Sir Aerek Ancyrion, Shieldlord asks, "Do you need a hand?"

Tahquil takes a deep, steadying breath as she appears once again in a cloud of mist.

You say, "No, it should be alright. I think I have everything."

You say to the desolate merrow figurehead, "Grace, this is your last chance to change your mind. Afterwards there is no going back. Are you sure you want to do this?"

The desolate merrow figurehead regards Tahquil for a short moment before her eyes glide past her to the crew shambling on deck.

With a small nod, the desolate merrow figurehead makes her choice.

Aerek begins to follow you.

A slither and splash draws attention to the bow of the vessel, where the desolate merrow figurehead sits oblivious to water dripping from her sinuous form.

Somberly, Tahquil nods as well and lets the merrow make herself comfortable before attempting to scoop her form up in her arm. But the weight, the tail and the slickness of the woman cause her to grunt as she nearly drops the figurehead on the deck.

You say grunting, "Damn.. you are heavier than you look."

The desolate merrow figurehead casts Tahquil a withering look.

You say to the desolate merrow figurehead, "So much for a diet of fish to be slimming."

Sir Aerek Ancyrion, Shieldlord says non-chalantly in Mhun, "Not quite as waif-like as you are, dear."

You say to Aerek, "Aerek, can you see if you can lift her?"

The desolate merrow figurehead shifts fluidly, combing her webbed fingers vainly through her long, green hair before returning to her motionless vigil.

You say in Mhun, "She seems to still think so though."

Aerek nearly conceals a small smile.

Aerek gives you a peck on the cheek.

The desolate merrow figurehead scowls at Aerek and Tahquil as they converse in strange tongues.

Stepping to the edge of the ship, Aerek lifts the desolate merrow figurehead from her place on the bowsprit, gathering her into his arms as he carefully steps back onto the deck.
[Aerek has picked up the desolate merrow figurehead.]

Sir Aerek Ancyrion, Shieldlord says in Mhun, "Admittedly a little unusual when they don't have knees."

The desolate merrow figurehead wraps her arms about Aerek's neck, her lantern clunking noisily against the knight's fullplate as it strikes his back.

Aerek nearly conceals a small smile.

Tahquil takes in another deep breath as she nods her head to herself again before muttering, "Alright.. I guess this is really it now."

Aerek adjusts his hold on the desolate merrow figurehead.

Aerek follows you ether.
Upon a thin strip of fine black sand.
The stars shine down from the sky above, bathing the arid land beneath their silvery light. The eternal roar of the mighty ocean wreathes this elaborate marble shrine, a vivid testimony to the grace and power of He who is Lord of the Wine-Dark Sea.  The only ship docked here is a Windcutter. You may BOARD a docked ship or enter the wilderness map from here.
You see a single exit leading up.

Aerek follows you up.
Before a natural obsidian altar.
The stars shine down from the sky above, bathing the arid land beneath their silvery light. Eight stark obsidian columns rise all around you in a circle, each a slender spiral nearing twenty feet in height. The ground beneath is of the same black lava rock, from which the columns extend skywards seamlessly like the fingers of a hand. In the centre of the circle, the obsidian swells upwards to form a smooth altar, dipping in the middle to form a round basin. No trace of mortal artifice appear to have gone into this natural formation, and despite the crashing surf below that occasionally churns up to wet the rock beneath, a peculiar stillness pervades the air.  Sir Aerek Ancyrion, Shieldlord is here.
You see a single exit leading down.

Sir Aerek Ancyrion, Shieldlord asks, "This is the place?"

"This is it," Tahquil confirms as she steps into the circle of pillars and fastidiously checks over the altar in the middle.

You say, "Place her on the altar."

Aerek carefully sets the desolate merrow figurehead down upon the obsidian altar, before uncertainly stepping back.
[Aerek has dropped the desolate merrow figurehead.]

The desolate merrow figurehead shifts on the altar, her eel-like tail slapping against the obsidian as she to to make herself comfortable.

Tahquil takes the desolate merrow figurehead's hands in her own, giving them a squeeze of encouragement.

You say, "Don't worry. It shouldn't hurt. Just a few words and a scream, but that's for safety. Alright?"

Despite the apprehension marking the merrow's features the serpentine woman gives another mute nod.

As the light of dawn breaks to reveal the way, the ethereal glow in the desolate merrow figurehead's lantern dims as she lower it to rest in her lap.

Aerek puts a reassuring hand on your shoulder.

Sir Aerek Ancyrion, Shieldlord asks, "Ready?"

You say to Aerek, "Well, I don't think I'm going to be any more readier than this."

Tahquil presses her hand into Aerek's, letting the space between them fill with a pinch of salt from the ether as she mutters a quiet, "Lay out the salt for me. A circle around myself and Grace."

Aerek ponders the situation.

"I hope this doesn't require a university degree." Aerek sets about sprinkling a pinch of salt around the altar, encompassing you as you steps in close to the desolate merrow figurehead.

Tahquil positions a Silverveil brazier before the desolate merrow figurehead and coaxes a small flame to take within it. With the addition of a small bronze dish, she adds a measure of salt water to be heated.

Aerek tilts his head curiously at a Silverveil brazier.

"Praise be the Ocean Lord, keeper of the blood of the world. May you look upon us with favour this day and purify us your faithful." Muttering under her breath, Tahquil walks slowly around the circle of salt in the direction opposite it was laid as she crumbles dried kelp over it.

You say, "And now, we scream to banish any spirits with malicious intent from the circle."

With little warning, Tahquil tilts her head back and lets lose a uncivilized shriek.

Looking uncertain for a moment, Aerek tilts his head back and lets out a primal bellow to the sky.

The desolate merrow figurehead clings desperately to her lantern as she tilts her head back and opens her mouth in a silent scream of her own.

You nod your head emphatically.

Tahquil moves back to the brazier and slowly pours a large wine goblet into the hot seawater, within moments the sickening sweet smell of mulled wine permeates the air.

You say, "Forgive Your daughter, Grace, for the men she took to soon from Your service to soon. She comes to join Your service as repentance for her trespass against You and Yours."

The desolate merrow figurehead tilts her head curiously as she regards the roiling wine in the brazier below her.

Tahquil lifts her hand up, crumbling a leaf of kelp into the wine.

You say murmuring, "This wine we consign to the Sea, that the Lord be appeased and satisfied."

As the kelp meets the wine it suddenly bursts into a cloud of blue smoke that drifts upwards before forcing its way into the mouth of the shocked merrow.

The desolate merrow figurehead jolts, her slimy tail slapping against obsidian once before she stills again.

You chant your prayers to the sea spirits, and the obsidian pillars that encircle you begin to thrum in response.

The waves pound with increasing force at the base of the outcropping, leaping higher and higher until they clear the edges, smashing into you with brutal force and drenching you.

As you stagger, barely managing to stay upright, you see that the indented basin upon the obsidian altar has pooled with seawater. As the seawater drains away from the basin, the eyes of the desolate merrow figurehead gleam with an alien sentience, consecrated by the sea spirits.

The desolate merrow figurehead blinks twice before coolly regarding Aerek and Tahquil with a cool gaze, her eyes ablaze with a new power.

You ask, "Grace?"

Sir Aerek Ancyrion, Shieldlord says quietly, "That's a little unnerving."

The desolate merrow figurehead's mouth splits into a ecstatic smile as she writhes excitedly on the altar, her tail flicking its slime everywhere.

You laughingly say, "S'hris Neraeos! Calm down!"

You give a trillingly melodic laugh.

Sir Aerek Ancyrion, Shieldlord says, "And the gravity is gone."

Sir Aerek Ancyrion, Shieldlord asks, "Is that my cue?"

Tahquil keeps laughing as she moves, placing her hands on the merrow's shoulders to stop her from sliding off the altar.

You say, "I think it is. She's going break the shrine if she gets any more energetic!"

Sir Aerek Ancyrion, Shieldlord says, "And then all the sea spirits would be out of work and have to serve on your ship."

You say mockingly, "Ohh such a shame."

You say, "All those who influence the seas on my vessel. Hmm, I don't want to sail about those chops today..."

You say, "That island is annoying me, flood it."

The corners of your mouth turn up as you grin mischievously.

Aerek's eyes sparkle with amusement.

"All right, come on then," Aerek says to the desloate merrow figurehead, gathering her up again, struggling for a moment to find good purchase on the eel's tail.

Sir Aerek Ancyrion, Shieldlord says to you, "Lead on, before I start to slip."

-Return to the bow-

Aerek arrives from the north.

Sir Aerek Ancyrion, Shieldlord asks you, "Ready?"

You nod your head emphatically.

Tahquil helps Aerek with the last foot to the bowsprit and together they settle the desolate merrow figurehead down.

Striding to the tip of the ship's bow, you carefully mount the desolate merrow figurehead to the ship, whispering a prayer to the sea spirits. A peculiar warmth passes through the figurehead to your hands, and its eyes flare with light momentarily.

Aerek lets out a deep breath.

You say to the desolate merrow figurehead, "May you serve with the passion you have for your suitor, Grace. It is now your Duty to guide him and his through the waters and keep them safe. May you be always Vigilant and Strong, may you be governed by Reason. Be Proud of your new role and treat the men with Respect. but remember to be humble as well in your repentence."

Sir Aerek Ancyrion, Shieldlord says, "Storm's pretty bad."

You flash the desolate merrow figurehead a joyous smile.

You say to Aerek, "That's okay. We know someone that knows these seas better than any pirate or trader."

Sir Aerek Ancyrion, Shieldlord says, "I know that's not me."

You stride to the tipmost of the ship's bow and reach out to place your hands upon the ship's figurehead. Throwing back your head and closing your eyes, you focus and send your energy flowing into the desolate merrow figurehead, willing it to merge with your very soul.

Warmth cascades through your fingers, the tingling building to a crescendo of sensation until at last, you feel your psyche meld with the desolate merrow figurehead. You feel waves and wind pound against you as if you were the ship itself, a vast awareness filling your mind. A multitude of shimmering scintilla cascade down the wooden figurehead, its carved eyes suddenly aglow with awareness.

You say to the desolate merrow figurehead, "Show us what you have got."