No sooner was his pack in his hands once more, that Velyn's intuition suddenly proved correct, there would be many wishing that they were strong swimmers this night. It was funny how often his intuition was right, he supposed he must be lucky, or perhaps... blessed? Though if Velyn was living a blessed life then he shuddered to discover what it would mean to be cursed by the Gods. 

Presently though, the old mer had no time to reflect or savour his clairvoyant intuition, because he was sailing through the air in an explosion of fiery destruction. A swarm of deadly splinters from the decks below racing by him as he was lifted off of his feet. Red hot lines of sharp pain ran tracks across the side of his exposed face, something stabbed under the overlapping plates of his pauldron and into his right shoulder as he tumbled down towards the black waves of the dark waters below.

Despite the fury and terror of all he still felt oddly calm. The spectre of immanent death was practically an old friend of Velyn's by this point, they had spent much time in each other's company. He felt his free hand go to his chest, felt the amulet that hung there still. A battered oval of gilded brass set with Kagouti Ivory, its inscription in Dunmeris so worn it could hardly be read. 

He still had his ancestors with him. He would not die in any explosion as paltry as this. Gods, he has survived much worse

The images flashed through his mind once more. The waters of the Inner Sea boiling under skies choked black with ash, the waves swallowing the Ascadian Isles, drowning slave and master, manor and saltrice paddies alike. He felt the heat from the rivers of fire that had flowed from the mountain until Molag Mar was a lonely island amongst the flames. A city of tens of thousands, the home of a living God themself, gone in the blink of an eye.

The Red Year. 

The old mer began to laugh to himself as the midnight sea rushed up to meet him. No, he did not think that he would die this night. Too much to do still, too many things left unfinished, too many questions left unanswered. An enigma that must be removed.

He clasped his hands in prayer and began to whisper something under his breath once more. 

[color=a187be]"The waking world is the amnesia of dream. All motifs can be mortally wounded. They will fall apart like a stone that recalls that it is really water. Shape this dream to the will of the walker, and recall that water is really a path. For the ending of the words is ALMSIVI."[/color]

Velyn slammed into, or rather onto, the the surface of the water feet first. His knees buckled and he dropped and rolled across the surface of the waves to lessen the damage of the impact, arm wrapped protectively around his pack and the precious cargo it carried within. 

When he slid to a stop, the waves lapped around his prone form as he gingerly stood up again, his joints protesting each any every movement. A trickle of blood leaked from beneath the armour of his right shoulder, his discarded helm bobbed in the swell beside him. 

Gods, he was getting too old for this.

Behind him was a conflagration of ruin and fire. The masts of the galleon was gone, one of them crashed down across the pirate sloop, pinning it to the burning wreck. There were screams coming from both of the ships and from the swirling firelit waters themselves. What a mess this had all turned into. 

He looked around to get his bearings once more, the horizon was dark save for a speck of light towards the northeast. They had sighted an island there, during the storm the day before. Stros M'Kai. It was likely the only land that he would have a chance to reach before his magicka failed him. Wincing, Velyn reshouldered his pack and plucked his helm from the bobbing waves at his feet, and began to make his way to shore. 

All of that any would see of him if they were to watch from the burning wrecks of the combat riven ships would be a figure shrouded in shadow, leaping from one whitecap to the next, as they strode across the surface of the sea itself.