Minutes had passed before the pounding in her head had subsided, and just then, she saw the captain emerge from the lower decks with carrying a dead body with the aid of a fairly young boy, possibly 15 or 16 she assumed. Artemisia watched wearily from the railing as the captain proceeded to call everyone's attention to him. The others had assembled above deck, those of able-bodied it seemed.
Artemisia placed one hand upon her forehead in order to steady herself, as she found it hard to focus on anything in particular. She managed to pay close attention to the captain’s words however, and discerned that the actual reason for them going to Morocco, was to find and slay the dragon, in Makkarech, wherever that was.. So that was the real reason for the voyage then? For them to find, slay the dragon, and raid it's hoard of riches and use those resources as a means to rebuild Sintra.
And if it seemed as if it couldn't get any worse, it did. She was enlightened with the fact that not only was their ship not at full capacity, with the damages sustained from the harbinger; now they had a band of brigands after them thanks to a certain Caesar Luna. She gave an in audible groan at the idea of being attacked once more. At the end of his speech, the captain, with the aid of the young boy, helped lower the dead man’s body into the ocean below. The captain gave a small sorrowful eulogy, or perhaps it was a sailors blessing of some sort? She knew not. All that mattered to her, was quieting her wiry nerves and going to see Omero. Surely he was all right. Yet, the disturbing image of the man’s body sinking into the abyss that was the ocean bothered. It seemed a mournful place to be buried, where no one could pay their respects or remember the soul that passed.
Artemisia vacated from the deck, and headed below to where she had last seen Omero. The smell of water and wetness even permeated through the wood, and reminded her of the smell of the inside of a water barrel. It was almost an earthy smell, one she didn't mind so much. With weak footsteps, Artemisia found her way to the surgeons quarters. She found the door not guarded by the sailors, with the door open. Peering inside curiously she spotted Omero right away. From where she stood, she couldn't tell if he was sleeping or not.
Approaching him with caution, Artemisia ventured to his bedside, or rather his cot-side, and looked down at him. His eye was closed as he appeared to be sleeping. Gently, she reached out and touched the top of his hand.
“Omero…” Whispered Artemisia. If he slept, she didn't want to bother him.
Omero violently awoke from his sleep. Once again he had dreamt about the vampire's and the girl whom had fallen victim to them. Omero's eye rapidly darted around the room out of confusion of his surroundings, after a couple of seconds he came to his senses and quickly calmed down. He looked to his side where Artemisia was standing. It was clear that she was the one who had woken him.
Omero’s reaction to her whisper and touch startled Artemisia as well. She gasped loudly and leapt back with a laugh as she realized that she had only scared herself. “My apologies, Omero. I didn't mean to startle you.” She bowed at the waist politely, her nerves were stressed and she didn't want to offend anyone or argue at that moment.
Her eyes drifted to his side, avoiding his gaze to instead investigate his wound from the shrapnel the harbinger brought upon them. Not wanting to be caught for staring she inquired after Omero, “Your wound.. How does it feel?” Artemisia nodded at his abdominal region. She felt a pang of pity, and bit her bottom lip in concern, her black brows furrowed.
Omero looked down to his wound himself. Although there was still pain, it had certainly subsided since he had last woken.
"Well it certainly still hurts, but no where near as much as I thought it would. I must give credit to the ships doctor, he certainly knows what he is doing". Omero smiled. Despite the fact that Artemisia had only known him for a couple of days, she had taken the time to check up on him. It was a kindness that Omero wasn't used to.
"I apologise for my reaction, I hope I didn't startle you?"
She smiled softly at his last words, ”I hope I didn't startle you”. Artemisia gave a quiet sigh and offered an answer, “No, I was worried that the fall from last night would have injured you more than I thought. The doctor wouldn't let me in to see you after they brought you down. I had to sit and wait it out until morning.” Her voice trailed off as she recollected that perhaps it would be a good idea to tell him about what the captain had said.
“I think he was quite young.. The boy that died.” Artemisia looked up again at Omero, her gaze focusing upon his sole blue eye.
“There's more too…”
Omero listened closely to what Artemisia had to say, keeping eye contact all the while. So he was right, this mission was in fact in relation to the dragon. But he certainly didn't expect that it would involve trying to kill it. Perhaps this expedition tied in better with Omero's goals than he originally thought. Though it appeared Omero currently had more pressing concerns. According to Artemisia Ceasar Luna had reported the 'Burnt Bitch' to pirates and that they would be attacking soon. Omero collected his thoughts for a few seconds before talking.
"Does the captain have any idea when the pirates will attack"?
After she had explained to Omero what happened above, he had listened intently, his gaze locked firmly on hers. Finally he asked,
”Does the captain have any idea when the pirates will attack?” The entire time she spoke to him, her gaze had shifted about the room, occasionally focusing on Omero himself. When he inquired about the time when the pirates would attack, Artemisia focused her gaze upon him with a hard stare.
“Sundown. Perhaps even at night, if we're lucky, in the morning. Can you move at all or are you confined to this cot?"
Her eyes again looked to his wound and the bandages surrounding it. She was curious to see the wound below, see how bad it truly was, but she felt that was too invasive. Her stomach growled loudly with hunger. Her face coloured darkly at the sound, and placed a hand on her stomach from embarrassment.
"I've had plenty of time to rest and given my wound time to heal, I should be able to walk" Omero said as he sat up, the pain in his side was bad but Omero would be able to cope with it, after all he had dealt with worse pain in the past. Omero heard a loud growling sound to his side, he looked round and to his surprise, he found it was Artemisia's stomach. Omero smiled
"Hungry by chance"? Omero said teasingly.
The rosy hue already in her cheeks became more pronounced as Omero poked fun at her for being hungry. She grinned bigger and replied, “Well if you're strong enough, perhaps we could take a gander at what the cook has made for breakfast? If anything survived that attack of course.” Here she extended her hand toward him in case he needed to lean upon her. Artemisia couldn't help but to admire his lean torso, and could only feel the fire burning in her cheeks ever brighter.
“The fresh air will do you some good.” Artemisia added in Italian. Though he was of the church, his presence did not bother as much as she had first met him only yesterday evening. She knew this would be a long journey ahead, and she didn't want any enemies off the bat; that would only spell bad luck. Omero took Artemisia's hand and allowed her to help him up.
"I agreed, I would rather not remain cooped up in here for much longer". Omero reached for his black robe which lay in a crumpled mess by his bed. It had a large rip in the side from where the shrapnel entered and is was stained with dried blood, though Omero would have to find a spare shirt somewhere in the cargo on board, it would suffice for the meantime.
"Better get something to eat before the sailors eat what is left".
When Omero lifted his robe off the ground, Artemisia too, noticed the gaping hole from the chunk of wood that had torn through. She examined it closer with her free hand and clucked her tongue disapprovingly.
“I can patch this easily, after we get you food of course.” With that, Artemisia slipped her arm about him, across his shoulders and helped Omero up the stairs. As they emerged on deck, the sun had slightly higher in the sky than before. She took note that the deck was mainly empty save for a rotund man, the captain, and the native man, plus the sailors working still on the ship filling any gaps they missed.
Together, she aided Omero to the railing so that he could lean on it without support. With that she smiled kindly at him and queried, “Will you be ok here? I’m going to be right back. Is there anything you want specifically? Bread? Cheese? Some mead?”
Omero considered something alcoholic to numb the pain but decided against it. If he was going to have to fend off against pirates sometime soon he would have to do it with a clear mind.
"Bread would be more than sufficient if there is any" Omero said as he looked over the railing out towards the now peaceful ocean. It was difficult to think that the huge storm was only yesterday. Omero pushed himself off from the railing before turning around to face Artemisia
"I thank you for your kindness, if I can repay you in some way I will".
When he replied, Artemisia simply nodded. There had to be at least some type of bread in the galley below. Omero turned to look out over the ocean, and while his gaze was captured, Artemisia too, looked out to the blue waters and felt a strange sensation well up in her heart; what was it? Homesickness? She pushed that thought out of her mind as she scolded herself mentally, ’Quit feeling like that, Artemisia. You have no home. You never did, nor do you need one. You are your own person, an independent woman blessed by Gaia herself.’
Suddenly, Omero turned about and promised to repay her if he could, again she smiled and waved her hand at him, dismissing the thought. “That's not necessary, but thank you.” Her throat tightened at the kindness offered, a hard lump forming in her throat. “I’ll be right back with your bread.” And with that, Artemisia moved away from Omero swiftly, and made her way to the galley to see what the ship’s cook had in store for them. Perhaps she could even help make some meals for the sailors if he denied her bread, or if he didn't have any. The wooden steps creaked with every step as she descended into the darkness of the ships lower levels. Her hunger and nauseous pains never really went away, so she decided to get something for herself too.
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