The thick blanket of rain pummeled the now dispersing streets of Seacliffe, the Faire of Storms ironically being silenced by the rough weather. Some of the more hardy partiers still mingled and rutted in the streets and alcoves however, even as the thunder rolled and the lightning began to arc. But not you and yours. The crashing of the enraged waves and the storm's roar would turn suddenly faint once within the Knife's Edge, the mot cutthroat Tavern of SeaCliff's Dock section.

Within, merchants sat with figures hooded and cloaked in the corner while muscled and hard men arm wrestled, testing one another's mettle. Buxom barmaids overseen by a paunchy and leering barkeep served the patrons, and the festival goers that fled within still staggered and sang with revelry, looking for further debauchery to reap while they still had their relative wits about them. However, none of these characters fit the rumors that had reached your ears. None of them stood out so much as the calm and collected, and very dangerous rogue that sat center table near the back of the tavern proper, lamps framing the table with wafting flames within as men lined up to speak to him.

He was handsome to be sure, with an easy smile and a lean but fit form, wrapped in a fashionable frock coat and leather breeches, sword at his hip. His left ear had a golden stud, and his fingers were bejeweled, drawing the gazes of those around. They were nearly as attractive as his own dark eyes, his well groomed but wavy brown hair tied at the back. He had the look of a young, adventurous lordling, the man's fine chin fit his mischievous and charismatic smile well.

Beside him stood three figures.

The closest and more curious figure was a squat but overly muscled Dwarf. His straw colored beard reached his belt, past his bare chest, mirrored by the massive mohawk of hair that lifted above his head like a backwards shark fin. He had a mug of beer in his ham sized fist, and oddly enough his other fist seemed to be missing. Halfway down his right forearm, the arm ended in a studded bronze cap, with a curious mechanism at the end, as if the Dwarf would screw things onto it. He had a crazed glint to his eyes, and his bare chest was covered in Dwarven woad tattoos, and four pistols were strapped there was well.

The next member of the group was covered in similar tattoos, though the structured Dwarven runes were replaced by the flowing script of Kaelic Elvish, which suited him. If he wasn't pure Elf, he had plenty of Fey blood in him. With eyes blue like the sea and unkempt red hair, he had on a wide grin that showed his teeth. A hand axe and a wicked dirk was tied to his sash belt. Stocky for an Elf, though still very lithe and fit compared to most men, he seemed to be in high spirits this night.

Off to the side was a foreigner, not the tallest man, perhaps a few inches shy of six feet. His eyes were fierce and his long black hair was tied in a rough ponytail. A brown vest and hakama trousers covered his toned musculature. His skin was sun tanned and riddled with faded scars, and a ronin-style sword was strapped to his hip. It was plain to see he wasn't much of a talker.

The Elf and foreigner stood while the central, noble-looking chap lounged on a chair and calmly told a ruffian trying to sign up that he wasn't needed for this venture. The Dwarf sat next to the man, sipping his beer while muttering at how watery and bad human beverages were, scanning an old map as he did it.

"Next," the handsome man asked, waving forward the next in line and raising his brow to gauge who strode forward. "Tell me friend, what's your story?"

They looked like a diverse group from the get go, if she was going to get on any ship this might be a good one. This being said Sage knew he still didn`t like the thought of it. "What if they try to harm you when you aren`t expecting it?" Dhamir tried to reason knowing it was a weak excuse. He knew all too well the girl could handle herself just fine. That brought up that she wasn`t a child anymore though. She hadn`t been for a long time now. The girl he rescued all that time ago no longer existed, she`d evolved into someone completely different.

"We both know that they could try, but they`d be underestimating me."

Sage commented as she studied the three with her hand on her chin. The sides of her full lips curled up in a smirk. "This is it, I feel it Dhamir. I`m as sure of this as the day I ran away. This time I`m choosing how I will live though. The first step in life." The thought of leaving him made her heart ache, but she couldn`t stay forever if she wanted to obtain her own goals for the future. "Be sure to not be a stranger, I will make sure to do the same. Communication between those of the arcane arts isn`t exactly hard, no matter the distance."

The older man that was practically her father sighed, "be safe, the last thing I need is having you die on me now. That would mean this was all for waste." Sage hugged him before starting to walk away backwards. "Love ya too old man," spinning on her heal so she could walk forward Sage approached the table fairly casually. The pounding of her heart hurt a bit as it stretched in its confines. It was when it hurt that she knew she was doing something exciting, that she was living.

The surgery on the artery connected to her heart had been nearly two decades ago. The scar going down her chest had faded to a silvery tone but had never disappeared. Most would think she`d try to hide it as most would. Very few wanted a damaged good, but this was why the corset like top she was wearing was certainly not trying to hide it. You either took her as she was or you got on the bandwagon of people who were too confused about how she got it, therefore rejected her on the spot. In her eyes her scar was proof she`d come from hell and back. That was something anyone should be proud of. This being said the rest of her clothing consisted of loose fitting healers robes, dyed white with flowing sleeves that came off from under the corset`s sides, and a sandy cloak designed for a traveler. The choice in clothing made her crimson hair stand out exponentially in her overall appearance. Last but certainly most important was the satchel on her side that ran across her chest.

"Ooo, I think you`ll have to buy me a drink there before anything comes to light." Sage said as she looked over the man in front of her. He certainly was handsome, probably knew it too. Interesting bunch they were now that she was closer. That dwarf didn`t have a hand. something she really wanted to look at, and the fey like elf certainly seemed to be in a good mood tonight. If they`d take her she knew this was certainly going to be interesting if anything.

"My name is Sage Naifeh, I`m a mage specialized in different forms of healing, anything ranging from a gash in your side to curses. The news around here is that you fine gentleman are looking for a crew. I would like to volunteer my expertise if you`ll allow me." While she maintained a light attitude her overall demeanor showed how serious she was on this. It showed through her firm eye contact with the handsome fellow.

These streets were more filled with rats than the last town, that was for sure. Vaia had only come into town two nights ago and she already hated it. Still this town, Rat-stench Sea-place or whatever unmemorable name the town had, was one of many stops on her roaming about to find a job. The type of job she wanted was the type that required walking through filth and shoving the occasional thief back into their alley, if only so that she could find someone hiring. It wasn’t as if Pirates could have their “recruitment” out in the open where the militia could see, after all. For a moment, Vaia became lost in thought, pondering how she had managed to become lost in the streets, when she found herself stumbling.

She juggled her wight for a few paces before catching her balance. Confused, Vaia turned to look at what she’d tripped over and found a drunk fool laying in the street. Her eyes narrowed, as she looked him over briefly, before taking a look at her surroundings. Ah, this was the place. The muffled noise of a crowd filled her ears, over the sound of rain, and the sign hanging above her head further confirmed the thought. She had finally found the Knife’s Edge. A deep sigh escaped Vaia as she opened the tavern door and walked inside.

What a crowd. While she expected as much, Vaia still felt some sense of annoyance toward them. She hated crowds. As she stood in the door, Vaia immediately caught sight of a gathering thicker than the other tables. If the rumors had been true, this was the crew she was searching for.

Moving to the side of the entrance, Vaia took a position against the wall. Briefly she recounted the information she knew as she examined the men at the table. The dwarf and the elf were the most prolific of the bunch, as had the rumors described. Finally confident about their identity, Vaia strode forward, suddenly becoming aware of how much she stood out from the crowd.

The shield upon her back, the scimitar, and the fact that her eyes were the only uncovered part of her face would likely draw attention. This was a melting pot of peoples but there weren’t many like her here, so it seemed. While she hadn’t planned on “making an entrance”, she supposed this probably was one, especially with the sight of the man sent away from the table before her-- he was practically generic rabble. From a glance she could tell that man, the one sulking as he left the table, probably wasn’t nearly as skilled as she was. Were they already weeding out the trash? Well. Maybe it was good to stand out after all.

"Next.”

Vaia stepped forward silently.

"Tell me friend, what's your story?"

Having answered this question, in one form or another, for years, Vaia didn’t have to put much thought to her answer, for it was quite automatic now. In a harsh voice with a thick accent she answered, “I am Vaia. You seek a crew. I bring to you my skills in combat. Trained and fought for nineteen years. Bodyguard and mercenary. Hand to hand combat trained with sword and board specialty, crossbow at a range. Need you fighter or one to teach others to fight, I can do so. If proof of my skills you need, I can show you.” With that final statement, Vaia tapped a book sized pouch on her hip, then told the man, “I bring proof as flesh and bones from my enemies, yes.” This was all said with the calm of familiarity-- as if she were simply speaking of the weather. Vaia clicked her tongue then waited patiently for reply.

Vaeri enjoyed the atmosphere of the Knife's Edge, despite it's somewhat sinister name. She hadn't been here for more than a few days, but she had become acquainted with some of the patrons in this establishment, especially with some of the more brutish men that enjoyed their arm wrestling bouts. There was no better way to get acquainted than to join in on their fun, not that she managed to beat any of them. She did, however, earn some respect since she was able to hold her own against them for even a short while. They didn't speak much outside of their cheering, laughter, and grunts; but they were good company nonetheless. After spending the last couple of days drinking with the other patrons, she noticed that the man she sought after was not here.. Yet. Described to her as handsome, but dangerous looking, among other adjectives. He was nowhere to be seen, until now.

The four figures stood out from the crowd, their presence within the tavern seemingly stronger than the others. A dwarf, a.. Fey, half elf? And two humans. The human that stood seemed different from the rest that she had seen before. Perhaps he had an interesting story laying beneath his menacing aura and scars. Her gaze moved between each of the four. She felt a slight excitement well up inside her. Things were going to be interesting.. If they let her join the crew that is.

Slowly, she walked towards the noble-looking man as he waved away a would-be crew member. From the side she heard someone call out "Vaeri! C'mere for another wrestle! Hahaha!", it was one of the bulky men who looked like he was going to start a bar brawl. She waved at him, as if to say 'Not tonight.' He shrugged in response before sitting back down. It would seem that a small queue had formed in front of her, so she stood back, allowing the ones in front to finish speaking to the... Quartermaster? Captain? Recruiter? Whatever the title, he was important enough to warrant a queue.

The Elf observed the two women in front of her. Sage, and Vaia. Names she took note of as they introduced themselves. Both were much shorter than her, but were also fairly muscled. It was best not to underestimate anyone that wishes to join a crew. Vaeri smiled slightly at the confidence that both brought to the table, patiently waiting for her turn.

When the two women had finished speaking to the man, she stepped forward. "I am Vaeri, a Great Clan Elf. I have traveled from the far north to come here." She greeted the recruiter with a nod; her tone of voice was quite calm and held a subtle air of confidence. The Elf pat the head of her axe which hung on her belt. "Like Vaia, I am a trained warrior, and in truth I only seek to learn of the other cultures of this world. And perhaps learn about you and your companions in the process." Her unwavering gaze falling upon the foreigner and the Elf that stood at either side of the nobleman.

"But in your eyes, I'll be a mere mercenary, no?" She ended, giving the handsome man a warm smile.

"You've shat yourself?" Zahir looked deeply concerned at the man sitting across from him. He stared out to the small crowd around them, searching for clarification. "What is this word, shat?"

"He shit himself!" A grime-soaked spectator whistled a chuckle through the gaps of his yellow smile. "Dropped brown anchor! Pranced around with the puddin princess! Let loose a soddin mud dragon!"

This was a confusing explanation to the bronze-skinned foreigner. He demanded further enlightenment. Several patrons began pantomiming wild gestures with their hands, swirling them about from their rear ends. Zahir finally put two and two together. He cocked his bald head back and let loose a burly guffaw, releasing his hand from his defeated arm wrestling opponent, then proceeded to wipe said hand on the man's shoulder.

"Keep your coin shatty man," Zahir didn't know if he was using that word right, but it achieved its desired effect as everyone around them hollered with laughter. "Save it for the washmaidens!"

Zahir rose from his chair, careful not to bump his head against the candled light fixtures. As he did, he looked over to the table across the room where a man sat interviewing a line of potential deckhands. The queue was finally thinning out.

"Fellow drunkards, this is as good a time as any for me to take my leave," Zahir bowed, his golden jewelry clinking about like tiny wind chimes. Despite their protests, he insisted. "I've enjoyed your company, but now I have more pressing matters to tend to."

He grabbed the red poncho hanging from his chair and draped it around his chiseled frame. It no longer felt weighed down by Seacliffe rainfall, but his sandals were still damp. He'd much rather chuck them all together and peruse bare if he could, but, as he quickly learned, such a notion was frowned upon around here. Not to mention that exposing himself in such a way only drew unwanted attention, and he needed to lay low, for there were daggers out for him. Zahir approached the pony-tailed man, grinning at his question.

"My name is Zahir," He held out his calloused hands as if he were making an offering. They were riddled with scars and toughened skin, forged by sea and scrap alike. "Use these to smash a man's skull, or work the deck of any ship. I can rig my way around most, fore-and-aft, or square masts, it matters not. Good climber. Can scale crossbeams, or go as high as top gallant if needed. Can also do oar work, or maintain ballasts below deck."

A moment of silence passed between them. Zahir stroked his chin. He wanted to add something else, something humorous, but nothing came, so he shrugged his broad shoulders and clapped his hands to signify that he was done talking. Almost.

"Spear fishing! This, I am also good at!" Zahir finally remembered. "Yes, yes! Speared three lungfish at once. Like..."

He struggled to find the words, wishing his drinking companions were there to pantomime for him. Then he remembered a delicious treat he ate at the wharf market, picturing the small stick stabbing through pieces of dried squid.

"Like, shagrashi-tkebralla babmata-ka-rattai!" Zahir frowned, realizing he was using a variation of the word from his native dialect. He proceeded to chip it down to its more popular moniker. "Shat kebab, yes? No, ...no! Wrong word. Shits Kebab. No, not that either... Shish! Shish Kebab! Hayasham molama-setriad la!"

The Arad Luin trailed off in his native tongue, cursing at himself for his foolishness.

Up in the rafters of the tavern, legs astride a solid wooden beam in the ceiling was Ed.

Slap bang in the centre of the ceiling. It gave a good view of everything that was going on. In one corner there was an arm wrestle between two men underway - the loser apparently had made a mess of his drawers. Ed, or, Ava smirked to himself before bringing up the left hand to chew down on some more of the dried beef, bought from a festival hawker. It was salted and moderately spiced. He really enjoyed the sensation that happened when the flavours were drawn out as the pieces were chewed up in the mouth.

Food in Praelior was soft and sweet and rich. This was almost exotic for him. He was sure that such things existed in the hometown but he had never been allowed to eat it. Now he could eat and drink, whatever he desired. Such freedom came coupled with loneliness, though. Travelling away from Praelior had given him very little human contact. This festival was a feast for all of the senses. There were so many men. So many different looking men. The victor of the arm wrestle was a magnificent creature with deeply bronzed skin - that he bared freely.

Ed licked his, her lips at the very thought of the rippling arm muscle that he was demonstrating. It was a good job he was up a height and almost out of sight. That would be an embarrassing, and literal, slip of the tongue for someone to witness.

Suddenly, three women caught Ed's eye. Lined up at what appeared to be a desk set up. An elf, a red head, and a Ra'sheek. It was like the opening to a terrible and crude joke.

They were all so polite in their ways of approaching what had to be the most obscure line up of pirates that Ed could have imagined. And he would have to imagine, because he'd never met pirates before. Maybe this was normal. The one in the middle though... He was a knockout. His eyes drew Ava in from up in the rafters like a moth to a flame. There was something about the aura he was emitting that created a swarm of butterflies in the stomach... and lower. Then the bronzed God strode up to the desk too.

This was too much.

"Holy shit and seven hells..." he whispered under her breath as he swallowed down on a salty piece of beef. There was surely some salty beef down below that Ava wanted to get her teeth into. But how?

He moved gracefully across the beams and hung himself backwards, slap bang in the middle of the three women who were gathered together, staring right into the eyes of the stationary pirate with The Eyes. In the lowest tone he could muster he began;

"Now I don't know what exactly you're up to here, but I'm guessing you're in need of someone nimble to scale your ship in any... tight circumstances you happen to get stuck into along the way... To wherever you're going." Ed, using momentum from a slight swing performed a quick and clean flip down to the floor, in a kneeling position he looked right in the eyes of the Ra'sheek and gave her a suggestive wink and nudge.

"If you're assembling a crew you'll need a Sailor, Sir..."

He walked confidently up to the table, pressing past the others in the queue. This wasn't a time to line up and be counted. This was a time to make an impression and stand out. "Name's Ed. I can do any stunt you can think of and I can climb a mast in record time, not only that but I can get up and back down again before you've blinked." All he could think was about how he'd like to climb a mast or two of a different kind of wood... But right now he was in disguise and he wasn't going to let Ava's lust ruin it. They were sailing somewhere - and he wanted to travel.

As soon as he had stepped through the threshold of the bustling, noisy inn, Loren had clocked the group he needed to speak with. They stood out amongst the rest of the rabble; not like a sore thumb, because they were certainly prettier to look at than the rest of the revellers in the building. Prettier, in the sense of being impressive; organised, intimidating to a degree, and certainly the look one would expect from a fellow recruiting for a pirate ship. Unlike many myths liked to say, pirates weren't always loud and uncouth louts. They were businessmen - a diverse group from all walks of life that, in best case scenarios, would become your family. Judgement was left at the shore when on board a ship, as long as you could do your job. And that was exactly what he was here to do; Lorenzo Fiorenti suited the title of Captain, and he was eager to shoulder that burden once again. Still, first things first: an introduction was in order.

Although not the tallest, biggest, prettiest (or ugliest) man in the room, it was clear that Loren had a certain presence about him. The crowd dispersed before his path without so much as a nudge from the ex-Captain; they scurried out of the man's way after only a glance at his expression of determination, not wanting to risk delaying him in any manner. Rain still clung to his duster and hat, droplets shaking loose as he patted down his broad shoulders with scarred hands.

Loren tipped his hat cordially at the others clustered around the table; his potential crewmates, no doubt. And they certainly were an interesting bunch, but that kind of diversity was something Loren always appreciated. One of the reasons he figured pirates trumped Navy ships so often was due to the stubborn recruiting methods of the navy - the officers were all of the same breed, with the same training, same amount of money, and same air of superiority. That kind of shit got you nowhere with pirates, and their individuality nearly always gave them an advantage in a fight.

"Evening." He began, looking back to the recruiting table and locking eyes with the young rogue sat in the center. Loren's voice was a pleasant one to hear, with a deep, gravelly quality that was oddly comforting, depending on his tone. As of now, it was amicable, but politely so. Pretending to be friends straight away with one's employer was an annoying quality he had always tried to avoid, as it rarely did you any good. "I'm Lorenzo Fiorenti, though I previously had the title of Captain. I won't lie that I'd like the privilege of that title on your ship, but whatever the role, I'm willing to take it - I've spent most of my years on a ship and sailing. My tongue is as sharp as my sword, and I'm more than capable of using both efficiently." Finishing with a grin, Loren removed his tricorne hat and shook the water from it gently, smoothing his dark-blonde hair back with his other hand as he regarded the group as a whole. "Feel free to call me Loren." He added, blue eyes twinkling in the light of the nearby fires.

---

2 days later...

The relative quiet of the port was welcome as far as Galen was concerned. The Faire of Storms had died down, and the docks were now close to empty thanks to the ships having set sail not a day before with refugees and visitors looking to return themselves and their belongings home. He brushed the dark fringe of his hair out of his eyes and cleared his throat, making his way down the docks. He would otherwise look princely if his thick hair wasn't unkempt, and there was little ruddiness or scars to mar his face. Unfortunately, his life had not been without hardship and he bore the marks to prove it, though that was for he to hide. Still, he seemed fairly cordial and easy-going as he walked onto the SeaReaver.

His booted feet clacked along the timber planks, and he bit into his apple lazily as he enjoyed the new warmth of the sun now spilling over the waters of the sea. Galen breathed in the sea air deeply as he headed up the plank and onto the deck of the ship. One hand resting on his sword hilt, and the other holding the apple he still held. The men and women, mostly women it seemed, before him looked to be from vastly different parts of the world.

"Well this is quite the crew," he said to them with a closed-mouth grin once they quieted down. He bit into his apple once more and set himself before them, chest out. He had a fit frame, clad in dark leather and cloth over chain mail. He gave a yawn to stifle away the last bits of sleepiness that was still to be shaken from him, and he cleared his throat. "Good to see you all here. If you recall, I'm Galen, your Quartermaster." He told them. His voice was smooth and low in pitch.

"It would be good for us to meet again before we set sail. I am not entirely certain if all of you have served on a pirate ship before. But if you haven't, you'll need to know that while we're sailing... I'm likely the only friend you have at the beginning of this venture." He reminded them. "So cordial first impressions are probably for the best." He casually winked at them, as if he were letting them in on a secret he'd only tell people he trusted.

With that, he bit into the last of his apple, finishing it up. Tossing the core behind him into the sea, he ascended the stairway leading to the sterncastle. Once atop the high ground, he placed his bejeweled fingers along the railings, addressing the crew. "We're going to keep introductions short. But to break the proverbial ice, I'll present you with the companions with which I've so far traveled..." With a wave of his hands, he introduced Sketti, Jax, and Eladar, as well as their roles (Shipwright/Engineer, Lookout, Veteran Sailor/Weapon expert.

"That being said, we've found ourselves a Captain. I'll let him speak once we set sail, but as of right now we're in search of a certain Caravel, known as the King Edmund, that's hauling a thousand royals and three thousand Lordlings." Everyone listening would know that was a sizeable treasure. "As your Quartermaster, if you have a concern for the crew, or for the Captain, you come to me. I'll in return relay that to whatever party needs to hear it. Also, let it be known we need a First Mage. We'll likely try to procure one at the next port, but for now we have a myriad of sailors, as well as our new healer, Sage." He gave a gesture towards her, and a nod. "And Vaia shall be the cook. Now, before we set sail and I give the reins of SeaReaver to the new Captain, do we have any questions or opinions?"

@Smystar99@Utrax@Rekaigan@Skull@Stormflyx@MiddleEarthRoze

“And Vaia shall be the cook...”

Then Galen asked for questions? Opinions?
Oh, Vaia had several, all filled with expletives and colorful adjectives but she held her tongue. Her gaze was temporarily fixed on that man, what was his name-- Eladar? He was the weapons expert and it made sense for the crew to have already filled such a position. Naturally, Vaia figured, people will pick those they were familiar with rather than a stranger. Of course. Yet she was furious. Her anger was the sort that very few would understand. To put a Rhemora caste woman back into the kitchen, when she had trained and fought against such a place, was to give her quite the grievous insult indeed-- but Vaia ground her teeth silently instead. She found herself thankful that only her eyes were showing, that she could regain her composure from such a blindside under a cloth mask, but she still had to take a moment to ease away her venomous glare.

“Warriors and work are made by the meal-- the kitchen a place of honor,” Vaia remarked very calmly, translating a common saying among lower caste women. “Though it was not what I came to do, I will try my best. I am no cook,” Vaia concluded in that still-water calm manner. She bowed her head then tuned out the rest of the crew, the conversation, the world in it’s entirety. Already she was wandering the corridors of thought, making plans, suppressing rage, and most importantly, recalling just how much everyone knew about her. With deliberation, Vaia made sure she never mentioned she could cook during the interview, and this was going to play a key part in her plot. Already, Vaia had this “cook position” in mind as temporary and leverage for vengeance.

Regardless of someone speaking with her or trying to get her attention, Vaia remained silent, and once the crowd was sent to disperse, Vaia headed to the ship’s kitchen. So fine. She would feed them. Her skill in cooking was minimal so that was another advantage-- she didn’t have much clue what she was doing in the first place, so it would be easy to make edible garbage.

Every single day for breakfast to start, she was going to serve porridge, varied only slightly by the presence of meat sometimes, salted slightly too much or sweetened awkwardly, and a bit too watery. For midday there would be “stew”, with a deliberate absence of spices or the presence of far too much spice, and the same stew for dinner, only overcooked or lukewarm. Over and over again she was going to serve these meals. Without change and with only slightly not enough for everyone-- which would force the portions to be small. When asked about the quality of meals, Vaia figured she would nod and listen, perhaps even entertain their suggestions, then change nothing about the cooking. Vaia knew very well the effect a good meal could have on morale, so she was going to drive that morale into the ground, then grind it beneath her heel. This was what they forced upon themselves and the fault was with their choice, with the person that chose the cook, and Vaia was going to make that abundantly clear.

Due to her abilities in magic she might be able to play double huh? Not that she minded the idea of being both healer and maybe holding position as head mage, it just left her feeling a bit strange. It is to be pointed out after all that her magical abilities have baggage. At the current moment she could feel the magic rotating through her veins, keeping her alive. When she had first learned how to do it pain had overwhelmed her, her untrained body burning up from magical usage in such a bizarre way. The magic kept her alive but she was constantly using it every second of her life. The thirst of magic that left a person with is exponentially high.

It made her pretty useless as a mage in most battles. If she cast a large spell all at once in hopes of ending something soon, she`d be as good as a cat in water if she didn`t know how to fight with a knife. Nonetheless Sage nodded to Galen as he addressed her. She`d try her best to be what everyone expected of her. There was no doubt every one of them would have to prove themselves. Being stuck together on the wide open sea will certainly make them have to find some way to get along, lest they kill each other on this voyage.

This was exciting, not to mention the fact that these people were all so unique. They probably had fascinating stories from all walks of life. It was possible some of them could have been upper class and fell through the ranks. Some that were at the bottom and worked their way out, traveling for a better life. Did some of them have families waiting for them, children? There were definitely travelers who had complete lives back home but couldn`t stop their yearning for adventure. It also didn`t go past her that Vaia was an interesting one to choose as the cook, she didn`t seem to really like the position either. Sage selfishly wanted to get to know all of them to find why choices like those are made, what made them different uniquely.

The quartermaster, their conversation back when they allowed her to come on to this ship, she hoped he didn`t forget that they still needed to have a drink. He was possibly one of the more intriguing ones out of the bunch. It wasn`t only for his looks, no, he seemed to be the kind of person most likely to be able to fade into the background, to watch like a cat waiting to pounce. It made her curious about him. They all had their own stories and he certainly had some himself. The scars seeming to cover his body were evidence of that.

The young woman looked out to the small town and then to the sea. A life on water, what would it be like? There was only one way to find out. A playful smile graced her features as she looked back to the rest of her future companions. This was going to be a long journey and she could already tell.

Ed had no questions. He just listened, his hands behind his back comfortably with the rim of his hat pulled low until it cast a shadow across his brow line. He had managed to squeeze himself beside Zahir, and as well as the smell of the ocean and freshly polished timber there was an earthy musk eminating from Zahir's body which was slightly arousing.

He gave Vaia a flirtatious grin, only to receive in return a look of scorn and disgust. Already he had pissed her off with the antics in the tavern. That was alright, if she was disgusted at 'him', it was a great way to keep the disguise under wraps. Ava did worry just how much being Ed might take it's toll on her, and how when she would finally ditch the disguise how much of the old Ava would be left, and how much of Ed would remain.

Watching as Galen as he bit into the apple - the sight of the fruit and the familiar crunch reminded Ava of a recipe they would make with apples in the bakery. Apples baked into pastry, rolled in cinnamon and sugar and served warm on colder afternoons. The combination of tart fruit with crisp pastry, and then that delicate dusting of sweetness. It was a famous recipe in her town.

Ed snapped back into being before too long, before Ava got too caught up in memory and emotion. "I'm sure I can make friends with a few others on this ship..." he said with a smirk, cutting off Galen as he uttered his crude comment. He was sure to be made a fool of for it, better yet, punished. He rolled his shoulders as if expecting the bucket of water to scrub away at something to be tossed to him any second by one of Galen's minions. It would probably be the Elf, Jax. That one had been giving him looks since the tavern. Suspicious little git he thought to himself as he made eye contact with the redhead.

After Zahir’s successful job find at the Knife’s Edge, the Ra’Sheek spent the next couple of days preparing for the voyage. There really wasn’t much to do other than seek out a smith to sharpen his Jadepyre Tooth, and pick herbs out in the meadows for his alchemy. On the last night, he drank with Geris, the old fisherman that nursed Zahir back to health after washing ashore that fateful night…

Geris was an honorable man. Despite wanting nothing in return for his good deed, Zahir insisted, paying the fisherman back by working alongside him on the fishing cog. Alone, Geris was raking in a modest sum. With Zahir, the man hauled in nearly thrice his usual catch, tiding him over for a season’s worth in earnings. While Zahir’s extra pair of hands contributed to this bounty, it was his intimidating presence that truly made the difference. With the Ra'Sheek at his side, competing fishermen thought twice about bullying Geris from the better fishing routes. So yes, there was plenty to celebrate for: Zahir’s employment aboard the Sea Reaver, Geris’ bountiful fish harvest, and, of course, their friendship.

Zahir and Geris perused through all the taverns in the city, adding a random drunkard here and there to their growing entourage, and eventually ended up at one of Seacliffe’s private beaches. Some of the memories Zahir has of that night are of Geris finally beating him at arm wrestling, and a glazed Elf jumping into the fire pit. The Elf apparently fancied himself as some kind of Ember Mage, impervious to heat, but the long-eared bloke quickly found out that that was not the case. The elf rolled all over the floor like a flea-stricken hound, and the party goers quickly threw sand on him to extinguish the flames. Though the fires had perished, the laughs and the sand shoveling didn’t stop, until all but his head disappeared into a large mound; Artisans among the group wasted no time in sculpting a rather large sandcastle out of it. The half-finished castle glistened as the sun rose from the ocean horizon behind it. Save the elf’s snoring head, it was truly a beautiful sight.

Zahir surveyed the Sea Reaver, half-nodding to the Quartermaster’s speech as his attention was more focused on the caravel’s fine craftsmanship. The ropes and chains tying everything together looked sturdy and new. The sails were bright and exuberant, and the overall cleanliness of the deck was decent for buccaneering standards. Zahir then observed the crew. Galen and his diverse companions seemed like a capable group. They reminded him of the Emerald Merit, but he did not dwell on this thought for long. Instead, he focused on the new hires like himself.

The healing mage, if competent, would prove to be a worthy asset. Should Zahir overstep his alchemic boundaries, he’ll be needing her spell-craft to keep his faculties in check. Then there was Ed, the handsomest man Zahir has ever seen, who standing oddly close to him. The male Praelior was small and peculiar, and he did not wield a spear, something fighters of his kind are known for carrying. Yes, something was off about him. Zahir watched as Ed shot a flirtatious gesture at Vaia, and the Ra’Sheek couldn’t help but grin himself. She was a beautiful reminder of his homeland. And she was assigned as the cook? Zahir’s mouth watered at the thought of having Ra’Sheek cuisine again.

"Ah, Ra'Sheek women. Beautiful, yes?" Zahir said, playfully elbowing at Ed's shoulder. "Perhaps I speak to her for you? I can be your winged-man, as they say."

After being accepted into the crew, Vaeri spent the last couple of days in Knife's Edge drinking with her muscular friends, most of them were happy for her and wished her luck on her adventure, often saying something about their life as a sailor before having settled down here. She would muse that they were still young and fit for sailing, but would respond with 'If I had a crew..' Vaeri didn't quite understand what they meant by that since there were enough lads here to make one, but when she boarded the SeaReaver she realised there was more to a crew than just sailors. Quartermasters, Shipwrights, Lookouts, Captains. All roles that made a proper crew. Perhaps the men back at the Knife's Edge didn't fancy themselves as any of these roles.

When some of the roles were being announced, she couldn't help but try to imagine Vaia as a cook. The woman had spilled gore all over the table at the 'interview' of sorts. She wondered what such a killer could cook.. Perhaps a killer dish? She chuckled to herself, enjoying her own witticism. As the Quartermaster spoke, she began making an ordered list of people she should get to know, but ultimately had trouble figuring out the priorities without making someone else seem less significant than another. So closest person would be first.

She walked up to Sage and pat her on the shoulder, probably a little more roughly than she intended. "A Healer? That's quite impressive! Most I hear of use 'arcane'.. or something. I would love to know how your magic works." She said jovially, giving the much shorter woman a warm grin. Vaeri had always been interested in magic, even if she didn't actually learn it herself. While she understood her own magic, she didn't know much about the magicks that humans commanded, perhaps they were similar?

"But before that, I would like to get to know you first. I am Vaeri Ernala, a Great Clan Elf from the North. It is nice to meet you." The tall elf held out her hand in greeting, her warm smile unwavering. Meeting new people was something Vaeri really enjoyed, purely because they always have their own stories to tell. One story is always different from another, and there is never two that are the same. Unless they're inseparable twins. She often took interest in people's perspective on the same topic. Most of the time it was similar if they were of the same community, but her travels had told her that people from different places always had something else to say about it.

_@Smystar99

"Right," Galen said, seeing the crew was just about to get mingling. That would be fine on their off-time, but those who had duties needed to get with it. The handsome quartermaster turned his gaze upwards, shielding his eyes. "Jax, we all clear!?" He called up to the Elf.

The bare chested Elf called back town with a raised hand. "Aye sir! Tha seas are as sober as me own grandfather!"

Galen would take that as a 'yes' and swiftly switched gears, pointing to the sailors of the crew (Vaia, Vaeri, Zahir, Ed, and Eladar). "Hoist the sails!" Galen called, grabbing a loose rope and pulling on it to lift his feet up on the railing of the sterncastle. He stood tall above the crew, wind causing his hair to sway as he barked orders to get them underway, his demeanor shifting from casual to orderly in the blink of an eye. He pointed to Zahir specifically when he called. "Haul the anchor!"

"Do it ye scaberous dogs!" Sketti roared to get the crew into moving. Once that was through with, the Dwarf would walk over to where the main mast was, feeling the wood and making sure the timber was sturdy for the umpteenth time as the sailors hauled and heaved next to him.

Eladar was near the prow of the ship, unfastening ropes with a knife in his mouth, flipping them onto his shoulder in a large, thick loop before climbing up one of the spiderweb-like tangles of rope, fit arms prominent from carrying the full weight of his body, dark hair hanging beneath him.

Galen turned his head, glancing toward Loren. "And with that, it's your show." He said, giving a nod. He leaped off the railing to the deck a dozen feet below, using the rope he held to slow his descent. He smoothly landed just by Sage, running a hand through his hair as he regarded her. "Now," he said to her, dark eyes glinting. "As the healer, you'll have your own room down from the cooking area. We won't need too much from you at the moment until battle, or someone gets scurvy." He added with a wink.

"If you have any questions, my cabin's always open."

Ed let an eyebrow raise at Zahir's talk - he was obviously lost in a little translation, but still he meant well. "Sure, you can be my winged man..." he replied in an almost grunt of a voice.

Despite being given clear orders to hoist the sails, there was something Ed wanted to do more, and he approached the centre ratlines and began to scale them quickly and with grace, and with a simple forward leap from the rope, he was then in the Crow's nest - staring out longingly at the oceanic horizon. With nobody able to see him, he could finally relieve himself...

He put a hand up his shirt from the bottom, and slipped two fingers under the bandages around his chest - and then he could scratch. It was hard work keeping breasts flat with bandaging, and it was uncomfortable. But itching the 'underboob' was an immediate satisfaction. If anyone were watching, they might have seen Ed's eyes roll back just a little bit.

Putting everything back in it's place, he stepped up on the sides of the Crow's nest, and took a well-timed leap back onto the ratlines, pulling away at ropes and moving through the ladders to start moving the sails as the Quartermaster had ordered. The fresh sea breeze blew at his face - the smell so familiar and beckoning to future adventures...

Vaia placed her personal affects in a corner of the kitchen in a slow and methodical manner. The kitchen itself was a room about six paces wide and ten paces long. There was a single door into it and this door was perfectly centered between the left and right walls. A large counter was placed in the center of the room, it hosted a flat wooden counter-top and cupboards on both sides. A few hooks were set into the low ceiling, from which to hang herbs and spices for drying, or whatever else it was that cooks liked to hang. Along the left wall there was another counter top with cupboards below it, filled with pots, pans, knives, and eating utensils. A single stove was set into the far right wall and it was a well made cast iron thing, sitting in a single step deep stone square, which hosted enough water to extinguish any accidental flames. Crates and boxes lined the room, housing ingredients, yet unpacked but probably inspected. The room likely felt claustrophobic and small even if the boxes were unpacked, Vaia observed. The ceiling was just barely high enough for her to stand to full height and she knew that most of the taller crew members would have difficulty feeling comfortable here.

Good. To hell with them. They needed to stay out anyway.

There was a stinging within her chest as she looked about the kitchen, one she knew very well-- the sting of her pride. Vaia grit her teeth then clenched her fists tight as she looked about the bare kitchen space. She needed something else to focus on that wasn't her growing distaste for the position she was placed in-- ah, that's right, she needed a place to sleep. Turning to the wall behind herself, which was at the far end of the kitchen, directly across from the door, she took a brief measurement, then figured she could sleep on this bare strip of floor, directly in front of the pantry door. Likely, they would want her sleeping with the rest of the crew. That was fine-- Vaia figured she could justify her presence in the kitchen as both a safeguard and a preparatory necessity. Simple enough. What she would likely have trouble with was if anyone tried to come in at night.

Already Vaia began working out a training regimen for herself. This required people leaving her the hell alone at night and the cost was sleep. There was no way Vaia was going to let her skills dull while being forced to perform bitch-work and she'd be damned if she stayed in this position long enough for someone to want her here. No. If there was one thing Vaia knew, it was that she couldn't stay here for long, and her mere presence here was already burning down her precious tolerance for the position-- but Vaia also knew she wasn't much use now.

When the crew had been told the hoist the sails, she had fumbled. Vaia made no attempt to seem as if she knew what she was doing, but she hadn't fled away from the task or asked for help. She watched and did her best to mimic everyone else's work, but there had been a few ropes tied too loosely or a couple of slip ups here and there-- that other guy? Well, that guy, the one holding her position, at least he knew how to sail. That set him apart from her. That was the main distinction. It wouldn't matter for long, however. Sailing seemed easy enough. Vaia figured that all she needed was practice and she would be able to at least fill his shoes, if not surpass him, in due time. While her position was unfortunate, Vaia began to see it as necessary and that stung her pride even worse than the position itself.

Tense and angry, Vaia decided to examine the contents of the crates, the contents of the small pantry near her "rest area", after she began a fire in the stove. A meal would be needed soon. One that would set the tone for all expectations for her cooking in the future, so it needed to be proper, in her decided kind of way.

Yes, this meal needed to be the most bland of them all.