615: Lost Upon the Shores

Lost Upon the Shores

Tarquin Wroe wandered the banks of the winding, black-soiled river. The rushing water washed over his bare feet... only making him thirstier.  0

He couldn't remember the last time he had taken a drink... just that he couldn't... 

Just why-- he could not remember. 

He stared at the river waters... and at his torn trousers. His cloak and armor were in equally sordid states. He had worn his best clothes... in order to meet with... someone. 

No... He was sure he looked fine. He wielded the sword she gifted him. He dressed up in his best, stiff-necked princely attire, just to impress her. 

He had done everything she asked for... and more. 

She wouldn't mind his appearance. She wouldn't mind how late he was. She loved him... and he loved her. Still, he was a Prince. It wouldn't be proper to keep her waiting. She had waited long enough... 

Still... he'd lost his way, somehow. He was given the simplest of directions... and even that, he'd managed to screw up. 

Tarquin was starting to regret not telling Tycondrius about his trip. The Ivory Prince was always good with directions. It was supposed to take only a short while... but Tarquin felt like he'd been lost for... years? Moons? Suns? Bells? 

...Maybe a drink would jog his memory? 

His eyes widened as he made out a silhouette of a person in the distance! Someone! Anyone! He needed direction-- even the smallest hint of it, to find whatever the hells it was he was searching for. 

He activated his ⌈Misty Step,⌋ traveling through the void to reach him in an instant... a gentleman with blue, translucent skin and a glazed look in his eyes.

"Excuse me, kind sir... my name is Prince Landris Wyndham... and I'm searching for... ah... forgive me. I can't seem to recall who."

The man looked to him... past him, focused on something in the far distance. 

Tarquin furrowed his brows in frustration. It was difficult to verbalize who... or what, exactly, he sought. 

"She's... beautiful, the most beautiful being ever to exist, I think... She has many pale white hands... and the most loving embrace."

He reached down, dipping his hands into the river waters... and he drew a long sword, made of pearl and moonlight, "See? This? This is her gift to me... I am her loyal champion... her knight... her Prince."

The man mumbled something inaudibly... but it was not the answer that Tarquin wanted. 

"Answer me!" He shouted... he begged, he pleaded... "I need to know! Where is my goddess?!"

Without hesitation, Tarquin plunged his sword through the man's abdomen, a white light filling his form. Tears in his eyes, he placed both hands on the blade, tearing the hole in the clear man's flesh even wider... spilling his luminescent blood into the river waters. 

"I'm so close to her! I can FEEL IT!! She's HERE!! Tell me where she is!!!" 

He needed to find her! To rescue her! To take her away from this place! To promise his heart to her, to tear it out of his mortal flesh to prove it. To grant her his soul... rent out of his body with forbidden magics. To be with her forever... and ever... to waste away in her many-armed embrace.

To love and be loved. 

He stared off into the cool, flowing river. Was he just speaking to someone? He couldn't remember. 

But he did know... that he was thirsty. 

A simple drink from the river would grant him the strength to continue his search. 

...

⁆ Captain's Log, Date XXXX ⁅

⁆ Dying from thirst? Check. Starving? Check. Mildly uncomfortable? F*ck yeah, I am. ⁅

⁆ Sand. There's gods-damned sand in my gods-damned mouth. ⁅

⁆ Stuck in the corner of my eyes, and every time I wipe it away, there's more of the stuff. ⁅

⁆ ...Rubbing on my junk as I walk, barefoot, with nothing but a pistol and a single round. ⁅

⁆ So there I was, on a deserted island... ⁅

"Sea god's socks, I hate my life," Krysaos cursed. 

He shielded his eyes as he gazed at the clear blue waters of the beach... without a ship in sight. 

There were seagulls though. A lot of seagulls... the toothy kind, too. Two of them were fighting over a dead fish. 

He picked up a sharp shell and chucked it at the nearest one, "F*ck you, flying water rat!!"

It smacked it in the head, forcing it to release its rotten meal back onto the sand. 

He dashed over and nabbed it, "Aha HA!! No one f*cks with the Captain of the Sugar-Titted Siren!!!"

Krysaos bit into it... the slimy... bony thing... with only the barest slivers of meat. He sucked its eyeball out, not giving a single shite about how sick it was going to make him. 

He had to survive... just as--

There was a person! The island wasn't so deserted after all! 

He spat the fish eye out and ran towards him, waving his arms like a madman. 

"Hey! HEY! Don't shoot!" Krysaos yelled, "I've been stuck here for... for moons!!" 

It had only been half a sun, but he was trying to play the pity card. 

The guy Krysaos had approached was a young, shirtless man with green hair and sharp eyes. He looked like he might've had non-human blood, his eyes being a weird gold hue... but Krysaos wasn't a racist. Being a privateer for so long, he hated everyone equally, regardless of skin or eye color. 

The guy's trousers were clean and whole, if sopping wet. He even wore a sword on his waist-- the hilt of it looked Tyrion, too. That meant he probably had coin! ...Or at least was richer than Krysaos, with his net worth of zero. 

"Good... morning," The youth frowned, "And you are?"

His voice was deeper than Krysaos thought it would be. Maybe the kid wasn't as young as he looked. That and the way that he took a vigilant half-step backward meant that he was someone to befriend, not to rob. 

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