"Ryka!"
"Ryka!"
He woke with a start, his hand slipping beneath the pillow, feeling for and finding the cool metal of his dagger. He rolled and sat upright, covered only by the thin bedclothes, brandishing the blade before him. His blood pulsed.
"Something's coming..." Shadowfang whispered, and the hush in her voice worried him.
Not looking for further explanation, he reached to the sleeping form of Shay beside him and spoke the words to the Protection From Evil and Good spell, a magical ward cast through Shadowfang’s guidance, the incantation a mix of Infernal and Celestial. She was already starting to stir when he began and had drawn her own blades by the time he finished.
“Ryka?” she gasped, eyes darting around. “What–”
A pulse of dark arcane power passed through the room, and through them. Ryka was struck by a powerful sensation, a surge of rushing desires welling up all at once. First and foremost was the need for the pleasure he craved so often, the ecstasy of it, so strong it hurt between his legs. Then, in his gut, there was a deep hunger for good, hearty food, a pain and a growling in his gut, like the worst days he’d been hungry, only tenfold stronger. And as he gripped the dagger, there was a deep bloodlust, the intense desire to kill, to see the blood of his enemies splash the walls and puddle at his feet. He heard Shadowfang’s voice in his mind, urging him to be strong, but he couldn’t focus on it, could barely hear it through the raging need in him.
“Ryka!”
Shay’s voice snapped him back to focus.
“Shit!” he growled, realizing he’d dropped the spell protecting her. “Are you–”
“I’m fine,” she assured him, though she sounded breathless. He groaned, clenching his teeth and growling through the pain. Slowly, it ebbed, and he stood.
“What… the fuck… was that?” he snarled.
“Hells if I know,” she muttered, holding her daggers. He looked at her. His heart sank as he realized the feeling of the magic that had passed over them had been… terrifyingly familiar.
“That might not be far from—” he started, but their ears perked as they heard clattering, things breaking and hitting the floors, then shouting.
“Sounds like a bloody mutiny,” she hissed.
“Is that a possibility?” he asked.
“Not my crew,” she said.
"Right," he said. "Hold on, let me just…"
He closed his eyes and focused, his grip tightening on Shadowfang's hilt so strongly it hurt, claws digging into the pad of his palm, finger muscles straining. He felt her power flood him, rushing up his arm with every pulse of his racing heart.
He smelled them; sulfur and fire burning his nose, and a rush of scorching rage surged through him. He listened, his ears twitching, and they were the ears of a hunter—not merely attuned by his kin's millennia of prowling through forests, but those of a blood hunter, one who knew the sound of his enemy. The scent of rotting flesh and the slow oozing sound announced the arrival of the first of them.
"Four lemures," he hissed, ears still twitching, nostrils flaring, his muttering more to himself than to Shay or Shadowfang.
He heard scratching, dozens of scratches against the walls and floor of the lower decks, again and again, bristling spines and the dull flap of leathery wings. He smelled infernal metal, heard the heavy thud of large weapons, like staves, hitting the floor.
"Spinagons," Shadowfang growled in the back of his skull.
"Spine devils, yeah," he hissed. "Two."
And lastly, in the belly of the ship, he heard the clacking of bone on bone, the heavy, thudding footfalls of something terrible. There were twitches, the shudder of insectoid wings, and a long, harsh scrape of something sharp against the floor—or was it the ceiling? That could only be…
"Fuck," he muttered, eyes snapping open again. "And a bone devil. Fuck!"
"Demons?" He glanced over at the sound of Shay's voice, saw her yellow eyes glinting in the darkness, her twin daggers, curved like fangs, catching the moonlight. He nodded.
She turned and grabbed her pants, and he did the same, the two of them scrambling into their clothes. He felt the comforting weight of his leather armor around his fur.
"I don't need to guess why they're here," she hissed. He felt a twinge of guilt at bringing this threat down on his old friend. "You and that Chosen One paladin in one place? I'm surprised the full might of Avernus isn't trying to sink us."
He stopped, ears twitching.
"Right…" he said, blinking, then returning to strapping on his armor. "I was worried about my chances—I mean, the lemures I could take, but I don't know about the bone devil—but with the aid of a holy warrior, we might have a chance."
"Don't forget that aarakocra monk," Shay said, fangs flashing in a grin.
Ryka nodded, returning a smirk.
"Alright," he said. "Let's do this."
He was ready—itching—to kill some demons. He stepped out of the room, the wood deck creaking quietly as the ship rocked. Shay's hand clasped his shoulder, the dagger in her grip against the light leather pauldron of his armor.
"I know the ship," she said. "Let me lead."
He was inclined to resist, but the Shay Darkhide he'd known had always been as quick and sharp as her daggers. He had to trust she could protect herself.
She stepped forward, and he followed, ears perked, senses alert. He considered recasting Protection from Evil and Good on her again, but he could only do so once more, and it meant he couldn't cast anything but cantrips from here on. That was fine, he decided; his only other higher-level spells were Illusory Script, Identify, and Unseen Servant. Not exactly battle-worthy, and casting anything else would mean breaking his concentration on the protection spell. He still had Blood Curses, Crimson Rites, and other blood magic taught to him by the blood hunters and channeled from Shadowfang. And there were those other warriors, the paladin and monk.
They'd be fine. They had to be.
He cast the spell again and she turned back to look at him, feline ears flicking.
"Protection spell," he said.
"You don't need one?" she asked.
"I can only cast one at a time," he said. "I have to focus on it."
"A concentration spell," she nodded. They moved on.
"Why are they here?" he thought, keeping pace with Shay, keeping quiet. The thought was still bugging him, and Shadowfang had no answer. He couldn't assume these demons were here for him—at least not only him. If he were a part of the infernal forces, he'd have jumped at the chance to sink this ship too. A legendary paladin, powerful monk, and a blood hunter like him all in one place? Still…
He was so lost in thought, he didn't catch the scent of the lemure's rotting flesh until it rounded the corner. Its meaty fist swung for Shay, but only just missed. She must have been out of practice, because the miss was more out of the fiend's incompetence than her quickness.
Despite the surprise, she struck back fast, daggers flashing, and her attacks hit their mark easily. The creature hissed and growled, and its breath was rank, but the slash of her twin daggers carved deep gashes in the reeking thing's flesh. It reached out, sinewy arms grabbing, but then it fell limp with a shudder—her attacks had been just barely enough to kill it.
He chuckled and she glanced back at him, one ear twitching.
"You don't even need me," he laughed.
She smirked and wiped the infernal blood from her blades.
***
"Karik... Hear me, my warrior. Wake."
Karik's eyes snapped open. For the first time in forever, he heard Her voice. But this time there was an urgency in Her tone that scared him. He sat bolt upright, and quickly cast the first protection spell he could think of, Protection From Good and Evil, on himself. He clasped his hands together, felt Her light pass over him, Her warmth filling him. And then a wave of darkness rippled through the room, but he felt it flow over him like a cool breeze. Whatever that was, Avita had warned him just in time.
Truthfully, it had only been months since she'd spoken to him, but it felt like it had been forever since he'd heard that voice. He waited, listened, ears perked and straining, hoping for more. But there was nothing.
He sighed and stood, moving for his armor. Whatever that ripple of black was, it ought to have a source. And there was no guarantee the crew had survived. He paused, not sure what he'd do if he found himself the only one left alive on a ship adrift in the ocean, but he shrugged this thought off. No reason to jump to conclusions, and even if the worst did happen, come what may, She would guide him through. She always did.
He finished with his armor and stepped out into the hall connecting the crew quarters and guest quarters. He gagged and almost retched at the stench that greeted him, the powerful odor of rotting flesh. Its source was not but a few feet from his door—the slumped, lifeless body of a lemure. He'd seen them in books, never in real life. The books did nothing to prepare him for the smell.
But this one was dead, a single clean cut horizontal across its—well, it didn't really have a throat, but that cut was definitely how it had died. Its smell wasn't going to get any better, so he turned and headed off toward the upper deck, listening out for any kind of threat or anyone who needed help.
He caught a familiar scent around the corner and heard the steady breath and heartbeat of a trained warrior, but despite racking his brain, couldn't recall for the life of him who that scent belonged to. He rounded the corner and saw her clearly—the aarakocra monk who'd helped with the cargo crates earlier. Her pristine white feathers stood out clearly against the dim light of the lower deck, but when she turned around, she was wearing a sleek black mask.
"Nice to see a friendly face," she said, a smile at the edge of her beak. "Especially one with some divine muscle."
Oh. Was she flirting again? He could never tell.
"What's with the… mask?" he asked awkwardly.
"An implement of the Monastic Tradition I follow, the Way of Mercy," she said, wings spreading broadly in an aarakocra bow.
He recalled from his studies on other peacekeeping orders that this was the mark of a monk who had advanced a fair way in their training. He gave her a respectful nod.
"A philosophy that teaches healing and fighting in equal measure," he said. "You and I are similar, then."
She returned the nod, her smile brightening.
"Do you know what that dark ripple was?" she asked. He shook his head.
They started down the halls, the ship's floorboards creaking under his weight.
"I managed to cast a protection spell around myself before it hit me," he said, "thanks to a warning from my patron."
She paused, looking at him. Her face was hard to read under that mask.
"Your patron?" she said. "As in…"
She pointed a taloned finger up. He nodded, chuckling warmly.
"So you got a vision or something?" she asked.
They turned a corner into an empty hall.
"No," he said. "She spoke to me."
"Does she do that a lot?"
"No," he replied, unable to hide the wistful sigh from his voice. "Hardly ever. I'm privileged to have heard Her twice now."
The aarakocra nodded, still unreadable. Karik was hit by the reeking odor of rotting flesh and recoiled at the smell. He heard something sliding over the floor around the next corner and knew it must be another lemure. He doubled over at the scent, putting a hand over his muzzle, barely breathing.
"Whoa, what is it?" she asked.
"Lemure," he gasped.
"Lesser demon," she said, fingers crooked, talons ready. She must have been knowledgeable about all kinds of threats—her order had indeed trained her well. Good, because he wasn't sure he'd be able to focus on the fight with that horrible stench.
The thing rounded the corner and the monk attacked first, slashing with her talons. They were sharp and would have made a formidable weapon alone, but she had trained to use them. But she must have been distracted by the foul smell too, because her first swipe missed its mark, as did the second.
But before he could even start to muster his strength and push past the stench, Karik saw a flash of metal and a dagger embedded itself in the lemure's flesh. He saw the light go out in the unholy thing's eyes before the second dagger hit its mark next to the first.
He and the monk both turned and saw the shadowy attacker, shrouded in what he at first thought was a cloak, but turned out to be a pair of black feathery wings. A beak of dark grey was the only thing not shrouded by the hood over the wearer's head. Another aarakocra? And around her neck… it couldn't be.
But he'd know that amulet anywhere, the sun-shaped emblem with a red jewel at its center—the Holy Symbol of Ravenkind. Karik took pride in learning of other protectors like the monk and her order, but holy warriors of his own church were of special interest. So of course he recognized her. This was the Raven herself. The savior of Barovia.
As they watched, the figure pulled back the hood, revealing a face covered in the same sleek black feathers as her wings, two emerald green eyes gazing at them as a sly smirk curved at the end of the aarakocra's gray beak.
"Hey, Aecra," she said. "Been awhile. You miss me?"
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