[sup]Featuring [@Gcold][/sup]

[i]Dawn, 7th of Last Seed, 4E205
Smuggler's Cove
Underwater[/i]

It was cold, mostly, and dark and heavy; that’s the best Marcel could describe it. He could feel a pulling force against his entire body, and everything around him; his clothes, his scabbards, his gorget. Amidst the bubbles he shook his head to see other things in the dark – corpses, of Dreugh and men; bits and pieces that made absolutely no sense, like gold nails and platter ware; and distant jellyfish, floating like creatures from an alien realm far away from the troubles of this world.
 
Marcel felt almost welcomed by the jellyfish to join them in this new realm where they just floated in the cold without a worry, but then again, he’d heard that jellyfish weren’t the smartest of creatures. He would admit that neither was he, but he still saw some difference between their puffed, calm and static existence in this place, whereas he seemed to be in pain, with every muscle of his being in intense effort, trying to move themselves.
 
That’s when Marcel realized that he was drowning.
 
Pushing his legs downward and raising his arms up almost in an attempt to reach the surface of the water, then using them to pull his body up, Marcel found that his body was strong enough to reward his efforts; he was on the surface, however barely. He felt an immense, cutting pain inside his throat and nasal cavity, almost rivaling the constant stinging of his recent burn wounds. He felt as if his breath wasn’t enough, possibly thanks to the wound he’d received back in Dawnstar; he kept gasping, and it took him a few seconds before he felt comfortable enough to do other things, such as taking a look at his surroundings and understanding what he needed to do.
 
He could see the ship not too far away, and a figure struggling to stay above the water even closer by. Marcel began swimming towards the figure while huffing, his irregular strokes showing signs of fatigue.  
 
Keegan hated water. Maybe not as much as the Khajiits, but he still hated water. It was cold, rough, coarse, and like the daedra-cursed sand, it gets everywhere. Currently, it got into his clothing, his hair and his lungs. Keegan really hated stuff, other than air, getting into his lungs. It was a lot more rough, coarse, and all the fun, than just getting on his skin. But then, was it really the water getting into him? He was the one that got into water, albeit involuntarily. 

Just when he thought the worst had come to pass, and the storm clearing away for the faint sun rising to the horizon, the ship decided to take a giant dump. Like the piece of shit he was, Keegan got shitted on (or out?). He was flung over the slippery deck through the air, over various obstructions, and landed ungracefully in a belly flop. If not for the fact that he was drowning, Keegan would be commenting about the pain. Well, now he’s just flapping his arms around like a chicken about to be slaughtered. Actually, there was a chicken in the water, where Alim used to be a second ago. Then Daixanos dived in and took it back to the ship; stupid lizard man valuing his lunch more than his companion.

However, one individual cared enough to help. The said individual was wearing armor, yet somehow keeping afloat. Keegan’s instinct was to grab onto the man, but then again, he might just weight the other down enough to sink both of them. They needed something to grab onto, and near by Marcel was a piece of flotsam.

“Get that-” Keegan pointed to the happily floating gold bar. Before he could finish, a tall wave nearly put him under. He gurgled water in the process, filling his airway full of fluid. Marcel better get that floaty thing soon, and the floaty thing better support the two of them.

“Oh dear Mara,” the Breton muttered to himself as a wave suddenly raised him above the surface, although the same wave seemed to splash his fellow struggler in the face and stop his breathing. Marcel recognized the mer right after, although recognition was not exactly his top priority at that moment – that would have been getting the both of them out of the water alive. As the wave crashed and settled against the Kyne’s Tear, Marcel found himself next to a piece of floating gold – assumingly, the thing that the Altmer had been pointing at. He was not sure as to how exactly this large, cylindrical piece of gold floated, since as far as he’d been taught, it was far too dense to not sink, although grasping onto it and wrapping both his arms around it, he found the gold chip away to reveal wood underneath. Even Sloads cut costs, it seemed.

“Thank you all, o patron spirits,” Marcel thought to himself in a moment of gratitude, although the moment did not last long as he realized that, in his panic, he’d forgotten about the Altmer.

Extending his body as much as he could while holding onto the faux gold pillar, Marcel raised his leg towards the drowning mer as he shouted for him to grasp onto it. With the constant crashing of the waves, and the flaming remnants of the airship steadily descending upon the sea, Marcel knew that letting go of their impromptu float would most likely mean losing it forever. “Grab my foot, pull yourself!” Marcel hoarsely yelled out to the best of his ability, his throat burning with the exertion.

When Marcel first extended his leg to him, Keegan thought he was going to be kicked away. Then he realized, through the muffled and barely hearable words, that this was his lifeline. Keegan reached over the jagged waves to grab onto Marcel’s foot. Immediate as his grip held, he felt the two of them falling further into the water. However, the flotsam bounced them back up, barely enough for breathing. 

“Wait, I’m going to-” Keegan alerted, only to be slammed mid-sentence with a faceful of seawater. When he could speak again, he punched Marcel’s knee to get his attention.

“Going to grab the float!” Keegan said. He dragged himself forward on Marcel’s trouser, then his belt, his chest piece, and finally grabbing the golden log. They were now side by side, so they could kick together and no longer have to drag the other person. 

“Alright, just swim-” Keegan looked around, finding rescue lines, buoys and ropes extended from the [i]Kyne’s Tear[/i] not far away. There was even a lifeboat being used to fetch Do’Karth and Niernen. Keegan ran his hands over his face, clearing water away from his eyes and nose; he felt a little relieved now. However, when a wave jerked his head in the opposite direction, Keegan found another figure struggling in the water. 

It was Adaeze, the Bosmer/Redguard that suffered heavy burns through the incendiary bolt. Her wounds must be painful, as she could not fight the waves at all. She was barely able to bob her head above surface infrequently, and she was being washed away from the [i]Kyne’s Tear[/i], into the path of a jellyfish.

“Do you see her?” Keegan directed Marcel’s attention behind them. “Can we get her?”

“We must try,” Marcel replied without any thought, without even looking at where the Altmer directed. Leaning back right after his response, he saw the Bosmer woman, the one he’d tried to help earlier with Wylendriel, and suddenly felt a new energy stemming from a new emotion, aside from his sense of responsibility, to try his best to help; guilt. “Come on,” he said, pushing himself under the water to pop out of the opposite side of the float, extending his legs backwards to ready himself for the push.

Entirely soaked and freezing beyond the coldest winter imaginable, Keegan really didn’t want to stay down here any longer. But then again, he (like most normal people) also didn’t like to watch others drown. Since Keegan’s already feeling like shit, what more harm could come from feeling shit for another minute? If he’s somehow still alive, he should be alive to rescue Adaeze, right?

While Marcel swam to the opposite and began to push away, Keegan decided to hail the lifeboat instead. Shout, scream, wave and splash as loud as he could, those on the lifeboat just couldn’t be bothered to look behind them. Why should they? They’ve got everyone around them, and they couldn’t risk the injured onboard. 

With a sigh and several watery coughs, Keegan joined Marcel on the other side of the float. They started kicking, moving themselves toward Adaeze. In the process, Keegan couldn’t help but to look over his shoulder, to make sure the [i]Kyne’s Tear[/i] wasn’t leaving. It wasn’t, yet; good news. The other good new was the waves lowering after the storm and the airship crash. However, Adaeze was surfacing less and less often. 

Adaeze had gone under when Keegan and Marcel started moving her way. The next spot she went up at seemed to be even further from the two of them, despite them clearly making progress. She went down for a long minute after that, which made Keegan’s heart sink. Thankfully, Adaeze broke the surface a third time. She was much closer this time, close enough to be reached with a few more strokes. A wave raised her battered (but still alive) form, right behind her, a blob of pink and purple.

It was at this moment, that Keegan knew, they fucked up.

“Shit, turn ar-”
[h3][b]Boom![/b][/h3]
Marcel’s task of reaching the Bosmer woman was suddenly interrupted by an ear-bursting sound and a shockwave that nearly snapped the gold-coated float in twain. While most of his body had been hidden behind the float in his duty as impromptu propeller, he did feel a sharp pain in one of his fingers, most likely caused by a piece of organic shrapnel, as the sudden wave created by the explosion pushed the battered float in the opposite direction of its intended target. While at first he had been far too dizzied to understand what had just happened, the occurrence slowly dawned upon him as all shades of red and pink muddled the dark water they’d been swimming in, and bits looking awfully humanoid began surfacing, or falling from the sky into the water like raindrops.
 
It was so cold. Since his rude awakening in the icy water, Marcel truly felt how tired he’d been for the first time; all his extremities were getting bitten at, to an extent that he could barely feel his toes. He felt the gorget around his neck pull his entire body into the water; in that single moment, Marcel felt so disappointed that, had it not been far too inconvenient to try and remove it, he’d likely have parted ways with it, just as easily as he’d have parted ways with his life. He gave out a dejected sigh, his teeth clattering against each other in its duration, as he pulled himself onto the float and wrapped his entire body around it like a sloth would do to a tree. His wet clothes were nagging him down to the depths below like the need for sleep tugged him towards unconsciousness.
 
“Let’s just… Oh, pity’s sake…” Marcel mumbled to himself as he barely raised his head from its slump on the float to look into Keegan’s eyes, although he couldn’t muster the strength to say anything. Really, the two didn’t have much to rely on except the possibility that someone on the Kyne’s Tear heard the explosion and decided to look their way.

Keegan stared back at Marcel, mirroring his sense of dejection with his own. At least they tried, right? Why did they even bother? Keegan shook his drenched head, partially trying to shake away the image of Adaeze being pulverized, and partially to tell Marcel that there was nothing they could have done. The Breton looked like his energy drained out of him, which was what exactly what Keegan experienced. He went to pick out the splinter in Marcel’s finger, but stopped midway, fearing that moving Marcel’s hand might cause him to lose grip on the float. Instead, Keegan focused on Marcel’s gorget. The chunky metal thing wrapped around Marcel’s neck like noose, and whatever good it did in battle, it was only doing him harm right now. With rapidly shivering hands, Keegan ripped at the gorget, and to his dismay, it refused to budge.

“Over here, look up!” A sailor called from the ship. The explosion got someone’s attention after all. Keegan saw a long bundle of rope in the sailor’s hand, the end of which tied a buoy. “I’ll throw this in; get ready.”

Keegan placed a hand on Marcel’s shoulder, keeping him aware and pushing him to where the rope would be. He remembered how Jorwen used to perform the same gesture, and how the Red-Bear could rejuvenate exhausted men with a meaty clap on the shoulder. Keegan wished he could do that, he wished he could inspire his comrades the way Jorwen did. But he couldn’t, so the next best thing was to kick as hard as he could, to get them moving again. 

Slowly, the two of them swam through the blood-tinted water. Pushing through unrecognized bits that was Adaeze a minute ago, Keegan wandered to Nightgate Inn, where the very man beside him saved his life. Marcel blasting the Kamal collaborator was as bloody as their current predicament, if not more so. Well, if they made it through the slaughter at Nightgate, they’d have to get through this one. Keegan won’t let Marcel die; he heard Breton ghosts tend to haunt with a vengeance. It worked like that, or maybe it’s his hypothermia playing tricks on him.

“There!” Keegan breathed a sigh of relief. The cold left no sound of jubilience in his voice, even the shivers had stopped. But there was no denying the reassurance of the rope in front of him. Keegan asked Marcel to grab on first, then he followed. They pressed their bodies close on the ascent, conserving whatever little heat’s left in the two of them.

“Uh, uh...” Keegan’s teeth clattered again upon leaving the sea; all he could think about was a warm bowl of soup. For some reason, the imagery of the soup resembled gore. It didn’t make Keegan feel sick, though; it only made him hungry. “I heard the new cook, Turpen or something, is going to make us crab stew. Maybe we’re doing dreugh now.”

“I’ve had enough seafood,” Marcel replied, absentmindedly looking at the punctured deck, littered with bits and pieces of Dreugh, peppered with wiggling fish thrown onboard by the crashing waves. “I think we all have for a while.”