Chapter 13-362: Okay, It’s an Island of Survivors... (1/2)
Thinking about it, I tossed up a Holo of a white flag and let it stream out behind me. We’d see how they reacted to it.
The Old Steed came down as the waters got shallower, and the final force of the Vortex petered out, reducing the sea below to normal waves nothing that big could hide in. I moved towards the largest intact warship, clearly rusting away, but still mostly intact.
A man stepped out onto the deck, and my suspicions were confirmed when I saw he was holding an old carbine in his hand, pointed into the air and away from me. There were other rifle barrels poking out of windows and ports in my direction, but none of them were magical, so they were no threat to me.
“That is far enough!” he called out in English, holding up his hand, and the Old Steed hove to without needing an order from me. I could tell I was making him very nervous as he looked the two of us over from thirty yards away, hot and cold primal fires on a very dangerous skeletal not-a-horse mount, and me riding it without a care or reins.
I held up a finger to wait as I looked over the warship back and forth. “I cannot tell, sailor; are you standing aboard the USS Houston or the Dallas?” I asked him, also in English.
His jaw dropped despite himself. He certainly wasn’t expecting that, given my appearance, especially with a trans-Euro accent.
What ‘modern’ clothing he had had doubtless worn away long ago, and he was clad in a mixture of hides and roughly woven cloth that did the job of holding things and giving him some rough protection against the weather. The Hollow World was hot most of the time, so they didn’t need much, and there wasn’t overmuch UV radiation in whatever the sullen orb up above was spewing out.
This fellow looked to be in his sixties, roughly bearded, fairly clean and groomed, something else that likely wasn’t easy here. He’d lost the stiff bearing of a soldier, but that carbine was kept in meticulous shape.
“This is the Dallas,” he responded at last, a little dazed. “You... you come from Earth?” the man asked.
“I am the Lady Traveler, Monarch of The Jet and Silver, affiliated with Heavenbound Hall. I was doing a survey of the landscape in the Bermuda Triangle when I stumbled upon the activation Formation for the Vortex and triggered it to see where it would lead me.” I smiled at him, and he grew even more slack-jawed on seeing that. “Who do I have the honor of addressing?”
He straightened up despite himself, suddenly realizing he was in the presence of nobility, and managed a remnant of a salute as his rifle hit the ground beside him. “M-Mike Portier, Your-Your Ladyship!” he stumbled by way of reply.
“Bosun’s Mate Michael Calvin Portier of the Elijah Brown?” I clarified quickly, /eyeing a copy of a very old photo ID my techno-eyes Lisa Pine back in the Hall had quickly pulled up.
He gaped at me again, totally stunned. “You-you know my name?” he squeaked out, while doorways and windows were suddenly full of older men, and some younger ones, all staring at me in disbelief.
“Once I discovered the Formation, I naturally perused a list of the ships, planes, and crew believed lost in the Triangle.” I smiled widely at him again. “If you like, I can bring you all back home.”
The shouts that went up at that declaration were definitely not unfriendly at all, while Bosun’s Mate Michael C. Portier had tears starting to fall from his eyes as he stared at me.
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They were all astounded when I whipped up forty Force Disks to shuttle them all ashore at the same time, no need for ropes or nets and wading through the surf or anything. There were definitely familiar with the basic Powered spells, counted on their fingers, and some of them went quite white when they realized my Caster Level.
Mr. Portier had determined that he was going to be very respectful, but not afraid of me, and on behalf of the men, asked about the Old Steed as they all rode next to me toward the cliff-dwellings, which now had a lot of people standing in cave-doors on the ledges before them.
A lot of them weren’t human, either.
“My Old Steed here used to be the mount of an Old God, Mr. Portier. He’s extremely dangerous, but only if you threaten him. He’s smarter than you are, can understand you perfectly, and is not a dumb beast anyone can ride. He also doesn’t do children well, but he is extremely patient, if aloof. If you all either ignore him or treat him respectfully as a very powerful intelligent being, you’ll get along fine.”
“Yes, ma’am. Will it be alright if we address you as Master Steed, sir?” he directly asked my dreadfully frightening mount.
A burning eye regarded him, and the Old Steed dipped his fanged and burning maw slowly. -That will be fine, Mr. Portier,- the Old Steed /replied telepathically.
“Alright! Everyone hear that? No? You call the terrifying burning flying old mount of a god MASTER STEED, you got that?!” Mr. Portier yelled out, and everyone replied very quickly and loudly that they did.
The Old Steed arched his neck up proudly, horns burning to make an impression, and I just smirked as I looked ahead, hiding my frown.
No human women...
Oh, there were females present. Unsurprisingly, the naval ships had had scant numbers of women aboard, and the merchant marine crews likely none at all.
I did see some elven women, and arched an eyebrow, because they were all of the dusky-skinned, pale-haired variety made famous as the drow on another world. With them were some younger halvyri, obviously their daughters, all of them watching me with great interest.