Finch Leviathan
The scent of sage filled the room, creating a soothing atmosphere despite the weight of the curse Finch bore. The warship The Umberlee is like a second home by now. Potion bottles and books haphazardly thrown around shelves mixed with skulls and things like dried out moths for brewing. His brow furrowed in concentration as he muttered an incantation, his deep voice resonating with an ancient power that flowed through his veins. His Warlock heritage, both a gift and a burden, connected him to the arcane in ways most could only dream of. Yet, the curse of lycanthropy lay heavy on his soul, an ever-present reminder of the beast that lurked within, waiting for the inevitable pull of the full moon. A reminder of the beast that lurked within.
As Finch wrapped the healing mixture in a clean swath of linen, the sharp scent of fresh-cut rosemary and yarrow filled his nostrils, mingling with the earthy aroma of the poultice. Nearby a cauldron is bubbling with the last of his pulptice inside. The wounded man before him, a young sailor with a deep gash across his side, groaned softly as the healing concoction began to take effect. The wound, angry and red, pulsed with heat. He winced and groaned under Finch’s touch. His movements cool and steady, his expertise honed from years of both magical and practical experience. Despite the sailor’s pain and the severity of his injury, Finch’s voice remained calm, laced with the brogue of his homeland. “Oi’, I’ve seen ladies take on stitches better than this,” He commented as he fixed the suture.
Just as Finch was securing the poultice with a firm knot, a sudden, intense heat flared against his wrist. The bracelet he had crafted just three moons ago burned hot, as though it had been thrust into a fire. His heart skipped a beat, and the sounds of the healing room seemed to fade into the background. Loreley’s call was unmistakable, a summons that resonated deep within him as though she had reached out and touched his very soul. The bracelet had been enchanted to alert him to her need, a tether between them that he took with the utmost seriousness. Without hesitation, Finch ensured the sailor was stable before turning his focus entirely to Loreley.
The air in the healing room, once thick with the scent of herbs and the soft sounds of spells, now seemed stifling. Finch quickly washed his hands in the cool water, the ship’s gentle rocking barely noticeable to him after so many years at sea. The clinking of his gold rings against the porcelain bowl echoed in the stillness. The coolness of the water contrasted sharply with the burning on his wrist, heightening his sense of urgency. Loreley needed him, and that was all that mattered.
Finch’s boots echoed against the wooden floor as he made his way out of the healing room, the sound steady and sure despite the quickening pace of his heart. The corridors around him were filled with the familiar scents of old wood, burning incense, and a hint of something metallic… Perhaps a recent potion gone awry. As he walked, his thoughts circled around Loreley. Finch held a deep respect and fondness for her, a siren who had chosen a path so different from his own.
There was something about her chaotic nature, her impulsive acts of violence, that reminded him of the wolf within himself, the beast he struggled to control. Using magic he evaporated from the ship and onto the nearby shore. The burning on his wrist only grew stronger the closer he got. He regrets making it so strong as now it feels like his wrist is bubbling with blisters. As he approached Loreley’s water alcove, the smells shifted to something more familiar and domestic ; fresh linen, a hint of primroses. The air outside was crisp, carrying the scent of the sea on the wind. Finch stepped inside, his presence felt before it was seen, as the tension in the air eased with his arrival.
Once inside with only the sound of lapping water as well as light reflections to guide him. Finch paused for a moment, taking in the contrast between the hustle of the outside world and the quiet, almost sacred space that Loreley inhabited. Loreley’s alcove was a sanctuary from the chaos of the world, a place where the boundaries between the mundane and the mystical blurred. The walls were adorned with seashells and pearls, glimmering softly in the dim light.
“Loreley.” His voice carried the weight of their connection. He could sense her presence, the pull of her magic as strong as ever. As he stood in the alcove, waiting for her to reveal herself, Finch couldn’t help but reflect on the bond they shared tempered by the trials they had faced together, only just , three moons ago. Despite the differences in their natures, or perhaps because of them, Finch felt a deep connection to Loreley. She was as much a part of his world as the moon that governed his curse, a constant presence that he had come to rely on.
