After days at sea, the Nightshatter was finally nearing Otherrealm's familiar shores. The tension of their narrow escape still lingered in the air, but Roy felt some small relief at the sight of the distant skyline.
The bridge doors slid open, and Sorrowclaw stumbled out, closely escorted by Skellbro, whose skeletal grin seemed particularly delighted at the pirate captain's discomfort.
Sorrowclaw abruptly turned back to face Roy. "Captain Gunn," Sorrowclaw started quietly, her usually brazen demeanor noticeably subdued. She shifted awkwardly, avoiding his gaze. "Since I helped save us, perhaps I've earned... slightly better accommodations than a prison cell, can I stay up here? I promise I'll behave myself."
Roy glanced toward Skellbro, who offered no reaction, radiating a clear lack of sympathy. Roy took a deep breath, genuinely mulling it over.
Sorrowclaw's hopeful expression cracked through her feigned meekness. Subconsciously, almost imperceptible wiggle of her hips, the faintest ghost of a dance. It built up to a slight sway.
Roy's eyes instantly narrowed to unimpressed slits. "Absolutely not," he snapped coldly.
Her smile shattered. "But—"
"No."
"But I didn't even—"
"No," Roy repeated, each word dripping with frost. "Absolutely, unequivocally not."
Skellbro immediately erupted into gleeful laughter, clapping his bony hands together as he took hold of her wrist. "Back you go, little dancer!"
"But I was just—"
"March, dance monkey!" Skellbro interrupted, cheerily pushing her along as she pouted dramatically. She shot Roy one last pleading glance, which he pointedly ignored.
A short time later, back in the gloomy brig, Skellbro shoved Sorrowclaw unceremoniously into her cell. She stumbled forward, gripping the bars to steady herself as he casually snapped his fingers, instantly lifting the dreadful curse he'd placed on her.
As she turned around, looking at him through the bars, Skellbro leaned in close, pressing his skull between the metal rods with deliberate theatricality. For the first time, his usually garbled voice came through with perfect, chilling clarity.
"You'd be very wise to keep your filthy hands off the captain, you desperate harlot," Skellbro said, his voice dripping with contempt. "Don't delude yourself into thinking your fangs could ever sink into his heart."
Sorrowclaw stumbled backward, eyes wide with alarm. Wicked emerald flames, tinged with veins of midnight black, erupted from the cold cell floor beneath Skellbro's feet, enveloping him in a ghastly inferno. The flames slowly burned upward, reshaping his feet, then ankles, then calves, bones clattering together and reforming, muscle and skin weaving from nothingness. His stature grew slightly, his frame filling out in a formidable presence.
As the flames slowly reached Skellbro's thighs, Sorrowclaw dropped to her knees. "I—I was just dancing!" Sorrowclaw cried, desperately raising her hands in a defensive gesture. "Please forgive me!"
"Enough lies, better I end this now!" Skellbro roared, voice now strangely elegant, resonant, and frighteningly real. From the air itself, he drew a long, glowing blade etched with ghostly, cursed runes that danced eerily along its length. Without hesitation, he swung it with ferocious speed through the cell bars toward Sorrowclaw's exposed throat.
At the final instant, an ancient arm blocked the lethal strike. Father Skeleton, now fully reassembled, had appeared in the cell. The cursed blade hit his arm with such force that cracks radiated along the bone, but his limb held steady.
"Hmm," Father Skeleton said mildly, as though nothing unusual had occurred. "I swear I smelled pickled fish up in the...what is it called again? Ah yes, the mess hall. Care to join me, dear?"
The green flames around Skellbro sputtered out instantly, the cursed blade dissipating into wisps of emerald smoke. His figure shrank slightly, returning to his usual smaller skeletal form. Skellbro stared at the cell floor for a moment, clearly chastened, before giving a quiet, obedient nod.
"Of course," Skellbro murmured.
As Father Skeleton turned to lead them away, Skellbro paused at the cell door, casting one final, venomous glare back at Sorrowclaw. His voice lowered to a sinister growl, barely audible but dripping with malicious intent.
"...Revenge."
Across the brig, from within their respective cells, Riven and Kaelor erupted into uproarious laughter, slamming their fists on the walls and wheezing uncontrollably.
"You've done it now, Sorrowclaw!" Riven shouted gleefully between breaths. "Our little dancer's made a deadly enemy!"
Suddenly, the curtain to Skelly Mom's previously quiet cell burst open, revealing her clad in a vivid wrestling singlet. Her shrill voice cracked violently as she shrieked at the brig's unruly prisoners, "Enough noise, you miserable fools!"
Instantly silenced, Riven and Kaelor froze like frightened rabbits, eyes wide. In the tense quiet, Riven slowly, carefully, reached down to retrieve a chocolate bar hidden in the shadows, nibbling silently.
Sorrowclaw slumped against her cell wall, sinking to the cold floor with an exhausted sigh, shoulders trembling slightly from the adrenaline. Outside the cells, Father Skeleton and Skellbro retreated calmly.
The brig returned to a tense, watchful silence, broken only by Riven's quiet, chocolate-crunching.
Roy stepped into Otherrealm's central council chamber, feeling both relief and dread at once. After the chaos at sea, returning here offered momentary calm, though he knew it wouldn't last. The Nightshatter might have appeared to sink under Sorrowclaw's illusions, but that deception wouldn't fool the Kaigun Dominion forever.
At the center of the table, a crystal lantern gave off a gentle, flickering glow, nothing magical, just a nice looking cheap trinket lamp Takara had retrieved from her Home Improvement Box. Seven figures waited in heavy silence, each a crucial member of Otherrealm's security council.
Maelara stood with her muscular arms folded, posture radiating strength. Salaboar, the stout boar-like beastfolk, adjusted his tusked jaw nervously. Alejandro fidgeted restlessly in his seat. Warrex leaned back with practiced nonchalance, but Roy saw the tension in his eyes. Lutrian sat near Roy, fingers drumming anxiously on the tabletop. Serenity attended remotely, represented by a wireless speaker perched atop an excessively fancy cushioned chair. Beside Maelara stood the ancient elf with silver hair and a sword at his side, whom Roy had only ever called "Siren" after giving up entirely on pronouncing Sirendeliantharavelyssien Aerondrathal.
Eryndra lingered quietly at the edge of the chamber, arms crossed, eyes fixed on the floor. Roy avoided meeting her gaze, knowing she was still quietly stewing over the fiasco with Sorrowclaw.
He cleared his throat. "Thanks for coming on short notice. We don't have much time."