[center][hider=Art thou worthy?][i]

“So, thou hast returned’st.”

Hushed. Delicate. Silken. The womanly voice came laced within the whispers of a gentle breeze. Its words were warm against Sjan-dehk’s ears. Motherly, almost. But he paid them little heed. He barely even heard them, so entranced was he by his surroundings. Above his head, an unblemished field of azure, the brightest he had ever seen, stretched on towards infinity. Beneath him, his feet rested upon sand so fine, and so soft that it could have been powder. A vast expanse of the deepest blue laid before his eyes, its languid waves shimmering like gemstones in the light of an absent sun.

And there, so very far away, and yet so inviting with its nearness; where sea and sky met in a fleeting, yet perpetual embrace, laid the horizon. There, scintillating waters and celestial light called to him. There, vague silhouettes of ships sailed farther and farther away from him, always approaching the horizon, but never crossing that thin boundary.

“Thou desirest to join thy forebears?”

The whispering breeze returned. It was still quiet. Still soothing. And still it rose high above the roar of crashing waves to fill Sjan-dehk’s ears. Its words sounded playful. Amused, even, as if it knew something he didn’t. But that didn’t bother him. How could it? Here on this beach, he was at peace. Here, he was in harmony with both self and world. Here, he was untroubled. Unburdened. Safe. How could he be disturbed by something as trivial, and as transient as mere words? 

He closed his eyes and breathed in deep. The familiar sea-air, heavy with brine and refreshing, filled his nose. Sun-baked sand warmed his feet. A smile played on his lips. Only then did he offer the whispering breeze his response, a single nod.

Except he didn’t. Not entirely.

Hesitation tripped him at the very last moment, and his nod turned into a mere jerk of his head. The corners of his lips fell. His brows furrowed. Confusion gathered like storm clouds in his mind. From them, uncertainty rained. All of this felt strange. Alien. Wrong. To join one’s ancestors and one’s Deities on the Long Voyage towards the Eternal Horizon; to wander the Everlasting Sea for all time, such a thing was the highest honour and best reward any Jafin could hope to earn after a life well-lived. 

So why had he hesitated? Why was he so unsure?

A ghostly laugh danced around his head. Coy tittering brushed against his neck. Tendrils of cold unease tightened around Sjan-dehk’s heart. His mouth dried. His breaths turned short. Fear made a nest in his gut, but what was it he feared? The whispering breeze swept over his shoulders, its touch like wispy threads of silk. Sjan-dehk wanted to turn around. His mind shouted at him to do so. But his body refused to obey. More giggles teased him. Mocked him.

“Dost thou believest thyself unworthy?”

Whispered. Elegant. Furtive. And yet, like honed daggers, those few words pierced Sjan-dehk to the very core of his being. His eyes snapped open.

And the beach he saw was a different one from before. Its sands were black, its waters churning, and its sky overcast with ominous, dark clouds. Raging pyres burned by the shorelines. Ash rained from above in large flakes. And yet, Sjan-dehk felt nothing. Not on his person. He felt no heat from the flames, and no coarseness from the grey downpour. But he did feel the pounding in his chest. He heard the thumping of his heart in his ears. And when he saw the bloodied corpses lined up before the pyres, he felt the colour drain from his face. Some were already charred. Others, wrapped in shrouds. And a few still writhing, still groaning in agony. Still gasping their dying breaths.

“Poor bastards are rotting alive. Better to just end their suffering and send them on their way. Nothing else we can do. May a kinder world find them.”

Sjan-dehk recognised the hollow, unworldly voice as his own. It came from everywhere. From the sky, from the sea, from the very sand. But not from his own lips. The words were familiar. Not by memory, and not by sound, but by movement. As if his mouth had said such things many, many times before.

He blinked. And the scene changed once more.

Shattered buildings. Torn banners. Bloodstained streets. Thick, black smoke billowed from empty windows and doorways. Desperate pleas and pathetic cries travelled with the howling wind. Behind them followed distant cracks of rifles. The dead laid where they had fallen. Slumped against walls. Collapsed upon each other in gruesome piles. Sprawled amidst their own filth on the ground. All were dressed similarly. Their clothes, their hats, their shoes, all were of the same make, in the same colours. They were in [/i]uniform[i], an army defeated. But Sjan-dehk could see no arms.

“We can’t afford to take prisoners, but we can’t leave them, either. So we’ve no choice. Take care of them, make it quick, and we’ll still be able to leave in time.”

Once again, the voice was his own, but not from him. Once again, the words were uncomfortably familiar, yet strange. They were firm. Resolute. Tinted with regret. Unease tightened its grip around his heart, and he swallowed the lump growing in his throat. He had condemned countless lives with those words. But he hadn’t a choice, had he? Such things happened in war.

He blinked again. 

An ocean of mud, endless and featureless, greeted his eyes. Murky puddles collected in craters. Mounds of wet earth rose out of the ground like frozen waves. Rain fell from dark clouds. And just like before, Sjan-dehk could see the heavy droplets, but felt none of it on his person. He could see torn and tattered standards and ensigns fluttering from broken flagpoles, but felt no wind. Discarded rifles, swords, spears, and all manners of arms sank into the mire, but he felt nothing beneath his feet. Just like before, he felt his blood run cold when he saw corpses, half-buried in the mud. Their mouths were open in screams. Their eyes, wide in terror. And their limbs, twisted in a futile struggle without end.

“We all saw what they did. No mercy. No prisoners. Let them be a warning to their fellows.”

Enraged. Vengeful. Almost feral. Sjan-dehk almost didn’t recognise the snarling words as his own. Shivers ran down his back. The lump in his throat threatened to choke him. How many more had he killed with such words? But it had been for the best, hadn’t it? That was what everyone told him. That was what he told himself. Such warnings convinced others to surrender. Such warnings prevented battle. It had all been done to save lives. That was all Sjan-dehk had wanted.

“It’s just like you to come up with these excuses.”

This voice was new. It wasn’t the whispering breeze. It wasn’t Sjan-dehk’s. But it was one he knew. One he knew far, far too well. And one he had hoped to never hear again. He spun around to face it. Mud roiled and churned before his eyes. It rose like a pillar. Parts of it sloughed off. Parts of it moulded itself, shaped itself until it looked vaguely human. Then it squeezed, and pinched, and shifted until features appeared. A mischievous smirk. Upturned eyes. A deep scar on the left cheek.

Sjan-dehk stumbled back. The figure’s flesh was the colour of mud. His eyes, blank. The bones of his destroyed chest, little more than sticks of earth. But with those few details, and that voice, Sjan-dehk knew exactly who he was. The strength in his muscles disappeared. Terror rooted him in place. And as the man of mud stepped towards him, Sjan-dehk could only think of one thing.

He was already dead. And it was Sjan-dehk who had killed him.

“Did it make you feel better brother? To kill me twice?”

The figure’s mouth didn’t move, but Sjan-dehk’s heard his voice in his head. Every word, every syllable echoed endlessly. More than anything, he wanted to run. He wanted to flee from this place, but his body wouldn’t move. It couldn’t move. A shout, a scream, just a cry for help, for mercy, grew in his throat. His lips quavered, and just as they were about to part, he felt a pair of ghostly hands on his shoulders. They pulled him back sharply, knocking the breath from his lungs.

And then, he was back on the beach. The first one. The one with calm waters, and blue skies. The one which had granted him peace. Peace which he now didn’t feel. His shoulders heaved with his breaths. His legs gave out, and he dropped to his knees. Soft sand cushioned his fall, but he didn’t feel it. The breeze returned, brushing over his shoulders. It swirled and coalesced, until they felt like cold fingers resting upon him, but he didn’t feel them. Another breeze swept across his back. It tickled like wispy threads of silk. But Sjan-dehk didn’t feel it. 

All he could do was stare at the horizon, which was now shrouded entirely in mist. 

The whispering breeze cooed into his ear. 

“Dost thou believest thyself worthy?”

Sjan-dehk swallowed hard. He tried to steady his breath as best as he could.

[color=1E90FF]“I don’t know,”[/color] he rasped.[/i]

And then he awoke.[/hider][/center]
[hr]
[center]

[img]https://fontmeme.com/permalink/220927/23fb834f443fddf069b302a80ffae13a.png[/img]
[img]https://fontmeme.com/permalink/220927/713c9ea7f90a3bccf2680492bc93671a.png[/img]
[img]https://fontmeme.com/permalink/220928/bcf4c8fb894d886cf1f86d12d903935e.png[/img]

[color=1E90FF][b]Time[/b]: Morning[/color]
[color=1E90FF][b]Location[/b]: The Range[/color]
[color=1E90FF][b]Interactions[/b]: [/color]
[color=1E90FF][b]Mentions[/b]: [/color]
[color=1E90FF][b]Attire[/b]: [hider]
[url=https://i.postimg.cc/8z5xjhFf/b73aac48-9c15-4c53-9289-37731ac8aace.png](Placeholder until I get a better reference image)[/url]
Roughspun, blue trousers
A shoulder belt and waist belt carrying his equipment
Two swords and two pistols, one on either side
A woven, conical hat wide enough to shade his entire face
Lamellar armour: Cuirass, tassets, armguards[/hider][/color]
[/center]
A sharp, resounding crack sliced through the cold, morning air. Solid wood kicked against Sjan-dehk’s shoulder. Off in the distance – roughly a hundred paces across the field of Sorian’s range – the upper-left corner of a rectangular, wooden slab burst into splinters, matching it with the other three. The painting of a person brushed haphazardly on its centre, however, was markedly untouched. 

Sjan-dehk huffed, his nostrils flaring. He clicked his tongue and brought the rifle in his hands down to his waist, its smoking muzzle still pointed towards the target. [color=1E90FF][i]“That makes three,”[/i][/color] he groused. 

Beside him, Mursi peered through a spyglass. He hesitated for a moment, then grimaced. [i]“Maybe the sights are still misaligned. I can–”[/i]

[color=1E90FF][i]“Don’t bother,”[/i][/color] Sjan-dehk interrupted and shook his head. He had enough experience with such things to know when a weapon was at fault, and when fault laid with the person using it. In this case, he knew for certain that it was a case of the latter.. A muted and frustrated sigh left his lips, and he stood his rifle upright on the ground, hand wrapped around the forestock and still-warm barrel. [color=1E90FF][i]“Just one of those days, I guess, where I’m especially terrible.”[/i][/color]

And the reason what that was so, was clear to him

He had been awoken by a nightmare earlier that morning, one which had shocked him so much that he had almost fallen out of his cot. And while he couldn’t recall every detail, and what little he did remember wasn’t anything more than vague sounds and scenes, the feelings that nightmare had evoked – the unease, the discomfort, the disquiet – stubbornly clung to corners of his mind. Sjan-dehk had tried to clear his head of them, of course, but even after busying himself far more than he needed to with [i]Sada Kurau[/i]’s morning routines, they refused to leave. Preparing for a morning of rifle practice failed to serve as a distraction as well. Even now, as he looked at the results of his poor marksmanship, those lingering traces of his nightmare whispered to him from where they hid in his mind. 

[i]“Captain,”[/i] a voice called to him.

Sjan-dehk shook his head, blinked a few times, and turned around. Kai-dahn, the commander of [i]Sada Kurau[/i]’s detachment of Seaborne, stood before him. Dour-faced, with severe features and a demeanour to match, Kai-dahn was an anomaly amongst Sada Kurau’s crew. Still, Sjan-dehk considered him to be a welcome presence. No matter how skilled, or how experienced the crew, a disciplinarian who believed in doing things by the book was always good to have. That Kai-dahn was a capable leader, good soldier, and fierce fighter was simply a bonus. 

Kai-dahn snapped to a salute. Sjan-dehk responded in kind. [i]“I’ve already addressed the men and given them their orders. Do you have anything you wish to say to them?”[/i]

[color=1E90FF][i]“Yes,”[/i][/color] Sjan-dehk replied, then looked over to the two dozen men assembled in neat ranks. All of them were dressed for battle – lamellar cuirasses over blue tunics, leather pouches and satchels hanging from waist belts, wide-brimmed hats tied securely to their heads, and rifles behind their shoulders. Each of their faces was a strange mix of young and old. Their complexions spoke of youth, but the depth in their eyes, and the way they carried themselves, betrayed their status as veterans of countless battles. Be it at sea or on land, they had followed Sjan-dehk into battle time and time again.

[center][i]“Dost thou believest thyself worthy?”[/i][/center]

A quiet, ethereal voice whispered in Sjan-dehk’s head. He quickly pushed it away and did his best to pretend he hadn’t heard anything. [color=1E90FF][i]“I suppose you all saw that?”[/i][/color] He asked and jerked a thumb towards the target at which he had been shooting. A few nods went through the ranks. [color=1E90FF][i]“Try not to do that, and you’ll be fine for today,”[/i][/color] Sjan-dehk added with a smirk. Some of the men laughed, but a stern look from Kai-dahn silenced them. In turn, Sjan-dehk glanced at the Commander of Seaborne, and he relented. [color=1E90FF][i]“But just to be absolutely clear, whether we like it or not, we’re representing the Commonwealth while we’re out here, so I expect everyone to be on their best behaviour.”[/i][/color]

A memory of the previous night popped into Sjan-dehk’s head. Stratya had told him that firearms weren’t as common here as they were in the Commonwealth. [color=1E90FF][i]“There might be locals curious about what we’re doing, but don’t worry about them. Just do what you’re supposed to do. If they try to talk to you, you don’t have to reply if you don’t want to, but just try to be polite. I’d rather not clean up after one of your messes today like I had to last night.”[/i][/color] He looked at one particular man. [color=1E90FF][i]“Isn’t that right, Yehn-tai?”[/i][/color]

[i]“Don’t worry, Captain,”[/i] Yehn-tain called back. [i]“We won’t understand what they’re saying, anyway.”[/i]

Sjan-dehk nodded, then looked at Kai-dahn. [color=1E90FF][i]“All yours, Commander.”[/i][/color]

Kai-dahn saluted once more before barking orders at the men. As they broke ranks to get into their firing detachments, Sjan-dehk hefted the rifle in his hands and looked at the target once more. He clenched his jaw, and returned to the firing line. He didn’t have to try again. There was no need for him to; he could just sit back and let Kai-dahn and Mursi handle everything until it was time to return to [i]Sada Kurau[/i]. But he couldn’t leave things as they were. 

With deft actions that came with practice, Sjan-dehk reloaded the weapon. He half-cocked the hammer, swung open the breechblock, took out a cartridge, pushed the paper cylinder into the breech, swung the block back into place, and clicked the hammer into position. Simple. He barely even needed to think about it, and it was done in less than a quarter-of-a-minute. He shouldered the rifle, and lined the sights up with the target in the distance. It blurred and sharpened. He drew in a deep breath.

[center][i]“Dost thou believest thyself worthy?”[/i][/center]

The voice whispered again, and only now did Sjan-dehk recognise it from his nightmare. He clenched his jaw and held his breath. Whether he was worthy or not – whatever that meant – was unimportant. The things he had done, he did not because he wanted to, but because he had no choice. Did it make him a bad person? Maybe. But what did it matter if he was? He did his duty, he kept himself, his crew, and his ship alive. That was all that mattered. Everything else was irrelevant. 

He pulled the trigger. The rifle cracked and kicked against his shoulder. Through the dissipating smoke, he looked at the target.

Dead centre.