[right][h3]Captain Bernor Sarstina - The Avalon Avenger[/h3][/right]
[hr]

Bernor sat in his cabin, eyes fixed on the green bottle that stood alone on the otherwise empty desk top. He studied it for a long moment, his eyes taking in the familiar curves; a half dozen similar wine bottles were in his own stores aboard. There appeared to be no signs of tampering but one could never be sure, and it could easily be a clever forgery. 

None of his sixth sense warned him to be cautious, however, and his magic, mostly passive at the best of times, was not screaming danger at him. Above his head the feet of the officer of the watch was a dull thud as the man paced back and forth. The ships timbers creaked and groaned as they rose over the next ocean swell and for a moment he was glad the windows behind him were open, the nerves he felt almost made him a ill.

"Do you reckon it's real, m'lord?" Huvalor stood just over Bernors right shoulder, his stoic presence somehow comforting in the face of the unknown bottle and its even stranger courier. 

"The hell if I know, Huvalor. It looks genuine enough. The seal isn't broken." He picked the glass vessel up at last, a small round circle of water remaining on the desk, and weighed it in his hand. It was of sturdy Glasstonian design, that much was certain, and he could just make out a coil of paper and some small item below it. "Only one way to find out I suppose."

He pulled a dagger from his waist, the steel glinting dully in the light of the cabin, and began to peel away the wax. It fell in black flakes to the cabin floor, ignored by both men as it finally cracked away from the cork. It took a moment to work the cork free with a satisfying "pop". He placed the cork down on the desk next to his dagger and carefully turned the bottle upside down over an out stretched hand. Two items, both bone dry and unscathed, dropped into his scarred hand. Fingers still stained black from gunpowder curled around the small metal object and the tip of the paper which he carefully drew fully from the bottle, setting that down next to its cork. 

"So far, so good." He muttered as he pulled the small token from his palm with thumb and forefinger, holding it up to the light. He felt his heart stop as he stared at it.

"Shit..." Huvalor said what both men were thinking. The King had provided Bernor with a detailed description of the missing Princesses clothing and this very broach had been mentioned among them. 

"Well, she's either dead, or in a heap of trouble." Bernor muttered as he placed the broach on the desk. It seemed strangely bright on the dark wood despite its undersea journey and Bernor made a mental note to commend Peregrin on her delivery, providing she proved to be no threat to the Avalon. 

The scroll was next and it confirmed his worst fears in an instant.  

[hider=Scroll in a Bottle]
To our Potential Saviour.

I am writing on behalf of myself, Captain Samuel Cortez of the Arcadia. We are fast approaching the Shadowmount Isles along the route that we were instructed to follow when we first set sail with the whale blubber. The journey, as expected, took a queer turn the moment we entered the vicinity of these isles, and it was certainly not due to lack of women onboard. The men claim to have started hearing whispers from all manner of sources. The wind, sea, and even the very wood of the deck above which they sleep. 

The crew's sanity aside; the barrelman, who might I add was his town's dart champion, claims to have spotted numerous silhouettes of vessels on the horizon. I am taking the necessary precautions to ensure the blubber's safety by requesting reinforcements to be sent to help guide the Arcadia to its destination.

Signed,,
Samuel Cortez.[/hider]

The message was brief, vague, and peppered with seemingly irrelevant information. It barely took up half a page, if that - but it was in the man's own hand, and used parchment issued by the Navy. Cortez had been nothing if not organized. 

"What the hell was a Navy ship doing carrying whale blubber...?" He muttered and heard Huvalor grunt assent. "That has got to be something else. Maybe he was going mad? And whispers from everywhere at once."

"Just another day trapped in my own head, m'lord." Huvalor offered the lame joke and both men chuckled, but the warmth seemed to have gone out of the day.

"By my reckoning, we're still weeks out from the Shadowmount. That gives us some time to prepare." Bernor was talking again, more to himself than to Huvalor. "Charms, spells, the like. Can't fight some things with cannon, mores the pity."

"Amen." Huvalor chuckled again Bernor found himself smiling involuntarily. If only life were so simple. He glanced at the starboard bulkhead where several of his personal weapons were mounted. A sword, several pistols, and a rifle that bore unique blue markings along the barrel. How much use would they be where he was going? He suddenly had a vision of vanishing into a black cloud never to be seen again. He shook his head and the vision went but the creeping feeling of dread did not.

"We've not a moment to lose," He said abruptly, turning to Huvalor. "Pass the word for Mr. Stormhearth and Mr. Stormreaver, I will see them immediately."

"Aye, aye, m'lord." Huvalor nodded and strode to the cabin door, opening it enough to pass the word for the required persons. The echo of his words could be heard travelling through the upper decks and Bernor quickly scooped up the broach and slid it into a pocket. Huvalor caught the move and Bernor gave him a warning look; the man nodded, he understood, secrecy had its purpose.

While they waited, Bernor quickly drew out his maps of the Shadowmount, or what passed for map given how little was known about them, and spread them across the desk. He tucked his chin against his chest and began to study them in detail. 

[@Skwint]