The Elinor
North. The Captain would not budge in the slightest; subtle hint, direct provocation, direct threat... He refused to carry the vessel northeast, along the coastline. "I've been Captain of the Elinore for how long Dimentia?" He asked incorrectly. It had only been a few days and already he knew this answer too well...
"Seven years-"
"SEVEN YEARS" he nearly shouted, as if to remind the skeleton crew about, though if in his four days upon the ship he had grown so accustomed, surely his crew pondered mutiny with some regularity."I know these waters!", he clamoured on, " We'll catch the northern gails, and swing about the cursed isle, cut off days! weeks!" he exaggerated.
Stanhis shook his head, looking about at the sails, off-white with a simple, yellowed flowered in the middle representing the once-glorious name that Captain Franz Dominic so revered and regailed at every chance he took. A merchant's vessel, it's crew hardy enough, the cold up here forced it so. Down from the sails and mainmast, eight or so crewman skittered about, the Boatswain at the helm barking various commands and jeers. Truly, he ran the ship, though Stanhis understood that Dominic had much more coin than he did teeth or sense...perhaps the wind would carry such promise, though it mattered little considering the former knight's intentions, the mission a-hand. Northeast would have brought them closer to the coast, bettering their chances for survival. ------ The Crow's Nest revealed nothing this time of night... even with the stars to guide the way, if one could read them, they were so scattered among all the overcast that it would have been like reading a map through holes poked in a wooden cup; though navigation would be easier once some light shown upon the situation...
Stanhis let the young man, truly a boy, slip from his choke-hold, sure he was unconscious at this point. The Nest was still crowded with two, but even with mal-intention, he wouldn't kill the boy apurpose... Stanhis reached in a pocket, pulling out a small mirror, the other hand already holding a small, luminescent rod which he revealed as he combined the two... the rod, enchanted as it may, wouldn't light the smallest box if that was it's purpose... however the mirror glinted, sending its signal.... two flashes south.....two more.... followed by four...
With that, Stanhis put the boy upon his back, scaling down the ropes with calculated care, landing upon the deck with only the lightest of thumps... expected of anyone working the deck this time of night. He dropped him off a step or so away from the other crewmen he had incapacitated, knowing he only had a few moments to put the next steps into place. He placed under each of their tongues a sprig of Hollowmore, ensuring there would remember little...perhaps shades or flashes of their assault, but anything more would make them too drowsy to rouse alarum.
Stanhis went portside, tossing down a hempen rope-ladder that, to any sane being, should have splashed feet below... it landed with a clank, smacking -something- before going taut....Stanhis breathed in..... out... the smoke upon the air a clear mark of both where they were, and the consequences the crew faced if Stanhis had put too much faith in the crew's ability to rouse, adapt, survive.
He descended the ladder, striking the port-edge with an elixir that sent out a wave as hot as the fire it created, parallel with the deck before making land, lighting the scene as he turned his head to look down at three set's of ice-blue eye's staring back at him; pale, blighted hands holding the rope with no mind for that cold that blew about them, expressions so bland and hollow, there was no doubt as to whether or not they cared for what happened to the crew. As they rowed away, Stanhis refused a final sight of his doing, the water afront lit by the blaze..... All he could hear was the Boatswain barking for evacuation, and the frantic cries of Captain Dominic and his seven years being swallowed by the sea all in the name of an alibi. They would make it. He hoped they could.