The night had come, and with it a gentle, cool breeze. The entire island had the illusion of a peaceful setting; but each of them could feel it in their bones; the tension that made their muscles tighter. As the sun was setting, it also brought out a swarm of giant mosquitos, which Tawmis and Taren swung their primitive weapons at; and while striking a few with each swing, it never seemed to decrease the amount of flittering, bothersome, blood sucking mosquitos. Blaz’tik approached, and simply said, “Allow –tic!- me to try…”
He opened his right hand – closed his insectoid eyes – and closed his fist. A bust of flame shot forth from his hand, striking the mosquitos, eviscerating the majority of the swam; the rest fled.
“You… got some magic back, I see?” Tawmis asked.
“I –tic!- surmised that perhaps –tic!- once in a dangerous situation –tic!- some of my magic might –tic!- return to me,” Blaz’tik said.
“That’s… good,” Tawmis said beneath his breath.
As they made their way along the shore, bodies of the crew of the slave ship, The Elf Wind, had washed ashore. Along with their bodies, some armor and weapons, that Coy had no problem, Tawmis noted, pilfering and distributing. When Coy turned and saw the look of disdain on Taren’s face, he looked at the massive minotaur and shrugged, “What? It’s not like they’re going to need it.” He flipped a dagger between his fingers and sheathed the blade in his newly acquired belt. “And if we have any hope of surviving this island, you’re going to have to toughen up.”
“I am more than adequately ‘tough’,” Taren growled. “However, looting the dead is a dishonorable act.”
“They were slavers,” Coy retorted.
Tawmis was about to say something, until Coy had mentioned they were slavers, then he finally nodded in agreement. “I’ve got to side with him this time,” Tawmis admitted. “They were slavers. Not the greatest of people. I’ve had more than my share of time with slavers, being in their pens, fighting in their rings. At least we can take their weapons and armor and make something good out of what was normally pretty horrible people,” he shrugged.
“There is wisdom in your words,” Taren agreed. “Fine. We take their weapons and armor then. Give me that axe,” he pointed at the large axe strapped to the back of one of the dead slavers.
Tawmis strapped on a piece of leather armor around his chest and adjusted the sword at his side. He looked down and saw the symbol of the slaver ship’s crest on the chest piece of his armor and took the small dagger from the slaver’s boot and began scratching it out as much as he could.
Blaz’tik found a small, wooden chest washed ashore that had much needed spell components. Some of them had been ruined by their journey through the salty ocean; but some of the components had been wrapped tightly in bags. Blaz’tik’s insectoid armor gave him a natural defense, but still, some additional scrap leather here and there, helped protect more vulnerable locations.
Most of the armor from the slavers – most of which, had been human – did not fit Taren’s large body. He made due by tearing the armor, then punching holes in it with another dagger, and looping straps of leather through it, so that he could tie the leather around his body and offer some protection against whatever this island housed.
As Coy dressed himself in leather armor, he looked at the others. He placed his dagger in its sheath, his round eyes never once leaving the other three he had been stranded with. In his head, he was calculating his chance of survival. They had proved to be exceptionally useful in escaping Grimrock – but how much more did they have left?
