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The BloodVaine EpicChapter 74: Driven By Revenge
The Sil’boralic was a fine ship. The largest and fastest in the Dragon Master’s possession. It’s hull was long and silvery green, razing into a sepentine head at the prow. The sail was large, with the form of a silver dragon etched into the dark blue cloth. The name, Sil’boralic was of the ancient tongue and when translated literally meant ‘Wings of the Sea’. It was the governor’s personal ship. The one he used during his long escapades on the uncharted waters of the far oceans.
Now, as Jarvick stood at the prow, with his eyes to the north and the spray of the sea in his face, he couldn’t help but think back to the last time he had been there. It had been at sea. Far west of the ‘A’ latitude and beyond what the people of Dametreos knew from their maps. In the midst of a gale henudist girls had stood there. Peering ahead, into the turbulent waters, looking for a glimpse of the glinting scales as they broke, now and then, above the crashing waves. He was on the chase that night. Ahead of him was T’kam, the great water dragon. Jarvick had been there before. That night was only one of the many times he had chased the great serpents through the foam crested waves.
It was in his blood, I suppose. The need to under stand them. To know their ways. Because of this, Jarvick was often at sea, leaving his subjects, if not rulerless, then under the government of his brother Drock. Such had been the case on that stormy night, when Drock interrupted his mad pursual of T’kam, with an urgent teleharm.
Trouble on the mainland. That was the message, more or less. Two things it meant. One, that Jarvick would have to abandon the chase. And two, that an army would need to be raised.
Jarvick had picked his troops well. His core were the hundred picked men who went with him whenever he set to sea. They were sailors and they were wariors. Strengthned by their labours at the oars of the Sil’boralic, and trained in the use of their favorite weapon, the mace. True sons of the sea, they were. After these were the hundred and fifty law men Jarvick had gleaned from the several villages in his lands. T hey were stout men who were sure to prove their worth in battle. The last fifty men were comprised of mercenaries. Ninjas, from the western half of the island. They had cost Jarvick plenty, but he was sure that his investment was well spent.
Now, as Jarvick stood, staring over the horizon, he thought of his brother. They hadn’t always been the best of friends. In their younger days it was all their parents could do to keep them from blasting each other apart. Not to mention destroying half the island in the process. Even as they grew and matured, they hadn't always seen eye to eye. Eyes. That was it. The one thing they did have in common. Both the brothers had different colored eyes. Drock’s eyes were grey and blue and Jarvick's were blue and green. It was a sign of royalty on the Dragonmessenger service Master island. A sign that you had the blood of a sorcerer in you.
Jarvick was a sorcerer. A man who had embraced his heritage, perhaps, more eagerly then his brother. A man who was well attuned to the currents of the Mana flow. And a man who had felt it, in all it's parching fullness, the day that BloodVaine drained the very wells of magic. It had happened on the same day that he returned from his escapade at sea. Terrible, that’s what it was. But worse then the sudden shock and pain of the Mana drain, was the sinking feeling that he had lost something. Jarvick had always had a sort of connection with Drock. He could tell what mood his brother was in and sometimes even what he was thinking. But when Jarvick recovered from his initial reaction to the Mana drain, he realized that he couldn’t feel his brother anymore.
Drock had been a sorcerer too. But more then that, he was family. A solitary tear joined the salt water on the governor’s face. BloodVaine would pay.
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