A Helping Tentacle

[Morgan LaLuna]

They hadn’t expected trouble. Not like this. Cannonfire and blood and the smell of something burning. Morgan’s crew fought off the strange boarders, and someone threw flaming bottles of rum at their ship. It had gotten to a point that the rum was better used as a weapon. For seeming hours, the battle had been raging. Men and women clashed, gunpowder flashed, and the captain of the Heathen found himself halfway up the main-mast, desperately firing off reddish pink bolts of energy, sweat cutting through dirt and soot and blood on his face. He hardly understood the calls of those below him, and did not hear the warning of the Bosun before he felt a hot, searing pain in his belly. A gasp, and he lost grip on the wood, fingers slipping as he grasped with the other hand at the peppered spots of fresher crimson spreading on his torso. Down he fell, and for him… it felt like an eternity. One in which it was hard to breathe, and the last of his air was used to slow his fall, just before he scattered on the deck.

He rolled away to port, away from the offending ship at starboard, using the railing to lift himself as he flicked his arm out, a scatter of water spattering across the wood as a blade appeared. It was not hard to spot the enemy, hardly even human anymore. Or elven. Really, hardly living. Sallow and grey, the creatures looked to be long dead, bloated with seawater and vacantly staring. One such man seemed to come out of nowhere, and came upon the smaller captain with the vigor of the untiring, his sword barely stopping the blow of a heavier one. His foot kicked out, but the creature hardly seemed to notice much beyond stumbling a single step back before he was coming again. It gave Morgan just enough time to grab a rope in the running rigging to pull himself to standing atop the rail for higher ground. In the heat of it, it was hard to say if it was unfortunate, or rather fortunate that his foot slipped on something slick on the wood, for had he not, the sword coming for him would have cloven his skull.

Red hot fire streaked across his jaw, to the bone, and he gave a cry, finding himself again falling. The bastard looked over, and Morgan, in a last attempt, shot a last bolt on his way to the water. The last thing he saw of it was half of the face being blasted off… But it did not follow him in possible death, rather turned to continue its fight. Hitting the water was painful, and knocked the breath out of the captain, and a curtain of bubbles, tinged orange and yellow by flame above, obscured his vision like a kaleidoscope for those last moments his eyes were open. Slowly, the world around him darkened. And the last thing he felt as he went was a thick tendril wrapping around him, and snatching him deeper.

[Morgan LaLuna]

The captain had fallen. Felt in the bones if every crewmember, their captain had been swallowed by the sea. Some battled on as usual. Some were shocked, and were forced into defensive stances. Still others went into a frenzied rage. Bosun was one such member, and found himself giving a roar into the face of a shambling creature, giving a mighty swing with his axe to lop the head right off its neck. Another, and another… but he was being swarmed. For every one put down, three rose from their repose on the deck to fight as if they'd never fallen at all.


All was lost.


When the waters around the ship started to churn, the half-orc was hardly surprised. It was only fitting that when Morgan went overboard, the pet he kept would turn on them. A crazed screech broke through the sounds of even the heaviest battle, and a tentacle rose from the water. And another. Then another. Still more. That terrible noise went into the very souls of those on board, and one even fell to his knees to pray to their deity. They were sure that a killing blow would come. Whether by tentacle or sword, it did not matter to them. For their glory was coming. Until it didn't. A squelch caused the crewmate to open their eyes, and they witnessed something they could not quite explain.


One by one, the undead creatures were being plucked from the deck, crushed and torn apart by great tendrils of flesh. A collective confusion ran through the living as the dead were dashed upon their own tattered vessel carelessly. Like a child throwing their toys into a box, the tentacles returned the aggressors to their own place, eventually clearing the deck. Silent confusion turned into a rallying cry, and the Heathen once again roared to life with a new energy. Hope for victory. Bodies left behind still untouched by the great beast were attacked mercilessly, thrown overboard to feed their ally, or simply to sink to the bottom of the sea.


As the men and women did so, few noticed the wrap of flesh around the other ship. Few noticed the slide of slick tentacles across the deck, until a great crack rent the air, like a lightning strike splitting a great oak. Splinters scattered, and masts collapsed under the weight of encircling arms. The other ship, nameless and bloated, was being crushed by the captain's newest friend. Everyone stopped then, and watched the ship get pulled under into the churning water, wide eyed and breathless.


Only the bosun noted the one tentacle that did nothing at all, hovering and waving gently, wrapped around the limp and dripping body of Morgan LaFey. Slowly, he was lowered to the deck, and set gently upon it, before the last tendril slid into the water. A battle won meant the spoils of war, and Squilliam was all too happy to partake in the feast that followed. He would be occupied for some time, probably.


The captain laid in a heap on the deck, unmoving and bleeding, and a small gnomish woman got to him first, dropping to her knees and reaching to check on him. A small moment passed before she called out.


"He's breathing! He's alive! Quick! Get him below! Find Gwen!"

[Gwen Kasady]

They hadn’t expected trouble. Not like this. When Gwen heard the whistle sound from the crow’s nest, she’d peeked out from below deck and narrowed her eyes at the approaching vessel. The ship was a ragged, floating disaster it seemed. Sails were tattered and torn to the point she didn’t even know how the thing sailed, but it had. Right to their starboard side. That’s when the first of the attackers jumped the space between the two ships and it hadn’t stopped since. For hours they’d fought. At some point, amidst the sounds of clashing swords and bursts of gunpowder, Gwen had retreated below deck only to quickly return with several bottles with rags sticking out the top of them. Kicking, elbowing and shouldering her way through a slew of attackers, she finally made it to the starboard railing where she was able to set the bottles down. One by one, a bottle was taken up, set alight and then thrown at the offending ship. Try as they might, they couldn’t seem to kill these hardly living creatures easily. Sinking the ship was the fastest way to a quicker victory Gwen thought, but even that didn’t seem to work. Cannon fire and blood and the smell of something burning still hung thick on the deck of the Heathen and the battle raged on despite her efforts.

The last of the bottles used to no avail, Gwen turned away from the strange ship made of seemingly ancient wood that just wouldn’t catch and drew two daggers, one from each thigh. The first came from her left. A beautiful dagger Morgan had gifted her with, endowed with magical powers. Anytime she threw it, it would return to her, ready to be thrown again. The second came from her right. Another beautifully crafted dagger simply made from a single piece of steel that could be wielded or thrown, gifted to her by Ariana, another captain of another ship.

Upon her turning and drawing of the daggers, one was immediately thrown at one of the strange boarders rapidly approaching her while she stepped in and slashed with the other. Slowing it down further with the slash, she watched as it sunk to its knees when the first returned to her, slicing through the rotted, sallow flesh of the attacker again. It fell, but it still didn’t stop. Stepping away from the creature as it flailed for her ankles, she quickly looked out, scanning the deck for Morgan. In her survey of the bloody carnage that was taking place, she happened to notice a few crew members looking up and calling out. Then she noticed Bosun was doing the same. Looking up as well, she froze and her stomach curled in knots when she saw her captain, gripping at his belly and starting to fall.

“MORGAN!!” she called out desperately. As she watched the descent, everything seemed to slow down and she started for him. The attacker she had just felled however, had dragged itself to her and clutched at her ankles before she could get very far. Falling when her feet didn’t move like they were supposed to, she whirled around and slashed at the grabbing hands, completely cleaving one hand away at the forearm and kicking the other away so she could get up. Slipping on a pool of blood in her attempt to rise, she scurried for the captain as he fell, watching helplessly as he neared the deck before she could make it any closer.

Thankfully, just before he scattered on the deck, he miraculously slowed and landed on the deck, immediately rolling away to port. Gwen, on her hands and knees, slumped with relief at not having to watch her captain die right before her very eyes. The relief was short lived however, when another attacker barreled in her direction and kicked her in the stomach, sending her skidding across the blood soaked deck and holding her midsection. When the half dead man continued his pursuit, Gwen kicked out her leg when he neared, knocking him off his feet and then spinning around to sit up and bring one of those daggers she still held down, burying it in his chest before following with the other. Both blades now sunk into the man’s chest, she yanked hard to send him skidding across the deck and used the same momentum to get her to her feet, intent on reaching her captain.

The way was not easy. The attackers had all but overrun the deck of the *Heathen* and moving even a few feet seemed a monumental task, if not an impossible one. Through the flurry of limbs and blades, she could see that Morgan had been set upon by a rotund and bloated man with unseeing eyes even as he brought his blade down to clash with the smaller man’s. Grunts and endless slashes of those daggers brought her closer, but she was still too late. Morgan had taken to the railing it seemed, and in the heat of the moment, had slipped, but not before taking a slashing blow across his cheek that sent him over the edge. Making it to the scene a few seconds too late, she came upon the man that had half of his face blown off and with a raging scowl, dropped both daggers to the deck and drew her sabre. With a leaping, downward blow, she finished the job and severed the man’s head completely from his neck, but paid no attention to the aftermath. Instead, she dropped the sabre and hit the railing hard. Hard enough to jerk her to a stop as she peered down at the water desperately.

“NO!!” she screamed, watching as her best friend collided with the water and started to sink below the surface. Before he disappeared completely from view, Gwen watched helplessly as the form of a woman emerged from somewhere below. A flash of blonde and then another, larger flash of green as a thick tentacle wrapped around the man, and then they were both gone. Claimed by the depths.

Gwen’s heart shattered right then and there. Her captain. Her best friend. He was gone. And like the sea had claimed the man, grief claimed Gwen’s soul and she withered against the railing….. Until she was slammed into by yet another of the attackers. Knocked down and away, the girl clattered to the deck and when she looked upon the one that had knocked her down, something else claimed her then too.

She’d never really felt rage like that before. Not when her father was beating her mother. Not when her best friend from home died in her arms from a gunshot wound she didn’t deserve. Not even when her mother chose her imprisoned father over her. But she felt it now. Her roar wasn’t as fearful as Bosun’s had been, but something guttural tore out of her and she began fighting like a woman possessed.
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As the battle raged on above the blood filled waters, another scene entirely was taking place below.

Perdix had been dutiful in overseeing the Heathen and Eurydice since receiving her orders. Orders that came from king Metion and passed down from queen Callidora herself no less. The small band of warriors she’d brought with her kept watch as well, but it was Perdix who took action when the man had hit the water. Reaching him quickly, she wrapped a thick, green tentacle around him and snatched him deeper, away from the raging conflict above where she could protect him better and tend to him without worry.

Far enough away, she brought him up and took him with her arms. The wound in the man’s belly was more than she could deal with at the moment without proper supplies, but the man still needed to breath. Bringing him closer still, she pressed her mouth to his and blew gently, only long enough to fill the man’s lungs so she could help in another way.

With Morgan still held in her arms, she quickly swam up to Eurydice and let the man go when she was close enough. Wrapping a tentacle around him again to hold him in place and out to the side, she placed her forehead and hands at the beast’s head, between those two great eyes as she closed her own. Using a language remembered by only a few, Perdix began speaking to the daughter of the sea. At the touch and then the sound, Eurydice’s eyes fluttered open in surprise and massive tentacles, once swaying easily in the soft current, came to life and began moving in irritation at what she’d heard. Perdix continued the ancient conversation, at one point removing a hand from the beast and pointing to the captain.

Slowly, when she’d heard the explanation and saw the pointing hand, a yellow, saddle shaped pupil slid over and looked at the near lifeless body of the man she adored. For a brief moment, there was silence. Then, one of the smaller tentacles drifted closer, delicately taking Morgan from Perdix’s grasp and bringing him up so she could examine him closer. Perdix too, couldn’t help but pull her forehead away from Eurydice and look at the man as well, a forlorn look upon her face, despite her orders to keep the man and his ship safe. She was saddened more by Eurydice’s reaction and her heart felt for the great kraken.

Slowly, still holding him like a newborn babe, Morgan was lowered away from the massive eye and attention was given back to Perdix. The woman, ever aware of her kin even above this man she did not know, looked back and nodded to something unheard. Closing her eyes once more, she placed her forehead against the other and drew in a deep breath. When she spoke again, her voice was much louder than before and was intermingled with what sounded like the whispers of ghosts long past. Rising in tone and volume, she continued the chant that would give Eurydice sight where she could not physically be in the moment. When the kraken could finally see, the rage that boiled within was released and a crazed screech broke through the sounds of even the heaviest battle above. A tentacle rose from the water. And another. Then another. Still more. That terrible noise went into the very souls of those on board, and one even fell to his knees to pray to their deity.

One by one, the undead creatures were plucked from the deck, crushed or torn apart by Eurydice’s great tendrils of flesh. A collective confusion ran through the living as the dead were dashed upon their own tattered vessel carelessly. Like a child throwing their toys into a box, the tentacles returned the aggressors to their own place, eventually clearing the deck. Silent confusion turned into a rallying cry, and the Heathen once again roared to life with a new energy. Hope for victory. Bodies left behind still untouched by the great beast were attacked mercilessly, thrown overboard where Perdix’s warrior took over. Ripping most to pieces once they were in their world and not the surface world, the bodies that remained were quickly dispatched and their pieces left to drift lower still, food for the sharks and fish of the depths.

Perdix and Eurydice however, did not relent. The woman continued her ghostly chanting, growing ever louder as she used all of her might to channel the spell into the great beast still. Eurydice, having dispatched most of the undead attackers from the Heathen’s deck, did not and would not stop there. Tentacles free now from the flurry of undead, sought out the offending ship. Slick tendrils of flesh encircled the ship, ever tightening around the creaking, rotted wood until a great crack rent the air like a lightning strike splitting a great oak. Splinters scattered, and masts collapsed under the tremendous pressure. The other ship, nameless and bloated, was eventually snapped in half, crushed by Eurydice’s rage.

Everyone aboard the Heathen stopped then, and watched the ship get pulled under into the churning water, wide eyed and breathless. Only the bosun noticed the one tentacle that did nothing at all, hovering and wavering gently, wrapped around the limp and dripping body of Morgan LaFey. Slowly, he was lowered to the deck, and set gently upon it, before the last tendril slid into the water. Eurydice had done all she could do, for now. She couldn’t heal a human in that state. It was up to the crew of the Heathen now, and both Eurydice and Perdix looked upward, holding their breath and hoping the others would know what to do.

Gwen’s rage had run its course. Like a supernova she had burned bright enough to burn out and now rested against the port railing of the ship. Knees pulled up and face in her bloody hands, her shoulders shook violently as the uncontrollable sobs thrummed through her body. She had lost the only man she’d ever loved, her best friend, and now she didn’t know how she would carry on. How could she carry on?

All was lost.

The captain laid in a heap on the deck, unmoving and bleeding, and a small gnomish woman got to him first, dropping to her knees and reaching to check on him. A small moment passed and she called out.

“He’s breathing! He’s alive! Quick! Get him below! Find Gwen!”

In her grief stricken state, Gwen didn’t hear her name being called out and continued to sob with heartache. It wasn’t until her name was echoed by the crew several times that they broke through to the woman and she lifted her face from her hands. Cheeks streaked with tears and blood stained, the sobbing stopped slowly and she looked up, confused at first. It wasn’t until she heard, ‘Gwen, he’s alive’ and ‘Gwen, C’mon!’ that she scrambled to her feet, slipping and sliding on spots of blood, to rush to her captain’s side.


When she finally reached him, several crew members hand lifted him onto a makeshift stretcher and were about to lift him from the deck when she skidded to his side on her knees. Looking down at the bleeding wound on his stomach, her hands trembled at the sight and she reached down to touch it but pulled away hesitantly. “Oh Morgan, Morgan, Morgan….No no no no!” She tried to reach down again. Tried to remember the spells and magic that would heal him but she couldn’t. “I...I don’t know what to do!” she cried.

“Gwen…,” The voice was soft, soothing almost, and a hand came to rest on the girl’s shoulder gently. Turning and looking up to where the voice had come from, Gwen saw Bosun above her, blurry and out of focus. His face was calm, but stern, and when she was looking at him, he continued. “You know what to do, girl. He’s your captain. He’s your friend. Remember what he taught you.” He looked down at her for a moment, silent and still, and managed a comforting smile he hoped would reach her. “He needs you to heal him now. You can do it.” Gwen stilled at the coaching from her other friend, the one she made bets with on the side, and she gave a sniff before bringing her arm up to drag it across her face. Only managing to smear the blood and tears there, she looked back down at Morgan and nodded slowly.

It was what she needed, it seemed, and once she had her wits about her again, she looked up at the crew that had pooled around her. “You and you, come with me! You four, get him down below!” she barked the orders. She was the first mate after all, and the only one on the ship that could save Morgan now. The crew instantly jumped into action, carrying out her orders and hauling Morgan down below where she could begin to heal him.

It would be a long night, and Gwen would stay by the captain’s side through it all, using everything he had taught her to keep her best friend alive.

Below the Heathen in the depths, Eurydice had confided in the woman all that she knew of the woman named Gwen and with the knowledge that she would be the one taking care of him, they both breathed a sigh of relief. Perdix, leaning against the great best, rested her head against her and patted reassuringly. “He is safe. Everything will be alright now.”