The Vengeful Tide Ch. 05

"I must say that you intrigue me, Eric Drakclaw. Not so many men are this nonchalant about creating a Blood Oath. Now the impoverished boy understands the intricacies of Rune Sewing. I look forward to you revealing your many hidden talents when we return from this voyage of yours," Liara teased from her side of the mystical room that had been created.

Candles were lit in every corner of the room. Arcane text that I could make out if given the time were stained upon the walls. A sealing circle outlined in the blood of various animals laid in the center.

If I be honest, I tuned out her banter. This was not done on purpose, but I was too distracted with trying to sort my Ilzahold's memories of rune sewing along with my former experiences with it.

In front of me laid a captain's vest, coat, and pants that I had purchased over the two weeks preparing for this trip. Tomorrow was the voyage and a crew be respecting no man that wears worn and tattered clothes. Days and nights ridding men and women of their coin in the gambling dens easily paid for this outfit.

Rune Sewing speaks for itself. Sewing runes into clothing fabric. It's not the same as engraving runes on weapons such as swords, guns, or spears, but the concept be the same. Runes are the symbols and languages from ancient days. Experienced sorcerers are paid fine coin to inscribe, sew, or engrave these into whatever a person desires. There are runes that increase a weapon's durability, its resistance to magical attacks, or even wielding the elements themselves. The number of runes that lay in the world is as innumerable as the sands on a shoreline.

Unfortunately, there are not many rune sewers in the world. Even in my time, I only met two in my whole life and they are the ones who fitted my clothes with the runes that I desired. Yes, Ilzahold was one of them. It was a hefty price, but the results are worth it for any conquering seaman.

I remember wondering why there weren't many rune sewers despite the occupation being so rewarding. Now that I hold Liara's memories in my mind, I have found the answer.

Rune Sewing is unpredictable. Any royal magician, fortune-teller, soothsayer, diviner, or mage in general, who has gotten an education in the mystic arts, understands the complex history of runes and rune forging.

The history of these arts tends to vary from source material to other source material. For instance, Elves are led to believe that the runes were created from the Earthen spirits to better communicate with the will of the planet. Fishfolk are led to believe that runes were created by the god of the sea as a way for all to pay homage to the eternal aid of water. It all be nonsense to me, but...Ilzahold's memories strike me the most.

According to what Ilzahold had studied, runes were not called 'runes' at first. They were stars in the night sky. They were the numerous conversations that divine beings fired back and forth with each other. Every time one of them speaks, every time one of their mouths open, a star is born. When the first of the races walked upon the earth, it had no one. It was alone. The divine bodies took pity on it and taught The First Being their divine language. They poured the stars to the new earth and the First Being discovered them all, each a symbol or character of the divine bodies' tongue. Each star was a word that instilled great power. After all, to communicate with divine beings divine power must be given. These symbols and characters slowly became known as runes to now.

I don't know if this is true or not. I really don't care, but as I was saying there is a point to that history lesson.

Runes be an easy thing to mess up. The blasted things don't work if there is even the slightest imperfection. One mistake and the effects range from nothing to one's soul being sucked away into the void. Yes, it sounds ridiculous to me as well, but the benefits are equal to the risks.

As for Rune Sewing, the process is much harder than simply writing runes like any regular mage. Sewing a rune is much easier to imperfect. I can't count the number of clothing materials Liara went through in my head to learn this process.

Now, I was attempting the same process. It takes a mage about ten years to perfectly create runes. It then takes them thirty years longer if they wish to become a Rune Sewer. It is not something one does half-heartedly. I hold a new appreciation for any woman who can handle this ridiculous contraption known as a sewing machine.

If I be honest, I did not want to do this in front of Ilzahold, but she had claimed that our little contract was ready to proceed and we should waste no time. She did not take no for an answer. Now, I am here carefully stitching runes to my captain's coat and the other clothes that I had purchased. Not to mention I would have to do the same thing to my mother's, the elves, and Sothshore's clothes as well.

The Isles of Delverhold were not to be underestimated. We would all need this if we were to survive. I would not have the time to go and add runes to the rest of the clothing of my temporary crew tomorrow, but I would make sure that the bastards could at least run away if need be.

"Rxovius Shakthmathira Ecspirivium Sarathotovimah Hirathbati Oviorium,"

As I worked, I heard Liara speak her magic words behind me. My senses were heightened to the magical world. I didn't have to turn around to see the arcane energies working behind me. Nevertheless, I tried to keep my focus.

Sweat poured from my brow beneath a harsh light. I was not the most patient person. I could feel frustration seeping through my body to get this over with, but I calmed my nerves. It would be worth it. I constantly told myself that. However, I was now aware of a fault in my technique.

I had no technique. The memories from Liara and her times Rune Sewing were like I was watching moving pictures. She had been working her fingers and hands into the process of rune sewing for seas know how long. I hadn't. I had the knowledge, but my body did not. My fingers were clumsy and my hands were uneasy. I had to replay her actions more times than I care to admit.

By the time I was done with my clothes, I wished I could blast this machine to pieces. I inspected my work and, as far as I could tell, the runes were flawless despite my body's efforts to make them otherwise.

"Are you perhaps quite finished, Eric? I still have many things that I must have prepared aboard the ship for tomorrow's voyage. I must say this is rather exciting. I have been on many ships, but this is the first in a while I find myself intrigued. I hope you don't believe that water melts witches. It does not," Liara told me in that way that makes her words swim in the air and tickle the ears with honey.

How I would enjoy the look on her face when we docked upon the Isles. I would make sure to rub this in for all it be worth. "Is it ready?" I asked.

"It was ready about half an hour ago. I did not see fit to interrupt you. Come. The energy has reached its zenith and spirits have gathered to witness our oath,"

Upon the floor, a large magic seal was placed. I stood in the center of it along with Liara. As soon as I stepped inside, the candles that had been lit were blown out by a mysterious wind that came from nowhere. This left both of us in perpetual darkness. If we were not so close to each other during the start of this ceremony, I would have lost her. However, I was not worried. I had done this type of thing before after all.

"Now, Drakclaw raise your...,"

I did not need to be told what to do. I raised my hands and held them to Liara's. Hers was a softer touch than I remembered. If she had a complaint about the calluses on my hands, then she didn't voice them.

Once our hands touched, she spoke some more arcane words. The seal of blood beneath our feet started to glow with a violet light. I squinted my eyes from its harsh glow. I then noticed Liara looking at me.

"By my blood, this contract between me and the one I acknowledge stands true. Spirits bear witness to mine oath. Contractor, Liara Ilzahold, by her blood, binds her word that she shall not deny contractee, Eric Drakclaw, desires of thine world should the Lost Isles of Delverhold be found. Mine word be mine own bond lest my soul be devoured by the Oath Breaker. This I swear," Liara said.

Once she was finished, I spoke. "By my blood, this contract between me and the one I acknowledge stands true. Spirits bear witness to mine oath. Contractee, Eric Drakclaw, by his blood, binds his word that he shall not deny contractor, Liara Ilzahold, the pursuit of greater glories which lay within the Lost Isles of Delverhold should it be found. Mine word be mine bond lest I offer everything that I am into the service of Ilzahold until the end of days. This I swear," I said.

With my oath finished, Liara held out a bone knife composed of wyvern scales. With it, she sliced open her palm. She then handed the knife to me. I sliced my palm as well. We then extended our hands until they touched the other. Our blood mixed together and dropped onto the glowing sealing array. What followed next was something I wouldn't enjoy.

My hand started to burn with an intense heat that made me wonder if I'd be replacing my hand with a hook in the future. I looked down and I saw the magic etching itself into my and Liara's back hand as a sign of our oath. The pain was so great that more sweat flowed down my forehead. When my eyes laid on Liara, she held a visage of indifference. I am now aware of just how many times she must have done this.

Soon the glowing faded and the darkness gave way to enough light that I could make out the room we stood in. The burning had stopped, but I noticed the mark on my hand. The shape of an oval and a star overlapping the other was our mark.

"For your sake, Eric Drakclaw, I hope your voyage holds my intrigue. It took a lot of preparation to accomplish this. Might I inquire when we set sail?" she asked me.

I grabbed my clothes that I had finished sewing. "Before the sun reaches the highest point in the sky. I'd advise your two grunts to not be late. I'll leave them," I told her.

"I would not make it so," she replied. Then, in a manner I found rather unusual for her, she escorted me to the front of the shop. She then wished me a good day before closing the door. In the many years that I have known Ilzahold, she never walked past the back building. While she was closing the door, all I could see was a mysterious smile upon her face. Figures that even with all her memories, I still can't figure that witch out.

I decided to head home. From the wooden bridge that connects my house to the main roads of Draegnar, I could look down and see the roaring tides and the piers below. At the far corner was my temporary ship. It was as big as Ellen said it was. It sat on the water tied by a rope and anchor to the docks. I could just barely make out the people carrying wooden crates filled with gunpowder, food, swords, and anything else that I had specified that I would need. I could even barely see the magical aura around certain boxes. No doubt this was also Liara's stuff.

I stepped inside my house and I noticed my mother with a pistol in her hands. Unlike the last two weeks, any trace of the Shark's Bite disease had left her body. She was still on the thin side, but I could see those beautiful female curves of hers begin to fill out in ways that I love so much. Her eyes no longer carried the weight of despair in them. Now, they were the jewels of my treasure box.

"Finished your business with the Witch?" she asked me.

"Aye. What are you doing?" I asked.

"You're taking me on this trip for some reason. I should refamiliarize myself with the weight and power of firearms. I have not professionally held one for quite some time. The elves are gull hunting. Moving targets make for good archery practice, or so they told me before they left. You're...really going through with this, aren't ya?"

I didn't much mind the question. In my mother's eyes, I must have been someone else who had taken the body of her son. I would not have been able to pull this off if I was truly the age that my body indicated.

"Well, if we don't go through with this then something tells me that Ilzahold will bless me with the power of shapeshifting. She'll turn me into a frog and any other manner of creature if we don't," I said. As harsh as my mother could be at times, I could tell that my deal with Liara did not make her happy. A bastard though I be, she still cares for me very much. It is one of the reasons I enjoy her so dearly.

"Well, you got us all on this ship, Eric. For your sake, I beg you understand the severity of your situation," she said.

"Glory be attained by the risk takers, mother!" I told her. I then gave as hearty a laugh as I could before making myself scarce.

Any excitement about my return to the seas was buried beneath a mountain of tedious work that I needed to accomplish. Through the entire day, I began my rune sewing of my mother's, Asteal's, Maeloson's, and Sothshore's clothes. The latter of this group seemed to take joy in watching me suffer with a blasted sewing machine. I would make sure to repay her laughter with my own later. Nevertheless, I would not allow them to die to the dangers of Delverhold if I held the power to prevent it.

As the sun gave way to the moon, I continued to work. My mother and the elves had taken their rest. I continued my sewing ways while infusing the magic that I learned from the Liara of my time into each rune. By the time I was finished, my eyes hurt, my fingers ached, and I felt rather delirious from the reserves of mana I had used to infuse the runes with magic.

"Ah, the glorious return of a betrayed captain, his bed not filled with women and riches, but his bed a lone chair and table alongside a sewing machine," I said. I do not mind if anyone laughs. It be hilarious to me as well if I could see myself.

The morning came a little...too quickly for my liking. A hand was pressed against my back as I opened my eyes. My mother had awoken me. When I opened my eyes, I noticed how delectably beautiful she looked. I had not seen my mother in the prime of her life, but...this would be it for me.

My mother's body was covered by a white, short-sleeved shirt. Her hair flows down with a vibrant color that it hadn't had before. Her ass is covered with black leather shorts. Her feet arose covered by heeled boots of the same color and material. In her eyes, I see a burning confidence that drove me mad with desire. The runes I had stitched upon each of these garments told the story of my determination the previous night.

The sands of sleep over my eyes were quickly brushed away. "The sirens of the seas are nothing to your beauty, mother," I said.

My mother looked like she failed to properly weigh my comment in her mind. She then jabbed me in the shoulder rather painfully. "And your tongue is still sharper than any blade, Eric. What is the point in trying to embarrass me with flattery?" she asked me.

I removed myself from my chair. I then grabbed her arm and pulled her with me until we appeared in the bathroom There was no mirror in our bathroom, but the window which led to the outside did more than enough. Due to the sun, we could easily see her reflection upon the window pane.

I stood behind her. My arms dropped down the side of her shoulders. "The truth can be embarrassing for some, and pride for others, mother. Just look at you. Did I not promise to restore you to greatness? A strong woman is reflected there to me. No trace of disease lingers on you," I whisper to her. I can feel her shiver as my fingers massage her shoulders. I then slowly moved them down her arms.

My mother did not resist me. Instead, her hands rubbed mine as she looked at herself. "Your eyes shine with pride, your tongue strikes the air like fire, and your body is a treat to the eyes of men and women," I then say. I clasp her fingers with mine. I take her hands on a trip to explore her new body. Her palms and mine familiarize themselves with the curves of her feminine frame.

While we do this, she leans against my chest. The only sound I can hear is her ragged breath. "Eric...," she calls to me slowly. I can see her pretty nipples stab into her shirt. My own breath was hot with desire and there was no way that she couldn't feel my erection against her ass. However, instead of the plethora of excuses that she could give me, she began slowly grinding her plump butt against me. Her face was flushed with arousal. Even with her back to mine, I could feel her heart beating in her chest. Her hair smelled wonderful.

I took a step back from my mother. This was hard to do for me, but my need for validation was much greater. "Turn around. Look at me," I said, my tone leaving no room for negotiation.

My mother slowly turned around to face me. Her arousal was evident. "And who do you have to thank for that miraculous body change?" I asked, my hands folded behind my back like I was a knight captain talking to a would-be squire.

My mother looked into my eyes, but her gaze could not hold. She looked at the ground. The confidence that I had seen was slowly dying away. "You," she replied.

"You, what?" I asked, my tone a bit harsher than earlier.

"You, Eric," she said to me.

"And who does that body belong to?" I asked.

"Me," my mother replied, but I gazed at her for a moment. I then walked back towards her until we stood eye to eye.

"Wrong, mother. Your body is mine. If you remember, you were planning to take your own life. You forfeited your right to own your body anymore. It's now mine to do with as I please. For these past two weeks, I nurtured it, I cared for it, I raised it up from its pitiful state, I showed you...that you be just as beautiful as you had been before. Now, it be your responsibility to take care of what's mine. If you don't...," I left the statement unfinished.

What I be trying to tell my mother was that before she saw no value within herself. She was just trying to survive. After trying for so long, she was at the end of her rope. She couldn't heck it anymore. She was displeased with herself, she was displeased with me, and she was displeased with our living circumstances. Yet, I came to show her that what she found displeasing about herself pleased me greatly. The body she found wretched was one that was now for my exclusive pleasure.

I wrestled control of our family from her. Now, she was not burdened by the weight of responsibility to things out of her control. That was for me to deal with. Then, I changed our living circumstances. Could she had ever dreamed of wearing clothes like these again? I would guess not.

"Yes, Eric," My mother said.

"Who's body is that?" I asked.

"Yours,"

"Again!"

"It's...your body, Eric."

"Again!"

"It's your body, Eric!"

I grabbed my mother's hands and held them over her head. Then, before she could stop me, I kissed her as passionately as I could. I pushed her head against our window in our bathroom. My mother resisted me, but only for a moment. Soon, she began kissing me with that same confidence that I had seen when I woke up. Besides, this wasn't meant to be what I think she was assuming.

Her breath was hot and so was her body. Seas, could she drive me insane with the way her tongue seemed to cradle my own in its embrace. Her hands touched my cheek and she pulled me forward. I closed my eyes as I continued to flick my tongue across the inner chambers of her mouth. I swiped her teeth, her cheeks, and anything else that I could access. Yes, this was my body. No fucker would touch my mother except for me again.

Once we parted, we were out of breath. "Sweeter than a northern orange," I said.

"Shut up, Eric," My mother replied, but without the intent to be spiteful.