Killian played a series of low melodies, one after another. Though at first unwilling to do so, he found that playing the melancholic verses was soothing to his state of mind, as well as the nerves of the Orcs. By the third song, the bard was more so playing for his own interests than any of those around him, cocooning himself from the outside world within his own music. It did not even appear to him as if the Orcs were listening until the moment he stopped after a song, when Sharroc would turn his massive head and politely request another. Killian searched his mental repository for suitable hymns, and settled on one he had not strummed for many years.
"Lírë morenna,
Sérith nuva líel,
Aelen va thára,
Nuvëi lís thíel."
He pronounced each lyric with the tongue of a native speaker, though it had been so long since Killian had heard the song that he no longer had any inkling as to what the words meant.
"Tíren na vésa,
Léra síorël varë,
Nauthë ven ióna,
Va naera tharë."
Killian didn't need any light to be able to finger each string accurately; in fact, when he was particularly interested in perfecting a ballad, he would bar himself in whatever chambers were his own at the time and play with his eyes closed. Though he himself knew none of the words of the language of the Fyearn, they hummed through the space with an almost magical vibration. Every syllable reverberated strongly, and yet sounded as softly as the tinkling of glass.
"Velan moren elae,
Syrië ven thilís,
Nuva lómë telor,
Lírë na lúmë."
Killian breathed the last words, and the chamber was once again bathed in a natural silence save for the dull thrumming of rain, unbroken by the interference of living beings. This tranquility was shattered within moments of the Korvinsfald listing dangerously to port. Rainfall had continued to pound with evermore feverous aggression against the ship since Killian had returned below, which he had attempted with the utmost effort to drown out. Now, it appeared that nature demanded his full attention. He secured the lute in its case with a shaky breath and trembling hands, and rose to his feet.
Pooling water loudly sloshed in protest to the movement of Killian's boots. Steady trickling raindrops had turned into tiny waterfalls down the stairs from the outside downpour. Sharroc watched with alarm as the bard rose and began carefully maneuvering down the line of restrained Orcs, but Killian paid no mind to anything around him. He had seen this once before, and that memory was the only thing swirling in his mind. Killian hurried to the main deck of the longship, ignoring the gnawing pit in his stomach.
No longer were there stars visible in the night sky. Looming black clouds engulfed the world, and deafening torrents blanketed the rolling ship. From what could be seen through the continuous sheets of rain, crewmembers were frantically attempting to maintain control of the vessel. As the yard was lowered, two stout Dwarven sailors strained to take in the sails of the mast that was creaking dangerously against the wind. Killian suppressed his panic as he fought through the gales towards the incomprehensible voices he heard near the bow.
Though the storm continuously howled, there were a pair of lungs aboard capable of bellowing orders fiercer than any wind could wail. Killian heard the Captain far before he saw him, and nearly stumbled over the surly Dwarf in his blind navigation. Durgan hardly seemed to notice him as his eyes feverishly scanned the pitching deck to micromanage the scrambling sailors. Nonetheless, he made the time for conversation.
"Skald! Seems ya haven't quite drowned yet, ahah!" He barked.
How anybody with any sense could laugh in such a storm would seem completely mad to most, though Killian found madness and storms came hand in hand.
"Are we going to make it?" Killian shouted, squinting his eyes and shielding them with one hand. He was answered by a look of mixed amusement and obstinance.
"You insult me, lad. As sure as the stars shine white above, the Korvinsfald shant go under! This Maelstrom will not end me, though it's high time you earned your keep!"
Killian blanched. "I've not crewed a ship in over a cade!"
Durgan laughed harshly. "Then you'd best scrape off yer rust, 'lest I lash you in the hold as ballast."
As the longship tilted the pair upward, Durgan gave Killian a rough shove in the hip towards the center of the deck, where many others were still struggling with the mast. Reaching downward, the Captain undid a latch and thrust two stubby fingers around a gap in the flooring. He pulled hard and threw open a hatch. As the Dwarf motioned, Killian hurried below automatically, his body not giving him time to think. Only the occasional bolt of rippling lightning allowed Killian to see anything within the confined space.
Durgan, still guiding the bard as if he were a hapless child, bade him grasp the handle of a large crank. Only during a flash of light above did Killian notice that the crank was attached to a large iron pipe bolted to the floor.
"Bilge pump!" Durgan explained, "Git somma the water out from down below, can't have the stock drownin' till after they're bought!"
Even in these circumstances, Durgan managed to roar with laughter at his own dark humor as he carried himself back above to the top of the roiling ship. Killian sat aside the pump, and began to slowly turn the crank. He strained hard with the effort it took to manage a single rotation of the machination, growing tired within minutes of the work. Though he was partially covered in the hatched pump room, droplets still steadily dripped onto his head and arms from the gaps in the decking.. Forcing the crank to turn the whining gears helped to stop his shaking from the cold, but did nothing for his nerves that only continued to worsen.
Though he had somewhat successfully tuned out the might of the storm for the time he was belowdecks, it had seemed only to have gotten worse since he'd come above. With the near constant rocking of the ship, it almost felt as if the floor would come fully vertical if he were not holding on to something. A sudden crack of thunder and burst of light cast tall shadows through the pump room.
Lurlaiths…
Killian shook his head furiously and cast the word from his mind, grasping the crank harder until his palms burned. There were figures standing just above him, conversing loudly, and he turned his attention to eavesdropping.
"...have to strike the mast! Even with the sails reefed, she'll still come down at the rate we're goin along!"
Killian didn't recognize the shaken voice, but did know who gave the commanding reply to the negative, despite it being mostly muted by the storm. As more vague figures passed overhead, Killian forced himself to keep the crank turning while he formulated a plan of his own.
Not that there would be a worse-case scenario, but in case there was…
Unlike the larger island traders that he was accustomed to, Dwarven longships were typically too small to concern themselves with carrying lifeboats, and the Korvinsfald was no exception to this rule. It made little difference anyhow, as even a dinghy meant for such a purpose would capsize in such a tempest.
There's plenty of cargo aboard that'll float, Killian thought as the muscles in his arms screamed at him, Thorian said himself we've not even passed the Shattered Isles, I can surely cling to something in the short time it'd take to reach a shore.
Even the act of thinking such an absurd plan convinced the bard that it could be accomplished, reassuring him with false confidence as he remembered the various buoyant crates of provisions he'd seen on his time aboard.
I'll be light enough anyhow with just myself. The lute won't be an issue, the case is waterproof and designed to float…
Killian stopped turning the crank in an instant as his eyes widened in sheer terror, the realization dawning on him that the instrument was no longer strapped to his back. Forgetting every anxiety except this new one, he abandoned the bilge pump and burst from the hatch, throwing himself towards the stairway at the stern. Durgan was busy pushing a frantic Dwarf back towards the mast when Killian shoved past. With a vice-like grip, the Captain wheeled the frenzied bard toward him, his complexion contorted with rage. Though Durgan was no-doubt readying a barrage of insults and curses, he did not have the chance before he was interrupted once more.
Equally desperate and drenched, Thorian stumbled through the haze shouting the name of his Captain. His linens were soaked through, weighing down the limbs of his thin body. He pushed a mess of hair back from his shining face; apparently the storm had taken his cap. Regarding Killian with just a moment's bewilderment, he turned his direction to the impatient Dwarf.
"I was just down in the hold, Captain! Rulger and Bog say the seals have gone bad, we're taking on too much water!"
Durgan was on the verge of full dismissal of such nonsense, Thorian slipped across the deck in an attempt to follow.
"We've got to loose the shackles! Even if just a few, they can help us bail!"
Durgan shook his head. Long, tangled strands of thinning black hair emphasized the denial as they fiercly danced around his face.
"First one you unchain will crush yer empty head like a rotten melon!"
"But they'll drown!" Thorian cried pleadingly.
Durgan's sun-cracked face took on a beastly visage as he bawled a fist around the young sailor's shirt, nearly forcing him to his knees with a violent tug that brought their noses inches apart.
"Then you'll LET THEM DROWN!" He shrieked in Thorian's trembling face, "Or you'll be the next corpse at the bottom of the Dractorian Sea, I swear your miserable life on it!"
Thorian gulped in terror as he was pushed back from the Captain's grasp. Killian, who had been momentarily halted from his goal at the altercation, now continued forth past the pair. Thorian could not entirely believe what he was seeing. He watched as Killian descended, and misinterpreted this as a clear sign of what he must do. Gathering his nerves, Thorian cast what was perhaps the clearest look of defiance he had ever managed at his Captain before he followed in his Uncle's wake.
What Killian witnessed in the hold was nothing short of nightmare turned reality. He had pushed past several sailors who were daisy-chaining buckets of water up to the main deck in vain. In the short time he had been gone, the water level had raised significantly; stepping off the final stair, the icy death was just above his knees - and would soon be to his hips. Rulger, among a select few other Dwarves, were fighting a losing battle to keep the peace as a cacophony of noise grew to a crescendo with the rising panic. Cries of terror rang out as the chained Orcs tugged relentlessly on their shackles. Those that were sat next to children raised them as high as they could to prevent their heads from being submerged.
Thorian slid down the stairs and frantically dove towards the nearest bench.
"Some of the chains are older than others - there's a chance they've rusted enough…" He grasped the chain of a young Orc where it was secured to the hull with his left hand, raising a rigger's mallet he'd acquired in his right, "Give me a hand, Uncle!"
But Thorian's words blended in with all the others as Killian waded back to the empty spot on the bench on which he'd sat. At least, he moved to where he thought it was, since it was now beneath the rising water. Twice he'd slipped and fallen as the longship tossed its occupants like a bucking horse, but he hardly seemed to notice. At last, not far from where he'd sat, Killian spied the lute case bobbing furiously in the aisle. He dove towards the instrument as his heart nearly leapt out of his chest. Once again in his possession, Killian clutched the object to his chest as if terrified it might vanish into thin air.
He nearly found his fear warranted as a large hand clutched the hem of his tunic. Killian stumbled back in alarm, but the hand held fast. When he looked up to see his assailant, he almost didn't recognize the face so perturbed by anxiety to be Sharroc's.
"Grumshall," the Orc wheezed, "we not have long, please-"
He looked back at the chains that kept him held in place. It was clear he had been fighting desperately against them since Killian had left.
"talk to Dwarfs, tell them-"
Whatever Sharroc wanted the Dwarves to know, Killian would never hear, for as Sharroc turned his head back towards the bard, the case that held Killian's lute smashed into his face with a sickening crunch. Sharroc released his grip immediately as he clutched his bleeding snout, howling with pain.
"I told you to never lay your hands on me again, you damned pig!"
As fast as he had arrived, Killian made his escape. He did not pay any heed to Sharroc's cries or those of the Orcs on the verge of being sentenced to a watery grave; least of all did he notice his nephew pleading for aid. He had gotten what he had come for. Most of the Dwarves had abandoned the hold as the water was beginning to rise past their shoulders, and Killian joined the throng that was making their way to higher ground. A raging gust nearly battered him off his feet as Killian meandered along the top deck. It seemed as if the wind had reached its fever pitch.
Something to cling to…something to stay afloat…Ash take the rest of them…
Everything happened within the next few moments. There was a loud blast - almost like an explosion - as the mast lost in her struggle against the fearsome gales. Men shouted and scrambled for their lives as the wood cracked and splintered, and the ship lost all control of direction. It was during this chaos that Killian was knocked to his back, the air forced from his lungs. Dazed, he caught a final glimpse of the blackened sky, and the falling mast coming down like the felling of an ancient tree.
His next breath filled his lungs with saltwater.
Opening his eyes, he saw the shadowy outlines of debris and men and other, swift figures circling far beneath.
In the confusion before he lost consciousness, no longer did Killian feel panic. In fact, the only thing that came to mind as he sank beneath the waves was
This is just like that dream