---

"Are the contracts signed?"

To the left of the captain stood his first mate, Jefford Juneprey. The second of the ship was a lanky fellow with a dirty grey shirt and dark pants. The only thing separating him from the other sailors on the ship that went unarmored was the well tailored leather gloves and boots, a simple sailors Tricorne adorning his head.

The second saluted his captain and stood at attention, "Yes Captain Ironwave. The Virtuous company already has a dozen of its lesser members on board awaiting command to set sail. They've been asked to stay in the underbelly of the ship until we arrive at the drop zone. The upper members are arriving shortly, sir. Reports say they have stopped across the town to gather last minute supplies from the vendors."

Ironwave stood taller than anyone aboard the ship. A gray beard hanging down past his chest displayed his age, but the icy blue eyes leering from his sockets betrayed his hidden strength. Even at the ripe age of 55 the captain was an impressive figure, dressed in royal finery from head to toe. A stylish Tricorne and a long gold-blue coat embroidered with the Councils coat of arms, pristine white undershirt and a silk sash serving as his belt over worn black pants and pristine leather boots and gloves like that of his second.
The handle of the curved blade resting at his hips was worn out, telling of its heavy use. Above all else the Captain was a soldier.

"We make for the lightless the moment all Virtuous officers board deck. This is Council business. I want every crew member to be aware of the situation and aware of the plan from step one until completion. Anyone steps out of line they feed the sharks, no exceptions. Have I made myself clear Mr.Juneprey?" Thadeus glanced at his second from the corner of his eye as he finished giving orders.

Still saluting, "Crystal, Sir. Every crew member knows our orders and destination to the letter, and I'll see to it we get another reminder before we arrive."
Thadeus nodded to his second before dismissing him with a wave. From the wheel the smaller man makes the rounds in practiced efficiency, shouting orders for food and drink to be put away on the double. No matter how the events went down the Virtuous company would arrive on schedule.
The tricky part was getting them off the ship without arousing suspicion from the watching natives. If the Sea Stalker landed on the shores there would be hell to pay on both sides. Not that Thadeus cared for the dead but if the ship was unable to sail back it would mean doom for them all.

Glancing out over the stretching blue seas glistening in the fading light of the afternoon sun, Thadeus reached up to touch the embroidered councils coat of arms with a feeling of reverence, duty, and a mind full of doubts. With a gruff snort he whispered out to the breeze,

"For the Council."

---

On the docks waiting for Virtuous members of higher rank, the ones granted freedom of choice for their loyalty, waited a familiar sight. The Slaughtered Elk Inn was run by an elderly man in his early fifties sporting a frail physique and a well maintained mustache with a balding head. His clothing was the same as he wore at the bar, from the simple boots to the white apron. It had always been his way to dress this way but rarely did he ever wander from the tavern without just reason.
A letter had arrived late from the Grandmaster of the Virtuous Company explaining the situation.
Every member was given an identical letter with their orders and serving rank.

For this mission to the Lightless realm the leaders of the group were as follows:

Acting Captain; Reignald 'The Old'.

Vice-Captains; Ricardo de Vigil / Fiers Hartwine

To my Children,
Blessed be the Virtuous,

To traverse the Lightless realm is a daunting task. One I expect will cost lives for its completion. We are the swift hand of the Ruling Council charged to the task of eliminating the threats to our home and country alike. Together you can overcome any obstacle this land will throw at you, no matter how seemingly impossible.
Those with the most experience on the frontline are given command over the Company in this dark place for better or worse. Many of you are hesitant to allow Fiers leadership given past experiences, but you will put aside personal grudges or distrust in the name of success. Listen to the commands of your battlebrothers and sisters if you must fight your way through this cursed land.

Those who are trusted with leadership carry the weight of our name and together you will cut a path of golden light through this darkness.

Sincerely,
Grandmaster Elidren

The air was crisp and salty to the smell and taste, the obvious luxury of the sea-side that would be lost to them very soon. R'Ornn was present on the docks, not far from this old man. He had taken his letter and met with the old man just moments ago, but R'Ornn wanted to soak up some of the docks more granted pleasantries.

"Light, clean air, the crisp breathing.. It will soon be forgotten to us. What should I do, Fa? Should I do it..? Should I really commit to this ideal I have? What about you Ma? How I wish you could tell me what I should do."

R'Ornn's thoughts paused a moment as he looked up to the sky, his tiny figure sitting on the edge of the docks and his small feet swaying high above the water. His rather large eyes gleamed with a shine as he scanned the sky and admired it's colors.

"I must do it.. We all know it. I can't second guess it, I have to do it for all of us. It isn't like we have much of a choice, it is this or nothing at all. But you know, I shouldn't let this weight on me right now, there is a long road ahead of me. Hey! Did you know they put that scitter-rat Fiers as a co-captain to the mission? FIERS!? Could you imagine him leading a fight? Bahahaha!"

R'Ornn swayed his feet powerfully and hopped up onto them as he stood on the edge of the dock, looking out over the water, before lifting his hand towards the sky like a dancer. His fingers were sprawled out like a fancy lady, his posture that of a fairy tale hero, and he brought his voice to that of a mockingly stereotypical suave human.

"Go! Slay them with your posture! Excite their bodies and end them fantastically! Mmmmyeaaaah! I have plundered more booty than a cleptomaniac Pirate captain! Look at my man-sword, it is so polished and longer than everyone elses! Mmmmmyeaaaaaah!"

R'Ornn instantly found himself rolling upon the damp wood of the dock as he imagined his own mockery. It was a sight to behold, and R'Ornn decided he would actually allow Fiers a single chance to lead, in the hopes that R'Ornn's expectations would be met by the self-centered Bard.

Several moments later R'Ornn regained his posture and his mind, finally giggling out the last of his laughter before gathering himself up off the docks and looking towards the old man that awaited him. R'Ornn had decided it was time, to saddle up for the matters at hand.

R'Ornn said nothing else, he held no real emotion in his face other than a logical look of dedication, but he did take a hand and bring it to his lips, whispering into his palm before casting the hand up and sending the whisper off on the winds out over the ocean. He then made his way to the old man, bowing softly to him before gently plopping down beside the elderly gentleman and looking up at him, and then back to the ocean silently. His mind the only thing speaking, with one last line for his parents.

---

"-and he called her name in the wind. Storm and sea called to him, in answer from his love, 'oh dearest one, I beg of you take leave.' But his anguish he could not stave, and the fool he dug his own grave! A thousand men died on that day, battered by wind-breaking waves.

Take unto you, that which you can, but leave all behind that might sink you. 'I shan't leave behind my dear love,' so think you? Then remember my friends, that horrible end, on the black-bloody seas of Giltaris!"

Fiers played the ending chord of The Grave of Giltaris on his lute and it rang sonorously through the room in the Slaughtered Elk Inn. Few patrons occupied the seats, however a handful of occupants were consuming their breakfast, and paused sufficiently to nod, or even give him a quiet hand of applause. A fair reaction, Fiers supposed, given that it was early morning, and none of these folks had any drink in them.

The bard shifted in his seat on a high stool, and adjusted his lute's tuning a quarter twist, trying a chord, before twisting another quarter inch, and repeating the process. The sun was leaking in through the windows, and Fiers knew that their contract was soon to begin. That said, his lute needed tuning, and...

There! She came out from behind the kitchen doors, hefting a large platter of steaming foodstuffs, the morning light catching the crimson colours in her hair. Fiers suspected this woman was the daughter of the inn's proprietor, but he couldn't stop himself from ogling. Even if she was, he'd still find himself perusing her every curve and flowing line that could be traced along her elegant form. She reminded him of a fae maiden from the story's, so graceful, and with a bosom like that of a goddess, and even her face held his attention far longer than most. She had the most plump lips, fit for kissing, and a daftly long nose which rather than disassembling her overall beauty tended to grant it a fine frame, from which she could quite effectively send flirtatious looks with those sea-blue eyes of hers-

Shit. She's staring back at me. I'd better tune my lute some more. Without breaking their gaze, he twisted the strings, plucked, and the string squeaked like a dying mouse. The girl raised a hand to her mouth, giggling softly. She'd delivered the food and continued to watch him intently. Fiers found he couldn't look away, and he was grinning despite himself.

"Well, are you going to stay over there all morning, or are you going to come here and give us a kiss?" Fiers realized he had spoken his thoughts aloud, as he often did. It was a bad habit of his, but he seemed to be incurable. Incorrigible. Both? Neither? In any event, she was crossing the room towards him. Fiers imagined he'd be getting one of two things quite promptly, and wondered whether to lick his lips or tense his cheek.

"Pretty song you sang. Sad though."

"A song for departing, and leave-taking, and fond farewells to a world that is kinder and more luminous in its dark places, than can be said of even the brightest spot in the places I'll be headed, beautiful girl."

She kissed him then, and it was a fine lip-locking, by Fiers' mark. She had all the makings of a great kisser, and he'd remember to let her father know, once they were safely unmoored aboard the ship, and the innkeep had let go of any objects that might be thrown from the docks. For Fiers' part, he let one of his long thin fingers trail a path up and down her neck, absent-mindedly tracing out Giltaris as he gave her one of his better farewells. That elicited a low purr from her, and Fiers regretted his choice, for once, to not be a towering man-whore the night before a voyage. They broke, and he nodded courteously, gathering up his pack, lute, and other kitsch.

"Are you Giltaris then?" She asked, all doe-eyed and shaky.

"You are joking aren't you? Giltaris was a damned fool. No, with luck, I'll be the son of a whore who kills him and steals his woman." Fiers regarded her with a signature impish leer, and chuckled.

"You didn't sing about that part," the girl murmured, her expression slightly less dreamy.

"The ending can be inferred, but it's true I didn't sing that part. I actually stole Giltaris' woman out from under him, while the naval battle was at its hottest. What kind of daft fool leaves the love of his life unattended and wearing lace stockings?" Fiers winked, and hoisted his pack, turning on his heel and exiting the inn with a song stuck in his head. The girl was left to gape at his departing back, wondering if the bard had been entirely serious. As Fiers stepped out onto the path, a harried-looking courier rushed past and into the inn. Fiers kept on humming and made his leisurely way to the market, still a while yet before the crew would be ready, and he supposed they might even forget about him, and that might not be an abysmal occurrence.

He doubted that the innkeep had heard of The Grave of Giltaris.

---

Fiers was halfway through composing The Doe's Disappearance at the Slaughter when he finished his last-minute shopping in the market, and made his way, arms full of supplies towards the docks. He'd picked up refreshed supplies for his disguise kit, extra rations, a third outfit -which was reversible- to add to his wardrobe, a flask of whiskey, and to cap off the last of his spending money, he had purchased two spare sets of strings for each of his instruments. In a pinch, Fiers had enough practical knowledge such that he could, given enough time and the necessary tools, sculpt and or fashion the bodies for both his lute and lyre, however strings were much harder to come by in the wildlands than suitable materials for the bodies of those instruments. He had almost purchased two more sets, but decided that if things were dire enough or unfortunate enough that six sets of strings didn't see him through, they were probably fucked.

The time it took to get to the docks was enough to get three quarters finished with The Doe's Disappearance, but when he arrived he was disappointed to see that the Sea-Stalker was still moored, looking almost as though it would never leave port. Rather than try to lag behind in a childish manner, to draw out his steps as long as possible, Fiers did the mature thing.

Fiers darted into a full-on sprint, adopting a farm-woman-like shriek of terror. His scream carried over to the Sea-Stalker with his trained resonance, and in gruesome accompaniment, as Fiers ran he screamed, "THEY'RE RAIDING VELOR, THE PIRATES ARE COMING! THE PIRATES ARE COMING!!!"

Upon finally reaching the specific dock that harboured the Virtuous Company's mode of transport, Fiers giggled happily amid what he had hoped would be a cacophonous panic. If only for a few moments, these sailors would be shitting themselves, before realizing that the cry of 'Pirates!' had come from a man running out to them from the mainland. Wouldn't they just feel dense as diamond when that realization hit them? It was enough to make Fiers almost choke up with laughter.

To the innkeep, who'd somehow beat him to the docks, and the other upper members of the Virtuous Company whom had arrived, Fiers said, "Now, where's the person in charge of this venture? So I can go give him a firm boot in the arse for allowing mayhem and chaos to spread through the ranks?"

Reignald put the letter down on the desk of his small room at the Inn after he was done reading it, a small candle flickering. He had received the ltter from the oldman, via courier, very early in the morning. His ol military customs had not left him, and he was up before sunrise. A habit that since he came home, he had been looking to get rid off, but, at least now turned out of some use.

“Captain, eh?”

He smiled a bit. This was not going to be an easy task. The group was a bit too heterogeneous from a military standpoint. They all had very strong tempers. And Fiers was vice captain. Reignald couldn’t help but feel a tinge of pride. Maybe that is what the bard needed. A bit of responsibility, to set him straight. And if not, now that he was officially a commander officer again, he could apply some “disciplinary measures”. With a bit of training, he could turn the roudiest man into a soldier, and he hoped to do that on Fiers. Hell, given the time, he hoped to turn the whole squad into the most efficient in the Company.

He stood p from the desk and walked towards his crate at the foot of the bed. If he was to make it to the docks, he had to start getting ready. Piece by piece, he assembled his armor upon his body, a ritual he had done a million times before. The cold steel never failed to wake him up. Was it the chilling touch against his skin? Or perhaps something else? He fastened the hilt of his sword against his waist, and he pulled out “Lullaby” from its sheath. Another military habit, he had been taught to always inspect his sword first before heading into battle. If there were any imperfections, he could catch them before they were allowed to cause problems in the battlefield. Lullaby was in good condition. No chips or dents, just a few scracthes. Reignald lookd at his reflection on its blade. It was getting old, and so was he. He looked away from his reflection. Those eyes. He had never liked those eyes. He sheathed it back and headed out the door with heavy, armored steps.

The saline air and the ocean breeze, the clamoring of sailors as they loaded ship and the cries of seagulls. It had been a while since he had been to port. And years since he had even set foot on a ship. He muttered a quick prayer under his breath. In his youth he had been prone to seasickness, and since age was not doing him any favors… He would go to Elsie for that later.

R’ornn and Fiers were already at the docks. Reignald let out a sigh. Yes, of course Fiers was already there. Who else could be responsible of the panicked lady that just ran past him, begging him to protect her from the pirates. This was going to be a long day.

"Now, where's the person in charge of this venture? So I can go give him a firm boot in the arse for allowing mayhem and chaos to spread through the ranks?"

Reignald put an ironclad hand on the bards shoulder, standing behind him.

“That would be me.” He answered in a stern voice.

"Fuckin piss. Dis is just great, ain't it boozie ol girl?"

Sitting in some dark and murky tavern of ill repute was a grey-green hybrid trying to drink himself into a stupor. He chose this place for cheap grog and he was already on his eight mug and barely tingly. "If dis money wasn't worth a king's ransom I'd tell em to sod off, ain't fuckin gettin on no damn boat to some godforsaken plane of gronch, no siree..." The man drained his cheap grog again, putting another coin on the counter to keep them coming. "Ah but dat's wot ye get fer bettin money on that knifer, rot gubbin not worth the copper dey stuck in em. Twenty thousand debt, thought ya got here to leave dat nonsense behind." Eventually after downing sixteen flagons of cheap sea-side grog, Malkai was nice and buzzed enough that he might be able to ignore the fact he was getting on a boat, but still lucid enough to complain about it.

Malkai would've actually had a hard time finding the dock he was looking for if it weren't for some sort of a commotion causing people to run away. Malkai figured that wherever he was suppose it be, it'll be where everyone is running away from. For he is a member of the Virtuous Company, a gang of sellswords and murderers, and they'll kill and murder anyone if the money is right. And surely whatever is causing all this trouble was in need of a killing, and surely there was someone there willing to pay for it. As people were running or just standing around confused Malkai staggered over to the scene, not seeing any pirates but seeing some other members of the Virtuous Company. Or maybe they were pirates disguised as the Virtuous Company. It could go either way.

"Oi. Who's da pisser and where da pirates? I'm itching fer a scrap. Maybe a couple sacks too." The drunk half-orc let out a burp before leaning up against a pillar dangerously close to the edge of the water. Moving to slightly steadier ground Malkai tried to remember who the others were, but he either never met them or couldn't remember. Either way he seemed to get real friendly as he took out a cigar, snapping his finger to light it up after tearing off the cap. "Ya call me Malkie ya hear? Me name's Malkie. Ya with da Virginal Comp? Please ta meet ya. Wat's yer arm like?"

Even though she spent countless nights away from the group, Rosha still found herself not being able to sleep the same way she use to, the feeling of regret was still housing it's self within her very being making the pugilist's night restless, sometime within the night she found herself meditating. Even though she was forced away from the others who believed in Void, she still meditated to the unseen entity, maybe out of habit or something more personal. Once her meditation was finished, she found the sun had not yet rose into the sky, years of travelling prepared her for rising early and finding the energy to walk even when tired.

Memorizing the letter and her orders burned inside of her mind, she knew where to go, a ship not too far from the inn she was told to stay at. Once she had found the ship, the sun finally showed it's self in the sky and illuminated the large boat she had to board, Rosha stared at the water as the sunlight brightly shined off it and had a bit of an uneasy feeling in her stomach, she wasn't sure if it was from seasickness or something different. She held her gut with her wrapped up fingers before silently looking over to others boarding the boat and the sailor that constantly roamed around the wooden vessel.

It wasn't long before the others that Rosha were told about to arrive, one of the few reminded her of a small stuffed toy she once had as a child, but with less talking as it did, it was a small furry creature that knew how to speak as normal humans, he then began laughing and rolling around the deck as he laughed before abruptly stopping awkwardly and staring at the water. From the shade of her corner, Rosha spotted another person who claimed pirates were coming, hearing about the incoming threat, Rosha got to her feet quickly, ready for a group of pirates as the man stated only to find that he was lying, Rosha held back having any anger." You shouldn't do things like that. " She told him.

Then suddenly a heavy musk hit Rosha's nose, it was an Orc, the smell of some kind of heavy drink was on their breath as they spoke, it wasn't really too surprising to her that they had a couple smells coming off them that were heavy, it wasn't exactly a bad musk, but it was very heavy. As the group began growing, Rosha found a secluded spot on the ship where the sailors weren't too active at and shaded to stay cool, she sat on the deck with her legs crossed in the meditation position, but she just looked around silently at the others, she began thinking if the group was going to be like this, then they might be annoying.

Reignald let go of Fiers' shoulder. He would have to talk to him about his antics later. Besides, he was not in charge of wahtever panic he spread across the sailors. His only interest where the men of the company. Speaking of which...

The old knight diverted his attention towards the new arrival, one "Malkie". He emanated a stench of alcohol, and spoke like he had had his fair share. Or maybe it was an accent. If it was, it was quite a thick one. At least, so he hoped. He had enough with enebriated characters for the day, and it was barely noon.

Reignald had never dealt personally with an ork. Not that it mattered much. As long as he could swing a sword and take care of himself, whether he was human or not didnt bother him. No, what bothered him was the fact that he knew his type. Rowdy, insubordinate, and loudmouthed. He had his hands full with the bard already, and now he had a partner. Reignald did his best to hide the frustration in his face.

"Reignald, pleased to meet you, "Malkie"" He extended a hand to greet the ork. "I assume that you brought your letter?" He asked. Not having met him in the tavern, Reignald wanted to make sure he was with them. Wouldnt want to jeopardize the operation by letting on the wrong man. He diverted his attention for a second when Rosha approached. She was, as always, not talking much, so the soldier decided to just let her be for now. He had been completely obvlivious to the savolin's presence, distracted by the issue with Fiers and the new member of the party.

Unlike some Bards, Song Weavers tended to let loose their emotions within their music rather than just playing music to make money. Alya was no exception to this. The thought of the expedition weighed on her mind, a sense of loneliness and hesitance could be felt in her songs. Such heartfelt tones brought most, if not all of her listeners to tears as she played her sombre ballad. Until now, Alya hadn't actually been a part of anything concerning the Virtuous Company, outside of performing at banquets as a representative. She wondered why she was chosen for this expedition into the Lightless realm, but hopefully the answer may find her soon. For now, she waited until the time came for the group to gather onto the ship.

Flute in hand and satchel slung across her body, she made her way to the docks in the morning, her hand fiddling with the wooden instrument. She wasn't afraid of seafaring, but she wasn't terribly experienced in it either, which set her a little on edge. It would seem that her companions, especially the Savolin, were quite excited for this expedition though which seemed.. normal for their profession in the Company. She had heard Fiers' shouting earlier about 'Pirates', but of course there were none to be seen. No matter how well that bard masked his voice, she could tell that it was him, and it was quite funny to say the least. She couldn't help but smile slightly in amusement as Reignald responded to Fiers' jeers. What she didn't quite expect was an Orc to be joining them, a smelly one at that; then again, she didn't really know most of these people aside from their names and general mannerisms. Although Alya had taken her letter, she kept it rolled up, deciding to read it later.

Common courtesy was something that had been drilled into her from when she was young, so naturally she gave everyone a small bow in greeting before finding a place to set down her belongings. Whether or not it was a good time to play a song mattered not to Alya. Softly, she began to play as the waves crashed against the ship and shore, her gaze looking out upon the water.

Fiers' shoulder was weighed down by the gauntleted hand of Reignald the Omen, and he half-snorted in laughter, and half-choked in a panic. He'd gone rigid, and his mind was fluttering from jibe to jibe but in what seemed half a heartbeat, Reignald had already taken his hand off of Fiers and was turning to address...

An orc? That's odd. He seems like a jovial fellow, though I can't imagine why he'd-

Fiers burst out laughing, his howls drowning out both Rosha's admonishment, and the crooning of Alya's flute for a span of seconds.

"The Virginal Company? That's hilarious! And what a gathering of innocent virgins we are! A seasoned general, a cold bitch with fists for her tongue, a Songweaver without a tongue, an alcoholic orc, and myself, well, I need no introduction! Yes, truly we are quite the group of untested whores," Fiers cackled, pointing to each present member of the group, before his eyes fell and he spotted R'Ornn. "Ah yes, that most revered and weathered of us all, His Most Feared and Respected member of the Virginal Company, rumoured to have actually been in the bedchamber of a member of the opposite sex while a modicum of danger transpired outside its doors, I present to you; our crystal puppy. I'm told that women are quite fond of his adorably childish features. And you'd be surprised what you can do with a crystal, given the proper inspi-"

Fiers paused in his tirade, cocking his head, had he heard that? Completely forgetting his address to the other company members, the bard sprang up the gangplank and dropped his newly purchased things into a bag which he then tossed down into the brig. A clattering sound ensued, followed by angry shouts but the bard had already turned back towards the docks, to face the others and asked, "Why are the juniors talking about Vice-Captain Hartwine? Is there something I've not been told?"

With a flourish, Fiers took his lute off his shoulder and played a flurry of arpeggios and a veritable storm of notes, subconsciously infusing the musical barrage with a raw form of inquisitive anger that implied that he should have been the first one to know the information that had been withheld. In the deep and thunderous rolling of the short piece, he captured the size and authority, the tempered expectation and stern iron-clad strength that Reignald seemed to carry on his shoulders as naturally as Fiers would his own lute. He rarely did solely instrumental pieces, and even more seldom improvisation, but the emotion took him and he bombarded the crew and company with a true outpouring of righteous indignation. He kept it brief, so as to avoid dulling the sensation, but ended with a high contrast note that set their ears ringing, hoping his point would come clearly across.

Made of old, unravelling hemp, and about the size of a human head, it was hard to deny that there was something vaguely offensive about the bag’s mere existence. and by extension, the gnarled elf from whom’s clenched fist it dangled. Elsie frowned. Casting an eye of the elf, who was, at that moment, leering at a woman bending over a nearby veg stall to inspect a potato, his mouth hanging open ever so slightly, revealing a mouth that really hammered home the importance of dental hygiene.

Whilst perhaps not the most standard of arrangements, there was unprofessionalism, and then was this. With a beleaguered sigh, Elsie gave the elf’s a arm a firm nudge, “Alright, come on,” she said, careful to keep her voice low in spite of the cover provided by the loud merchants and the general hustle and bustle of the market place, “There’ll be plenty of time for you being a fucking creep after, but right now, some of us have got places to be.”

The elf scoffed, snapping back to attention whilst withdrawing his arm, “Keep your fucking hair on, and I’d watch that scowl of yours if I where you,” he said, gesturing vaguely in the direction of her face, “You know that if the wind changes it’ll stick that way, right?”

At Elsie’s nonplussed expression, he simply shook his head, before she allowed him to grab a hold of her arm with one grotesque hand in order to lead them both down one of the many little alley’s between the many shops and buildings crowding the the centre.

“Here,” the elf said once they were situated far enough down the shaded alleyway for the cool air to cut through Elsie’s cotton dress and send goosebumps skittering along her skin. “Now, see what you think.”

With little ceremony, he offered her the bag. She took it, and tugged it open, revealing a mass of what looked like burnt grass with vivid purple ends nestled neatly in the bottom. Well, at least it looked like what he said he was, but now came the true test. She took a single strand of the herb, pinched between her thumb and forefinger, and then, she licked it, carefully avoiding the purple part.

Immediately, she tucked it into the palm of her hand and clenched it in a fist. One… two… three… there was a slight fizzing sensation, and then a small amount of steam poured out from between her fingers. She uncurled her hand, revealing most of the herb to have disappeared, leaving only the purple end. She raised her hand to her nose, and sniffed.

Instantly, she recoiled, nose scrunching up and eyes watering. It smelt a little like vinegar, or at least, it had the same acerbic bite, but there were definite hints rotten egg, dead fish, and a good helping of actual shit thrown in there too. Lovely. Taking a second to recover, she closed the bag back up, and handed it back to the man, “Alright, I believe you, that’s definitely River Celery, perhaps it’d be an idea let it go and be river celery somewhere else.”

The ‘merchant’ gave a toothless grin, “you’ll bet your mother’s left buttock it is, you interested?”

The stock was poor, but River Celery was hard to get ahold of irregardless of quality, and, when used correctly in small quantities it couldn’t really be beaten as a remedy to the morning bottle-ache that inevitably plagued long voyages, irregardless of any...mild toxicity. She slipped her hand into her coin purse,“Twenty gold for the lot,” she said, tone matter of fact.

The man barked out a hoarse laugh, “You gotta be taking the piss if you think I’m giving you premium goods for that much!” the volume and pitch of his voice began to climb, drawing stares from a few passers-by out on the street, “I risked my neck to get this I did! A hundred, or I’m taking this to someone who knows where their coin purse is!”
Elsie rolled her eyes, “For that pile of mouldy shit? I’ll go up to thirty, but no-”

“Ha! Looks like someone doesn’t know the good from the bad! And you call yerself a healer?!” he said, wildly gesticulating.

“Thirty-five,” she gestured to the bag, “the edges are purpled, means it got contaminated somewhere along the line-” she raised a hand as he looked like he was about to protest, ”-and you bloody well know it as well, so stop messing me around.”

“One-hundred gold!”

Elsie clenched her teeth. She didn’t have the time to be haggling with quacks, so the trip would just have to do without. Might teach the idiots something about ‘responsible alcohol consumption’ anyway. “Forget it.” She said, turning to leave, “I best be off, I’ve got a boat to catch.”

“Wait!”

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Bag of weeds in hand, and coin purse a mere eighteen gold lighter for it, Elsie made good time to the docks. A quick glance toward the ship showed that the heavier items of luggage, namely books and medical supplies, along with items needed for making camp (not something she was able to admit to having done recently, nor a particular favorite pass-time) she’d packed was already being loaded onto the ship by the crew.

Scanning the dockside, she quickly caught sight of the other members of the company, gathered round and making… less than quiet conversation. And, oh goody, look who was already there - one of Grandmaster Elidren’s biggest mistakes to date - half-witted bard and apparently vice captain Fiers Hartwine.

They were all going to die.

At least the actual captain was Reignald, if anyone could get the bard under their thumb it was probably him, and Ricardo was the other vice captain, who, as much as he set her teeth on edge, was at least competent to, y’know, not not get them all horribly murdered by god-knows-what was waiting for them in the blacklands. Elsie had never been so glad to not have to actually fight people as a job anymore.

It looked like Alya, Rosha, and R’ornn were there aswell, which would probably make for an… interesting trip. She could already see the crystal-related injuries now. The orc, Malkai, was there too. And they were all going to be stuck on a boat together.

A few short steps later, and she was near the others, and arrived just in time to hear- "Why are the juniors talking about Vice-Captain Hartwine? Is there something I've not been told?"

And how the fuck did he miss that one? Maybe she’d given him too much credit thinking of him as a half-wit, for clearly there was no intelligence to be found there at all. And then he started playing the lute, because of course, and something like irritation swirling in the pit of her stomach at the sound. Not that uncommon a feeling when in this particular company. She winced at the final, unnecessarily loud note of the angry tune.

Momentarily turning away from the scene, she motioned to both Reignald and the innkeeper, letting them know she had arrived, before turning back to address Fiers.

“Really bard?” she called up to him, “Are you trying to say you, of all people, somehow managed to miss what’s got to be the biggest ego-stroke in recent memory?”

"Aye Reggie, I gota da letter. Let's see 'ere..." After shaking Reignald's hand, Malkai started patting his body for the letter he had read to get here. Nothing in it mentioned any boat, at least not that Malkai remembered, not that it would've made too much of a difference anyways what with being in debt and all. Eventually Malkai took out a rather unblemished letter, neatly folded and not even stained by oil or grease. Seemed that Malkai at least kept good care of important documents. "Lemme tell ya Reggie, neva spected ta be 'ere of all places. Don't know wot sorta gronch y'all expect us ta find, but all da same, da money's good and the company's fine. Looks like it ain't bad already!" Malkai let out a hearty chuckle as he saw the molty band come together. More women then he was used too; normally Malkai only worked with other moldy and smelly gents working for blood money. Not that Malkai had any complaints about it. It's certainly make the trip more interesting.

There was a loudmouthed one that Malkai couldn't help but smirk at when he seemed amused by Malkai's mispronunciation of the Virtuous Company. Malkai himself chuckled when he realized his gaff, and he was glad that someone picked up on it. Nothing like a bit of humor to get the mind off a stressful and horrifying adventure. The spoony bard started to play a song on his lute as another, rather quiet woman began playing a soothing tune on her flute. "Wot's dis now? A party? Ya shouldn't have Reggie! Ah if da odds are dat bad, I guess we got nuthin but fun an' dread ahead, gya ha ha ha ha!" Taking a big puff from his cigar, Malkai let out a large loud of smoke above his head as if he was some sort of a dragon. Malkai started dancing on the dock to the various musical accompaniment, and while he was no court performer, he was doing quite well for a man in armor. His dancing seemed more appropriate for a cursed demonic ritual, but he was quite agile nonetheless.

Reggie inspected the letter carefully. It had the official seal of the Company. That meant that, unfortunately, the Orc was with them. Ricardo went past him, letter in hand. Reignald nodded when he saw the letter and turned to Malkai.

"Alright, seems like your papers are in order. Welcome to the..err..Virtuous Company." Reignald was starting to get frustrated. Between the drunken dancing, the singing and the playing, the place resembled more of a bar than it did a military elite unit. There was also the whole business with the panicked sailors, the vice capatin naming, and the itnernal quarreling between the members of the party. He should've known since the tavern that this was not going to be an easy group. Reignald turned to Fiers who had started playing the lute. Alya had taken to play her own melody, and Malkai was dancing spasmodically around the dock. Elsie suddenly spoke up.

"Why are the juniors talking about Vice-Captain Hartwine? Is there something I've not been told?"

“Really bard? Are you trying to say you, of all people, somehow managed to miss what’s got to be the biggest ego-stroke in recent memory?”

Reignald made a slight hand gesture signaling Elsie to let him speak.

"Yes, Hartwine. You have been named Vice captain. Which means that a) You take orders from me. b) This men are now your responsibility. You are an official of the Virtuous Company" Reignal started raising his voice to put it above the sound of the lute. "So will you start acting like it?"

No more Sir Reignald the nice. He smiled at Alya and softly pointed at her flute "Just one second." He then cleared his throat and raised his voice, trying to get everyones attention.

Gentlemen, may I have your attention please?

Fiers finished his short insolent little tune, and the cacophony of voices he elicited from his fellow members filled his heart with glee. Given as he was to causing mayhem, his mischief was interrupted by a pair of voices, each giving their own kind of answer to his previous question.

Elsie's reply made Fiers crack a smile, and he formulated a reply instantly. Letting the syllables roll off his tongue like raindrops, he exclaimed, "Why, the only thing that I've gotten stroked is right here between my-" At this point Fiers actually registered what Reiggy had said immediately after.

"Ahem, my uh, my pride." Fiers looked at the faces of each of the members of the company, and even at the innkeeper, searching for a hint that they were pulling his leg. "Seriously? They made me Vice-Captain? Not Captain? Is it because they heard about my legendary history, and renamed the title of Captain Vice-Captain? No... Reignald the Old as our Captain eh? I suppose you probably have the most military experience of the bunch, so it's only fair. But me? Vice-Captain? That's not funny at all..."

Fiers hopped back onto the dock, snatched up the letter that the innkeeper was holding onto and tore it open. After reading it a couple times, he wiped the sweat from his brow. "Well fuck me softly and call me a new whore! This is in writing! Does it say this on all of your letters?" Fiers skipped from member to member, trying to peer at their letters, before finally coming to a rest back where he'd started, next to the innkeeper.

Fiers put a caring hand on the man's shoulder, and looked deeply into his eyes, adopting a sincere expression. "My good man, in light of my recent promotion and in order to live up to the responsibility and dignity of the station that has been bestowed upon me, I feel it is my honour and my obligation to inform you, that I stuck my tongue down your daughter's throat."

In the blink of an eye, Fiers darted back over the gangplank and onto the ship, his lute swinging wildly around his neck as he twirled past Ricardo, and planted himself on the gangrail, his head in his hands. His voice took on a mournful and regretful tone, one of such sorrow as could actually bring tears to one's eyes.

"Humble innkeeper, furthermore, your daughter... she," Fiers paused for dramatic effect. "She stuck her tongue down my throat too!" And the bard collapsed into a heap behind the rail, cackling and shaking with delight. Whatever else happened today, the look on that sorry man's face would be worth everything else.

R'Ornn had been trying to get everyone's attention, and yet he only managed to achieve it when someone wanted to pet him or mock him for his size. He felt angered, ignored, and belittled, and what was worse he had been gritting his teeth due to the present Orc. No one really seemed to notice what was going on, until it was too late. R'Ornn had been sent into a miniature breakdown due to all that was going on, which was highly unusual. Normally a room or dock full of idiots didn't bother him, but this time it seemed that to many had went over the line with R'Ornn.

"ENOUGH!!" His voice shouted out across the Docks as he created a six foot pedestal of shimmering amethyst beneath his feet. He had done so amidst everyone by finding the effective center of everyone views and attention spans. "We have work to do, and our Captain has asked for you bloody attention you ingrates!" The Savolin steamed furiously looking out across the faces of those around him. R'Ornn wasn't typically this type of person, to but in and yell, to act without a coherent thought pattern was rare.

"Shut your mouths, and let the man speak, so we can be on our way." R'Ornn finished off his moment of irrational emotions with one last sentence, and then he quickly withered away the crystal magic and he walked out onto the deck of the ship. There he found a nice coil of anchoring rope and he plopped down inside the coil as if to hide, leaving only his eyes and his hair to be seen as he watched and listen to Reginald and the announcement he had wished to make previously. However, his focus wasn't entirely set, as his mind filled with thoughts of what he had just done.

The songstress felt the gazes of the others come and go as she played her flute. In the background she heard the others complain and shout about Fiers among other things, their voices seeming to be murmurs as if they were far away. She could feel her magicks ebb and flow as she played, perhaps everyone was feeling a little disgruntled by her emotions? Or perhaps more annoyed by Fiers constant antics?

"Just one second."

The words seemed to pierce through the music that filled her ears. Taking the flute away from her lips, the soft tunes faded, the magic of song disappearing with it. She breathed out a soft, inaudible sigh as Fiers' continued to speak boorishly as Reignald asked for everyone's attention. R'Ornn's sudden outburst made her jump in surprised. She never expected such a small body to have such a powerful voice. As he covered himself in the coil of rope, Alya quietly stepped over to him, crouching down next to the Savolin. She hesitated for a moment before reaching her hand out, patting his head gently. She felt a little guilty now. Perhaps she should stop playing music on such a whim? Of course she'd never remember such a thing.

---

"Why..Y-you... You miscreant! If I ever see you again I'm gonna turn you into a bloody eunuch! Ya here?! A FUCKING EUNUCH!!" He shouted at the top of his lungs in pure rage as he threw a hatchet in Fiers direction. Fortunately, the axe head imbedded itself into the wood of the ship. Blowing an indignant little huff, the Tavernkeeper tossed to remaining letters upon the docks and stormed off back to the town proper.

---

Captain Ironwave stood at attention at the helm of the ship waiting for the Virtuous company, a mercenary company sporting an impressive record of victories and rumored to be a powerful gang of professional cutthroats. Maybe three of the upper members to board his ship fit that description, the rest fell short by a wide margin.
From the railings his voice boomed out louder than any bard, heavy enough to crush lesser men under the weight of his absolute authority.

"Enough chatter. We been paid to see you off and off you will go. Daylights wasting. Get yourselves aboard or be left behind."

Not bothering to wait for a reply, Ironwave stuck two fingers in his mouth and blew a shrill series of whistles that set the alreasy hard at work crew into a frenzy of shouts as they finished loading supplies from the deck in a hustle.

To those on deck he shouted down, "Five minutes before we make for the lightless. Kiss home goodbye. Might be your last chance."
From the side came his second with a salute. Preperations were done.

---

To arrive at what the captain called the Lightless meant two weeks travel on a fast ship, aided by a magic caster adept at wind magic giving the sails full spees start to finish. The days at sea were not kind outside the empires waters.
Upon three seperate occasions the Sea Stalker had been sighted by vessels believed to be hosting pirates and brigands. Despite being a singular ship, none dared accost the vessel. It flew the colors of an exiles barge.
None wished to interfere with a ship sailing to this forsaken hell. Sailors believed that to destroy a ship bound for the lightless was a deal with the gods that cursed their soul. The lightless places were promised these criminals and would get its due.

None dared challenge the odds of such a fate befalling them.

At last it came to view on the horizon, stretching across the skies for thousands of miles was a pitch black set of clouds so thick the sun could barely illuminate the lands below. From these abyss spawned clouds came the sporadic boom of greenish-red thunderbolts striking the inland.
Sea Stalker was crewed by hardy sailors familiar with the threats so common to the sea: Pirates, Enemy fleets, Storms so powerful they could capsize a warship with impunity, and all the myriad sealife that fed on warm flesh.

Every sailor but Captain ironwave stared at the horizon with fear. From his ceremonial place at the helm he barked orders to his crew, to ready themselves for the drop. It was late into the night when the betrayal saw its time.

To a man, each and every member of the Virtuous Company had been drugged. Slipped into their food, their drink, anything. Some who chose not to supp with the crew were dealt with in a more traditional manner. Men wrapped in black cloth swept into the rooms and struck fast.
By the time anyone was aware of what was happening, it was too late.

From the helm he felt it happen. That buzz of excitement and guilt that accompanied such events as this. There was no personal grudge against the company from the crew and its captain, merely business as they had been instructed to do.
Every soul aboard this ship to be dropped at the islands was to be done without stepping foot on that cursed ground. Exiles were living trash to be thrown overboard the moment they were within sight of the beaches.

The Virtuous were no different now that they were exiled.

Lined up on their knees, blades to their throat, every last member hired to kill a prince was bludgeoned across the head and thrown into the cold waters. Their personal effects were tossed in after them.
If they washed up on the shore with what they came with it would be an act of mercy from the gods..

As the last of the exiles was kicked into the waters, Ironwave closed his eyes and bowed his head in prayer to the maidens of the deep. They were far closer than any other drop point before so odds were good each member of the virtuous would wake up on the beaches, but that was only the starting line.
From the cliffs surrounding the beaches were many clans of exiled killers, hunters, and island locals eager to kill any that washed ashore. To claim what they had for their own.

Ironwave had kicked them from the ship just past midnight when the scavengers were less observant, distracted by finding shelter and warmth from the beasts that made their way inland looking for prey.

"Gods watch over you souls. May you find your end honorably, like warriors." He said solemnly to the nights wind. Other sailors whispered similar prayers to the now forsaken.

"Turn us about, Mr.Juneprey. Home to the Empire. The council must be told."

Their task done, Sea Stalker took to friendlier waters.

---

From the depths washed the Virtuous company upon the beaches, their weapons had managed to stay sheathed but all of their personal effects were lost to the waves. Recovering them was unlikely.
Scattered across the dark sands were piles of bleached white bones, rusted weapons littered the area. Battle had been done on this stretch of beach countless times, as it would for eternity.

Without any sunlight it was difficult to tell how much time had passed.

The beaches extended around the entirety of the island, rough 100 feet of sand stretching from the water to the sheer cliffs that blocked entry to the inland. To get further in would require scaling the rockface and braving combat with whatever locals that mighy have a dwelling atop them.. the alternative was a cave nearby. Like the beaches it had primitive altars decorated with skull and bone.

---

Betrayal, came for the bard as he sat on his cot, restringing his lute. He'd been unbearably sea-sick, and aside from his own personal flask of whiskey, he'd consumed nothing the whole day. And even he, fool though he might be, inferred the full implications of the black-clad men charging into his quarters. It was of course, impossible for him to do much of anything at all, but he managed two reactions, both fairly thoughtless. The first, was to whisper, "Fuck," and his second reaction was to take the spools of his lute strings wound tight, and shove them in his breeches.

The men seized him by the wrists, the bard took another breath to shout, give warning, anything, and then they knocked him out.

---

When Fiers felt the coarse wetness of the beach against his cheek, and a wash of saltwater swept over his bottom half, he knew they'd been fucked. He opened his eyes and tears welled, the stinging of salt burning, and he slowly lifted himself into a kneeling, half-bent position. Something was grinding against... his balls? Fiers went south, fished around, and found to his pleased surprise that there between his legs was one set of spindled strings for his lute.

That set his heart beating in a panic, not that there was only one string of course, because that in and of itself was a godsend, but because he hadn't been wearing his lute when he was presumably thrown off-shore. He finally straightened to a semi-erect posture and looked round. Just to his left, as loyal as they come, lay his lute. Fiers didn't really pray to any god, but he thanked all of them for this miracle. He brought the instrument to his chest and clutched it softly. It was damp. He didn't have any semblance of dry cloth to use to dry the lite and that pained him, but he'd seen lutes go through worse and still carry a tune. It saved him the troubles of stealing or carving a new one. His lure on the other hand... that was solid metal, and he somehow doubted that it would be anywhere other than the bottom of the ocean. Fuck, I'm lucky I'm not at the bottom myself!

Fiers finished taking stock of what he'd been left. His rapier of course, was a familiar weight at his hip. He would actually have to kill with his rapier now, no training left, no chances to try again. He also had both of his coin purses, for the thief and for himself, though he suspected gold didn't carry much value out here. Could you eat, fuck, or skin gold? No, you couldn't, but you could be damned sure that any of those three worked just fine on people carrying around gold. Fiers bit his lip, biting off a stream of curses. He hated being backed into a corner, with no outs. He felt the medallion dangling from his neck and rubbed it loosely. He had that as well, so all couldn't be lost just yet. But aside from his lute, his blade, his damp clothes, and what amounted to a pile of useless shiny metal in terms of survival, Fiers felt naked. No supplies, no disguise, and no knowledge of what to do next.

Fiers looked up, past his immediate location on the shoals, and scanned the beaches, the caves and rocky promontory, the sinister wooded area beyond. They'd been sent here presuming full equipment, organization, and support from the crew of the Sea-Stalker. Assuming then, that support amounted to throwing over their equipment along with their unconscious bodies, Fiers had about as much support and equipment as he was going to get for free. As for organization...

Fiers groaned, both drugs, fatigue, and a well-deserved bruise to the gonads weighing him down, but he managed to get into an unsteady crouch, and that was both all he could manage and all he wanted to accomplish. In this half-light, any obfuscation Fiers could gain from unfriendly eyes was worth it. He could barely make out a silhouette in the distance, and so Fiers made for it, lure in hand, strings pocketed, clutching his few possessions tight to prevent any unnecessary noise. Perhaps he was being paranoid, but the sounds of the waves lapping against the coast seemed eerie. There was something underneath it, bearing a lingering semblance of menace.