Salt And Souls

Ceres Erelen, Captain of the Good Grace, has no idea where she is or where she is heading as she creeps down the tunnels she hopes will lead her ultimately to Albin Torkester. Along the way she has dispatched a few more thugs, though she would have expected more. She had nearly risked getting her wish when she had almost botched dispatching one of the thugs who had turned at just the wrong moment to catch sight of her. But Ceres had been faster than the lumbering elf who was quickly stabbed twice. Once in the leg and again in what Ceres had guessed at the time was his dominant arm. Her guess had been right and the thug had been incapacitated long enough to allow her to club him with the blade of the short sword until he was dead. That had tired Ceres immensely, but her resolve did not falter one bit.

Since then she hasn’t come across a thug or an open space. That concerns Ceres who takes the reckless decision to simply round a near ninety degree corner that sees her slam, literally, into one of the thugs. Both go toppling to the ground, but it is Ceres who recovers first and with a low quiet release of effort whirls the short sword round to slam it into one of the temples of the thugs head. In response a galaxy of bright white stars explode in his vision making it impossible for him to see straight. That doesn’t stop him from attempting to bellow for aid however. Slashing savagely at his throat does though. As a result the thug gurgles instead of cries in the moments before Ceres kicks him onto his back and then brings the sword, tip first, down into his chest. The tip of the blade plunges through his flesh with less resistance than Ceres would have expected. But the thug is far from dead. He flails about hoping to knock Ceres off balance. Ceres though lifts the sword free eliciting a pained groan from the thug before she drives the sword downward for a second time. Another wound is created in his chest, through which blood burbles up and then gushes when she hauls the sword back into the air, only to then repeat the driving stabs three more times until she is satisfied that the thug is dead. The thugs’ body soaked with blood so dark that it looks almost black, while a smell of iron begins to reach Ceres’ nostrils. It’s a faint smell but distinct nonetheless.

Ceres is exhausted, and staggers backward until her back is able to be braced against the uneven damp wall of the tunnel. Her breathing is laboured and deep as she tries to regain her breath and will the fatigue out of her body. Her eyes linger on the dead form of the man who had once been in Albin’s employ. She feels nothing for the man while she wipes her brow. Her leg is throbbing where the thug had kicked angrily at it, obviously aware of the fate that was awaiting him.

She knows that was too close and that she had been foolish to not take the extra seconds to see if the coast was clear. Not that she could have been sure that doing so would have lead to a different outcome as it likely wouldn’t have. The thug would still have been present and the only thing that may have been avoided was the collision and perhaps the pain she now feels in her leg. However, she can’t be certain.

After a couple minutes rest however, Ceres urges herself to return to her advance and so pushes off the wall, with the short sword, that is now caked in blood, in her hand. Her leg offers less consistent pain now, whih gives her some comfort. However, as a result of the pain she does feel her pace is slowed and why it takes Ceres longer than it would have previously to reach a cavern ahead. Not that she knew she would be coming up on it, as she didn’t.

The sight of it causes Ceres’ eyes to go wide in wonder. The space is magnificent with its towering almost vaulted roof as well as the myriad of lethal looking stalactites that are reaching down toward her and the floor of the cavern. Ceres can’t see the roof of the cavern proper as it is shrouded in shadow as she edges forward toward the edge of what she assumes will be the rest of the cavern below.

Before she even reaches the edge to look over it she spies the mast of a ship. But when she does reach the edge and is able to peer over she finds not just a ship but Albin’s massive galleon as well as a full dock. Ceres’ mouth hangs agape due to the discovery which helps to put into perspective the true size of the cavern. She knew it was large but some of its true proportions had been lost on her previously.

She quickly shakes the mix of wonder and fascination off. She is here for a purpose and needs to fulfil that before anything else. That is why she is here and that is all that matters. Anything else is a distraction for another time. If there is another time, that is. Ceres is fully aware that she may not survive an encounter with Albin, but that is of little consequence to her as long as Albin dies first.

Ceres backs away from the edge and then resumes following the well worn path that snakes around and down to the base of the cavern. The Captain of the Good Grace makes sure to keep her breathing under control as her heart begins to thunder loudly in her chest. She is fairly sure that it would be inaudible to any but her. Though she knows she can’t say with complete certainty as she catches sight of a sentry.

Ceres’ face darkens as her focus is directed entirely toward the sentry who she swiftly closes the gap to and then having claimed a sizable rock bashes it into the back of the thugs head. The sentry goes down with one hit but Ceres delivers another swift strike just to make sure. Then she waits and watches to see if the sentry really is unconscious. After what feels like an eternity she concludes that he is. At that point she moves on. But only after having carefully placed the rock back on the rocky natural floor.

She spotted the second sentry almost immediately after having felled the first. Except the positioning of this one leaves her more open. Ceres doesn’t like that, but she needs these sentries removed if she is to have any hope of making it down to the galleon without being seen. That is where she is sure Albin is. She can’t quite say why she is so sure of it as truth be told it is simply a gut feeling that is guiding her. Seeing as she has nothing else to go on, she isn’t about to argue against her gut. So she follows the path until it diverges. One route heads toward her ultimate goal, the cavern floor that will lead her to the ship, while the other heads straight, surprisingly, for the sentry. Ceres takes the logical path that heads straight for the sentry who is stood on a precariously linked rocky outcropping overlooking a large section of the cavern. It’s a lot more open than Ceres would like it but there is nothing she can do about the natural formations of this cavern and its sandy brown stone.

The Captain of the Good Grace puts aside her fears of plummeting to her death or being spotted and instead focuses her attention on the sentry. His back is turned to her, but she can see the pointy ears, like her own, which mark him as an elf. She doesn’t care whether the thugs are elf or human. If they are in serve to Albin then they are all scum and that is why when she reaches the sentry a short time later Ceres taps the thug on the shoulder. He spins round angrily but as soon as he catches sight of Ceres his eyes go wide. He doesn’t get to make another move though, as Ceres drives the blade of the short sword through his neck. The tip of the blade spears out the backside of his neck, killing the sentry instantly while blood drips off the weapon.

“Alarm!” Someone screams so loud that the reverberations in the cavern are nearly as loud as the original cry.

Ceres doesn’t know where the scream has come from but curses as soon as she hears it. This was not a part of the plan.

Unsurprisingly the call has the desired effect as a dozen thugs begin to rush up the winding worn pathway right toward her. With her route forward is cut off, Ceres starts to frantically cast her gaze around looking for another option. She can’t find one and the only possibility that has come to mind is one that she would much rather not entertain. What choice do I have? Ceres asks herself with venom. And it is true she has no other choice. Still, the thought of diving off this rocky outcropping into the water below when she doesn’t know if she can cover that distance or how deep the water is there, seems like insanity. But the thugs are closing on her, so it is now or never. Ceres curses again, this time under her breath and then begins to back away from the edge. She’ll need a run up if she has any hopes of making the jump. Just get on with it! We don’t have time! Her subconscious screams at her as she tries to make a rough calculation as to from which point she will need to start if she has any hope of making the jump.

Her calculations are cut short as the roars of the advancing thugs alert her to just how close they are now. In response Ceres explodes into a run. Her legs are tired and weary from all the skulking about, but somehow manage to conform and permit her acceleration down the three metres of rock before her mind screams at her: Jump! Ceres does just as her subconscious demands and throws herself as high and as far forward as she can manage. No, I’m not going to make it. She suddenly tells herself as she reaches the highest point of her leap sooner than she had intended. The thought sends a surge of panic racing through her body and at that moment Ceres drops. The fall is shorter than she would have expected, and she barely has time to manoeuvre her body. As she manoeuvres her body she realises that she’d been wrong as is indeed heading straight for the water. Now, I just have to hope it’s deep enough, she thinks as she pulls her arms above her head ready to complete the dive.

She pierces through the water a few seconds later without agonising pain ripping through her limbs. That comforts her but her loss of accurate hearing troubles her just as much.

Still, she wastes no time in swimming deeper into the much deeper than she would have considered water. This had better work, she tells herself as she holds her breath while now swimming under the hull of the galleon and over to the far side of the ship where she finally breaks through the surface with a gasp.

The gasp is louder than she would have liked, but it’s a reflex due to her almost having been out of air in her lungs for her to breathe. Now the Captain of the Good Grace just has to hope that the thugs are unaware of her location. That’s when she begins to listen. At first her hearing is dulled, but as the water drips from her ears it almost entirely returns. She thanks her lucky stars for such fortune and upon discovering that the thugs are desperately searching for her without any clue as to her location, she thanks them again. However, she refuses to move for a good while and instead simply treads water from a position that will allow her, when she is ready, to climb aboard Albin’s galleon. She doesn’t know what the ships name is, or if it even has one. She would assume it does and wouldn’t be surprised if it were some sick term that complements his sadistic tendencies. Not that it matters. Albin will soon be dead; she tells herself this and then finally risks moving. The splash of the water, which is almost clear in colour here, does nothing to draw the attention of the thugs as they continue to search.

Ceres hauls herself up the recesses cut into the hull of the ship until she flops silently onto the deck. She had been expecting company but instead finds it deserted. Again she counts her lucky stars and then, while keeping low, slinks the short distance to the captain’s quarters. She can’t imagine Albin will be anywhere else. So when she slips through a narrow crack in the ajar door to find him with his back to her at his captain’s desk, she smiles. Her grip on the short sword in her hand tightens, while she tiptoes toward him. She has no clue what he is doing and doesn’t much care. Though it wouldn’t be out of the realm of possibilities that he is plotting which port he will take the slaves to for sale. The possibilities are considerable but Albin would want a port where the clientele will pay the best rates. It would make Ceres shudder to consider where that might be, if she entertained the notion. She doesn’t and simply pushes it aside. Perhaps to be thought about at another time. Though, most likely she will never consider it.

As she is creeping ever closer to Albin the man catches something out of the corner of his eye. Not Ceres, as that would be impossible but instead her distorted reflection in a bottle on his captain’s desk. Albin smiles but does nothing. Until she is just about within striking range, at which point he spins round pulling his cutlass from its sheath that hangs off the right side of his belt, as he does.

Ceres manages to react in time and block the slash of the cutlass in Albin’s hand. She’s shocked at his actions as she was sure he was unaware of her presence. However, that is not something she has time to dwell on right now as Albin taunts, “I see you’ve come to die little Ceres.”

He smiles as he kicks the female elf back, only to quickly throw a succession of three strikes her way. The first swipe Ceres has to leap back to avoid as she would never have been able to raise her short sword in time to block it. The next two swipes she blocks with relative ease. Her years of serving on the high seas aiding her now as there had been a number of times when she has needed to defend herself and the Good Grace from unsavoury types, like privateers. Still, she never considered that Albin would be so agile and has to leap aside to avoid a powerful thrust, that had she not then it would have seen her being run through.

However, with the attack having been avoided it leaves Albin open. So Ceres rails on him with a short flurry of jabs and cuts of her own. He blocks and avoids each, but only just as he is taken aback by the proficiency with which Ceres wields a blade. He wonders then if he has found at match, but quickly concludes he has not when he feints and then delivers a deep slash to her right leg. Ceres screams in agony. Her leg burns as though it is on fire and is why she staggers backward away from Albin who smiles devilishly in response.

Ceres hates that smile and will see it wiped away here today. Right now though, she has to regain her balance without overloading her injured leg.

Albin knows Ceres will be slower now.  A wounded animal is desperate and often unable to see that its fate is already sealed. She will be soon just another number on the long list of victims Albin Torkester has, he is sure. That doesn’t mean he plans to bring this ‘fight’ to a close just yet though. He wants Ceres to suffer. She escaped him once when she’d been a young girl, and Albin has year’s worth of torment to make up for. So he quickly throws himself at Ceres. The Captain of the Good Grace had not been expecting the sudden attack, but she knows that she should of. There was no way that Albin was going to be honourable in this fight and it was her mistake to have assumed otherwise.

That is why she has to hop away. The movement is awkward and alien to Ceres but she manages it just in time.

Albin’s cutlass blade slices through the empty air that she had been occupying seconds earlier. Albin growls with a mixture of anger and frustration as he rights himself and then prepares for another assault upon the injured elf. Except even in her wounded state Ceres is quicker and manages to exploit an opening and jab at the back of Albin’s thigh. The man screams, however the scream seems to be more rage filled than pain. Though, it has the desired effect as Albin staggers away clutching at the wound in his thigh with his free hand. He chastises himself for allowing such a weak thing to injure him. He can scarcely remember the last time he suffered a wound, but that offers him little solace in the moments that he turns about to face Ceres, who is already flying toward him. Albin smiles. The elf woman is recklessly throwing herself at him failing to realise her advantage. He’ll exploit that and so drops to one knee. Incredible pain shoots up his leg from the wound but he pushes the pain aside as he lifts his sword to be in line with Ceres’ mid-riff.

Ceres realises too late and the cutlass goes slicing across a large section of her mid-riff. Not as badly as it could have, as Ceres did manage to drastically kill her forward momentum. But still she screeches in pain and then falls onto all fours. Her breathing is long and hard as she tries to bring the stinging pain under control. Though, she has managed to keep her short sword in her hand and not release her grip on it.

Suddenly Ceres feels Albin’s presence too close and instinctively she kicks out. Her booted foot finds its mark and slams into Albin’s crotch. The male elf howls in agony before staggering backward cupping his genitals, cursing Ceres as he goes.

With Albin temporarily thwarted, Ceres takes the chance to leap back to her feet. Her leg screams in pain as a result. She had forgotten about the wound. But she pushes the pain, her difficulty, aside for the moment. She is in a fight for her life and cannot entertain the complaints of her body right now. Doing so has already nearly cost her, her life. Another mistake like that might very well see it ended.

Now that she is back on her feet Ceres throws herself at Albin. The man is still in too much pain to realise how close she is.

She drives her sword into a forward thrust that punches right through Albin’s gut, narrowly missing his spine before the tip of the blade pierces out of his back. Albin, in response, throws his head back and bellows. Then he brings his head forward with all his might. He aims to headbutt Ceres, but the woman rips the sword from his gut just at that moment. The action pulls him off balance and almost results in him slamming face first into the floor. Somehow however, he manages to avert such a disaster and simply stagger a few steps. That is until Ceres kicks him hard in the crotch again from behind. He roars angrily and then crashes to the floor.

Ceres has too admit that she is impressed by the force of her own kick, as Albin had physically came five centimetres off the wooden deck in response to it. But she doesn’t smile like Albin would have if their roles had been reversed. Instead, she limps painfully toward Albin who tries to roll over and swipe at her with his cutlass. It fails and he is met instead with a swift boot to the face. His nose shatters with a sickening crack moments before blood begins to spurt from the remains of his now misshapen nostrils.

Albin’s hands instinctively shoot up to his face to cradle his flattened nose. While his sword goes spinning away after a couple loud clatters. But Ceres takes no pause. She knows Albin wouldn’t so sees no reason why she should either and so leaps on top of him.

Her knees slam into his chest knocking the air out of his lungs and for the first time Ceres sees panic in his eyes. Albin doesn’t realise yet however that the worst is yet to come. Not that he has to wait long to find out though as Ceres smashes his face with a strong punch from her right hand before grabbing him by the tunic. The act lifts his head up before he is shoved back down hard against the solid wooden planks. Albin’s head slams so hard against the planks that it bounces twice.

The force of the first impact cracked his skull. As a result blood begins to drip from the wound. Albin doesn’t have to see it, he can feel it matting his hair and that sends him into a rage. Only he finds he has no weapon and so as he goes to attack Ceres she drives the short sword down into the centre of his chest.

Albin chokes a cough in response to having felt his rib cage shatter under the might of the steel blade. The pain is more immense than he ever thought possible, but he refuses to accept death and reaches for Ceres’ throat.

Albin’s long slender fingers wrap around Ceres’ neck. Not because she didn’t try and fight him off but because he managed to get past her attempts to block him.

The Captain of the Good Grace had thought she would be able to wrench the sword out of his chest first, but she’d been wrong. Now she can feel his hands tightening around her throat. She resists the urge to try and pull his hands free as she knows his grip will be too strong for her to break. Instead, she keeps her focus on the short sword sticking vertically out of his chest. The Captain of the Good Grace is sure she can extract the weapon and deliver another blow. It is at that point that Ceres learns that the blade is stuck. Ceres curses silently as her vision begins to grow darker around the edges. There isn’t much time, she knows, and that is when she recalls the dagger she pick-pocketed off him in the cell. She reaches for it, but her movement only seems to hasten the choking on her windpipe.

Her face is a deep red now and her lungs are burning angrily. She would give anything to be able to breathe. The only way that’s going to happen though, is if she ends Albin’s life.

Albin meanwhile is smiling. He can taste victory. Just a little while longer and Ceres will be defeated. He isn’t going to kill her. Not yet. He’ll simply choke her out and then disable her for good. She won’t need her appendages. He’s plan on making her the purest example of what happens to those who oppose him.

Unfortunately for Albin Ceres gets purchase on the dagger she stole from with, which she had sequestered about her person unbeknownst to him.

She pulls the thin blade free and then raises it high. Her arms don’t fully extend because she is so close to losing consciousness. It’ll have to be enough Ceres thinks in the moments before she brings the dagger down. The thin blade stabs through Albin’s Adams apple. His eyes go wide, but his grip doesn’t falter. So Ceres puts as much of her remaining strength behind the blade as she can and that is why after a few moments it slips and then drives right through his neck. Albin’s hands open suddenly in response. Though, his arms don’t move or drop from their position near her neck.

Blood begins to rise around the edges of the wound in Albin’s throat and then he starts to spasm. Ceres keeps a hold of the dagger. For some reason that she can’t comprehend his hands don’t move. She doesn’t understand it, but she isn’t about to question it.

Then his hands start to move again as he goes for her throat once more. Ceres, in response, yanks the dagger from his throat. His blood in response sprays from the wound. Albin’s hands leave Ceres’ neck and instead shoot to his own throat. His mouth is agape but all that comes out of his mouth are wet noises like drowning, which is precisely what is happening to Albin. He is drowning in his own blood. Ceres knows he’ll be dead soon, but she isn’t going to let his life fade away. She is going to take it the way he has taken so many throughout his cruel life. And so with the thin dagger in her hand she drives it up through the bottom of his jaw. The force of her stab is enough to force Albin’s gaping mouth closed before the blade stabs up and into his brain, killing him instantly.

It’s over. Ceres thinks and then still disgusted by Albin, even in death, struggles off of him.

It takes her a few attempts but eventually, after a couple stumbles that put her back on the decking, she rises. Not to her full height however, as she tries to avoid putting too much weight on her wounded leg by leaning against the captain’s desk.

Her breathing is ragged and while relieved that Albin is dead, she isn’t sure she’ll make it. Death had always been a likely outcome. Not that she regrets her decisions in the slightest, as she doesn’t.

Suddenly the door to the captain’s quarters bursts open to allow three thugs entrance. As soon as they see the sight of Albin dead on the floor and Ceres leaning against the desk they growl in anger. They had been coming to inform Albin that the one of the slaves might be coming for him and that others are revolting. But it is clear now that they are too late. They liked the man purely because he paid them well. There was nothing else to like about him seeing as he had few qualms about murdering his hired goons like he did his slaves.

Ceres knows she can’t fight. She is too exhausted and with her wounds she doubts she would be able to best one of them, let alone three. That doesn’t mean she will beg for her life however, as she won’t. Instead, she locks her piercing ice blue eyes on them and awaits death.

But death doesn’t come. The thugs never advance a single step, or even half step. Instead, they simply topple to the floor. Two with swords in their backs, while the other has the rear section of his skull crushed flat.

Ceres is in shock as she looks up from the bodies which she watched fall to the decking to find Itim stood there with two other captives. Ceres smiles and chuckles to herself as it dawns on her what happened. She can seldom believe it.

“We didn’t think it was right to let you face them all alone.” Itim says with a smirk.

He quickly crosses the short distance between the door to the captain’s quarters and Ceres. He checks her wounds briefly and advises, “You will live. But come. You must see this.”

Ceres is relieved to hear she will live. Though, right now that surprises her. Still, Itim gives no pause for questions as he droops her right arm around his broad shoulders so she can walk without putting too much weight on her wounded leg.

Ceres winces and takes a sharp inhale of breath with every other step, but nevertheless manages to cross the room and then step out onto the deck of the galleon. She’s amazed as she sees the former slaves fell the very last of the thugs. The sight brings a wide smile to her face, and in that moment her exhaustion simply evaporates.

“Ceres! Ceres! CERES!” The former slaves begin to chant proudly.

The Captain of the Good Grace had not considered that the captives might know her name. So hearing it chanted over and over makes her smile again. But this time it’s a different smile. This time it’s a smile that confirms that finally her past has been laid to rest, and the monster responsible for ruining so many lives finally got what he deserved.