Standing on the side of the Ch’Daesh chain was the half sunk carcass of the Of Decadence and Brutality, held afloat only by the rocks and corals at the edge of the reef they were on, wedged up against the back end of the island of Ch’Rask, the engine sputtering with the cries of the dead godhead of machina, the agender visage of Chozthala coming form it, disappointed in the waste of their power being wielded here, it being slowly revoked and the technology on board coming to a standstill. The dark waves formed blackened crystals around the hull and down into the sands below to keep it in place, a stage forming and jutting forward as if it were the bow of the whole island. What little of Terreshala’s vast fortune of nature was left of hers to call on helped her form Ch’Rask into the final form of the Of Decadence and Brutality, melding together to form one massive island of a ship that would be known as The Profane Throne Of The Runner’s Highwayman.

The mines of Ch’Rask that were bombed to the embers and back by Susan began to flow what was left of their veins of magick into the bow where Ramachandra and Bloodwedthe stood, the arcane magick of Hoethmarr forging them into crude but effective cannons, with what was left of the trees and nature on the island being infected further, Terreshala’s influence on Ch’Daesh and its sister islands finally drained, her also abandoning and forsaking the soul of Ramachandra. Instead of blooms of green and rich browns, the shades all withered and began to dry, what was once verdant was now the color and stench of death and mold. The branches from the trees stretched out and petrified, encasing the whole of it in an unholy, unnatural shield born of the desperation of the Chain’s mistress, taking it for all that it was worth for a chance of victory, maybe world dominance. She didn’t care what she lost at this point, because in her mind, she only had everything else on Nahn to gain.

Ramachandra once again let out a yell unlike any other her voice had ever bellowed before, her flames lighting up what parts of the night sky that were still clear to her on the bow, the rest of the combined ship and island in a dark shell of decaying weald and bounty that no longer gave anything but a shield born of selfishness and pettiness. Her teeth gnashed at the air, as if trying to swallow the moon, tongue hissing and flicking in a mighty quake, drool and spit coming off her lips as she screamed and screamed. Combined with the flicking of the Harp of Aeons in the background, it was undoubtedly the most horrible song anyone had ever heard or could be devised. Every note that was plucked from its strings sounded like a sonic wave enough to shatter the heavens.

At the bow of The Profane Throne Of The Runner’s Highwayman, alongside Ramachandra, was Captain Cecily Bloodwedthe. Ramachandra’s crew had lived up to their name and gave their souls up for one of the most undoubtedly evil and cruel mortals to ever walk Nahn so she could walk it again and threaten it into another age of darkness and evil. Her cruelty hadn’t come close to being matched yet, and the only reason she had a hand on Lark and not much elsewhere was at the time, flying was not yet a thing and the Talmage Ocean raged harder than it was nowadays thanks to the way navigating and charting it had happened. With all these radical changes, Bloodwedthe could easily terrify the whole world, killing and pillaging her way through it without a single ounce of mercy, commanding Ramachandra to keep her army going by raising whomever they killed. That was the future Nahn faced if she wasn’t somehow stopped at this instant.

Standing on the side of Magara was Siofra, Susan, Millia, and a struggling Durga, trying her best to fight the Harp’s music as a way to resist the evil that had swallowed her sister. Sumati and Vijaya sat tied in the galleys of the Innocence Lost in Eroticism, the music muffled, but still bleeding into their ears and minds at a decent clip. Vijaya’s brain became like a fog, confused as if she should listen to it or ignore it, she had heard Hoethmarr’s seductive voice lure her to destruction her whole life, but something particular about this song felt wrong. But still, a tempting tone would hit hear ears now and again and make her wince in pain.

Rashmi came out of Castle Panahara and looked out from her balcony at the complete wreck that lay before her. Castle Mahanilamaya was all but destroyed, both sides suffered a loss of ships but thankfully Ramachandra’s looked to be the most sunk, but the waves and skies were angry with a darkness most unnaturally to the Magara Chain, the moon all but covered at this point, with the colors of the combined magick of what Siofra and Arundhati had set up to protect the Magara Chain with, their combined brilliance of divine white, gaean green, and the crimson from flames danced around and towards Ramachandra and her ramshackle, decrepit excuse for a ship. And from The Profane Throne Of The Runner’s Highwayman and its cannons, fueled by the remnants of the mining veins of the Ch’Rask mines, mostly a horrible blackened purple of arcane at this point, having lost the green sheen of Terreshala’s influence. But it was a solid, tremendous brick of it, far more than anyone watching this unfold had ever sensed of one singular elemental concentration. The mages of the other continents and the court sorcerers of Tanjil sensed it, their scouts noticing a swirling concentration of pitch near the center of the Talmage Ocean. The merchant ships of Gryan anchored hard and stayed put, clogging the docks and huddling up for safety within the town. Nobody dared go out in the Talmage Ocean today, nobody dared get close to the Rissori Archipelago.

All that they could do was pray to whatever godheads that they each and every one worshiped individually was ask for Siofra’s brilliance to come through again. She’s seen worse, certainly, right? Not that they would know, they just hear she conquers some evil and how, but never the threat they caused. She had to be able to win.

The flag of Castle Panahara whipped in the wind with an incredible violence, tearing it, shreds of it flying as Susan and Siofra did their best to move their ships, what little space and engine power left they had to do so with, trying their best to act as a bulwark for Panahara and Rashmi. Siofra hadn’t gotten a taste of that royal harem yet and she was going to have to be blown apart by evil cannon fire this day if anyone was going to prevent her from victory and claiming her right to that room and the women within. The paladin looked around, taking the situation in for herself, her silver eyes narrowing a bit as the seriousness, the weight, the tension of it all started to hit her mind and body. And she had the nerve to attempt this fight in her chainmail bikini. The one time her plate might come in handy, but there was no time to retrieve it all the way back in Panahara.

Her eyes crossed with Susan’s, with Millia’s, with Durga’s, and with Lanzo’s, all of them giving their own version of the same solemn, concerned, but determined aura that her own expression was giving off. There was really only one thing she could do at this point, and that is do what she was paid to do. It’s the right thing to do, and there were women yet to protect and impress.

Siofra made her way to the bowsprit of the Innocence Lost in Eroticism, walking sternly and with a certain confidence up the beakhead, standing right above the bust of Terreshala that was set on it. The winds attempted to whip her off, but she ignored it, using the gaean magick in the ship’s wood, negating the howling gale magick coming off of the veins running into Ramachandra’s abomination of a vessel. She took out Flametongue and swirled it around, pointing at the enemy and grinning.

Durga watches this, gasping, thinking her mad. Lanzo just stood still, a small woof that sounded more like a sigh coming from him, as if he wasn’t worried, and more bored with this. Millia rolled her eyes, extremely annoyed with this, acting as if this isn’t the first or hundredth time Siofra had to start posturing like this. Susan watched with a small grin, leaning her eyes and head, cocking them gently enough so the paladin would look a certain direction. Siofra looked and saw Rashmi and Arundhati both now on the balcony of the castle, looking up at her with hope in their eyes, as if they had no other choice, their expression one of knowing if they didn’t have faith in her now, this would all already be over in Ramachandra’s victory. Rashmi just nodded to her, and with a kiss blown to her by Arundhati, Siofra’s spirit felt fully charged. A crimson aura enveloped her, Fyrshala’s blessings beginning to form around her. A smile of all things spread across her lips and her teeth came into full view, eyes going from concerned to one of complete bravado, her headband flapping in the wind behind her.

“So, what, you couldn’t do the job yourself, or something? What a lousy Maharani you are, Ramachandra, no wonder you’ve lost so much to me and just a few ships crewed with fishers. You couldn’t have done this yourself in a thousand years.” Siofra began to taunt and gloat, her voice dripping with a brashness and audacity that ought to annoy her enemy. “It took the death and destruction of almost everything you had, too, to summon someone like Bloodwedthe to your side. What do you think a pirate of eld can do for you anyway? Like, neat trick you two did with your ship and combining it with the island, but that’s still all just natural materials and magick known to this plane. It’s still something we can destroy. You’ve lost, you just don’t want to say so. What’s it going to take, Ramachandra? Are you going to shame your kind again, after so many drakekin fought so hard to be welcomed into society? Are you going to ruin that legacy? All that surrounds you now is death, you’re so afraid of life and living. It’s going to end, and it’s going to end now, Ramachandra.”

A bright beam of crimson flames shot up into the clouds between Siofra and Ramachandra, shooting up from Flametongue as Siofra held it up high, turning the black clouds a foreboding claret. The oceans reflected a bloody tinge, and the paladin roared back, bellowing as strong as Ramachandra had, screaming like she rarely had before in her life. “I AM LADY SIOFRA AINE WHELAN, THE SWORDARM OF FYRSHALA, SHE-WOLF TO THE WOMEN OF NAHN, AND BY MY BLADE AND MY ALLIES YOU SHALL SINK ONCE AND FOR ALL! KNOW MY NAME AND FEAR IT!”

The words went over Ramachandra’s head, herself annoyed by this weird display of heroism. She had expected this, but she hadn't expecting it from someone so stupid and flashy. Bloodwedthe’s reaction, though, was far more interesting. She stepped on what would be the beakhead and the bowsprit of The Profane Throne Of The Runner’s Highwayman, herself covered with the very same blue aura that had powered her in her original life. Ivorhala’s aura was surrounding her, making her weird, shark toothed grin look even uglier than usual. She spat towards the Innocence Lost in Eroticism and laughed.

“So they make so-called heroes in this day and age even dumber than they did back then?” Bloodwedthe cackled. “Back then, even the heroes had a spine. Everyone did, or they were eaten alive. The twin goddesses were at war and made the elements rage, this place unstable to live in anywhere you went. There was no room for acts like this, what is this, has the world grown this soft in my absence? I could glimpse some of it now and again from the embers below, but to actually see it like this would make me sad if it all weren’t hilarious. The flying ships and such are a nice touch, would have liked those back in the day, but can’t win them all.”

“No sense of humor then, Bloodwedthe? I knew the stories of you were all ones of incredible cruelty, but even you had to appreciate effort people you hated put into trying to stop you, right?” Siofra asked. “Or did you seriously believe yourself invincible, which is why the Martyrs of Alicia were so successful at taking you out? You know, people serious about defending the land. You lost, and you’ll lose again.”

“Where do you get off on talking to me like you know me, ye gibbering shithead?” Bloodwedthe hissed, her ghoulish spiked body quivering.

“You’re a legend around the Talmage Ocean, especially in the Runner’s High, it took until Ramachandra’s dumb luck and advance in technology to even begin to dig up any of your hoard, you know. The only reason you’re back is someone cared to remember these stories, plenty did, and plenty tried, and plenty died trying to get it.” Siofra spat back. “My friend Susan is the descendant of the pirate and merchant family that ruled the town that has absorbed Qorre. She has told me all about it. You were one tricky son of a bitch to find, Bloodwedthe. You should be glad we cared enough to vie over your garbage.”

“Garbage? What would you know of treasure, anyway, you half naked whore? You really think you can beat me dressed like that? Besides, I can smell the Fyrshalan magick on you. I may not be able to do much on my own, but the magick that Ivorhala grants me will help negate a lot of that. Looks like we’re going to have to see who can man the more reliable crew, then, huh?”

“I know what real treasure is, Bloodwedthe. It’s the sparkle in the eyes of every woman when they are happy, the warmth women give off when they feel safe, the pure, raw sweetness they willingly share of their honeyed words and bodies when…”

“Oh, for fuck’s sake, you’re one of those people. This is the worst possible enemy you could have given me.” Bloodwedthe roared at Ramachandra, as if the Maharani herself had insulted her. “I’m going to need way more tribute now.”

Ramachandra swallowed hard and immediately pulled up more treasure, bowing to her and going back to the harp. “S-Shall we call forth our crew then, my captain?”

“Do it. Be useful already. If I’m going to be brought back, then a whole new era and every inch of the world will know to fear me.”

Bloodwedthe and Siofra stood on their respective bowsprits, clad in their auras, the greenish-blue hue of the ocean that Ivorhala lent to Bloodwedthe mixed with Siofra’s crimsons and vermilion, creating a brilliant sparkling of purple and white in the middle. Water and fire mixed and canceled each other out, sparking the sky as the two stood tall, their crews readying themselves. Siofra nodded to Susan, who took over the commands via radio and put everyone who was still able to to arm themselves in full and make a shield covering as much of Magara and Kakani as they could. Castle Panahara and the Satapattrika Temple were the only things here that could never be recovered if taken or destroyed, and the people within it would just be fodder for Ramachandra’s Harp if they were taken. Reinforcements from Jhapura had come in, helping them form the bulwark, as this was their island chain too, this was also their home, and whatever evil was brewing made the beastkin tribes come out and roar in their own anger. This violated the peace treaty they had with Magara, and they would defend it if what was threatening them was also a threat to Magara. Small warships full of heavily armored scorpion women and a small air force of the bird women who could swim as swiftly as they flew came into play. A motley crew if there ever was one, but The Harem of Harlots would not fall so easily.

Bloodwedthe bellowed a deep laugh at the attempt at a navy that Magara was putting together, waiting for Ramachandra to play the song that would end the world. Surely, anyone with knowledge of the Harp of Aeons would know once that song was played, it was over for the other side. With her enchanted finger plucks on, Ramachandra began to play it, summoning forth from the depths of the Talmage Ocean all that had died in a specific radius, reaching as far as the Runner’s High. Captain Cecily Bloodwedthe’s smile grew wide and cruel as she saw her own crewmates resurrected, as ghastly and bloodthirsty as they’d ever been, alongside everyone from the Ch’Daesh chain and even a few crews full of merchants that had the unlucky chance to drown in storms in this area. The whole of The Profane Throne Of The Runner’s Highwayman was soon crewed with nothing but skeletons, ghosts, ghouls, a few rotting beastkin, Ramachandra’s own soldiers, a few dullahan holding their cutlasses proudly in their hand, looking for any semblance of weapons they could get their hands on, making crude ones of the magickally unstable ores found mixing in the veins powering the ship and cackling. The more complete bodies could understand what was going on, but most of them were just a mindless shambling, there to take bullets again and again for their two bosses. They can’t die, so long as the Harp played, they would be resurrected again and again, unless they somehow spent time cleansing and purifying each and every body, and that would take everyone and every resource they had, distracting them from the fight.

It looked very one sided. There was no easy way to say it. Bloodwedthe and Siofra looked, comparing crews, and deep down, Siofra knew that this was one of the worst situations she had ever been in. She would toss a distracting fireball now and again and try to take out an undead body or two, but Bloodwedthe would negate it. Or Bloodwedthe would distract her by summoning up waterspouts to try to drown one of Siofra’s crew with, only to see it turned into vapor by Siofra’s fire magick. To make it even more dramatic, Bloodwedthe let her siren heritage fly high, a pair of two harpy-like wings coming out of her back from around her spines, with molting feathers, spread out wind and far, acting as if she were the figurehead of The Profane Throne Of The Runner’s Highwayman herself, which given who she was and what she represented, she may as well be. Siofra didn’t really have any cool werewolf tricks that she inherited a while ago she could do with that, at least not without a full moon, and that wasn’t out and even if it was the sky was clouded. So she just kicked the aura up and gave her silver eyes a set of golden flames coming out of them, a long sream of phoenix-like fire coming off her back, somewhere between a cape and wings. Intimidating, or at least an attempt at it. She would not be denied the opportunity of being the coolest looking person on that battlefield.

Susan was looking over at Panahara and noticed that Rashmi and Arundhati were whispering to each other, curious as to what was up. At once, Arundhati bolted down from the balcony and down all the way to the bottom of the castle, getting on a raft and while Siofra and Bloodwedthe were distracted, managed to pull herself onto The Devil’s Grail without notice. She pulled Susan down and aside behind some barrels, whispering to her.

“This is unwinnable as is. Eventually, Siofra and her mortal crew will run out of energy, no matter how much we heal them, and be overrun by the undead. Or we spend too much time purifying the undead and run out of ways to keep ourselves healed and alive.” The priestess sighed. “However, if you can somehow, I don’t know how, by some miracle keep Bloodwedthe distracted all on your own with the rest of the crew and let me snag Siofra, I know of a way to overcome this with a ritual, but it’s going to require her.”

Susan looked at her oddly. “What? What kind of ritual?”

“It’s….” Arundhati turned bright red. “An old…. It’s an old ritual based in an erotic form of Terreshala magick, and if Siofra could use her alignment with Laeshann to bolster the one we have with her, we might be able to overcome the aura of the Harp. At least wipe out and purify the whole of Bloodwedthe’s crew without a way for them to resurrect anyone, giving us a fighting chance. Which is why I need you to be a distraction. I swear, on whatever godhead you follow, that I will make it up to you. I trust you almost as much as I trust Siofra. Your attack on Castle Mahanilamaya was nothing short of brilliance. Can I rely on you for one last trick, Captain Susan the Thirteenth?”

If the rest of the situation weren’t so dire, Susan would laugh. She did give a small smile and an amused scoff. “Yeah, I’ll distract her. Go grab Siofra. She’s absolutely going to love this plan. Knowing her, she’ll put more into this than she would any actual physical combat, so I almost guarantee if we can keep things safe here, or at least close enough to safe, that you’ll pull this off. Just watch me here, and while I’m doing my thing, slip onto the Innocence Lost in Eroticism and snag everyone’s favorite paladin.”

With a pat on the shoulder, Susan got back up and joined the fray. She whistled as loudly as she could at Bloodwedthe, spitting towards her, and firing a bullet towards her with her own gun, one much more advanced than Ol’ Berserker would be. It managed to clip the undead captain in the shoulder, taking off the tiniest bit of her coat and skin, making her immediately turn around in anger.

“And who the hell are you?” Bloodwedthe hissed.

“I’m Captain Susan the Thirteenth, and Talmage Ocean has been mine longer than you had rule of Qorre. I’m it’s boss now, and if you don’t like it, you’ll have to pray it from me, you half-rotten bitch.” Susan grinned. “Besides, I’m Ivorhala’s favorite. I may be an Elf and unable to cast magick, but that doesn’t mean I’m not protected by him. Why don’t you come and get me, if you can?”

Bloodwedthe’s attention was on Susan just long enough for Arundhati to quickly paddle herself over to Siofra’s ship, and when she noticed that she had safely made it there, Susan pulled out a switch and hit the button on it. At once, an incredible shield made out of the essence of Ivorhala’s power that had been funneled through a secret Elven technique of converting magick into raw technological power had covered the ship. “We’re both pirates. We both favor Ivorhala. But only one of us will die at sea today. I lead Nuclear Wing Company D, and this is The Devil’s Grail, named so because we will happily drink heavily from the blood we spill from you!”

While Susan played the part of the brave hero up, doing her best impression of Siofra’s bravado she could, Arundhati got behind Siofra and quickly tugged her back down to the deck. “Siofra. Susan is risking her life for me to be here. I need you to go with me, quick, to the Satapattrika Temple. I need your magick to bolster an ancient ritual that will at minimum purify every spirit in the area so Ramachandra can stop summoning them, rendering the Harp useless. If not just outright cleaning the area of Hoethmarr’s influence.”

“You what now? Can’t you see I’m in my big heroic moment trying to look impressive to ladies like you?” Siofra asked, confused.

“No. I…” Arundhati began to blush profusely again. “I am… I am giving you my body. It’s an ancient Terreshalan ritual born in erotic magic. She is the mother of nature, and between her healing magic, the way Fyrshala looks over the erotic, and our combined power in Laeshann’s divinity, we should be able to…. Look, can we just…. Try it…. I’m….”

Siofra couldn’t believe her ears. “You’re serious? There’s an erotic ritual? And you want me to perform it now?”

“Serious as I could be.” Arundhati blushed. “And you and I must be proactive in it. D-Don’t worry, I’m not a virgin or anything. I promise not to make this awkward.”

Siofra’s magickally glowing eyes went as wide as they possibly could. “DURGA! I NEED YOU TO GUARD THE PRISONERS AND LEAD THIS SHIP! PLANS HAVE CHANGED! I WILL BE BACK AND I WILL HAVE THE SECRET TO OUR VICTORY WITH US!” Siofra commanded, sounding as serious as she ever has been. “THIS WILL BE THE GREATEST MOMENT IN MY HEROIC HISTORY!”

A noise came from the galley that Sumati and Vijaya were being kept in. “Hey, if you’re going to be doing any kind of ritual like that, I have a Terreshalan weapon we can use as a relic, and one blessed by Hoethmarr we can use to draw some of her energy away from the enemy.”

“Sumati?” Siofra asked.

“Yeah. Let me out. I can sense what’s going on out there, as a sorceress, and it’s vile. If this was the goal of Ramachandra’s work and what she had me researching to begin with, I want to wash my hands of it and help any way I can. Even if it’s, well, a plan as wild as what the priestess out there is suggesting. I promise I won’t do anything stupid. If I do, off me, it’s not like I alone can do much at this point to any of you.” The sorceress sighed. “You are all incredibly violent, magickal, special, and stupid little heroes, with an emphasis on the word stupid. By the gods, I don’t think I’ve met a more thickheaded set of wannabe little heroes in all my life. I don’t know how you’re so world renowned, how the hell do you get anything done? It boggles my mind!” Sumati let out a deep groan and huffed. “I wouldn’t dare try any of you. Just let me go with.”

Siofra turned to Durga. “That would mean you would be stuck guarding your sister. Are you okay with this? I told you, I understand how annoying this sibling stuff can be. You don’t have to do it, I can assign Millia to it or something.”

“Vijaya’s on board?” Arundhati asked. “She’s alive after all?”

“Y-Yes she is. I know we haven’t seen her since before mom died. But she is here. Siofra has her bound with deeply magick chain and rope in the galley.” Durga responded. “I promise. I’m not gonna kill her or anything. I want answers from her too. If she can get out of this alive, it’s the only miracle I ask of this war other than that we win. Her and I trained in the same classes with the same people together, I, more than anyone, want to know why she betrayed us and left mom to die.”

“Alright then, that’s settled. Durga, Millia, you two are in charge of the Innocence Lost in Eroticism. Arundhati, let’s get Sumati out and you start leading the way back to the Temple. As deeply curious as I am about the details of this ritual, that can wait until after we save the day and I can lean all of it’s ahem, intimate secrets and maybe make a record of it for Tanjil and its holy workers. Wish us luck.”

With that, Siofra dashed into the galley, undid Sumati’s magickal bindings and had her and Arundhati rush for a small scouting boat in the back of the ship. As they made their way back to the Temple, cannons and magick roared between Bloodwedthe and Susan, a match for the ages, the shield of Ivorhala holding. For now. Durga and Millia sat on either side of the galley door and watched the terror before them, their arms ready and their crews ready to fire and shoot and stab and cut with whatever they could should any of their undead get close. The Talmage Ocean was drenched in an animosity not seen since Bloodwedthe’s time. Only the screaming of weapons, captains, and soldiers could be heard, the darkened sky roaring in a rainbow of magickal colors as the unstable cannons of The Profane Throne Of The Runner’s Highwayman roared across their sides and bow. Lucky shots off the Magaran side now and again got an undead or two, though it was only a short waste of Ramachandra’s time getting them back up. The Jhapuran beastkin proved to be a useful addition, adding air support where the Ch’Daesh had lost all theirs was extremely useful, even if it was limited by how few of them that there were.

“Siofra, I swear to Ivorhala, I’ll keep this up. Just like you better keep it up too, heh.” Susan smirked. If she was gonna go down, she was gonna go down laughing. “If this works, I owe the shrine of Fyrshala a case of something really nice and imported. Maybe some of this Magaran palm wine.”

And the cacophony of death and destruction played with the Harp of Aeons setting the tone.



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