Ardaik 5th - La'Trest, Lorellia

The sun had just dipped below the western peaks, bathing the sky in increasingly darkening shades of blue, and the first stars, as the trio reached the docks. Rowan was again reminded of how high-profile his companions were at times like this; when a few simple words from Artus to the watchmen granted them access to where the navy's ships were moored. But it stood to reason.

After all, Artus and Flann were not only the crowned princes of their entire countries, but since Artus's only brother had died when Artus was an infant, and Flann had no brothers, they each were the sole heir to their family. A fact that also made being unchaperoned with the two quite unnerving.

"Aye, Arrrtie! " Flann shouted, even though it was undoubtedly quieter here than in the crowded halls of the castle. "Could I fire one of yer cannons? I Ner'got ta before!"

Artus flashed Rowan a smile just before a chuckle broke free of him. His momentary lapse in composure, however, didn't last long before he laced his hands behind his back and stepped closer to Flann. "I fear you'd hurt yourself," Artus said, his amused gaze again flicking to Rowan before he continued. "Or damage something. What would I tell my father if you crumbled some magistrate's retaining wall?" He motioned towards the white stone barriers adjacent to the docks, crowned in trailing flowers, with shingled roofs peeking out over the top just on the other side.

"Not here!" Flann said with a laugh. "Out in the bay!"

Artus's trail of thought could practically be followed as easily as his line of vision. The wind was fairly low. The waves were calm. In fact, it looked like the tide was on its way out... Odd for the time evening... Artus tilted his head, then glanced up at the sky. He was fairly certain he wasn't wrong about what time it was... After a moment he shook his head. He didn't truly intend for them to leave port anyway. He just wanted Flann distracted enough that he could speak to Rowan alone. Who knew what the drunk might repeat of he were to overhear, otherwise. "Do you know much about sailing?" the Lorellian prince asked, a hint of superiority leaking into his tone.

"Not at all! Most of our boats have oars and paddles."

Artus tamed a grin as he preceded them farther down the dock, inspecting the vessels lining it with a shrewd eye. "It's a fairly complicated matter. However," he turned, shoulders pointing squarely in Rowan's direction. "I wager we could safely make it out into the bay and back without incident. Besides, it's not uncommon for the military, or even ships contracted by the Merchant's Guild, to fire cannons during large celebrations near the height of the festivities. Right, Rowan?"

"That's true," Rowan agreed with a single nod.

The vessel Artus chose, however, was certainly not the flagship Flann tried to lobby for. As confident as the prince was in his own seamanship, he didn't entertain the idea for a second that they should even appear to be toying around aboard one of his father's galleons. Instead, it was a fine-looking ketch, that was to host them for the evening.

Unlike the flagship, the ketch was some twenty, perhaps twenty-five, feet shorter and sported only two masts—its mainmast taller than the second, and stepped similarly to the single-masted sloops bobbing gently nearby. Its smaller size, however, hardly meant the royal vessel wasn't armed to the teeth. Quite the opposite. There were plenty of cannons silently stationed on the deck.

Rowan counted five on each side, or at least it looked as though there had been at one time. One spot sat vacant, along with evidence, by way of less weathered patches of oak butted up against scarred original wood, of what fate it may have met. In fact, once Artus had lit a lantern, Rowan found even more traces of use nearly everywhere he looked—tales of the vessel's service to the crown.

Artus spent a few moments closely watching Flann oggle the cannons, his heart thundering like a war drum in his chest. Commanding he move on the opportunity. This was it. He had to tell Rowan now, or he likely never would, and he just couldn't stomach that thought. Artus bumped Rowan's arm with his elbow—a touch so brief, and so unnecessary, but that was the point in of itself. He wanted those little excuses. Those little moments to make any manner of contact with the other noble. "Help me with this rope," he commanded, emotion pricking through his demanding tone as he led Rowan back towards the stern of the ship.

"He certainly will not." A thin, but gravelly voice startled Artus enough that he nearly fell backward in the act of lurching away from the cleat and dock line he'd just leaned over. Upon his eyes focusing on his father's advisor, he exhaled an exacerbated sigh. The sight of the man along with Kenton, and a gaggle of royal and Serellian guards sent a physically painful ache through Artus's chest.

Sir Charles Sebastien the Third was one of the few souls in Lorellia who possessed the privilege to command the prince; by order of the king himself. "Your father is dealing with a crisis, and here you are. Playing with boats like a child." Sebastien tsked, but the adviser's veneer of calmness didn't fool Artus. Sebastien was furious. He knew the man well enough to know. "I'm ashamed my presence was even required to collect you."

Artus's lips formed a tight line as he straightened and tried to swallow the lump in his throat. "I was just going to show Prince Flann the bay." He felt like crying. Not much had ever made Artus feel that way, but this did. This loss was monumental.

"Prince Flann," Sebastien said, his nose scrunching slightly. "Can admire the bay from the veranda or the east garden. You were not to leave the castle tonight," he finished, motioning for the guards to escort the three off the ketch and ordering them back to the castle once the lamps they'd just lit had been snuffed out.

"Maybe tomorrow?" Flann lamented at the loss of their party ship.

"Perhaps," came Artus's mumbled reply. Tomorrow there'd be guards. There would be courtiers, servants, lesser nobles... people within earshot. No matter when or where they were. Artus could help but glare bitterly at the castle, if only for a moment.

But Rowan wasn't as disappointed as the two princes seemed to be. Oh, sure, if something happened or went wrong, there might be some light consequences for them, but he doubted he'd be given any leniency. There was also the delicate nature of Artus's reputation to consider, and he doubted ditching the festivities at the castle for any reason would help in that regard.

"It's probably for the best..." Rowan tried to assure his friends while they were escorted back through the streets toward the castle.

As they went, Flann paused when they drew near a crowd gathered around a small stage. Entertainers in bright, colorful costumes were dancing around and performing all manner of impressive feats. One blew fire while another swallowed swords, and another banged a tambourine and stirred the crowd with lively commentary. Surely, being removed from the party for a few minutes longer wouldn't make much difference. Rowan nudged Artus's arm before dropping back to observe the street acts with the Serellian.

It was then, while he was prowling the edges of the audience looking for a good vantage point when something caught his eye, but not on the stage. No, his attention had been drawn across the street to an alleyway, cloaked by harsh shadows from the street lanterns, but he was sure he'd seen something there. Rowan dismissed it as nothing more than a beggar or perhaps a pesky pickpocket. He tightened his purse strings and tucked it closer, but then thought nothing more of it as he returned to watching the show. However, his enjoyment of it was short-lived.

The next thing he realized he was being taken off his feet as some drunk stumbled into him at full force. The tail-end of a curse had barely left Rowan's mouth when his eyes settled on the terrifying features of the man — no — the thing that had downed him.

Dark gray, decaying flesh, peeling away from bone, surrounded dead milky eyes that seemed unable to focus directly on him. The first horrifying word to jump into his thoughts was exactly what someone in the crowd screamed—

"Undead!"

The onlookers were already screaming and scattering as the corpse's mouth unhinged and then swung down for Rowan's neck. There was a "Thunk!" as the gapping, mangled jaw connected. Not with Rowan, but with the blade of a hatchet wielded effortlessly by the Serellian Prince. Flann's follow-thru saw the undead's head parted from its shoulders, but that didn't stop its mouth from opening and closing like a fish, gasping for air. The headless torso still held Rowan where he was and it took a hand from one of Flann's guards to free him.

"Rowan!" Artus shrieked, snatching at Rowan's sleeve and yanking him towards himself.

"Where did it come from!?" Rowan exclaimed breathlessly as he tried to wipe the stench of the creature off of himself.

"I suspect the same place as all them," Flann replied, drunkenly pointing his hatchet in the direction of dozens of more undead pouring into the street from the alleyways, blocking off their way back to the castle.

"Cut through them!" Sebastien howled from behind the group of young nobles and their guards, glaring fiercely at the panicked crowd members rushing and shoving past. "We must get the prince back to the castle!"

"They're seven men deep!" one of the Serellian guards snapped.

But before Sebastien or anyone else could reply, Artus was ripped away from Rowan by Kenton, who spun the prince, shoving him ahead of himself. "Back to the dock! Go!"

Suddenly the streets were ablaze as the fire that had been used in the show began to catch and spread out of control from around the stage.

Rowan agreed, the docks seemed like their best bet, and as they retreated back towards them, he instinctively reached for the saber on his belt. It was supposed to be a decorative piece. He didn't even know if it had a proper edge on it, but it was all he had on hand to defend himself with.

As they came back out through the gates and onto the wharf they all paused. The port that had been empty only a few minutes ago was now inhabited by two giant toads, each of them large enough to swallow a horse whole.

For a second, it didn't appear as though either of the colossal creatures had taken notice of them. Then one of the guards was yanked away towards the water, where a third of the hellish beasts had poked its head above the surface. The guard's scream was cut short as the massive mouth closed with a sickening "Crunch!"

Paralyzed, whether by shock or fear, no one in their party made a sound until Sebastien's low rasp. "This idea was suicide."

Artus twisted to look over his shoulder, back at Rowan, Flann, and La'Trest behind them; bleeding billowing clouds of black smoke. Then, for the briefest second, something flashed in the Lorellian prince's eyes, and he wrenched himself free of Kenton, darting off towards the ketch.

"Artus!" Kenton roared, followed by more frantic calls for his highness from the other guards, in tones as sharp as the blades in their hands, while they took chase.

In a blur of movement, one of the massive frogs had dove back into the water, causing a rolling, black wake as it made for the ship. Kenton had just gotten onto the ketch behind Artus, before nearly toppling over when the monster collided with the hull, just beneath the water, tipping the whole boat at a precarious angle before it seesawed back the other way. "What are you doing!?"

"The oil!" Artus yelled, stumbling across the deck as he scrambled to reach the barrel the guards had cracked open not fifteen minutes before. "Get the lantern oil!"

"Help him!" Kenton ordered his men as they joined them, pushing both Rowan and Sebastien further onto the ship the moment they boarded. "Get away from the sides!"

Once Flann was aboard, one of his guards snatched the bucket of oil Artus had drawn from the barrel, racing to the port side, where they'd been hit, to slosh the contents into the water.

"Rowan, get you three below deck!" Kenton barely got the demand through his teeth before they were struck again.

Sebastien yelped, grunting as he tumbled and rolled, only barely staying aboard. "Cut the damned anchor free!"

Rowan struggled to sheath his saber amidst the chaos. It was more of a hazard now as the boat rocked violently, tossing them all this way and that. Flann looked ready to be sick from it, so Rowan sent him down the stairs first, lest he shower them with the contents of his super. Then he motioned for Artus, but the prince's attention wasn't on him. Instead, his face was tilted towards the sky.

"What is that?!" Artus cried, but Rowan didn't look. He kept his vision locked on the narrow, square hatchway and stairwell leading below deck, pulling Artus and urging him down the steep steps before he followed.

Below deck, they were plunged into incomparable darkness. Without the stars, a candle, or even the light of their burning city, Rowan was truly blind. If it wasn't for his own bruisingly tight grip on Artus's arm and hip, or the sound of their frantic breathing, he'd not even know the princes were there in front of him; a realization that stirred a primal fear deep in his chest.

The ship groaned and creaked around them while the massive toad dragged rubbery hands against the outside of the hull, drawing out an even more awful and terrifying protest from the ship. Thuds and shouts sounded from above as the men scrambled about the deck, fighting to free them from the dock. It had been horrifying up there, but being down here, in the ketch's belly, was somehow far worse.