Mittens Made for Murdering
The men, Rorom's regular crew plus six of whom Rorom had picked up on a coastal village off the coast north of Volta gathered round a bonfire they'd started on the deck of the Onyx Cascade. They all warmed their hands as well as they could, rubbing them together while keeping watch over the distance. They were well out to sea, but had spotted several telltale signs of ice fractures on the distance. Their ice glowed blue, sending their lights far off from the masses of their glacial structures. It was warm enough yet that they might see some of them break off. Not as bad as the risk during late Ashan, but early Zi'da shedding of ice fractures wasn't entirely unheard of.
Rorom kept his eyes on the distance, as he warmed his bare hands. The deference of the elements protected him to a certain degree, giving him warmth from the fire and shielding him from the worst of the bitter winds. Yet...
"What I wouldn't give for a pair of merwool mittens right now. Stitched and sewn taut." One of the men remarked. Mastrel perked up at that. He was stood across from Rorom, his glass eye reflecting the open flame of the bonfire. Yet, far from his genial and kind self, he stared solemnly into the flames. Rorom almost feared to ask him what the matter was. But then, Mastrel rarely let things stirring up feelings go long enough for anyone to wonder what upset him. At least before they found out what the color in his one good eye meant.
It shone green then.
"Mittens eh?" Mastrel spat into the fire. "Let me tell ya lads..."
His glance turned to face the distant points of blue light on the horizon. These were not reflections of the moons. The moons were new. No, the darkness held beacons of cold light, signalling the ice fractures. Rorom had only heard a little about them, but spotted them often enough on his trips through the Syneffa bay and the Hollow Sea.
Mastrel took a good full few moments between breaths, during which he rubbed his hands, cupping them in his breath so that he could preserve his vocal cords. "Them lights in the distance. Ice Fractures."
Some of the young men who'd come along, stared out to where he glanced. The brown-haired one frowned, "I was wondering what those were, if they were stars or..."
Mastrel coughed, and sputtered in a short burst of cold laughter. "Nay, ice fractures they be. Where all manner of beasts of ice be, and even wraiths. Not just that though..." Mastrel leaned forward toward the fire, and rubbed his hand against his closed fist. "Strong mariners of old ventured into them frozen shores, whether by accident or in pursuit of their riches."
One of the lads, a biqaj of short stature and blonde hair, his eyes shone purple at the sound of riches. "Treasure, of what kind?"
Rorom nearly groaned, but stifled it before it came clear of his lips. The last thing he needed was for the men to get curious about those dangerous anomalys. Stirring up U'frek knew what from their savage shelves.
Mastrel regaled them with a story of a creature that had a man's shape, but was formed entirely of ice. It's crystaline limbs capable of severing limbs and heads from shoulders. The story went on for a good half break before Mastrel concluded with a classic if somewhat trite conclusion, "And Mittens the Merciless, they say, lies in wait, watching for fishermans hook to drop by his glacier. Where he and his kin will rise again, to terrorize the livin."
Rorom didn't roll his eyes or shrug it off, but genuflected swiftly to ward off the evils that Mastrel invoked by using the name of such a monster, even if its name was anything but intimidating.
The fishing was proving to be lacking in the icey waters they now sailed through. But in his spyglass, Rorom could see near the glowing glaciers, the water was disturbed, as if fish were teeming. He had a decision to make. Rorom could ignore the stories told by Mastrel, and make for the glaciers, or risk his cew going to bed with fewer rations, until they made port in Viden. Ultimately he settled on the hardship of seeking out those frozen glaciers, the eerie glow warding off sailors wasn't enough to overrule the dangers of losing the consent of the crew to captain them.
So he set course for those glaciers, and lowered the nets again when he came within distance of those roiling waters. Sure enough, Rorom spotted plentiful fish in the depths. He didn't need supernatural awareness of the waters around him to tell that there were lots of fish in those waters. His hunting knowhow carried the day in that regard.
For a few breaks, they pulled fish from the depths, replenishing their supplies and soon enough their cook was gutting the beasts, after they'd suffocated on the chilly northern air.
Rorom busied himself supervising the pulling up of nets, keeping a careful eye out for anything unusual.
A few breaks they continued their work, making several sparse hauls despite the roiling waters. Whatever was causing the turbulence in the water couldn't be fish. But what then? Rorom was vexed severely by the question, yet maintained that he would not indulge in the witchery imparted to him by the Lady of Limbs. It would be a simple enough matter to call to the elements, the roiling waters, the caress of cold air breezing against the starboard bannisters....
He inhaled softly, closing his eyes and dispelling those temptations, at least for the moment it appeared his will would hold.
Rorom frowned as he approached some of the men worrying about the nets. "Cap'n, somethin' heavy is snatched onto the net?"
"Or vice versa." Said Mastrel, who came up unexpectedly behind Rorom, looking over the edge of the starboard side of the ship, where the nets were lowered currently.
Rorom looked into those waters, and spied what he thought was a slight glow. It couldn't be a piece of those Ice Fractures broken off? Lost in reverie as he admired the glow, he barely noticed as the lad began pulling up the net with greater speed, and the glow grew larger in Rorom's eyes.
All too late, enthralled by the soft icey glow of that savage shelf, Rorom recovered his wits. He drew his hand against the arms of the lad, who was steadily pulling up whatever was caught in the net, which Rorom suspected and soon confirmed was not a haul of fish.
Out of the net, a large Cold Soldier leapt out of the netting, using its jagged limbs to climb the hull and heaving up above the bannisters. Two others followed, and a Crystal Ape as well.
"We're boarded!" Rorom said, stumbling back to fetch his own staff. He began shouting out orders to the rest of the crew, "Rally to the center of the deck, lads, grab your clubs and spears! Smash these festering scum!"
But the lad who'd hauled up the net didn't get the chance to join the rest of the able-bodied aboard the ship. He was skewered by the icy blade, his flesh turning blue from the chill of the wound. He twitched several times, and then the Cold Soldier withdrew the blade, disembowling him, and then beheading.
"Chrien's Stench." Rorom cursed, and Mastrel hefted his own mace, which was more of a steel capped cane that he used to get around.
Several of the others were rallied to Rorom's side, and brought with them throwing spears.
"Stick together! Strike as one!" Rorom barked at them, "One of these ice beasts at a time!"
Thus said, Rorom came forward and engaged with the soldier first. The apes, meanwhile, were taking to the masts of the ship, their aims uncertain, but the advantageous positioning didn't escape Rorom. "Don't be distracted by them, they're trying to get you to lose your arms..."
Rorom muttered beneath his breath, as he flipped his quarterstaff, catching the icey blade of the soldier in its middle and binding it there. He countered with a swift reversal and then brought the staff down upon the sword-shoulder of the creature with all strength he could muster. The crushing weapon had a remarkable effect on the ice creature, and was well enough to shatter its connection between the shoulder and the limb.
Rorom didn't have long to celebrate his lucky strike before the other blade the creature wielded was swinging in his direction. He ducked out of its path, drawing his staff back and then thrusting forward to hit the creature on the chin.
A shout from behind alerted Rorom to the mischief the crystal apes were getting into. Mastrel picked up the slack with the soldier, taking to him with his mace and beginning to put the creature on the back foot. "Back yer icy cretin! Chrien's piss yer a tough one aren't ya!"
Rorom rushed toward the men who were struggling against the crystal ape. It was currently just menacing them, but with a solid thwack against its head, Rorom crushed its head, along with the sharp teeth in its mouth. Overcome by battle-frenzy, Rorom didn't stop that, but joined his men in stomping on the limbs, crushing every last moveable and reticulated piece of its body.
Thus neutralized, they shifted their attention back to Mastrel, who was holding his own, remarkably against the cold soldier. His skill with a cudgel was great, in spite of his various disabilities. However, he failed to notice the creeping clawed hand that had been severed, reaching up for his leg. It gripped the leg, and with a sudden swing the Soldier slashed his mace out of his hand.
Mastrel cried out in alarm, and by then Rorom had joined the battle, and smashed the back of the clawed hand gripping his leg, repeatedly beating his staff against the deck to break it into smitherines.
However, the blade of the soldier came around with a spin, digging deep into the same leg with a low cut against the newly disarmed Quartermaster.
The blade severed the leg, bringing Mastrel to the ground at a knee. Rorom's eyes shone with fury as he saw his Quartermaster broughtlow.
With all the swiftness he could, he aimed a flurry of thrusts at the upper body of the creature. He successfully forced it backward, and with the crew coalescing around Rorom, he was unable to further threaten the wounded Mastrel.
The creature swung its sword high, attempting to behead Rorom but the superior reach of the staff rendered it moot. He lowered its tip, and struck several times against the joint joining its shoulder with the arm. This did enough, in tandem with a well-timed strike of his other crewmate's javelin against the same joint, of severing the limb. This time Rorom didn't take a chance, but smashed the limb as it fell upon the deck.
Now the cold soldier was kicking and thrashing with whatever limbs and appendages remained to it. But soon the crew withered it down to a stump. Much ice was scattered across the deck that day, some of them glowing oddly.
When the threat had been dispatched, Rorom went to Mastrel, to help him up and check on the wound.... only to find splinters and wood chips. Mastrel looked up at Rorom as he winced, and let out an uproarious chuckle. "Now there's a sight, quite the lumberjack this Mittens must've been!" And Mastrel continued to laugh. Roromtook a breath, and calmed his nerves by assuring the rest of the crew was unharmed. He supposed he could whittle himself a new leg from some of the spare lumber they had aboard. It was unfortunate they'd lost a swab, but that was a sailor's life. Short and exciting.
As he searched the catch that they had managed to bring aboard, Rorom found some glowing and cold stones amidst the ice and snow. They glowed oddly, and had a strange feel about them, something about them stoking a strange hunger in him. He pocketed these strange stones, before anyone saw him do so.
The rest of the time before the crew could rest, and move on from those strange glowing, fractive ice waters, they spent drying and salting the fish for preservation.
