And I'm back! Now that FA is up n' running again, what better time to submit the next chapter of Medieval Cohesion? Prepare yourself for quite a massive turn of event as a familiar face makes an appearence, bringing the horrors of hell along to destroy every remaining trace of hope. This is a chapter that I have been looking forward to write for months, so pelase do let me know what you think once you've checked it out. I am quite curious about how you'll all react to these unfolding events. Hope you enjoy it, everyone! I'm off to start on chapter 60 ^.^

---

Chapter 59 - The Stowaway

What a major nuisance. Peace had once again returned to the vessel, at least for the lucky bastards that managed to survive. But what was there to celebrate - the loss of countless souls that were slain in battle? Not likely. If Wesley somehow failed to acquire this holy blade that everyone is so excited about, then their death would have been for nothing. Despite that I somehow survived my foolhardy encounter with the airborne cleric, and only suffered minor damages that would heal with time, I found myself trapped in a very foul mood. For me, it was an empty victory and I was by no means satisfied with the outcome. It felt like my age was really catching up with me, and after having failed so much in combat, it had convinced me that I was finally about to lose my touch. The youth nowadays might not possess the same experience that I have gathered over the years, but their strength and energy makes it too challenging for me to keep up. It was disappointing to witness my own efficiency wither away. But if I didn't acknowledge my own increasing fragility, then it was bound to become the end of me. That lead me to the decision of staying with ol' Russ to work as his navigator, and get off this foolhardy journey before I got myself killed. I knew Wesley wouldn't approve of this decision, but even though I've always had faith in his sense of empathy, I just didn't trust that he'd be able to understand my motives. He's a strong and ambitious young warrior, so I was quite convinced that he would be more than capable of completing his quest without my assistance. All he need is to understand the divine powers that clearly lurks inside him, and learn how to wield them successfully in combat. The fox still had a long way to go, but I suspected that he had the potential to possibly grow even more powerful than the barbaric gal from the deserts of Sanathir. It all depended on the strength of his heart.

The vessel had stopped moving and I was watching Starlight Island from a high altitude. I had climbed back up onto one of the great masts of the ship and found myself sitting casually on the highest horizontal mast, a great location to gather my thoughts and be left in peace. But my main reason to seek solitude at such a high and risky altitude was to leave myself exposed to the warm rays of sunlight, in order to dry my drenched clothes. They were still damp and sticking to my fur. It caught my attention that some of the sailors were preparing the boat that was supposed to take us ashore. Ol' Russ was only able to give us three measly hours to handle our business on the accursed island. Despite having chosen to desert this desperate quest for salvation, I thought that I'd better offer Wesley my support with navigating his way through the jungle. Otherwise, he'd probably get lost in the wilderness and walk aimlessly around until he'd miss his ride home. It would be my last contribution for the fellowship. Even though I had made my final decision, it would be wrong to say that I didn't stand back with regret. If only I was younger and stronger, I would've gone with Wesley to the end of the world if I had to. But as a lone traveler, I cannot cope with the shame of being a liability to people that depend on me. When my time had come to perish, I'd want to pass on with my remaining pride intact.

Raksasha had joined Wesley and they were approaching the boat ready to be lowered down into the water. It was apparently time to leave. I rose from my seat and leapt down, grabbing onto a rope in midair to descend it safely. They both turned towards me once they heard the sound of my feet landing on the wooden deck. Wesley smiled to me and I nodded back as a reply. There were no words needed to be said. He could sense my intention of following them to Starlight Island in order to offer my services. My daggers were sheathed underneath my cloak. Not even I could predict what challenges awaited us in that accursed place. All kinds of dangerous creatures can lurk in jungles like these. And even if we managed to find the cave without encountering trouble, the blade is guaranteed to be well guarded by this so called spirit that haunts the place. I was aware of the risk that my weapons could be completely ineffective against this phantom, but what choice did I have? It's not like I'm some sort of holy preacher capable of performing a bloody exorcism. But my purpose of going to this island was not to participate in battle but to make sure that Wesley wouldn't waste his precious time by getting lost. He should have more than enough support in battle from Raksasha, the lumbering beast of a woman from the southern deserts. I eventually joined them further down the deck and climbed into the boat. A sense of alert was sparked inside me as the gigantic hyena came aboard and took a seat in the middle. She had volunteered to row the boat, but the ropes keeping it hovering didn't seem to handle her weight too well. Her bulging muscles were admirable, but being heavy is not always an advantage. Once we were getting adjusted in the boat and trying our best to make it comfortable on the wooden seats, Ol' Russ suddenly approached us before anyone came by to lower us down. It was first now that I noticed he kept his right hand hidden inside his coat. Was he injured? I suspected that having been stuck at sea for a while had spared me certain experiences that I was better off without knowing about.

Russel: Seems like ye are ready to head off, matey.
Wesley: Yeah. Thank you so much for everything, captain.
Russel: Don't mention it, lad. Even us dirty scum from the sea wants to see that ruthless lich get pounded back into the fiery pits of hell from which he came. I'd be damned... ye leaving too, ye crazy ol' crow?
Gary: Just making sure that they get back in time, Russ.
Russel: As ye wish, old friend. They'll be in good hands then. I wish ye all the best of luck on the haunted island, Wesley Lightweaver. May the light of Shévolyn guide ye to what ye seek.
Wesley: I hope so too - for the sake of our people.
Russel: Aye. Off ye go, laddie!

The captain swiftly flipped the lever, causing the boat to be lowered down towards the sea much faster than I felt comfortable with. We braced ourselves as it landed in the water with a great splash, waves of water invading our boat to soak our footwear. A warning would've been appreciated, but Russ was always like that. Once the boat had stabilized in the water, Raksasha proved true to her promise and handled the oars. I sat back and watched as she turned the boat towards the ominous island before slowly sailing towards it. The hood of my cloak had slid down across my forehead and provided me with protection against the sunlight. Wesley had taken the seat on the front, staring intensely towards the island further ahead, not speaking a single word. And here I thought that nothing could tame that loose tongue of his. He's always been much too talkative for my taste. But it didn't take a wizard to figure out that he had a lot on his mind. Within a few hours, it would be determined whether or not his whole quest had been in vain. And if he wasn't able to claim the blade - what then? An hour of destiny was approaching. We had barely made it halfway to Starlight Island before something horrible took place that none us were prepared for. A loud and deafening explosion lit up the sky, and as we all directed our attention towards where it came from, we saw a tremendous cyclone of fire rise from our ship. Flames caught onto the vulnerable sails and quickly crippled the vessel within seconds. Something was terribly wrong. Were we under attack? It made no sense at all. There was no hostile vessel to be seen, and even if there were, the crew would've noticed them long before an attack like that could've taken place. Fear swelled inside my heart. Due to the circumstances, I could only imagine that the attack was initiated from within. But in the name of everything sacred, I hoped that was not the case. The shock and the concern for an old friend, made me shout out loud till my throat ached.

Gary: Russel!!
Raksasha: What on earth is going on?
Wesley: Looks like our vessel is under attack.
Gary: Turn this bloody boat around, now!
Wesley: But the blade...
Gary: That forsaken blade is not going anywhere. Return to the ship, or I swear that I'll kill you myself! Move it!
Raksasha: What would you want me to do, Wesley?
Wesley: We'd better let him have his way before the old grouch collapses with a blood clot. Return to the vessel.

What nerve. I would've expected a knight like him to show more respect for the elders, but at the very least, they turned the boat around as I demanded. The female barbarian put her strength into bringing us quickly towards the vessel engulfed by flames, but my patience was wearing very thin, and I had to resist the urge to rush the poor woman handling the oars. Something was terribly wrong aboard the vessel and I was concerned about the captain's safety. Once we arrived by the ship, Wesley called for assistance to have the boat raised, but no one answered. He called repeatedly until his voice started to annoy me. There was no time for this ridiculous delay. While the fox was tormenting his vocal cord, I pulled off my gloves and dropped them into the boat. Then I leapt onto the wooden hull of the ship and latched onto it with my bare claws, before climbing up towards the deck. The wooden boards of the hull was just about loose enough for me to establish foothold, and once I reached the top, I jumped over the wooden railings and landed with both feet on the deck. A horrible sight met my eyes. Fresh corpses were scattered around the vessel of recently slain crewmembers. The flames had almost destroyed the sails completely and were now moving down the masts, only minutes away from turning the whole bloody ship into a floating inferno. Smoke made my eyes wet and stung painfully. My sight followed the columns of smoke and found them rising from a large hole in the wooden deck, located where the barrels of explosives used to be. Someone must've detonated them on purpose in order to sabotage the ship and cause a hurricane of chaos. The explosion had caused massive damage to the vessel, but as a stroke of pure luck, it was apparently not strong enough to affect the hull. Otherwise, we'd be taking in water and the ship would sink to the depths of Davy Jones' locker. My fists clenched hard and vibrated. What spawn of devilry could possibly be responsible for this unexpected onslaught? We had to find the culprit. He couldn't have gotten far. There was nowhere to run, so it was to be assumed that he was still aboard. Sparks of fire sprinkled down around me. We had to move fast. I quickly found a rope and tossed it overboard, leaving an opportunity for Wesley and Raksasha to join me on the vessel.

The flames were only minutes away from hitting the deck. I ran ahead and inspected the corpses of fallen crewmembers, hoping to find a wounded survivor that saw what happened. But they were all dead. Throats were slit, necks were snapped, guts were spilled. Whoever had done this was efficient. A relentless murderer. Slow footsteps were dragged across the wooden deck behind me, causing me to expect a sudden ambush. I grabbed onto the hilts of my daggers, pulled them from their sheaths and turned to face my foe. But what I saw shook my heart even more than any enemy could ever do. Standing no more than several steps away from me, the captain had limbed out of the open door further away and was resting his hand against the mast for support. A large wound was covering his torso, leaving his coat drenched in blood. His legs were shivering as his strength faded away. I slowly sheathed my daggers again and watched my old friend dying before me. There was no way that a man of his age could survive a fatal wound like that. His fate was sealed. He eventually turned around and pressed his back against the mast, sliding slowly down into a sitting position. Taken into consideration that he didn't seem to take notice of my presence, I suspected that the sight on his remaining eye was already starting to fail. His fist clung onto the hilt of his curved cutlass, only stained by the dry blood from the recent battle. By this moment, Wesley and Raksasha had finally climbed aboard the vessel as well and stepped up behind me. I just stood there like a mindless buffoon, staring at the captain for a few minutes as if I didn't know how to handle this situation. For the first time in decades, my heart felt heavy. I had almost forgotten how it felt to lose someone that you really care about. An armored hand was placed on my shoulder from behind. Wesley attempted to console me. Then I finally approached the captain, kneeled down and examined his wound closely.

Russel: This... is going to ruin my whole day, isn't it?
Gary: The wound is mortal, Russ... there's nothing that can be done.
Wesley: Please, captain - tell us what happened!
Russel: There is someone... aboard. Vile little shrimp...Ye must stop him.
Raksasha: Where did he go?
Russel: Into the vessel. Enter the door over there... the one I just came out of. Don't waste yer time on me! He's... he's going to...

The captain slowly passed out, but was still breathing. Fortunate for us, he managed to pass over the information we needed. I didn't care who or what was responsible for this. He would pay for what he had done, even if it'd be the last thing I did. I clenched my fist and slammed it once into the ground to release some aggression. Then I rose and gained eye contact with the others. We all nodded once simultaneously, confirming with no words spoken that we were ready to hunt down this pest and put an end to this massacre. Without bothering to equip my weapons, I turned around and dashed towards the open door, closely followed by Wesley and Raksasha. We plunged into the narrow corridor and was immediately met by a dead pirate that had been nailed to the wall with a sword through his chest. His eyes were left open, as if his death came too swift for his mind to react. An ominous trail of blood lead us down the rickety staircase towards the storage room inside the hull of the vessel. This was the lowest level of the ship accessible and significantly darker than the corridors above, only dimly lit by oil lanterns swaying with the motion of the ship. An alcoholic scent grazed my nostrils, bringing me back to the days where I drowned my sorrows in the tavern of Marino. Countless barrels were stacked down here, and I could've sworn that some of them contained a liquid that I used to cherish, often referred to as the "Dragon's tongue". It was a sharp beverage guaranteed to leave a throat sore till sunrise, and few were able to consume more than two without becoming tipsy. The current situation made me regret that I quit drinking.

The trail of blood had come to an end, but we knew that the unknown stowaway was somewhere down here, and the three of us were blocking the only exit. I felt unnerved by the fact that we had to finish him off at this location, as the hull of the ship was bound to be vulnerable from the inside. Now that we had our enemy cornered, we all slowed down and prepared our weapons before proceeding deeper into the darkness. The delightful scent of alcohol was eventually replaced by a faint stench of rot, making it evident that the nemesis we sought was not among the living anymore. This discovery made it much too convenient to believe that one or more of the undead menaces hid aboard our vessel while the battle was taking place on the deck. But didn't the defeat of that pesky cleric destroy all the undead units under his control? None of my theories seemed valid. But once we delved into the darkness of the far back of the vessel, I noticed a shady figure moving through the shadows - a relatively short individual wearing tattered grey robes, complete with a hood keeping his identity hidden. Any details of the garments were obscured by the darkness. This was no ordinary undead unit - it was a necromancer. I could sense the energies of dark magic animating his rotten remains. A skeletal tail of a reptilian nature swept across the wooden boards behind the cloaked menace. Wesley had noticed him too now, but remained silent in order to preserve our advantage of stealth. The undead stowaway had yet to realize that he was being watched. The undead reptilian slowly turned around and I noticed his small skeletal hands becoming visible underneath the large sleeves of his robes. I squinted my eyes and stared at his hands, noticing that one of his bony fingers seemed to be missing. Wesley and I were waiting for the right moment to strike. We just needed him to come a little closer. But then we were suddenly both pushed aside by force, as Raksasha stepped out into the open and confronted the stowaway with rage, blowing our cover and ruining our chance of a pre-emptive strike. So much for discretion.

Raksasha: Thorshak! But this is impossible... Get out into the light, you filthy little worm. We know you're there!
Gary: Thor-who...?
Thorshak: Hahaha...
Wesley: Oh goodness. Not him.
Raksasha: Quit messing around! What the hell do you think you're doing here? And what on earth has happened to you!?
Thorshak: You are pathetic, Raksasha. Did you really think that you could betray your own master and get away with it?
Raksasha: You... are not my master. No more!
Thorshak: Hah! As if a worthless slave had the right to claim her own freedom. You bit the hand that fed you and left me to die in the desert underneath the circling vultures. But guess what? One of the dark lord's agents passed by on the back of a skeletal wyvern and found my corpse in the desert sand. And he decided to use his magic to revive my bones and bring me back, to serve the almighty Lord Zervas as an undead necromancer. My newfound powers... will make you regret the day that you turned against me! Chains and shackles awaits you, slave...
Gary: Shut your hole and listen. Countless young sailors are dead, killed by your hand. What was the purpose of this ruthless onslaught!?
Thorshak: They got in my way. I knew that useless cleric would fail to destroy you and this floating piece of junk. So I decided to take the matters in my own hands while he was keeping you occupied. And once I've detonated the barrels of explosives down here, my task is done...
Wesley: I just don't get it. You used to despise all types of magic and spellcasters. But now you wield necromancy yourself to gain revenge...?
Thorshak: Ironic, isn't it? And I regret nothing. I will do anything it takes to reclaim what is rightfully mine, even if it means to label myself as a low hypocrite. One day, I shall return to the clans of Wak'Nathol and be recognized as their true chieftain. And you, Raksasha Arajah, shall once again be tamed to acknowledge me as your master...for eternity.
Raksasha: You dirty little... Argh! That's ENOUGH!
Wesley: Raksasha, Wait! WAIT!

It was too late. The beast was enraged and lost control of her temper. Equipped with her oversized axe, Raksasha mindlessly rushed towards the cloaked midget to smash him into the next century. A reckless move that should've been expected from a barbarian regardless of gender. She raised her axe high above her head with both hands and released her anger in a terrifying roar. Her heavy footsteps made the nearby barrels shake, dangerously close to collapse on us. Wesley's words were met by deaf ears. She were trapped in her own world of aggression and wouldn't listen. But the undead midget was just as swift and agile as his size would suggest, so once the large axe were swung vertically, he leapt backwards and made the attack miss completely. The gigantic head of her axe crashed through the wooden planks of the floor and water gushed into the room. The hull had been breached from within, and once the endless amounts of seawater invaded the vessel, cracks arched across the floor from the hole she made, making it clear that the damaged planks wouldn't be able to withstand the pressure for long. Raksasha turned completely pale in her face as she realized what she had done. The crazy woman had just doomed us all! Wesley were at a loss for words, just staring at the geyser of water erupting into the ship, clueless about how to deal with the situation. The three of us slowly staggered backwards as our feet went under water. A scornful laughter was heard from the other side of the water gushing in through the hole, coming from the undead midget that dodged Raksasha's fatal blow. It sounded almost maniacal.

Thorshak: This is not exactly what I had in mind, but it will do. You just completed the objective I was giving for me! Perhaps you're not so useless after all, Raksasha.
Raksasha: What... What have I done...?
Thorshak: You just made your master proud. This vessel is doomed. And now, I believe a generous reward would be in place...

The cloaked midget raised his arm and revealed that he was holding on to a cursed amulet underneath his oversized sleeve, featuring the symbol of death attached to a chain of silver. The amulet was shrouded by dark energy, rising the theory that his necromantic powers were connected with that unholy artifact. A dark and pitch black portal opened behind the undead reptile, supposedly being a gateway to the spiritual realm. He turned around and passed through, but the portal remained open. Only a few seconds later, skeletons armed with rusty breast plates, dented skullcaps and various types of weapons for melee entered the vessel through the black portal. After one row of skeletons stepped in, they made room for the second row. A third row made an appearance, leaving us outnumbered against twelve undead warriors, and more seemed to be on the way. Within a short while, we were going to face an army that we didn't stand a chance to defeat. These units were probably deployed to ensure that we'd be eliminated for good. There was no crew to back us up anymore. They were all dead. And it felt like a similar fate awaited us if we lingered around the black portal for much longer. A fourth row of undead warriors moved through the gate. There was no end to this. The first row of skeletons were already advancing through the murky waters invading the hull of the ship, the unholy light in their empty eye sockets glowing in the dark. Our situation seemed incredibly grim, but we knew that there was only one option that didn't involve suicide. A swift retreat.

We escaped from the hull of the ship by the same route from which we came. Back up the stairs, through the narrow corridors and back to the open deck. But once we were greeted by the few rays of sunlight piercing the dense clouds above, the rattling noise of bones were heard from within the corridors, approaching us with hasty steps. We were cornered on the deck and would inevitably have to make our last stand here, left with no choice but to fight for our lives or pray for an honorable defeat. The only possible way to escape would be to access the boat and leave the vessel by sea. But taken into consideration that we had next to no time to spare, the scores of skeletons approaching were bound to catch us off guard before we'd be ready to leave. If we prepared ourselves and avoided getting ambushed, we'd at least be able to drag some of them with us down. Clanking footsteps were heard on the deck behind us, followed by the ghastly wheeze that skeletons often release because of their missing vocal cords. We turned around to face the armored warriors of death gathering on the deck, quickly increasing in numbers as more came out of the open door. My hands were sweaty and stuck uncomfortably to the hilts of my daggers. I felt stressed and pressured by the lack of options given in this dreadful situation. It felt like I was slowly drifting into a state of denial. How could we have come this far and have overcome so many challenges, only to have our quest thwarted by an undead midget and his skeletal minions? It was preposterous, unrealistic and a tad pathetic. The three of us were just about to prepare our weapons, for possibly the last battle we'd fight side by side. The skeletons brandished their own deadly equipment confidently. They knew we were screwed. But before any strikes were delivered, faltering footsteps came from nearby as the fatally injured captain limbed in between our group and the scores of undead, his fist clinging weakly onto the hilt of his blade. He turned to face the ruthless undead about to maul us down and he stood up straight, ignoring the pain of the open wound covering his torso, the heavy bleeding having soaked his trousers.

Gary: What're you doing, Russ? Get out of the way!
Russel: No. They are too many and too strong for ye. The doom of our people is drawing nigh, but I cannot let it end here. Go! Escape to Starlight Island. I shall hold them back... as long as I can manage.
Gary: You crazed lunatic... this is suicide!
Russel: My time has almost expired... ye know that I am already dead.
Gary: But captain! At least let me stay behind to fight by your side...
Russel: No! If ye want to make yer dirty old carcass useful, then remain by Wesley's side and aid him in his quest. I sense that... ye may yet have... a significant role to play in this... urgh.

Raising his voice against me had drained his energy at a quick rate, and then he suddenly dropped down into a crouching position, groaning in agony. My eyes burned painfully as tears were forcing their way out into the open, as I watched my old friend so weak, so fragile that he might drop dead any minute. The skeletons standing first in line were quick to exploit this brief moment of vulnerability, and they charged forward to attack the captain as an easy prey. But before they managed to reach him, an unexpected spectator from above dropped down from the masts and landed close to the attackers, blocking the way with his large and powerful body. With a terrifying snarl that only a bear could express so menacingly, the burly canonneer was holding the gigantic anchor in his strong hands like a formidable two-handed mallet, determined to protect the dying captain at all cost. The mindless skeletons were incapable of feeling fear and they were thoroughly punished for their lack of caution. Barokko timed his attack perfectly and pounded the first skeleton into bits with a mighty thrust of his weapon, before rising the anchor high to sweep the next two skeletons out of existence with an unblockable horizontal blow. The rickety warriors had their bones scattered in all directions, all defeated by just one blow of this vicious bear, leaving the remaining undead troops hesitant with rushing in to attack. The snarl had faded into an intimidating growl as Barokko stepped backwards to the captain’s side, before helping him back up into a standing position. I watched from behind as Barokko and Russel gained eye contact and nodded to eachother, indicating that they were both determined to carry through with this madness. Having realized that they were not going to change their minds, Wesley and Raksasha wouldn’t let their sacrifice be in vain. They turned around and fled towards the boat, leaving me alone with the wounded captain and Barokko. The skeletons advanced slowly.

Gary: Captain...
Russel: Take care, ol’ friend. May our paths cross again... in the next life.

The captain raised his blade slowly and pointed the blade horizontally towards the scores of skeletons waiting to strike, encouraging them to take him on by full force. A much too confident smirk appeared on his face, revealing the blood gathering in the corners of his mouth. I couldn’t believe my own eyes. What happened to the ruthless scourge of the sea that I sailed with when I was younger? The heartless cur who’d slit the throat of his own mother if it’d save his own hide? Never did I think that I’d witness the day that he would fall as a hero. I turned around to escape with the others, but I looked over my shoulder for a brief moment, taking in the last memory I would keep of captain Russel S. Landford. The inner conflict swelling up inside me was causing me to hesitate, but I knew him. If I disobeyed his final order and stayed behind to aid him, he would kill me himself for getting in his way. I released an infuriated cry of frustration, upset at fate for having placed me in this heart breaking dilemma. Then I forced myself to defy my own nature of loyalty and leapt over the wooden railings of the ship, leaving the dying captain behind to fend for himself. My eye coordination had significantly decreased because of my torn emotions, so I was going to miss the boat by a few feet and fall into the water like a rock. But before crashing into the ocean, the strong arm of Raksasha reached out and caught me by the chest, completely knocking the wind out of my lungs to the point that I got dizzy. Her arm was solid like a bloody log and my ribcage was still awfully sore after my unfortunate encounter with the undead cleric. But she broke my fall and slowly reeled me into the boat where Wesley had already grabbed the oars to row. Whether if I liked it or not, it was time to leave. Back on board the "Feisty Swan", the dying captain and his loyal canonneer was preparing themselves for the onslaught of undead. Barokko was standing in the front, armed with his heavy anchor of steel, like an impassable wall to defend his captain. Ol' Russel was standing straight up with his blade in hand, ignoring the agony and not even bothering to slow down the bleeding. He knew that his time had come.

Russel: Feh! What a pitiful conclusion to a long life. But be that as it may. Are ye ready for this one last dance, matey?
Barokko: Aye. I shall enjoy this to my final breath.
Russel: For Newton, Valeska... and every lost soul of me crew. ATTACK!

The dreadful sound of steel clashing together was heard while we sailed away from the sinking vessel. There was no turning back. This particular day, that dirty vermin was proven to be a much greater man than myself. Russel, ol' friend - you gave up on everything for the planet, and you opened my eyes to the true valor of sacrifice. Thank you for everything...