There was no room for thinking. In mere milliseconds, yet stretching to what felt like eons, Vortex witnessed the Wild Slayer shuck Nebula off from the steep, narrow cliff. The roaring, crashing waves rang loud in her ears. Jagged rocks were bound to meet with Nebula’s skin.
Jump.
She has to jump.
In a flash, Vortex sprints past the hunter, using the coil of her hind legs to propel herself off of the cliffside. Axle is rattling from the pressure of the wind, cutting it in what can only be classified as surprised howls. Vortex cannot find a way to swoop down faster as her armor clambers, throwing her weight around, incapable of finding a center. She’s spinning around, unsure where up or down is. She sees a flash of apricot flesh and misty bubblegum pink, making out Nebula’s form. The sharp air blinds Vortex’s line of sight. It’s inhibiting her senses every step (or drop) of the way. Closing her body in, the werewolf nosedives down towards the siren. Her eyes are still wrenched shut lest the force of the air threatens to slit the corneas in twain. With Vortex’s claws outstretched, she feels the vague texture of skin make contact with her palms, and curls her grip in. She holds onto Nebula close to her armored torso.
“What are you doing!?” Nebula shouts out.
“Saving your life, dummy!” Vortex shouts back. Freeing one of her arms, she goes to grab Axle out from her back, forcefully prying her eyes open to witness their free fall. The way down is rather far, but based on their velocity, the jagged rocks of the beach shore are rapidly approaching. Lightning illuminates the dark, cloudy night sky. The flash accentuates the sharp edges greeting the two at the bottom. Vortex attempts to “fly” towards the cliff edges, flailing the iron shovel close. She tries to slam the metal into the rocks, but her first go has no luck. It doinks off of the spotty gray granite. She tries again, pushing more momentum from her hand. She gets a good scrape in, but it wasn’t deep enough.
‘Don’t look down,’ Vortex pleads to herself. ‘Don’t do it don’t even think about having a peek do not DO IT-’ Alas, the werewolf looks down. Oh. Oh no. Those rocks are in prime range for certain death. Her adrenaline shoots across every millimeter of her body- straight to her teeth, too. Vortex lands one last hail mary strike on the rocks. Axle tears through the igneous stone, scarring the earth and altering its million years' formation. The screeching halt to their descent etches into the crevices of her olfactory senses, no doubt doing the same for the siren. She sees Nebula desperately trying to cover her… ears? She’s not sure if those frilly webbing things on each side of her head are ears but she’s going to call it that for now. The flexibility allows it to curl up on itself, resembling an earmuff. Finally, the screeching stops, leaving them hanging about one hundred or so feet away from becoming free food for any vultures (or nearby harpies). Vortex sighs out, squeezing tightly on Axle’s handle.
“Is everyone okay?” she shouts out, her helmet muffling her voice. Axle wiggles in their position in agreement, and Nebula can only nod her head. “Good,” she says, craning her neck up to the dark navy blue skies. Blanketed in thick, condensed cumulonimbus clouds, little to no moonlight was peeking through to shine their way. A flicker of warm, but faint light blinds her left eye momentarily. Vortex turns to face the culprit, and sees the lighthouse breaking through the misty haze of the fog.
“I think… I think we can find help,” Vortex says, straining her voice to keep steady. The focus she needs to make sure none of them slip or stick to the rocks is taking up most of her brain power. Super hard to think straight after everything that has unfolded tonight. “Let me do it,” Nebula volunteers, her voice semi-muffled from sticking so close to Vortex. “No! Those are extremely sharp rocks down there,” Vortex warns, pushing her nose to point at the exposed stacks. “Even at this height, you could get really hurt. I’ll send an SOS with a bolt-” Vortex says before Axle violently shakes their metal handle. “Absolutely NOT,” they say. “You will shock everyone here and the fall will make all of us worse off. No more lightning for one night.” Axle’s voice is muffled since their main body is tightly wedged in. Vortex sputters her lips in disbelief, ready to argue. “Mira tu, I don’t see you giving us any ideas!” She yells back.
“Hey!!” Nebula interrupts both of them. “I’ve got one, but I need you to let go. Please trust me. I can do it, honest.” Vortex wants to believe her, but she is not risking her potentially losing their life to the shores. “The rules of gravity are different here. It’s almost 1.5 times stronger than Chelonia’s!”
“That’s exactly it!” Nebula responds, unfurling her ears. “If you’d just listen to me-” before the extraterrestrial siren can finish her thought, a loud clanking of chains suddenly approaches below their bodies. Vortex and Nebula let out a yelp of surprise, holding on to each other more tightly from the unexpected motion. Taking a closer look, the werewolf swears that she recognizes it. Is that… an anchor? Not just any anchor, but one that bears the insignia of the flying snake!
“Oy!!” They hear a voice echo from the distance. Vortex squints to see if it is who she thinks it is. Just as she suspected! It was the captain she saved earlier from breaking the symphony of sirens.
“Thierve!” Vortex shouts out, greatly relieved at seeing a familiar face. The captain slithers out to the tippiest tips of the ship’s bowsprit, coiling his lower body around it. His seafoam green scales shimmer on his tail brightly against the multiple lantern lights hooked up. Black and gold tinted leather adorn his face, keeping only his piercing dark onyx eyes visible. His human upper half is covered by a rugged brown leather tunic. Accentuating the look is a soft parchment yellow blouse, tied to fit his chest with black laces. Despite having a snake form, he possesses strong human-like arms. Leather braces cover it, tied to fit snug against the lean muscle.
“Climb aboard! We’ve already done an emergency beaching,” he calls out as loud as his lungs could. Looking down at the thick, weathered, and sturdy coal black chains, Vortex runs a few calculations in her head on how she’ll do this. “Hold on tight,” she commands Nebula, finding her footing on the craggly bits of open rock. Nebula does exactly that- she wiggles her arms up to hold tight onto the werewolf’s armored neck. Vortex grabs hold of Axle with both hands, turns her head to see where the chains are, and pulls off with all her might. Axle escapes the slit, cutting the wind of liftoff with an eerie howl of their own. Vortex briefly releases with her right hand, and when the sentient weapon’s handle nears the metal, she re-establishes contact by pulling them down horizontally, colliding with the makeshift zipline. The trio builds up speed, the bumpiness making their heads bobble rapidly. When they near the captain’s position, Thierve stretches his body out, offering his two scaly hands for them to take. The two reach out to grab him, and he signals his crewmates to pull him in by the rear. With the effort of three more pairs of arms, the trio finally make it back to steady ground at the forecastle deck.
“Oh sweet land, how I’ve missed you!” Vortex cries out, leaning down to let Nebula go from her grasp. Axle vibrates in place, having had enough adventure for one night. “Those chains really hurt,” they hissed out from their metal. “You can feel pain?” Vortex questions, an eyebrow arching up. “What rope burn does to your fleshy hands is what that was to my body,” Axle says, closing their single magical eye. Thierve ‘oooh’s empathetically. “Poor thing’s had enough. Come on- I know a blacksmith who can buff you right up back into shape,” he offers, slithering off the forecastle to start setting up the plank walkway. “If it’s Garriz, I know he will. It’s a matter of Vortex getting lectured about how to take care of me,” they respond. That’s enough to shock the werewolf back into the reality of living, consequences included. Great. That’s not going to be a fun walk home at all.
“Garriz the Grump,” Thierve chuckles out heartily. “That’s what I call him. He wasn’t always that way, you know,” he adds, tying the ropes tightly around the heavy planks. “Him and I go way back. Reminds me a bit of Vortex as she is now if you ask me. Headstrong, always with a plan, even when things go wrong. Though I could do without the hotheadedness,” Thierve says, passing barrels and crates along his crew. Vortex “hey!”s out in indignation. “I’m not hotheaded!! Just passionate, that’s all!” She defends herself. “Uh huh, that’s what he would say too.” The werewolf huffs out, but finds herself suddenly with no more energy, as she suddenly flops on the creaky wooden floor with a loud thud.
“Vortex!” Nebula cries out, swimming to her side. “Are you okay?” the siren asks, trying to find the werewolf’s dark brown pupils hiding underneath the titanium armor. “Ah, coming down from your adrenaline, aren’t ye?” Thierve casually says, slithering over to the three. “I remember those days. At your age, I thought I could live in the adrenaline zone! But you still bleed and run out of fuel just like everyone else. Oye, Chug! Think you could help our fellow lifesaver out and get her back to land?”
Chug looks up at Thierve, and nods his head. Chug is a large, chunky cyclops with a green scarf wrapped around his wide neck. His chest is bare, covering his lower half with a worn and tattered skirt. “Thank you for saving us, little wolf child,” he says, easily picking her up off the ground. “Don’t mention it,” Vortex responds, bent out of shape. “Chug thinks you need more meat on your bones,” the cyclops says, scooping her up like a house dog. “Red meat good for your meat,” he says, bringing her down the planks. “I don’t wannnnaaaa,” she complains. Nebula follows them, Thierve close behind.
“Oh! Where are me manners? I don’t believe I’ve introduced meself to ye yet!” Thierve taps his forehead with three fingertips. “The name’s Thierve, but people along the seas best know me as King Cobra!” He extends a hand out for a handshake. Nebula takes it daintily, shaking on it. “My name is Nebula, but you can just call me Nebby.”
“Nebby, eh? Rather cute of a name for a siren like ya,” Thierve compliments. “I’d reckon yer not part of the Seaside Sirens. Ye from the Great Lakes or somethin’?” he asks. “I’m from Chelonia,” Nebula curtly answers. It’s nerve wracking to talk to others as is on her home planet. She doesn’t really know who this monster is! She only knows that Vortex and Thierve are buddy-buddy.
“Chelonia, eh? I’d like to pride myself as a geographical grandmaster, but I’ve never heard of that. That one of those tiny countries near the Czech Republic?” He questions further.
“Er… I don’t think so? Vortex?” Nebula pleads, gesturing with her hands to help her out.
“She’s from outer space. Comes from a planet that travels around various solar systems,” Vortex succinctly explains to the captain. Chug puts her down, saddling up his trusty gryphon for Vortex to ride in the back. He hands her a helmet, but reconsiders seeing her already have a helmet on. “Ahhh, that explains it!” he says, directing his crewmates to place barrels where. “... wait. Wait wait wait wait. This one’s a space sailing LASSIE?” Thierve yells out. The ship’s crew has all heads turning to see what their captain was talking about. Nebula wants to blend in with the ground and have it swallow her up. Vortex just wants a sandwich.
“Well no wonder ye been floatin’! I thought I hit the gin too hard again trying to drown out the sirens callin’ for me tail!” Thierve spouts, admiring how Nebula is floating off the ground by a half meter.
“That’s- uhm- gee, uhmn… thank you? I mean, I learn how to do it at a young age, so it really isn’t all that remarkable,” Nebula tries to explain, clearly out of her comfort zone. “I can keep myself afloat so long as I know where my ground is.”
“Ah, so ya sayin’ you coulda avoided becomin’ a fish kebab on the stacks if you knew when and where to land? That’s wicked!” Thierve praising Nebula is a little strange for Vortex to witness, but he does appear to be more than tipsy, so he’s a lot more honest. Nebula’s words catch up to her, and everything hits like a ton of bricks.
“You could have survived with your gravitational force matching the magnetic field polarization levels of the ground from THAT far?!” Vortex spurts out loud. Thierve gives her a weirded out squinty stare, then goes back to Nebula. “I think those were too big words for me to understand right now but. Yeah, that’s really cool of ya, lassie! Ya said yer Nebby? I like Lassie more. What if- ooh! Would ya be okay with me calling ye Nessie?! Oh it’s perfect-!” Thierve babbles on, clearly proud of himself. That stroke of “genius” sure is gonna be touted for the next week or so. The werewolf puts her lanky fingers over her eyes, not wishing to see any more of this nonsense.
“Sure. It seems like a nice nickname,” Nebula meekly accepts.
“By the way Whirlpool, ye almost forgot this on the ship,” Thierve says, tossing Axle over to Vortex. Chug situates Axle on Vortex’s back, noting her agitation rising. “Told you this before, Captain: the name is Vortex,” the werewolf grits out, still in pain from the whole ordeal.
“Vortex,” Axle says calmly. “You didn’t know Nebula could float off the ground regardless of how far away from the floor she is?” Oh. Oh, she did. “And yet you still jumped off a cliff in order to rescue her.” If she didn’t know any better, she would think that her weapon sounded the faintest bit amused. Her sepia pupils shrink, realizing the magnitude of the situation. She could have died. But she still did it. Nebula could have easily saved herself, and the Wild Slayer would have been none the wiser about it.
“Ya threw yourself off from a two thousand feet above sea level cliff to save Nessie? WOW!” Thierve exclaims. “Forget a man’s best friend, that’s a siren’s ride or die!”
“I’d prefer if we simply stick with the ride,” Nebula adds. “Which, erm… Chug, was it?” she asks the cyclops. He nods his head at her. “Is there… room for one more? I don’t wanna be separated from her,” she says, rubbing her webbed fingers together.
“Chug gets it- far from home, gotta stick with who you know best,” he simply remarks. “Climb on. Gungle knows how to get to blacksmith just fine on her own.” Nebula graciously accepts, hopping aboard the half osprey, half panther. “Gungle be good girl. Go to the blacksmith and come back, okay? Chug love you,” he says, giving his companion a loving pet on the head. Gungle coos a bit before lifting off, flying to their abode.
Vortex is ready to pass out and fall asleep on this gryphon. Tonight was simply too much for her to handle. Not to mention how there’s a nonzero chance that Garriz is going to grill her for not taking care of Axle. But they were both able to get the second moonstone.
That leaves Vortex to be alone with her thoughts, reflecting on the so-called “battle”. What was she thinking, treating this like a video game? Here she was, up against the world who slapped her with every imaginable label to paint her as the monster at all times that she was blindsided by her own hypocrisy. They’re spider monsters, yes, but they weren’t doing anything to her. She went inside their home and started wrecking the place, demanding a powerful rock that they didn’t even have a single problem with parting. In that brief moment, Vortex became the very enemy she had continuously fought. It’s not a good feeling. At all. They were so kind and repaired her cloak of illusions when it got messed up in the fight. That’s the whole reason they stopped- Cove and Bilde recognized the work they accidentally destroyed. They’re just a jewelcraft and tailor duo that keep to themselves. And here she was, an armed intruder.
She feels terrible. There has to be a way to fix this.
The werewolf quietly observes the second moonstone floating around Axle's orbit. It retains that look of being freshly plucked out of that crystal cave, illuminating with aurora blues, dazzling rubellite pink, and meadowy greens. Despite this strong shine, she can still see her own reflection in it. All she sees is a tired, hungry wolf, waiting for her next meal.
Gungle caws out, signaling their near end of flight. Vortex refocuses her eyes on the blacksmith's house and outdoor forge.
“Don’t beat yourself up too hard over tonight,” she hears a voice call out. Vortex looks around, and it speaks again. “Forgot we had a neural connection, did ya?” She recognizes it as Axle and lets out a giant sigh. “Give me a break,” Vortex says aloud. “We could have done better.”
“We did what we could,” Axle reminds her. “You have not had years or decades of experience in fighting. For a beginner… you did pretty good.” The compliment does put her worries to ease. “A successful fight is one where you’re still alive,” they say. Vortex falls silent. She looks off to the distance where the cliff is. She can’t see the Wild Slayer any more from this distance, but the chill of the wind does her no favors to remind her of the situation she’s still in. Each passing night, it gets more difficult to resist giving up her humanity and banishing herself to the woods. The images of creeping miasma and dark purple smoke crawl at the edges of her brain. Vortex shakes it off the best she can. Enough dwelling on what went wrong. What matters now is that everyone made it out alive with all their parts still on them.
Vortex feels Gungle starting to glide down to Garriz’s cot. She’ll have to fill in the Priestess on what went right beforehand. If she’s lucky, maybe the Priestess will let her camp out at her home than be around the minotaur.
Speak of the devil. Vortex sees her waiting for her arrival at the outskirts of Garriz’s property. This again? Guess she’ll have to meet her halfway. Better that than having to haul her tail to the hut…