.
“Well, well! A fish in cahoots wi’ a bloody leach!” The odorous, unshaven man who clearly considered himself to be the ringleader leant forward and scowled, “Summin’ I never thought me eyes’d see!” One of the trapper’s friends; a weasley man with pustules around his nose, spoke up, leaning forward slightly, spurring his friend on. “Their kind killed Jed an’ Zamas as we were washin’ our skins by the river!” The angry men nodded and frowned to one another “Reckon YOU know ‘em?!” said the second man from behind the ring leader. Octavia already didn’t like the direction this conversation was going in and she clenched her blue fists under the table, her face not betraying the anger that was already brewing like a storm within her.
“You pond scum sahuagin are as cold and dirty as the shit water you swim in!” Shouted the bearded man inches from Octavia’s face. It was the final straw for Octavia, and she was a woman of very few straws, especially when it came to being compared to a lesser, more savage race of waterfolk. Octavia and Xe had encountered the sahuagin themselves one moon past when their camp was set upon by a group baying for blood. It was sahuagin that had killed her mother and brother before her eyes as a child. The cut of the insult that brought back those painful memories was enough to cause her to pause briefly, giving Xe the opportunity to stand up from his seat in protest. “You’ve drunk too much, friend.” exclaimed the Vampire as he arose from his seat, “What-say you and your friends take a step back and we’ll see you’re kept in drinks for the rest of the night with our compliments, hm?” The Vampire’s soothing words were a stark contrast to the tirade of anger that slowly boiled up inside Octavia and she looked to her friend, amazed at his composure. “Why don’t you shut your fuckin’mouth, yer pick toothed son of a wh…” but before the bearded man could finish his sentence Octavia had lept up from her seat and planted a backhand against his neck, driving the blow forward with her forearm. The man weighed more than she had thought, but she was still able to knock him from his footing and back a few paces. Flowing like a river she carried her momentum to continue her attack into the other weasley looking man. The lighter man did not fare as well, receiving a knee to his groin with a force that lifted him from his feet and made him drop like a sack of miller’s flour.

By now the other trappers at the table were looking over with scowls and faces of concern; their attentions torn between the fight that had begun and their unfinished drinks on the table in front of them. Xe instinctively reached for his magical dagger, but sheathed it again seeing the man was still unarmed. Part of him prayed for the bearded man to produce a weapon “Even a corkscrew would do.” he thought to himself. The oaf swung a haymaker towards Octavia and missed horrendously, staggering a few paces and swearing to himself. Octavia felt the draft of the haymaker that the bearded man had tried to land on her and saw the staggering man from the corner of her eye. She scowled at the near miss, gave the thin, disabled man a cursory glance as he reeled in pain with his hands between his legs on the floor and turned to face the bear of a man head on. The third person, who until now had remained motionless took the opportunity to try and grapple Octavia. “Bitch!” cursed the third fur-clad figure, whose voice alone betrayed her to be a woman. As the fur-clad trapper moved to grab Octavia from behind, she jolted her head back with considerable athletic force that broke the female trapper’s nose instantly. Blinded, the trapper staggered backwards and dropped to her knees in agony.
The burly bearded trapper saw his partner holding her face in agony and cried out in rage “Rosa!” The bearded man’s eyes rolled back into his skull with anger as he lunged with all his might towards Octavia, clawing at her with his open palm. “Oh, shite.” Though Octavia as she felt the man’s grip lift her clean off her feet and into the air. It felt like she was in the air for an eternity before the force of a thick wooden table smashed into her back. Clay jugs and pewter tankards scattered onto the floor shattering and clanking loudly. The trapper wouldn’t release his vice like grip on Octavia’s throat as he pinned her to the table with his immense strength. She scratched hurriedly at the man’s tight grip, but couldn’t break free, his breath reeked of alcohol and trails of blood and saliva coated his thick, brown beard. From the bar Pvorsa started yelling something incoherently about the guard as he scraped under the counter for his cross bow.
Octavia couldn’t move and was beginning to lose consciousness. As she grasped at the trapper’s strong wrists she ejected a defensive spray of poisonous liquid from her right wrist which coated the man’s face and beard in a toxic spray. The man coughed and gagged but still fought to choke her, strengthening his grip. The room was beginning to fade to black for Octavia and the distressed cries from Pvorsa rang out as an echo as she began to lose consciousness. She could hear fighting and assumed that the remaining trappers at the table had decided to help their friends and that Xe has moved to engage them. At that point the tavern door flew open, the thick wrought iron hinges squealing in protest as the thick wood swung and slammed into the brick wall. A gust of snow and chill air darted into the room with the force, shortly followed by the flash of a steel hand axe as it hurtled towards the man pinning Octavia to the table. The bearded trapped reeled back in pain as his hands that once clasped tightly around Octavia’s throat were severed and dropped to the table beside her head. Having met its mark the flying axe vanished inches away from embedding into a tavern booth, and from the darkness of the doorway emerged Kaetra, the Vampire warrior. Fresh blood dripped from one of her axes as she stepped into the tavern and looked around at the brawl. For a second everyone stopped to look at Kaetra and the only sounds were Octavia gasping for breath and the trapper whimpering and holding the bloody stumps where his hands were under his arms. “Now I’d say you’ve all had enough?” said Kaetra as she walked towards the whimpering trapper. His other injured companions scurried out of the Vampire’s way as she strode into the tavern.

“That is, unless anyone feels like losing their head?” the Vampire opened her axes out to her side like an angel of death and looked at each trapper in turn, their faces frozen with shock from the taunt.
The sobering pain caused the trappers to look at each other, nod and scurry out the door. The bearded trapper looked at his severed hands on the table and then at Octavia. “Leave ‘em, an’ be glad ye got yer legs still to get the feck outta here!” Octavia snarled, rubbing her throat. A woeful look of loss washed over the trapper’s broad face as he looked to his partner and then to the exit. Pvorsa’s aim followed the trappers out the door as they stumbled hurriedly out of the door. “Shhhiitteee” cursed Octavia as the adrenalin began to wear off and she looked down at the two severed hands on the table where she had been choked, only moments before.
“They aren’t staying there!” shouted Pvorsa as he threw a mop at Kaetra’s feet. The female glared at the inn keeper for a moment and stooped to pick up the mop.

“Bucket’s out back!” growled the Aquan defiantly. “Octavia! A word!” said Pvorsa angrily as he beckoned her over. Xe was fixated with the blood stains on the floor and relived the fight with the two reluctant trappers in his mind. In the six hundred years of existence he had learnt to control his primal urges for blood, but in some situations he still found himself having to keep his desires in check. He watched as Octavia talked to the innkeeper. Within a few short minutes Pvorsa’s face had turned from the darkest scowl to a relieved, lighthearted smile. “How does she do that?” Xe thought to himself as he casually righted a fallen cup and poured himself a drink.

Through the open tavern door walked Ellah, a Gnome dressed in lightweight black leather armour and a rapier by her side. Following the Gnome, who was also an assassin, was an attractive looking human call girl who was holding her hand.
“Shadow and hell?! What happened in here?!” declared the Gnome as she looked to her companions for an answer. It was at that point that Kaetra dropped the last of the trapper’s severed hands into the bucket with a dull plop. “We’re leaving, that’s what happened ‘ere.” replied Octavia as she stood up from the barstool and nodded to Pvorsa.

“We’ve got a job, and now we ‘ave te lie low ‘til this shite blows over.” Octavia reached for a cloth that was lying on the bar and began to wipe the drying blood from her face with a frown.

“Always in time for the action eh, Ellah?” smirked Xe as he stood to leave for his quarters. The Gnome didn’t know what to say and looked back at her escort. “I… was, busy?!” protested the assassin. Xe had already turned and was making for his quarters. The call girl took one look at the bucket, then at the fearsome looking Vampire that had dropped the limb into it. She turned heel back out of the tavern, letting go of the Gnome’s hand as she quickly left. “Great!” exclaimed the Gnome assassin as she kicked a chair, folding her arms. Kaetra sniffed out in amusement and turned her attentions to the blood stain.