*Goodie bags contain various generic goods. Some herbal oils, greeting cards, small chocolates, as well as any particular trinket or item your specific character may be interested in receiving. PM me for details.

As the sun dipped below the horizon, casting the first shades of twilight, carriages began to roll into the heart of Pinebrook. The comforting clatter of hooves against the earth and the soft murmurs of noble guests eager for the camping retreat filled the crisp evening air. As the carriages arrived, the guests were greeted by the warm glow of lanterns scattered across the campsite.

Set amidst towering trees that seemed to stretch endlessly into the night sky, the campsite was a breathtaking sight to behold. A large, circular pavilion stood at the center, its warm lights casting a golden glow over the scene. The pavilion housed beautifully arranged tables, where guests would gather later to dine under the stars. Surrounding the pavilion were elegant tents, each one illuminated by soft lanterns that gave the area an almost magical feel. These tents were thoughtfully arranged in a semi-circle around a central fire pit, where logs and wooden chairs waited to invite guests for a cozy fireside evening.

In the center of the camp, the crackling fire pit provided warmth and a rustic charm, with comfortable chairs and benches circling the flames. The air smelled of burning wood and fresh pine, heightening the serene atmosphere of the forested retreat. Above them, a full moon hung in the sky, casting a silver glow through the branches, and the twinkling stars seemed to dance in the deep night.

The guests were welcomed by camp staff, each dressed in simple yet neat attire. Among them, one particular staff member stood out: a man with brown hair, who might seem vaguely familiar to those who had known Darryn Fletcher. His features were eerily similar—especially the scar running across his neck. Some might wonder if this could be a relative, or perhaps something more mysterious, as the resemblance was uncanny enough to draw whispers from those who recognized him.

As the campers stepped out of their carriages, their senses were immediately greeted by the blend of nature’s tranquil beauty and the subtle luxury curated by the royal family for this special event. The evening was just beginning, and already, the magic of Pinebrook’s Courting Season Camping Event was in full bloom.

Soon, two senior camp staffers hurriedly approached with bright, welcoming smiles. The first, a bubbly young woman with a mass of curly auburn hair, waved enthusiastically at the guests as they descended. Her green eyes sparkled with excitement, and she adjusted her forest-green tunic before calling out, “Welcome to Pinebrook, everyone! We are so excited to have you here!” Her cheerful voice carried easily across the campsite.

Beside her, a tall, gangly young man with tousled blonde hair and round spectacles tried his best to look official while nervously clutching a clipboard. He offered a bashful grin, his cheeks flushed as he spoke up, “Yes, yes! We’ll be getting started just as soon as everyone’s gathered. In the meantime, feel free to stretch your legs and take in the beauty of Pinebrook.” He gestured awkwardly around him, clearly not as accustomed to the role as his counterpart.

The woman beamed and clapped her hands together. “Once everyone gathers 'round, we’ll start handing out your tent assignments! And,” she added with a playful wink, “you’ll be assigned your partner for the evening. So stay close! It’s going to be an unforgettable night!” The two exchanged a quick look of shared excitement before guiding the guests towards the pavilion with friendly gestures.

Time: Evening - 5pm - 2 hours before timeskip at 7
Location: Vikena Estate

In the cozy glow of the drawing room, Charlotte and Olivia sat comfortably on a red leather couch. The dark wood-paneled room, with its grand fireplace flickering softly, had always been one of Charlotte’s favorite places to seek refuge in. On the mahogany coffee table before them was an array of delicacies, prepared by Gilbert. Warm meat pies and flaky pigs in a blanket were available, finger sandwiches filled with cucumber and smoked salmon, slices of sponge cake, and scones with raspberry preserves.

Still in the elegant lace dress she had worn to the party, Charlotte sat comfortably, holding one of the pigs in a blanket. She took a bite and suddenly giggled, "You know, I think I could eat these little things all day. “

Olivia sat beside Charlotte in a white blouse and tan pants. Her boots laid idly on the floor near her. Any food provided to her was immediately eaten. She struggled to slow down eating still– usually, if she didn’t finish it, a stray animal or nearby homeless people would. Besides the food being the best thing she’d ever tasted, Liv had to keep pausing so she didn’t make herself sick. She nodded in agreement to Charlie offhandedly and smiled widely.

“My girls,” Delilah’s affectionate voice broke through as she came up behind the couch, wrapping her arms around both Charlotte and Olivia with a warm smile. “I am going to make some more tea before the guests arrive.” She placed a gentle kiss on Charlotte’s head before letting go and heading toward the kitchen.

“Thank you, Delilah!” Charlotte called after her, then turned to Olivia with a reassuring smile. “I hope you’re not too nervous. I know it can be a bit daunting that Prince Wulfric is coming, but truly, he’s not as intimidating as he seems. “ She then leaned in closer, her eyes wide with mock seriousness, “And if he is, well, I shall distract him with one of these. ”

Olivia smiled at Delilah and moved her hands up to hug the woman’s arm back. ”Thank you so much! You’re the f… fricken best!” She giggled and turned back to Charlie. Upon Wulfrics name being mentioned, she averted her gaze. She swung her legs a bit more rapidly now and glanced at her. ”....I’ll take your word for it. I’ve never really spoken to him so I’m going to be quiet if possible….” She quickly began eating as the idea of meeting the future crowned king consumed her thoughts. The spell came to mind and in her haste, was unable to speak due to food in her mouth. She glanced at Charlie and unexpectedly voiced the thoughts telepathically. Her nose became red at the tip and she brought a napkin to her face to hide it.

What if I embarrass myself? Or Charlie and the Vikena estate? What if he thinks I’m a pig?

Charlotte gave her a warm, comforting smile, then gently took the napkin in her hand. She then dabbed at the corners of Olivia’s mouth, giving her nose a friendly boop at the end. Olivia smiled warmly back at Charlotte and giggled. She managed to clean up the remaining dribbles, tossed it out, and then busied herself with food rapidly.

A knock suddenly filled the air cutting through their moment like a knife through butter. Hastily, Charlotte got to her feet and made her way over to the door.

Said knock would come in a thunderous, yet rhythmetic and energetic pattern of tat-tat-tat…tat-tat-tat-tatatata-..tap! A knock too sharp for knuckles, but of harder material. Drawing closer to the door, Charlotte could hear a muffled jolly hum. A foreboding sign almost telling her turn back.

For, upon the door’s opening, the poor unassuming lady would receive a smackful of some kind of fluffy cloth and for a brief moment, one might have mistaken the smiling figure as a grinning orange with the overwhelming bright orange exhuming off the man’s rather..interesting suit.

And what a gloriously dazzling suit it was at that! With such impeccable design and intricacies of the large flashy bow which only further illuminated the mustachioed individual’s wide toothy grin. Appearing manic almost for a second beneath the betraying tricks of the shadows on those familiar bright chocolate almond eyes twinkling with knowing cheeky delight.

He merely stood posing, looking to the right as if noticing something on his shoulder, in that sea of fluff. Loud visible rustling from a quick dusting flick of the shoulder from his left hand, right gingerly clutching the hawk shaped cane. A gentle craning of the neck, turning his attention to the lady at the door; doing so causing the huge crown of feathery fronds to bounce atop the towering hat somehow staying put, nearly slapping any who dared ventured too close.” Gr-r-r-r-r-eetings and salutations…” A twirling pause of the mustache. “This may perchance be the detective meeting, yes?” He asked with boisterous enthusiasm matching the suit.

Charlotte was flabbergasted,eyes widening as she took in the sight before her. Kazumin's outfit was beyond anything she had ever seen. Her hand instinctively flew to her mouth to stifle a laugh, but the mirth in her eyes was unmistakable.

“Oh wow...” she managed to breathe out, her tone full of awe. Her gaze lingered on the extravagant hat, the feathers practically begging for attention. Without thinking, she took a small step forward, her curiosity getting the better of her.
“May I... may I touch the feather?” she asked, her tone almost childlike in its wonder. Her fingers hovered just above the flamboyant plume, the urge to feel its softness too strong to resist.

Charlotte’s childlike reaction widened his grin, who, nary a response bowed his head forward “They would be delighted to tickle our sweet hostess's hands!” Chuckled Kazu, holding the pose while his friend had her fill.

Once finished, he stood back up, where he would take a big whiff, drinking in the aroma of delicious treats just within. “Ah, with such fetching delight, one can already feel the mind whirring. Mystery and murder afoul!” Spinning in place shoving the cane skyward in dramatic flair. Lo, to such dismay, his stomach rumbled in a volume pushing comfort. ”ahem *cough* apologies. Much is to be discussed, but on an empty stomach, I’m afraid not (foregoing the need to mention having had pudding prior). If I may, miss?” Motioning towards the doorway, requestion permission; faints sounds of snickering just beneath the mustache or perhaps just the hair tickling his nose.

“Please make yourself at home…” She stepped to the side to allow him entry and added with a giggle, “There’s some snacks in the drawing room. Liv is standing guard as our snack protector!” Charlotte had been about to follow suit inside, however, it seemed someone else was approaching the Vikena estate as well.

Leo and Fritz stumbled up to the door next. Or rather Leo was stumbling and he kept such a tight grip on Fritz’s shoulder that he kept dragging the Count around with him. The several cups of coffee he’d been given during his short stint in a holding cell had done little to sober him up. Leo was in an unusual state of disarray; his suit was wrinkled, his shirt half-buttoned with a light splatter of blood, his jacket torn at the sleeve, and a black eye. The scent of the smokey Gambling and Games Hall clung to him, but the scent of alcohol was overpowering.

“Defec-detect-DETECTIVE VIKENA!” He half mumbled, half shouted once he spotted Lottie. “Reportingferinvestigatshuns.” Leo added, offering no explanation for his sloppy stupor. He let go of Fritz and threw himself, stumbling, into the doorway. Leo clung to the doorway for a moment, waiting for things to stop spinning, before making it inside.

Charlotte had initially beamed when she saw Fritz and Leo approaching. Her arms opened wide, ready to greet them with a warm embrace, but her joy quickly gave way to concern as Leo’s disheveled state became clear. Her heart leaped into her throat as her eyes caught sight of the blood splattered across his shirt. Her steps quickened, and she rushed to his side just as he stumbled forward, wrapping an arm securely under his to catch him.

“Leo!” she gasped, her voice filled with both shock and worry. “Is that blood?” Her eyes widened in alarm as she shot a bewildered glance toward Fritz, silently asking for some kind of explanation. Without waiting for an answer, Charlotte’s focus shifted back to Leo, her voice softening but her actions still urgent. “What happened? You’re scaring me.” She gently but firmly tried to guide him toward the drawing room toward the couches. She then called out, “Olivia, can you please fetch some cold water from the kitchen?”

“I think…maybe…I’m drunk.” Leo said, like it was a shocking revelation, as he was corralled into the drawing room. A room that contained the most extravagant hat he’d ever seen. “Whoa!” Was all he could muster as his eyes widened at Kazu’s outfit. His hand reached out to swat at the feathers and he nearly toppled over at the sudden movement. He looked at Charlotte again, “I didn’teven drink today. Pranked! I like this-un.”

The mustached Kazumin had been comfortably partaking of the delightful snacks with cookies dipped in cocoa when all the commotion began. The sudden noise nearly made him jump in shock as he unknowingly dipped faster, the panicked excitement hitting him as he witnessed Charlotte help another drag what seemed to an injured gentleman.

A ruffling upper tilt of the body as all the frills and feathers did partially obscured his view; surprised to find the two familiar faces.

As Olive had been tasked to fetch water, he had downed his drink and gobbled the cookie before attempting to get to his feet to aid. Only to feel hands fluffing with his feathers and heard the drunken Leo’s comment towards them. A quick wiggle of the nose to hide a covered snort, wishing he could laugh, but even this chaos-loving imp wasn’t that inconsiderate, certainly not with blood evidently involved.

With the quiet efficiency of someone accustomed to managing drunks, Ryn gently took Lord Smithwoods’s elbow and steered him towards the plush couch. “Easy there, my friend,” he murmured. “Let’s get you settled, shall we?” The lord mumbled something incomprehensible but allowed himself to be steered. Ryn eased him down onto the cushions, carefully arranging Lord Smithwood’s limbs so he wouldn’t slide off.

Once the man was safely horizontal, Ryn straightened up and met Lady Charlotte’s worried gaze, questions clearly dancing on the tip of her tongue. He stepped closer. “When I went to collect Lord Smithwood, he wasn’t at the guest house,” he began. “So I asked around and traced him to the Gambling and Games Hall, where I discovered our friend had taken up temporary residence in their holding cell.” Lady Charlotte had cast Ryn a bewildered glance at that.

What Ryn left unsaid was the utter chaos Lord Smithwood had caused at the hall and that he had to bail the inebriated lord out because the nobleman had gambled away every last coin on his person.

It was at that moment the prince made his entrance. Having caught Count Hendrix’s briefing, he took one look at Leo, and declared: “Concerning.” He approached Lady Vikena, and offered the hostess a courteous bow, as he greeted with a, “Good evening.” Ignoring issues of lesser concern, he relayed several instructions. “If you have not yet, I recommend procuring for Lord Leo cold water, to be applied to the head with a towel, an ice pack for the eye, and a bucket just in case,” he recited, familiar with the general procedure from his younger siblings’ drunken stints. “Do you employ a physician or shall I call on one?” he inquired.

“Fizzishun?” Leo barely repeated the word but his expression made it clear he found the suggestion ridiculous. “Nah.” He added, shaking his head.

Time: Evening
Location: Pinebrooks
Interactions:
Mentions:

---

For the rest of the day, John never left the guest house. While he would greet guests and interact normally, and the official excuse was because of a staff's medical conditions, he laid low while his staff went through what went wrong. While they were right that the assassins were striking, they didn't really expect it to be a scare with magical properties. John was a little bit to blame too for being so brazen, but everyone had a progressive mindset. No blaming, focusing on solutions. They worked on finding who this perfumer was. They should hopefully get a lead soon.

In the meantime, there were other troubling news. Roman was being summoned for a trial for what happened, along with other Varian nobles. This had the potential problems with what Frederick did the other night. Farim had said to him he wasn't going to be quiet about it. The Society was now beginning to link up with other Varian institutes and even some Caesonian entities to discuss the solutions to this. They reassured John that things will be fine, and that while it had the potential to cause massive problems, this would be a good show of force to the Caesonian nobles. John found it difficult to be so relaxed though.

Throughout the entire carriage ride to Pinebrooks, he kept thinking about Roman's trial. But once he was there, his tension got off a little bit. Maybe they had it under control after all and he was overthinking it. He was supposed to be here to have some peace and quiet, maybe to be courted, but that seemed far fetched. He even doubted his own seriousness when it comes to finding women of his love, but that was the least of his concern.

When the camp staffers welcomed him and offered to be optionally partnered up, John nonchalantly gave a yes to that. He didn't really care. He wandered off to enjoy the mesmerizing blanket of orange. The glowing light went a long way to make John less worried about what was to come.

---

It wasn’t easy being a privateer in the Commonwealth. Becoming one, as Sjan-dehk had heard from a few former associates, was even harder. Prospective privateers, from what he had been told, were subject to a litany of checks into their histories and characters that left few stones unturned right from the moment they submitted their applications for a Sea Marque – a document which sanctioned its bearer to take offensive actions on the Commonwealth’s behalf. If they passed that, they would then have to undergo a barrage of tests and interviews – and pass them – before they were accepted into the Commonwealth’s service.

From start to finish, the process didn’t actually take much time. It was simply very taxing on a person. Little wonder, then, that most of those former associates whom Sjan-dehk had known were former privateers, or those who gave up on their applications. Joining the actual Navy, they had told him, was quicker and much more straightforward.

Sjan-dehk could see the sense behind such measures, however. A privateer, after all, was someone who was given the same powers as a Navy ship, but without any of the training. The Commonwealth would be if it didn’t properly vet those who wished to sail under the Braided Dragon as private individuals. The seas would be awash with unruly mobs flying the Commonwealth flag, otherwise. Such a thing simply could not be allowed to happen.

Caesonia, Sjan-dehk assumed, would be no different.

And so, soon after dropping off most of his weapons and all of his armour aboard Sada Kurau – and while he was there, he collected a few documents he thought would be useful – Sjan-dehk set about looking for whatever place it was that handled the recruitment of privateers in Sorian.

That didn’t take him long, or much effort, to achieve; a few stilted conversations with the dockworkers who serviced the ships adjacent to Sada Kurau directed him towards a two-storied building that was wider than it was tall. Nestled within a row of blocky, brick-built warehouses and workshops, the walls of white plaster, the shingled roofs gently sloping towards the waterfront, and the well-furnished veranda stretching before a pair of carved, wooden doors made the building stand out like a tree amidst an ocean. Sjan-dehk would never have assumed it to serve any sort of official purpose, if he had to be honest. If anything, the building looked more like one of the homes he had seen lining the streets closest to the castle.

“Fancy seein’ you here, Cap’n.”

The voice that called out to Sjan-dehk as he stepped onto the veranda was that of a girl, and was one that was familiar. It was also one that he hadn’t expected to hear. He stopped, and looked to his left. Aislin, the flaxen-haired fishergirl, looked back at him from her seat at a round table towards the end of the veranda, right by the waist-high fence which wrapped around it. She waved to him, a friendly smile gracing her lips but not quite reaching her eyes. Curious, Sjan-dehk made his way through the sparse crowd to her.

“Ai-seh-lehn, good afternoon,” he greeted with a nod. The fishergirl was dressed in more-or-less the exact same manner as she usually was whenever Sjan-dehk saw her: an off-white blouse blotched with the red and brown stains of her work, a laced bodice, and skirts with frayed hems. She had tied her hair into a pair of loose, messy tails trailing down her back. Wispy strands tickled her cheeks and brow.

There were three others with Aislin at the table: one woman, and two men. Sjan-dehk didn’t recognise any of them, and they seemed more interested in whatever game of cards they were playing, than him. “This is a…This is place for fighting ships, yes?” He continued to address Aislin. “Why are you here?”

“Thinkin’ o’ a change in careers, ‘tis so,” Aislin replied drily, but quickly shook her head. “‘Twas a joke, aye ‘twas so. Some o’ my folk ‘ave been runnin’ intae more pirates as of late. More than the usual fare, aye ‘tis so. So I came ‘ere tae put in a report an’ see if I can get any ‘elp, aye I did.” She let out a long sigh. “‘Twas a bloody waste o’ my time, as always.”

Sjan-dehk frowned. Something didn’t feel right. Barely two days had passed since Sada Kurau and he had sailed to the rescue of one of Aislin’s fellow fisherfolk. At the time, nothing – neither anything he had seen or heard, nor anything Aislin had done or mentioned – had indicated to him that whatever he experienced was beyond the ordinary for these waters. And yet he was to believe that, within the short span between then and now, there was enough of an increase in pirate activity to be noticeable? Sjan-dehk couldn’t help but find it a touch implausible.

But, he didn’t have much reason to distrust Aislin. She had no reason to lie to him; not over something like this. And it wasn’t as if she was even asking for his help. Besides, he knew nothing about how Caesonian pirates behaved or operated. For all he knew, their escalations were far more sudden and violent than that of those who prowled Viserjantan waters.

“How many more?” He asked. “Maybe I can help?”

“Enough tae be worried about,” Aislin replied. Then, she looked up at him with a mirthless smile. “Cheers fae the offer, Cap’n. An’ I really appreciate it, aye I do, but you’re still just one boat and one man at the end o’ it all, ‘tis so, ‘tis so. I cannae keep askin’ you fae ‘elp every time Young Tom gets ‘imself in trouble, nae I cannae.” She paused, her eyes widening slightly as if she recalled something important. “Oh, an’ speakin’ o’ ‘im, Young Tom asked me tae pass on ‘is thanks. ‘E says ‘e owes you and your crew a drink, aye.”

“Not needed. It was not trouble,” Sjan-dehk replied with a wave of his hand. He didn’t think that his actions that day deserved so much praise. He also had more pressing questions he wanted to ask. “So you come here, you ask for help…” He trailed off, brow furrowing. “And they will not help?”

“I’ll tell you what I told Ash,” the woman at the table cut in. Her words were clipped, and her voice carried a sour tinge to it. Though the lower half of her face was hidden behind the fan of cards she held in her hand, Sjan-dehk could easily picture the frown that must be on her face. The tattered, dark coat she wore was in stark contrast to her fair complexion and soft features, though the sternness in her frigid, blue eyes as she gazed over the tops of her cards spoke of anything but softness. A single, red streak ran through her hair, its vivid hue bright against her loose, mahogany tresses.

The woman plucked a card from her hand, leaned forward, and tossed it onto a pile of similar cards in the middle of the table. “It’s not that we won’t. We can’t. Not without getting into trouble, at least.” She lowered her cards, revealing a scowl cutting across her sun-spotted face.

That only left more questions in Sjan-dehk’s head. And once again, the woman spoke before he could get a word in. “Anyway,” she continued. “Are you going to sit or what? My legs are getting tired just seeing you standing there all statue-like.”

It was only then did Sjan-dehk remember that he had come here for a reason. He hefted the small stack of documents he had tucked under his arm. “I am here to join–”

“To join up with us eclectic lot?” This time, it was one of the men who interrupted him. Sjan-dehk drew in a deep breath and pursed his lips. He wasn’t too fond of this emerging pattern. Nevertheless, he responded with a nod. The man looked at him with a friendly smile across his face, and a shine in his dusky, deep-set eyes. His boyish countenance and unkempt head of sandy curls gave him a youthful air, but the prominent lines around his cheeks, the crow’s feet pulling at his eyes, and the hints of grey tinting the ends of his hair betrayed his age. “I would advise you wait for a while, stranger,” he continued, using the cards in his hand to point towards the building. “The staff of our Privateer’s Office are an industrious lot, but even they would be hard-pressed to see you right now with the deluge they’re facing.”

Sjan-dehk followed the man’s gesture with his eyes until he looked through the Office’s doors. Or at least, he tried to. The dense crowd within had started to trickle out onto the veranda, and all he could see was a forest of people, packed so tightly that it was a wonder any of them could even fidget. Frustrated murmurs and angry grumbles filled the air. Sweat clung to skins in glistening sheens, and glued clothes and matted hairs to bodies.

“Poor chaps are probably working themselves to the bone trying to keep up,” the man went on. He placed his cards face-down on the table, twisted around, and dragged an empty chair over to the space between himself and Aislin. The rolled-up sleeves of his white shirt revealed forearms covered in faded tattoos from wrist to elbow. There were pictures of animals, of cards not unlike those on the table, and various numbers and words which Sjan-dehk recognised as Caesonian. Their meaning, however, remained a mystery.

The man patted the seat of the chair. “I suspect you might be waiting for quite some time, stranger. Better to wait whilst enjoying this fine summer’s day with company, wouldn’t you agree?”

“‘E’s right, Cap’n,” Aislin chimed in. “I cannae see the office folk gettin’ tae you anytime soon.”

Sjan-dehk hesitated, looking at the crowd once more with a frown. He would have much preferred to settle this privateering business as quickly as possible, but that wasn’t likely to happen. Nothing about the crowd had changed. If anything, it had gotten even worse as people tried to squeeze and force their way into the Office, and newcomers continued to arrive. Why anyone would see such a mess and choose to join it, he didn’t know, but he did know that he had no desire to suffer such discomfort. And so, with a resigned sigh, he pushed his hat back to let it hang by its chin-strap on his back, and took the offered seat. His weapons clattered loudly against the chair as he sat down.

“My, you’re a well-prepared chap, aren’t you?” The man quipped with a grin. He wiped a hand on his dark trousers and extended it to Sjan-dehk. “Olivier Bellamy,” he introduced himself. “Captain of the Heyday. A pleasure to make your acquaintance, Mister…?”

“Wasun Sjan-dehk,” Sjan-dehk picked up where Olivier trailed off. He accepted the man’s hand and gave it a firm shake. “Captain of Sada Kurau.”

Olivier beamed. “Charmed, Captain. Do pardon me if I’m unable to properly enunciate such exotic names, however. My Caesonian tongue is far less travelled than my person.” He grinned and picked up one of his cards, barely glancing at it before flicking it onto the pile. “Allow me the pleasure of introducing my fellows, Captain,” he said and gestured towards the woman with an open hand. “That fair maiden over there is our dear Evelyn Vane–”

“Call me that again, Ollie, and I’ll cut your tongue out,” she interrupted, her voice perfectly nonchalant, as if this was something she said daily. She didn’t even look up from her cards. “And Evie will do.”

“–Captain of the Stars at Dawn.” Olivier continued as if she hadn’t said a thing. He swept his arm across to the other man, seated to the right of Evie. A brown eyepatch sat over this man’s left eye, covering much of a deep scar that cut like a jagged valley from his brow to the middle of his cheek. A tangled mess of black hair, scraggly and coarse like dried seaweed, concealed much of his face from view. The cards he held up to his nose hid the rest. “And last, but far from the least, we have our venerable Innokenty Suchik, Captain of the Summerdream.”

Innokenty grunted. He added a card to the pile, but did or said nothing more.

“Don’t mind Inno,” Evie piped up, shooting Innokenty a glare as she flicked a card onto the pile. “Getting a full sentence out of him is harder than pulling teeth.” In a quiet mumble that Sjan-dehk wasn’t sure he was supposed to catch, she added, “I’d know.”

Sjan-dehk ignored the mumbled words – perhaps he had misheard? – and nodded slowly. “Thank you,” he first said to Olivier before looking to the two other Captains in turn. “It is my…No, it is good to meet you. All of you.” Evie met his gaze briefly and shrugged. Innokenty barely reacted.

Placing his documents on his lap, Sjan-dehk tucked out of sight beneath the table. Even if few – if any – of them had sensitive information written or printed on their pages, he still thought it best to keep them away from as many prying eyes as possible. As he waited, his fingers drummed an erratic beat against the hard, coarse paper. Despite himself, he kept looking over his shoulder at the Office’s entrance. And each time, he was greeted by the exact same sight. He saw the same crowd, still dense and static. He saw the same faces, all clouded by annoyances and storming with discontent. Time seemed to slow to a crawl, and it felt as if this wait was truly interminable.

“All this people,” Sjan-dehk began and waved his hand vaguely in the direction of the crowd. “You have so many coming here everyday? All of them, they talk…No, they complain about pirates?”

“It’s usually pirates, yes,” Olivier replied with a nod. “You do have the odd fellow coming here complaining about the weather and the waves and such, as if they were under our control, but those entertaining chaps are rare, sad to say.” He looked up from his cards and at the crowd, his expression darkening slightly. “But these numbers are a few steps above the norm, I would say, even for a noon crowd. Yesterday wasn’t any better, and neither was the day before.” He turned back around to the table. “From what I hear, it all mostly reports of sightings, and not many actual attacks, thank the Gods.” He added a card to the pile. “It’s all so very peculiar. So, so very peculiar, indeed.”

Sjan-dehk nodded slowly, half in understanding of what Olivier had said, and half in agreement. There was at least one piece of good news Sjan-dehk discerned from his words, however. The surge in pirate activity hadn’t been as sudden as what he had initially thought. Also, it seemed like everyone had been caught by surprise by this drastic escalation. It didn’t make the situation any better, but it did bring it back to familiar waters for Sjan-dehk. Caesonian pirates weren’t special. Like those that prowled Viserjantan waters, they couldn’t simply escalate their violence overnight.

From experience, Sjan-dehk knew that most pirates acted either alone, or in small gangs. That meant that it could take weeks or months for news of a good hunting ground to spread, and during that time someone would surely notice that there were pirates congregating in any one specific region. And as much as what some Captains wished to believe, pirates weren’t stupid. They knew that if they were to get too violent, too blatant in their criminality, they would only attract far more attention than they could handle. A good pirate, a pirate who wanted to survive long enough to enjoy their ill-gotten gains, would be one who knew when to strike, when to cower, and when to go on a rampage.

For these Caesonian pirates to act in such a brazen manner was – as Olivier put it – highly peculiar. There were only two reasons Sjan-dehk could think of for their actions. Either they were acting in desperation, or someone was controlling them. Neither were any better than the other. Anything that could push pirates to resort to such drastic action would almost certainly be something that could threaten all of Caesonian. And anyone – be it person or organisation – that could corral the chaos that were pirates into any semblance of an organised force would be someone powerful enough to similarly be a dangerous threat.

Desperation and organisation. Sjan-dehk leaned his head back and huffed, staring at the turquoise awning overhead. Such reasons were behind just about every pirate raid suffered by Viserjantan, be it when it was still a kingdom, still an empire, or now, as the Commonwealth.

Suddenly, his plan of privateering to earn money for Sada Kurau’s upkeep became more complicated than what he would have liked. And yet, it was that very complication that made his heart race with anticipation and excitement. Figuring out how to combat pirates; how to seek and destroy an enemy on the open seas, those were things he knew how to do, and how to do them exceptionally well. He had no business fending off a fleet of pirates – certainly not for Caesonia – but he would be lying if he said that the thought of it, the expectation of the thrill and rush of it, didn’t tempt him.

But, before anything else, there was one question he needed to ask.

He sat upright and looked at Evie. “Just now, you say it is not because you will not help, yes? You say you cannot. Why is that?”

Beside him, Aislin leaned forward with a catlike grin on her face. She rested her elbows on the table, chin on the back of a hand, and a finger entwining itself in one of her tails. “Aye, Evie,” she said with mischief in her eyes. “Please enlight’n myself and the Cap’n ‘ere. Why cannae you lend us smallfolk a hand?”

Evie slapped her cards onto the table and fixed Aislin with an unimpressed glare. “Oh, don’t you start this nonsense again, Ash. I already told you once before, and if you still don’t get it, then it’s not my fault you’re deaf. Or stupid.” Despite the acidic bite of Evie’s words, Aislin continued grinning at her. She even cocked her head, as if she were listening to some interesting story. Evie scowled at her, then shifted her attention to Sjan-dehk. Her gaze softened, and she sighed. “But I guess I’ll repeat myself for your benefit, since it’s clear to even a blind man that you’re not from around here.”

She paused. “Where’re you even from, anyway? I thought you were Kimoonese, but you don’t sound like any Kimoonese I’ve met.”

“An’ ‘ow many o’ those ‘ave you met?” Aislin asked cheekily.

Evie cleared her throat. “A few,” she replied, her voice markedly not as strong as earlier. She then shot the girl a withering glare that evidently had little effect. “Shut up, Ash.”

Sjan-dehk resisted the urge to smirk. The interaction between Evie and Aislin reminded him plenty of how his third brother, Shim-sen, and his first sister, Idah, would speak with each other. Plenty of barbs, burning words, and all laced with cutting undertones, but devoid of any real malice. Sjan-dehk could almost see it now; Shim-sen arguing with logic, Idah slowly driving him mad with nonsensical words. Hara-tahn trying to keep the peace whilst enjoying the show, Sai-jom trying to hide his laughter and failing in the attempt. And Shi, the youngest sister, sitting by the side with words ready to ease the tension should they get too high.

“Well?” Evie’s sharp voice pulled him from his thoughts.

“Apologies,” Sjan-dehk said quickly. “You are correct. I am not Kimoo– Whatever you thought I am. I come from Jafi. Viserjanta.” He made a note to find out more about the people Evie had mentioned. It would be interesting to see just how similar the Kimoonese were to Jafins, if Evie could mistake Sjan-dehk for one.

Evie nodded slowly. “Right,” she began, dragging out the word. “I won’t insult you by pretending like I know any of those places, so let’s move on.” She leaned forward, and for a moment appeared pensive, as if she was carefully considering her next words. But then, she shrugged. “There’s not much else to it, if I’m going to be very honest. We can’t help because our higher-ups won’t let us help. Gods below, we can’t even piss without getting permission from them these days.”

Sjan-dehk furrowed his brow. Evie’s answer only gave him more questions. “They will not let you? I do not understand. Why?”

“See, that’s what ticks me off the most,” Evie said, her voice getting more of an edge. “They didn’t give any of us a reason. They just came in one day and told us everyone ranked five and above has to stay in port and await assignment. Can you bloody believe it?” The confusion on Sjan-dehk’s face told her that no, he couldn’t even if he wanted to. “Ah, right,” Evie continued and scratched the back of her head. “Look, don’t take my word for it, okay? You’ll probably learn more later with whoever you talk to inside, if you choose to join us, anyway. But all of us here have a rank, from one to ten. Everyone starts at one, but it’s not difficult to climb your way up. They’ll even let you jump ranks if you’re good enough.”

Evie paused to catch her breath, and Olivier took the chance to interject. “The ranks don’t mean anything, if I may be so honest. We’re all still equals. The ranks merely help the Office determine what contracts we can take, and what contracts would be either a waste of our abilities, or tantamount to suicide.”

Sjan-dehk nodded, a hand on his chin. From what the two of them told him, Caesonian privateers seemed to be more akin to Commonwealth mercenaries than Commonwealth privateers. The latter, upon acquiring a Sea Marque, would more-or-less be left to their own devices. They might be tasked with assisting a fleet or asked to act in the capacity of an auxiliary ship on occasion, but those were rare exceptions rather than the norm. It didn’t seem like that was the case here, based on what Evie and Olivier were saying.

It was all very interesting information, but just as before, it only led him to more questions. “Your work, the contracts, what do you usually need to do?” He probed.

Evie shrugged. “You name it, we’ve done it. Protecting people like Ash over there, patrolling the sea lanes, escorting merchantmen, hunting pirates, ferrying important people…There was even once Inno over here had to fetch some nobleman’s daughter from a cruise that got a little out-of-hand.” She smirked and jerked a thumb towards the man. As Sjan-dehk had learned to expect, he didn’t react. It didn’t even seem as if he heard Evie’s words. “But yes, we do just about everything.”

“I see.” Sjan-dehk’s face tightened in thought for a brief moment. “Then your navy, what does it do?”

“What do you mean?” Olivier asked.

Sjan-dehk cleared his throat and straightened his back before continuing. “You say that you patrol the sea, you protect ships. You fight pirates, you defend people. You have rank. Your work, you say that it can be assigned, yes? Your superiors, they can order you to stay in port.” He paused and looked at Olivier, then at Evie. He hazarded a glance at Innokenty, who surprisingly met his gaze. “From what you say, it sounds like you do the work of a navy. You are…Arranged? No, organised, you are organised like a navy. So I am curious, your actual navy, the one of Caesonia, what does it actually do, if you do all this work?”

A mirthless smile spread across Olivier’s lips. “You hit it on the head, Captain,” he said. “Now, I don’t claim to be well-versed in matters of law, but to my understanding, the Caesonian Navy considers only external threats to be within their purview. Pirates, as I am sure you will discover, are considered internal threats as far as the law is concerned, and thus given to us privateers to handle.”

“They’re just lazy feckers, ‘tis so,” Aislin grumbled. “Even the city guard’s bet’er than them, an’ that’s sayin’ plenty comin’ frae me, ‘tis so, ‘tis so.”

“But if you ask, they still will not help?” Sjan-dehk asked. “From what you say, it is…It is very possible that there will be a lot of pirates coming soon. Then they, the navy, they must go fight them, no?”

Olivier chuckled and shook his head. “Captain, perhaps it might be easier if you thought of them less as a Caesonian Navy and more of a Royal Navy,” he suggested. “Now, I will admit that it would be remiss of me to imply that they would never sally forth, but it does appear that they are loath to do so unless the King or his family are imperilled, or if it’s the King’s property that’s under threat. Of course, if Caesonia were to get into a proper spot of trouble, then I suspect they would perform their expected duties. But I would imagine that in such a situation, pirates would be the very least of our concerns.”

Sjan-dehk didn’t know how to feel about all that. He didn’t even know where to begin listing everything that was wrong with what Olivier had just said. First of all, the idea that the King had the Caesonian Navy as a personal retinue of sorts was odd. Not unheard of; such a practice had once been common throughout the Viserjantan islands, back when the Commonwealth had been an Empire. But it was certainly strange that an outdated, centuries-old custom could be found to be still alive here, on the other side of an ocean.

Secondly, Sjan-dehk wasn’t too sure what to think about the Caesonian Navy. His immediate reaction was one of revulsion, for what navy – and the people staffing it – would allow themselves to be reduced to such a state? But then he remembered what Kalliope had told him a few days ago, that most sailors in the Navy didn’t even know how to swim, and he added that Olivier’s implication that they would refuse to fight even if asked, which – to Sjan-dehk’s mind – suggested inexperience at best. Cowardice, at worst. Put together, and it gave him a picture of a navy which was really more for show than anything else.

Or perhaps this was merely his Jafin sensibilities being overly-harsh on the Caesonian Navy. A Jafin, after all, was nothing if not a fearless sailor who would always be fain to meet a challenger on the open seas. A fleet that shirked from battle was, therefore, antithesis to Jafin ways. Had this been a Jafin fleet, Sjan-dehk felt certain that his father would have seen its commanders dismissed and its ships scrapped as a mark of disgrace. Sjan-dehk couldn’t say that he would have disagreed with such a punishment.

But amidst all this speculation and guesswork, there was one thing Sjan-dehk felt quite sure of. “So to the people like her–” he gestured to Aislin “–you are the navy.”

“I suppose you could say that,” Evie said with a shrug. “But that’s sad in and of itself, if you ask me. We’re sailing brigs, sloops, snows, and schooners at most. I’m pretty sure Inno’s Summerdream is probably the biggest ship we’ve got, and she wouldn’t even be considered a corvette by the Navy.” Then, she released a long sigh and shook her head. “Well, it doesn’t bloody matter now, I guess. With us high-ranked people stuck in harbour and waiting for fuck-knows-what, the only ones out there doing any work are just kids with gunboats and armed cutters.”

Sjan-dehk nodded slowly. That was indeed a rather dire picture. Gunboats and cutters were single-masted vessels. Small, quick, and easy to use. But they weren’t built for fighting. In many ways, they were maybe just a step up from a typical fishing skiff or dinghy. Hardly the sort of thing one would want when taking on pirates. “Then I can help,” he said, a grin slowly forming on his face. “Sada Kurau, she has thirty-four guns total. That is a good number to have, yes?”

Evie let out a low whistle. “That’s a light frigate right there, I’d say. She’d definitely be welcome,” she said approvingly. Then, she smirked. “And while I like your confidence, your ship’s still no Edin Danrose. Unless you’ve got another seventy guns hidden away somewhere, I’m not going to expect too much from her. Or you, for that matter.”

“Edin Danrose?” Sjan-dehk echoed. “That is your King, yes?”

“Nae, she’s talkin’ about the other Edin Danrose,” Aislin said, drawing his attention to her. “The one that’s the flagship ‘o the Navy. Big ship, wi’ o’er a ‘undred guns frae what I’ve ‘eard, aye.” Sjan-dehk arched his brows. A ship carrying that many guns must be quite the devastating force on the battlefield. But before he could say anything, Aislin turned to Evie and continued. “An’ aye, you’re right that this Cap’n’s boat’s nae Edin Danrose. She’s bet’er, if you ask me. At least she sails out tae do things. I cannae say I’ve ever seen the Edin Danrose do anythin’ but sit in ‘arbour an’ look pretty.”

Evie thought about it for a moment, then shrugged. “Well, you’ve got me there.”

“We even ‘ave a joke about it,” Aislin went on. She looked at Sjan-dehk, a cheeky grin on her face. “Know why they call ‘er Edin Danrose? It’s because she’s only impressive tae look at, but she’s really just a big ‘ol fecker that’s good fae feckin’ nothing, aye. Just like ‘er namesake, ‘tis so, ‘tis so.”

Sjan-dehk choked on a barely suppressed laugh. He covered his mouth and tried not to show too much of the smile on his face, for Evie looked anything but impressed. “Hey, try saying that a little louder,” she said in a quiet but harsh hiss. “I’m not sure any of the guards heard you.”

“I thought it was quite amusing, really,” Olivier remarked, chuckling.

“Don’t encourage her!” Evie snapped at him. “I don’t want any of us to get into trouble.” Glaring daggers at both Aislin and Olivier, she picked up her cards and looked between them and the pile on the table a few times. With each successive glance, the scowl on her face grew larger and larger, until it became a growl as she threw her cards onto the table. “Oh, come on,” she grumbled. “There’s no way I can lose thrice in a row.” She turned to Innokenty. “And all to you. You’re up to something, I can feel it.”

Innokenty looked back at her, his face blank and expressionless.

“Don’t give me that,” Evie said, as if he had given her an actual reply. “The only one who’s been doing the shuffling is you.”

“I am good at the game,” Innokenty said plainly, his first words since Sjan-dehk sat down. He spoke with a heavy accent – though not so heavy that Sjan-dehk couldn’t understand him – and his voice was gravelly, hoarse, and quiet. It was as if it hadn’t been used for a very, very long time. “And you are bad at it. That is all there is.” He placed his cards on the table and pushed them towards the pile.

Evie narrowed her eyes. “Alright, listen up, you little Varian shit–”

The two quickly descended into an argument – or more accurately, Evie argued, and Innokenty merely sat there and listened. Olivier took the chance to quietly collect the cards. As he shuffled them, he said, “Don’t mind them, Captain.” He glanced sideways at Sjan-dehk with a slight smile on his face. “I’ve known them for years and this is simply how they are. I find it rather entertaining, in fact.”

Sjan-dehk chuckled and nodded. “Yes, I agree. This sort of thing, I am familiar with,” he replied and leaned back in his seat. The various sounds around him, discordant as they might be, were surprisingly soothing, and lulled him into a warm sense of comfort. He closed his eyes, taking in the rush of crashing waves; the buzzing murmurs of a busy waterfront. The cooling touch of a gentle breeze against his face; the ruffling of the tarpaulin awning overhead. The smell of the ocean brine; the chirps and squawks of singing birds. And of course, Evie’s rapid banter and Innokenty’s sparse replies.

Pleasant memories surfaced in his mind. He saw faces that had been rendered vague by time, and people whom he would never again meet. And yet, through the wistfulness, he remembered their laughs and their smiles. He remembered fighting alongside them, celebrating victories with them, and inevitably, mourning losses with them. But more importantly, he remembered the senseless fun he had with them. Things that, at the time, had seemed so inconsequential and pointless, but now he saw as good times.

Well, as good as it could be during a war, at least. Perhaps they were more of islets of good times amidst a sea of dark, terrible times.

Sjan-dehk drew in a deep breath, and opened his eyes just in time to see Olivier distribute the cards to all at the table. Evie had stopped ranting at Innokenty, and Aislin was joining in for this round, it seemed. “Ah, Captain,” Olivier said. “Pardon me, but I thought you were resting. Would you care to join us?”

“Do it,” Evie cut in. She leaned back and kicked her boots onto the table. Innokenty looked at her from the corner of his eye and clicked his tongue, but she either didn’t hear him, or didn’t care. “I think I’ve got Inno figured out. His tricks only work if there’s three of us. The more of us there are, the harder it’ll be for him to pull something funny.”

“An’ you’ve still got a bit o’ a wait, Cap’n,” Aislin said and held her cards close to her chest. “Bet’er tae wait while ‘avin’ a crack, aye?”

It all felt silly in a strange way. The dissonance between their early conversation – about a possible pirate threat – and what they were doing now was heavy and stark. And yet, it felt natural. What else was there for sailors like them to do? The pirates may be on their way, they may not. They might suddenly decide to be violent tomorrow, or they may wait a month, or they may simply quieten down. None of that was set in stone, but what was certain was that they weren’t here yet. And if the war had taught Sjan-dehk anything, it was that a good captain knew how to seize every chance they could to unwind and relax.

“Okay, I will play,” he said to Olivier with a grin. “But you know, I have…What do you people call it…I have beginner’s luck? Yes, that. I have that.” The others at the table laughed, and once again, Sjan-dehk’s mind returned to his memories. Those days had been the best. But the bitterness they left, that was something he could do without.

---

For a place that called itself the Privateers’ Office, the interior looked remarkably like that of a tavern.

It smelled like one, too. From the moment Sjan-dehk stepped through the doors, he was enveloped by the heady whiff of strong alcohol, and the unpleasant odour of stale sweat. Parting gifts from the earlier crowd, Sjan-dehk suspected. The scents were reminiscent of those in the tavern – where he had met Cynric and the two noblegirls – from just the night before. In fact, he swore he could smell the exact same spirit which Cynric had drunk like water.

That was where the similarities ended, however. Where last night’s tavern had been rough in both airs and appearance, this place was much calmer and more well-kept. The furniture – from tables, to chairs, and to the bar which spanned half-the-length of the wall to his left – boasted fine craftsmanship, even if they were simple in design. Their wooden forms were sheened in layers of varnish that were surprisingly free of both scratches and blemishes, a feat that Sjan-dehk knew from experience was hard to accomplish, especially when – as he assumed – the furniture were used on a daily basis.

Unlit lamps hung from the ceiling, and dimmed sconces lined the walls. Their metalwork – along with that of the fittings holding the very building together – had been burnished to a dull shine. Sjan-dehk could only imagine how laborious it was to keep them free of rust and salt damage. If the building was close enough to shore to hear the crashing of waves, then it was certainly close enough to suffer the same briney air as ships on the open sea.

The more Sjan-dehk looked around, the more he was reminded of a well-maintained ship. All this attention to cleanliness was the same as what any Captain would expect from their crew. And while there was still a touch of disarray to how things were placed, it was the same sort of disarray that Sjan-dehk expected from a living ship, and not one moored for display. The good kind of disarray, in other words.

A smirk played on Sjan-dehk’s lips. It seemed as if this Office was everything but what it was supposed to be. And perhaps that was the intent of its designers and builders, for there was painfully little that hinted at its true purpose and identity. There were a few counters sequestered away into an alcove at the very back of the building, with a couple of noticeboards on the walls around them, but that was about it. They looked like they had been added as mere afterthoughts, and had Evie not told Sjan-dehk about them, he felt more than certain that he would have missed them entirely.

Polished floorboards creaked under Sjan-dehk’s boots as he marched towards the counter. Groggy faces turned to glance at him with drink-addled eyes as he passed. Only for a moment, however, before they fell back onto the tables where they had been resting. Half-empty bottles, half-full glasses, and the sunbeams streaming through ajar windows were all that kept them company.

These early drunkards were all that was left of the earlier crowd. Much of it had dissipated roughly an hour or so after Sjan-dehk joined Aislin and the three privateers. Not many left peacefully however, with many a vexed expression on faces, and vicious words thrown over shoulders. Sjan-dehk didn’t understand what it was they were saying, but he did understand their displeasure. It hadn’t seemed as if many had their pleas for help heard. A significant number of those who had waited outside didn’t even manage to take one step into the Office before they had to return to their jobs.

“Toil waits for neither man nor tragedy,” Olivier had mused.

However, it seemed as if toil had completely forgotten about the lone man behind the counters, for he was the very picture of idleness as Sjan-dehk approached. Granted, the soles of his shoes had been ground to little more than smooth leather, likely due to being on his feet a great deal. But then again, the only reason Sjan-dehk could see those soles was because the man had reclined so far back in his chair that he could kick his feet up onto the counter.

His arms were folded tightly over his slowly rising and falling chest, and he had an open book covering his face. Dark ink stained his sleeves, the dots stark against the pale blue fabric. Pens, pencils, and all sorts of stationery were tucked into the pockets of his black waistcoat. His peacefulness almost seemed comical amidst the chaos that were the stacks upon stacks of files and papers surrounding him. They teetered on his desk, cluttered the floors, and overstuffed the cabinets behind him.

“Excuse me,” Sjan-dehk called out politely.

The man shifted, but otherwise there was no response.

Sjan-dehk cleared his throat and tried again. “Hello?”

Nothing.

Sjan-dehk frowned, then rapped his knuckles loudly on the counter.

That startled the man awake. “Bloody fuck!” He exclaimed, his voice loud enough to surprise Sjan-dehk as much as Sjan-dehk had surprised him. The man bolted upright, and would have thrown himself clean from his seat had he not shot his hands out to grasp the desk in front of him. Pages ruffled, stationery clattered, and the book fell from his face, striking the floor with a muted thud. The man slowly relaxed, his shoulders still heaving as he recovered from his shock.

“I swear by every fucking God there is out there,” he began breathlessly, pressing a hand to his chest. He swallowed before continuing, still hunched over in his chair and looking between his feet. “It’s not going to be pirates that do me in, it’ll you fucking cunts. Haven’t you bastards heard that rousing a man this quickly can be dangerous? Gods above, I swear.”

Sjan-dehk resisted the urge to laugh. He didn’t know what it was exactly, but something about the way the man spoke, and the entire situation in general felt amusing to him. “I am sorry,” he said, keeping his tone as level and neutral as possible.

The man looked at him. Irate eyes turned to surprised ones, then to sheepish ones. “Oh, you’re not one of us,” he murmured awkwardly and averted his gaze. Clearing his throat, alternated between running fingers through his tawny hair and tidying up the desk as he continued, “The name’s Reilly. Kerr Reilly, though it’s not like you’ll have much reason to remember it. If you’re here to report sightings of pirates, or attacks by pirates, or any pirate-related activities, I’m going to be honest and tell you that there’s not much we can do about it for now.”

He sighed, picked up a stack of papers, and placed them heavily onto a different corner of the desk. “You can still leave your request with us, but I can’t guarantee that it’ll be handled anytime in the near future. I’m sorry for the inconvenience.”

Sjan-dehk blinked. “I am here to join you.”

That got Kerr’s attention in an instant. His head snapped up. For a moment, he remained silent, a pensive expression on his face. He swept his gaze over Sjan-dehk, up and down, and nodded. “Well, fuck me,” he said, a tinge of approval in his voice. He teased a few more knots out of his hair and looked over the desk, muttering to himself as he looked for something. “You have a ship, I assume?”

“Yes,” Sjan-dehk replied and placed his documents on the counter. “Her plans, I have here.”

Kerr shook his head. “Normally, I’d take them, but…” He swept a hand over the disorganised clutter on the desk. “With all the shit we’ve to deal with right now, and all the shit we haven’t even fucking looked at, your docos are just going to get lost without anyone ever looking at them. Better that you keep them.” Pausing, he pulled out a folder from a stack, looked at it, and promptly shoved it back into the stack. “But I’ll ask you a few questions, if you don’t mind.”

“I do not,” Sjan-dehk replied. “Ask.”

Kerr chuckled. “Well, fuck. Here I was thinking that Inno was terse enough.” He turned around and looked through the items on the cabinets. Without looking around, he asked, “Number of guns?”

It took Sjan-dehk a moment to realise that he was asking about Sada Kurau. “Thirty-four,” he answered.

“Yeah, I think I can just stop there,” Kerr remarked with a laugh. “Thirty-four guns? Bloody fuck, that makes your ship one of the most well-armed we’ll have.” He removed yet another folder – Sjan-dehk couldn’t see any difference between it and the one Kerr had discarded earlier – and looked at the title. With a nod, Kerr brought it over to the counter. “How soon can you sail?”

Sjan-dehk picked up his documents and tucked them under his arm. Kerr gave him a quick word of thanks before placing the folder on the countertop. “This evening, that is earliest. But if emergency, we can sail as soon as needed.”

“If there’s an emergency, those three cunts out there would be the first I call,” Kerr replied with a wry smile on his lips. Very carefully – as if he were opening some ancient tome – he flipped the folder open, turning the pages until he reached one which contained a list of what appeared to be the names of both ships and people. Sjan-dehk counted at least three dozen entries, and they barely filled half the page. And not every entry was written in the same way. Some were crossed out, others had been erased and rewritten in deep red ink, and a few had several circles around them.

Before Sjan-dehk could ask anything, however, Kerr spoke. “Anyway, that’s all the questions I have. If you still want to join us…” His brows furrowed as he shifted a few things about on his desk, eventually picking up a pencil and placing it on the page. “I’ll just need you to jot your name and your ship’s name here. It’s just for administrative purposes, and so we know who’s still with us and who’s not.”

Sjan-dehk hesitated. That was it? Just two simple questions and he was cleared to be a privateer? It felt a little too straightforward – careless, almost – to be true. He picked up the pencil, but merely held it over the page. “That is all?” He asked, his words slow and incredulous. “Things like experience, background, that is not…You do not need to know?”

Kerr drew in a deep breath and sighed. “Well, we used to ask about those,” he said, then pointed to one of the noticeboards. What Sjan-dehk had assumed to be bare cork was in fact layers upon layers of posters, each of them a separate call for help, pinned and plastered over each other until it was impossible to know where one ended and another began. “But we’re not in any position to be picky. Everything on that board’s just from the past two days, and we have more from today to process. We’re going to need every privateer we can get, and then some.”

“Anyway,” Kerr continued and tapped the page. “Personally, I gave up on asking that question because no one with a brain between their ears would ever own up to having no experience. Would you bloody believe it if I told you just how many supposed Varian veterans or Alidashti corsairs have come our way?” Another sigh left his lips, and he shook his head. His eyes gazed wistfully at the crossed-out names, and the ones in red ink. “Damn idiots probably thought they’d never end up as another notch on a pirate’s mast.”

It was only now did Sjan-dehk take a proper look at the man behind the counter. Kerr had the sort of face that was impossible to age; a pale complexion, full head of hair, and unblemished skin made him appear a youth, but the haggardness about him, the wrinkles around his eyes, and the jaded bite in his words were that of a grizzled and perhaps overworked elder. But what was unmistakable was his haunted visage. The regret that clouded his gaze; the slight downwards twitch of his lips, the setting and unsetting of his jaw as he looked at the page. All were things that Sjan-dehk had seen on many others, many times before.

They were the mark of a man who knew that he had sent countless others to their deaths.

Sjan-dehk could only imagine just how many of those crossed-out and reddened names had been people whom Kerr had known. At least with Sjan-dehk, he could fight alongside those who followed his orders. He could at least tell himself that he had done everything possible to keep his people alive, and it was simply a matter of fortune – or misfortune – as to who survived and who didn’t. Someone in Kerr’s position didn’t have such a luxury.

Sjan-dehk cleared his throat. “You do not have good…I mean, capable sailors who want to join?”

“Nah,” Kerr replied. “Our veterans have all been with us for years. Anyone who has their skill and wants to get into privateering now would rather try their luck in Varian or Alidasht. Can’t say I blame them. I hear the prize money is twice or thrice of what they’d earn here for the same sort of work. I'm honestly surprised that the likes of Inno, Evie, and Oli are still sticking around, to tell you the truth.” He shook his head. “But yeah, we don’t exactly have experienced sailors lining up to join us. I’d be happy enough with a fisherman who’s strapped a gun to his fucking skiff.”

Sjan-dehk nodded slowly. The bleak picture painted by Olivier and Evie had been accurate; the Privateers’ Office simply didn’t have the ability to keep up with the rise in pirate activity. Not with the inexperience and under-equipped privateers they were sending out. It all reminded Sjan-dehk of a particularly terrible type of battle; a meat-grinder. It was all the Privateers’ Office could do, to send ships and sailors one after another into the fray, and hope that eventually one of them would emerge victorious.

That thought didn’t just sit poorly with Sjan-dehk. It disgusted him. And whatever lingering doubts that still remained in his mind about becoming a privateer vanished. This was where Sada Kurau, her crew, and he were needed most, he felt sure of it. He picked up the pencil and swiftly added both his name, and that of Sada Kurau, to the list.

“Then it is good I am here, yes?” He quipped, grinning.

Kerr chuckled and spun the folder around. “I like that confidence, but you better make sure you can back it up with action. It’d be fucking embarrassing otherwise,” he said. Then, his face scrunched up in confusion as he saw the pictographs Sjan-dehk had written. “What’s this? Some Kimoonese script or something?”

Once again, Sjan-dehk found himself wondering what the Kimoonese were like, if he could be mistaken as one of them so many times. “No, it is not. I am not…That. I am Jafin. Viserjantan.”

“Right,” Kerr said, dragging out the word. “I’ve no idea where that is, but I guess it doesn’t really matter. As long as we can tell which names are yours and your ships, it’s good enough, and those pictures you drew sure are distinct, I’d say.” As with earlier, he handled the folder with great care as he brought it down onto the desk, placing it in the only corner that was relatively clear of mess.

“So, that is all?” Sjan-dehk asked.

“Almost,” Kerr replied as shuffled over to the cabinets behind him. “There's some stuff I need to give you.”

Sjan-dehk nodded and leaned against the counter as he waited. The only sounds which filled the building were the scraping of wood against wood as Kerr opened drawer after drawer, and the colour expressions he used when he failed to find whatever it was he sought. Soon, however, Sjan-dehk decided to seize this opportunity to ask him a question that had been weighing on his mind all this while. “Just now, I heard that you have some ships that are not allowed to sail,” he started. “Why is that?”

Kerr shook his head. “Trust me when I say that if I knew, I’d tell you. Bloody fuck, I’d tell Evie just so she’d stop moaning about it every damn time she sees me.” He squatted, opened a small cabinet, and then shut it just as quickly before moving on to the one directly beside it. “I just relay whatever the higher-ups tell me to tell privateers, and all they told me was that we had to keep our experienced crews in harbour as much as possible. Bloody hoity-toity cunts always throwing us the tough jobs. I’d love to see them keep a bunch of veteran sailors happy with that sort of news.”

Sjan-dehk furrowed his brow. That was almost the exact same as what Evie had said. “Then do you have any…Any guesses?” He pressed.

Kerr shrugged and pulled out a small, palm-sized book from a box. “Some rich and important bastards felt nervous hearing about all these pirate sightings, I guess, and they want to make sure that they’ll have our very best escorting their ships at a moment’s notice.” With a grunt, he stood up and grabbed what seemed to be a rolled sheet from the top of a cabinet. “They’re the only ones I can think of who can bribe– I mean, convince my higher-ups to push out such a fucking stupid order. I’d give it a week, maybe two, before they pull their heads from their arses and lift the restrictions.”

He returned to the counter with a few items in hand. There was the book from earlier, and the roll of cloth, as well as a yellowed, folded sheet of paper. “But you don’t have to worry about any of that. The only ones confined to harbour are our veterans, and you’re not one of them yet.” He placed the items on the counter, one on top of the other with the roll of cloth at the bottom. “Anyway, here’s everything you need.”

He held up the book. “This is the Caesonian Privateer’s Code of Conduct. It’ll tell you what you should do when you take prisoners, when and how you should engage targets. You can read it on your own time, but it's honestly worth less than the paper it’s printed on. Everything in there’s written by someone who’s quite obviously an idiot who’s never spent a day of their lives at sea. I’d personally use it as kindling.” He placed the book on the counter. “But I’ve a legal obligation to give it to you, so here it is.”

Sjan-dehk resisted the urge to laugh, and tried to keep his face as straight as possible. This was certainly a departure from how things were done in the Commonwealth. He wasn’t quite sure which style was more to his liking just yet, however. “And this is…” He prodded the cloth with a finger. Its once-vibrant green had faded to a pale shade of olive from age, and wisps of dust clung to its rough threads. “This is the flag?”

Kerr grinned. “You catch on quick,” he said with a nod. “That’s the Caesonian Privateering Jack. The letter of the law’s pretty clear on this. You should fly it before getting into a fight, otherwise your enemy could get you in trouble by accusing you of piracy.” He lowered his voice before continuing. “But don’t worry about it if you can’t. I’m sure you’ll have situations where you either can’t fly the Jack, or you’d rather not because of some reason or other. Just do your job, and we’ll take care of the rest.”

Sjan-dehk nodded. He could understand that. “And this?” he asked and picked up the sheet of paper.

“Oh, that’s a map of Caesonian territorial waters,” Kerr explained. “It’s maybe four or five years out of date, but our borders haven’t moved in fucking ages so it should still hold up. It’ll at least let you know whether you’re straying into Varian or Alidashti waters.” He took a step back and looked at everything, lips moving in a quiet mutter for a moment. Then, he nodded to nobody in particular. “Looks like that’s it. You’re all set, Captain. Anything else?”

“Yes,” Sjan-dehk said, picking up the items and tucking them under his arm with his documents. “Anything for me to do?” Kerr started to point towards the noticeboard, but Sjan-dehk cut him off before he could get a word out. “I mean, is there work no one takes?”

Kerr regarded him with a strange look for a moment. “You’re a strange one,” he said with a chuckle before sifting through some of the papers on his desk. “Most people avoid jobs that others avoid, but if you’re set on taking an undesirable job, I’ve got one right here.” He picked up a poster and scanned through it before holding it out to Sjan-dehk. “Someone came in two days ago with word of pirates picking their way around the Felipina coast after sunset, just two to three hours south of Sorian.”

“I just need to see what they are doing, yes?” Sjan-dehk asked and took the poster. Kerr didn’t let go.

“Yes, and no,” he said, a serious look on his face. “I sent a privateer out to have a look that very same day we got the report, and we’ve heard nothing from him since. No one’s seen his ship, either. Whatever’s out there is probably dangerous, and that’s why nobody’s taking this job. I’m not too keen on feeding whatever bastard of a pirate that’s out there any new blood, either. But if you’re certain you can handle this job, then you go ahead. I have to hear it clearly, however. Now that you know the risks, are you certain you want to take this job?”

Sjan-dehk grinned. Kerr didn’t return it, and instead tightened his hold on the poster. “Yes, Sada Kurau can do it. It will be no problem.” Kerr didn’t look convinced, and so Sjan-dehk went on. “She, her crew, and me, we fight many, many pirates before, and in battles with many, many ships. This is not something we never do before. Do not worry.”

“Yeah, well, you’re not the first to tell me that,” Kerr said darkly, but nevertheless let go of the poster. “Truth be told, I can’t actually stop you if you want to take the job. My higher-ups would have my fucking head if I ever got found out.” He sat back down and rubbed the bridge of his nose. “Don’t do anything too stupid out there, alright? Just go, have a look, and come back. I don’t care if all you get is a bearing on where they’re going, or just a description of the ship. If you don’t have to fight, don’t fight. If you have to, well, then I trust that you’ll be smart about it. Run if you have to. Nobody will say a thing about it.”

“There is no need to worry,” Sjan-dehk said, this time in a firm tone and with a serious look on his face. He had a rather good guess as to why Kerr had said all that. The man had likely lost so many new privateers under similar circumstances that he now wanted to err on the side of caution. Sjan-dehk could understand that. But Sada Kurau wasn’t just any ship, and her crew were far from inexperienced sailors. He had every confidence that they would make short work of these pirates, whatever they may turn out to be.

“What they do, I will find out for you,” Sjan-dehk said. “And your missing privateer, I will find out what I can about them.”

Kerr sighed. “Wish I could share your confidence, Captain,” he said. He turned his head to look at a clock hanging next to one of the noticeboards. “Well, fuck me. There goes my noon break,” he grumbled. Then, he looked back at Sjan-dehk. “Time for me to get back to work, I guess. Good luck out there tonight, and I hope to see you with news of success.”

Sjan-dehk grinned. “Do not worry. You will.”

With that, he quickly left the office. He stopped briefly at the veranda to bid Aislin and the three privateers farewell before continuing on to Sada Kurau’s berth. He strode through the streets with purpose, and with head held high. It was time for him, his crew, and Sada Kurau to do what they did best.

---

A stranger stood on the pier.

Dressed in markedly non-Caesonian clothes, they paced about in circles right by Sada Kurau’s gangplank, wringing their hands and throwing surreptitious glances at the ship every now and then. Sjan-dehk wasn’t quite sure what to make of them as he approached. And judging by the confused faces peering over and down the ship’s gunwale, neither did his crew. It was a peculiar sight to see upon his return to Sada Kurau after spending the better part of the morning away from her, but Sjan-dehk couldn’t say he was concerned by it. If anything, he was amused.

Because for one, the very fact that he could leisurely stroll up to the stranger, until he was close enough to hear their mumbled ramblings, and without being noticed, was proof enough that this person was no threat whatsoever. If they were a spy or some other clandestine agent, then they were a lousy one.

And for two, the stranger’s attire – while not Jafin – was certainly Viserjantan in nature. Sjan-dehk knew of only two places in all of Sorian where one might find Viserjantans, and since this stranger was very clearly not a member of Sada Kurau’s crew, they had to be from Sudah. Although Sjan-dehk didn’t get along with Kaizahn, Sudah’s Captain, it was purely a professional rivalry. He doubted that the man would do anything malicious towards him or his Sada Kurau.

SJan-dehk cleared his throat loudly. “Good afternoon,” he called out, a mischievous grin on his face and a curious glint in his eyes. “Want to tell me what you’re doing in front of my crew and my ship?”

The stranger yelped and visibly flinched, spinning around so quickly to face Sjan-dehk that he thought for a moment that they would fling themselves into the lapping waves. “C-Captain!” They squeaked. Flushing from the embarrassment, they quickly composed themselves, straightening out their skirts and tunics, and clearing their throat. “I-I was sent–” They tripped over their words almost as soon as they began speaking, and the reddish hue of their cheeks deepened.

“From Sudah, I know,” Sjan-dehk completed for them.

Now that Sjan-dehk took a closer look at the stranger, he realised that they were, in fact, a…Well, his first thought was ‘man’, but really, this youth looked far too young to be called that. Mousey and with all the airs of an academic rather than a sailor, Sjan-dehk couldn’t imagine the boy to be older than twenty. With long hair tied into a tail that sat high on his head, high cheekbones, and upturned eyes, Sjan-dehk would have almost certainly mistaken the boy for a woman had they simply passed each other on the street.

The boy’s complexion was that of freshly-baked terracotta, a marker of someone hailing from the southern reaches of the Commonwealth. In fact, based solely on his clothes, Sjan-dehk could even name the exact province he likely came from. The round-collared tunic, worn tight around the body and secured just below the collarbone, and the thigh-length skirt which flowed from it like tassets, were the trademarks of only one specific province.

“So, what brings a Sedarahan to a Jafin ship?” Sjan-dehk asked, his grin still plastered across his face. He was serious about the question, however. The province of Sedaran was known for two things: religion and magic. And while a sermon was the very last thing he would ever need or want, the idea that Sudah would send an arcanist ashore to meet him, after he had specifically written to them about Caesonia’s unfriendly attitude towards magic, felt almost insulting.

“We’re all devout children of the Mother of the Waves here,” Sjan-dehk continued, his tone teasing. “So if you’re here to preach, I’m afraid you’re going to be very disappointed.”

“Oh, no! That’s wrong,” the boy replied. Sjan-dehk raised a brow, and the boy’s eyes immediately widened in realisation, and a bit of fear. “N-No, I did not– I didn’t mean–” He planted his gaze at his feet, and wrung his hands so hard that Sjan-dehk wondered if he was trying to snap his own fingers. “I-I find you Jafins– I mean, I find Jafin beliefs fascinating, actually, and I-I don’t actually know how– Well, I do, but it’s only what I’ve heard from the priests when I-I was very–”

“Alright, alright, calm down,” Sjan-dehk said and chuckled. “Relax. I’m just joking. Why don’t we start over, and you can give me your name, and tell me why you’re here?”

The boy hesitated, then jerked his head in a clumsy nod. “I-I’m Aijah Yasawen of Sedaran. I am– I mean, I was one of Sudah’s apprentice healers.” He fished out a crumpled, folded note from a pocket. Holding it in both hands, he bowed slightly as he extended it to Sjan-dehk. “I came here to pass on Captain Kaizahn’s reply to your letter. The one from earlier.”

Sjan-dehk took the note. “Like I said, relax,” he said. “We don’t stand on ceremony here. Too tiring.” Then, he carefully unfolded the sheet of paper and scanned through it.



Sjan-dehk barely repressed a laugh. He didn’t recall asking for permission to do anything. Rather, he had simply informed Kaizahn and the relevant people aboard Sudah of a decision he had already made.

Well, he supposed it was good that they approved of his plan. Having to explain himself – of everything he had done this afternoon – would have been a hassle.



Sjan-dehk looked up from the note and at Yasawen. “So, you’re a healer, are you?”

Yasawen nodded. “Yes, but only a junior one,” he said, then quickly added, “B-But I studied at Sakaka! At the Institute of Arcanology. I-I specialised in both healing and geomancy, and although I’m definitely not as good as Mistress Sehja, I’ve been told that I-I’m quite talented and–”

“Like I keep saying, calm down. I believe you,” Sjan-dehk said and held out his hand. The Sakaka Institute of Arcanology, a school – well, more of a university – located in the capital of the province of Sedaran, was said to produce some of the best arcanists available to the Commonwealth. Then again, every school of the arcane made the exact same claim. But then again, again, Sedaran had always been known for the natural ability of the arcanists born in their lands, and only the best out of those would even get to smell the air of the Sakaka Institute of Arcanology.

In other words, Yasawen was likely plenty more skilled than he appeared.

“Healing and geomancy, huh?” Sjan-dehk said, sounding genuinely impressed. “Can’t say I’ve met many arcanists with that unique mix of skills. Though I’m not too sure you’ll be using much geomancy serving on a warship.” He grinned. “We don’t really like sailing into land, you see. Doesn’t do Sada Kurau’s hull much good, and would probably get us in a shitheap of trouble.”

“Oh!” Yasawen chirped. For the first time since Sjan-dehk met him, he looked eager. “If that happens, I can just move the earth to get us free.” His face fell slightly. “I-I never tried it, though. It’s all theory so far, but if I know the depth of the water, and know how far away earth is, I-I can move it.”

Sjan-dehk chuckled. He walked past the boy and stepped onto the gangway before turning around to look at him. “That’s good to know, but if we ever run aground, I’d probably ask you to just fucking bury me. Iyen would never, ever let me hear the end of it.” He tilted his head towards Sada Kurau. “Anyway, looks like you're one of us, now. Get yourself aboard, and go find Master Avek. He’ll get you sorted out and show you where you can berth yourself.”

Yasawen scrambled to follow behind Sjan-dehk. “W-Wait! Who’s Avek? Where do I go?”

“Consider that your first task as part of Sada Kurau’s crew,” Sjan-dehk replied over his shoulder. “Figure it out on your own. Explore around. Get yourself acquainted with Sada Kurau." He paused as his feet returned to the familiar planking of his ship's deck. "I mean, I could show you around, but there's no fun in that. Besides, she's a special ship. She'll want you to get to know her on her own terms."

---

---

Roman was quiet for the carriage ride to Pinebrook. His mind lost in thought while he watched the world go by outside. Going over the meeting with his people just before and all the pieces moving across the board, hiring Riona, sharing intelligence, and information and the report of some kind of assault on John Williamson. He knew what he had to do and he would see it done one step at a time.

The next step was to find either John or Riona. He needed to talk to john to confirm the reports he was given about their involvement the other night and get their stories straight. Then talk to Riona to see if she remembered anything from what he requested of her. The news of his impending trial was surprising. If anything, the king jumped the gun so to say, giving them time to get there information straight before questioning them. Maybe he saw it as a gift or mercy of some kind, this was something he would have to think about later.

What was strange was the reported severity of the injury to the guard that he assaulted. The reports he was given said the mans armor took the brunt of the attack and his injuries were light. Yet, they said the man’s injuries were significant enough to have a formal trial. Roman smelled foul play of some sort, character assassination was still an attack even if it was a subtle one. He knew the crown here wouldn’t outright come after him due to his families high standing with his own crown.

A benefit few truly new as to why but rumors circulated around the stronger Varian noble houses as to why the smaller Ravenwood house had such a high standing with the royal family. Rumors he did not care to think about currently. All the rumors did was make some of the other Noble houses wary of them. He didn’t blame them, there was good reason as to why many high-ranking military personnel where from his family. Fewer still knew why he was not among them being the oldest and heir to the family name.

What seemed like barley any time at all the carriage started to slow and his driver knocked on the wood to let him know they had arrived at Pinebrook. He glanced at his arm and frowned, it was still painful to move but with the help of his shaman and what Riona did it will be able to be used again soon. Until then it would remain in the sling hidden under his coat. At least it was a good spot to hide a blade if he needed it.

He didn’t fail to notice a few others looking at him a bit longer than the other occupants as he stepped out, plain clothes guards perhaps. He wasn’t going to disappear; it would be easy but out of character for Roman Ravenwood to try and run from the upcoming trial. However, he did spot one other man a little ways Infront of him, Dr. john just the man he was looking for.

Roman nodded towards the camp hosts and returned their smile as he approached his friend. Greeting the man with a simple nod and a smile. “Good evening, Doctor. Do you have the time for a private word?” stretching out his good right hand away from the rest of the departing nobles and their entourages. His voice lowering to a whisper for a moment, “I would like to know your recollection of events during the ritual.” He was sure that they both knew that he wasn’t asking the man to step away with him given their history. John was one of the few people here that had a grasp of who Roman really was.

Stratya Durmand

Time: 25th,
Location: Carriage and Pinebrook
Attire: Very Light Armor Set
Family Dirk +Crest
Interactions:
Mentions:

Stratya had a basket of baked goods left over from that morning with her in the carriage. She’d been sharing with Stewart on the ride over. She had been informed that there would be a great many accommodations available at the campsite, and that she wouldn’t need to be prepared to rough it. The news had been somewhat disappointing, but perhaps that was best, as Clearwell had given her a nice stack of paperwork that she needed to put her own eyes and pen on. She’d probably end up doing it just before bed.

She had, however, brought her zweihander, stowed with a small bindle of personal items and a bow and arrow. Her dirk continued to decorate her hip, and it had been joined on her other hip by her swordbreaker.

There was something specific, as well. A report from that very morning, in fact, while she had been at Drake’s party. It had her own seal on it, so James must have written it, himself. Handed directly to her. Clearwell had discussed the incident with her very briefly, and she’d furnished him with the means to do what he needed, and a fine payment for the aid they’d managed to secure. He hadn’t said much more, only enough to impress on her the need to pay the aid.

The carriage came to a halt and Stratya gathered her basket and bindle and sword and disembarked. The cord rested in her hand at her shoulder, with the basket held effortlessly in her elbow like she’d done it a thousand times before. The large sword was tied up in the bindle cord to keep it secured, and fit well on her back. She had no intention of drawing it just then, of course. If a bear showed up, she could handle it. Unlikely, but possible. As an army officer, she felt responsible for the safety of those she was with. That feeling doubled when she laid eyes on him.

That’s a dead man.

The scar at his neck. She couldn’t tell easily if it went all the way around or not. It sure seemed like it did. That was his head on top of that body, moving, speaking, looking. Was he thinking? Or did it just look that way, was he a puppet of some kind? Wait, his head. What had she done with his- the morgue.

Puzzle this out later. You're obvious when you're alerted.

She snapped herself out of her thoughtful daze and excused herself as needing rest from a busy week. Not a total lie. Was she the only one here that would notice? She didn’t see anyone she could confirm this with here, yet. Captain Stratya Durmand felt a familiar dread creep into her mind as she let herself be herded into the pavilion. She leaned herself against one of the support posts, resting her zweihander on the ground and leaning similarly into herself. The basket of bread still hung on her arm.

---

Go camping, he said, it will be fun, he said. Kira hardly retained her groan when she was told she’d be going to the event. Kira let out a deep sigh and stared out the carriage window. The grimey, bug-filled woods, with these people. While she waited to arrive, an advisor recapped the recent events to her- there would be a trial against Roman Ravenwood, and the Varians were all under scrutiny. This bode well for her because they would all have to be on their best behavior. Additionally, the odds were in her favor; Varian Doctor John Williamson and Roman, the beast himself, would be at the event.

For the event, it didn’t matter if she was from an infamous line of pirate nobles, would it? The details didn’t matter, as long as the right strings were pulled. Kira could sleep anywhere, in any situation, but she preferred the pristine and rich decor of the Black Rose. Her stomach churned when she thought of her pets, waiting for her in her room, likely asleep and not knowing when she’d be back. Kira pushed it out of her mind–she needed to focus.

Finally, the carriage arrived at the camping event. There was gentle nudge on her arm and she opened her eyes with a scowl. Jesse flinched and muttered an apology she barely heard. She ignored him and turned to stare outside. She inhaled sharply at the magnificent beauty. Even she couldn’t deny it. A smirk crossed her lips briefly when she noticed John had arrived.

Kira sauntered off the carriage with Jesse’s assistance. She bade him goodbye and waved kindly; if this confused Jesse, he did not show it like the good toy she had taught. The carriage disappeared back the way it’d come and she turned to face the festivities. Her senses were assaulted by bright lights, smell of fire, aroma of food, and the melodious chirping of crickets. The food table looked delightful and her mouth watered. Kira could almost taste the food, and she restrained herself from moving toward it. Her gaze moved to the lake and a ghost of a smile sparkled in her eyes. Everywhere she looked, there was some magnificent detail. This did not look so bad after all, and she hated to admit it.

With confidence in every stride and a sweet smile on her face, Kira moved over to the check in area. With her hands clasped together, she bounced her leg to appear anxious, as she introduced herself. She was given her optional partner, which she agreed to. When she thought the lady would finally be done, the bumbling idiot rattled off more information. Kira feigned listening to her and nodded and smiled at the appropriate times. When she finally finished, Kira thanked her. She turned and walked over to the fire pit and waited for others to arrive. Quietly, and indiscreetly, Kira kept an eye on the Doctor. Then, she noticed a bear of a man join him– none other than the now infamous Roman Ravenwood. Her trademark stoic expression remained and did not betray the emotions inside.

At the same time, another woman appeared with light brown hair and eyes, and she wore light armor. A Sorian Knight? Wonderful. Kira glanced in her direction for a moment and curiosity kindled inside of her and a smile crossed her face from ear-to-ear. However, she hung back, and decided to observe everything first and gather intel that way.

Let the games begin...