Gears was on her third round of polishing the same damn glass. Not because it needed it...it didn’t. But because her hands needed something to do. The movement kept her hands busy and her thoughts from drifting too far down memory lanes she didn’t care to revisit. She didn’t like giving ‘em the chance.
So she scrubbed at a nonexistent smudge, eyes drifting absently toward the front of the bar...until the distinct clink of coin on wood snapped her right back to the present.
She looked up just in time to see Wendel...who, bless him, looked like someone had just handed him a golden ticket and a nap...sliding two gold coins her way like it was the most natural thing in the world.
She blinked. Once. Then twice.
“Well now,” she murmured, lifting the coins between two fingers like they might flutter away. “Either this is the best mead you’ve ever had, sweetheart… or I’m gettin’ tipped for my radiant personality.”
She gave him a soft smile. Not her usual teasing one...no, this was warmer. Real.
“You ever figure out which it is, you let me know. I’ll keep the good stuff pourin’ just the same.”
She tucked the coins away without another word. If the man needed to feel generous today, she wasn’t about to get in the way of that little bit of peace. She then turned her attention back to her lovely, if not a bit odd, coworkers.
Vallena was already launching into food requests, talking about the honey and fruit in the cargo hold like she hadn’t been expressly banned from it.
Gears arched a metal browplate.
“Honey and fruit, huh? I betchya’ I can cook something up for you darlin.”
She looked at Scratch with a wink as he placed his own order...egg sandwich, simple and to the point. Then came the follow-up, casual but not really:
“Don’t suppose I could convince you to put everyone’s bill on the Captain’s tab?”
“Now see, this is why we can’t have nice things.” She handed him the drink. “I could technically do that, sure. But I like my job. I like my pantry. I like my life.”
She leaned in just a bit, lowering her voice.
“And explainin’ to Jovik why I charged half the liquor shelf to his name on account of ‘a little joke’ just doesn’t feel like the hill I want to die on today.”
Then came that grin from Scratch. That little crooked thing he did when he was about to be a problem on purpose.
And sure enough...right on cue...he threw out a line about her “curvature.”
Her head turned slow, almost theatrically, and her optics narrowed at him.
She rested both hands on the counter, leaned in slightly, and with a smirk just shy of dangerous, she spoke.
“You tryin’ to sweet talk me into gettin’ your sandwich for free, darlin’? ’Cause if so, you better come with a little more heat than that. I’ve had steam valves flirt better.”
Then she glanced at Bobi, the stranger than the average gnome, and added:
“And you, sugar, don’t let him scare you off. He’s just grumpy ‘cause I won’t let him peek at the goods beneath all this armor plating.”
Val was still hanging halfway over the counter when she changed the subject, in the smallest, most sincere little voice.
“You said something about… emotional discomfort? Is something wrong?”
And for a beat...just a beat...Gears’ hands went still again.
Scratch echoed the sentiment, and for a moment, something passed over her face. Not sadness, exactly. Just... tiredness, worn gentle by time.
She leaned forward, elbows resting gently on the wood, and looked at Val...not over her, not through her, but right at her.
“Ain’t nothin’ for you to fret over, sweetheart,” she said, voice soft like worn cotton. “Just one of those mornings where the past feels a little closer than it oughta. Y’know?”
She tapped her chestplate once, lightly.
“But I’m alright. Takes more than a few old ghosts to gum up my gears.”
She smiled at both of them then, wide and bright.
“If you keep fussin’ over me like that, I’ll start mistin’ up my optics and y’all ain’t gonna have nobody to make your food. And I know how cranky Scratch can get when he’s hungry.”
⋆ Lots of Clothes ⋆ Arming sword ⋆ Battle-axe ⋆ Mace ⋆ Daggers ⋆ Bow & Arrows ⋆ Shortsword ⋆ Leather Armor ⋆ Half-plate Armor ⋆ Hide Armor ⋆ Toolkit ⋆ Camping Equipment ⋆ Locked chest filled with old trinkets that ARE NOT FOR SALE ⋆ Magnifying glass ⋆ Diary ⋆ Sketchbook ⋆ Pencils ⋆ Dried and Cured Meats ⋆ Nuts ⋆ Second Locked Chest with self-care products ⋆ Bag of holding
Attire: beige trousers, brown tunic, and worn brown boots Gold Balance: 3 (on hand) Injuries: None currently Current Persona: Wendel
“Either this is the best mead you’ve ever had, sweetheart… or I’m gettin’ tipped for my radiant personality.”
“You ever figure out which it is, you let me know. I’ll keep the good stuff pourin’ just the same.” Her words induced a soft chuckle from Wendel while his cheeks reddened ever-so-slightly. The mead and his propensity of getting flustered by a woman's honeyed words were now working in tandem.
“I’m an old dwarf, Gears. One that's tasted mead from all around. I hate to disappoint you but it is definitely the latter of the two.” he replied honestly before turning to witness Meiyu down the mead with unexpected ease. The dwarf briefly raised his eyebrows, impressed by her performance. When she set the tankard down, he couldn't help but momentarily stare at it. Barely lasted a second…
“Wendel,” she said, making his eyes snap back to her but he refrained from making direct eye contact. Why did she say my name like that? He could feel the warmth building in his cheeks, and her compliments were far from a remedy to this dilemma.
“I-I-I’d offer it to anyone decent enough… I only wanted a… taste of it. That's all.” He struggled to say, truly on the brink of inducing a change. Then, just like that, her attention returned to the skittish woman with Bastion. His body relaxed again, and he was thankful there was another focus. I'm cutting it too close. I need a distraction… His eyes scanned around. The tankard was empty, his gold was light, and leaving abruptly would be quite the rude thing to do. There must be something… Oh! Wendel's eyes landed on the journal lying comfortably on the counter.
He normally refrained from adding an entry so early in the day but this morning had been rather eventful. That, and he desperately needed to divide his attention if the mystery woman returned her focus to him. He pulled the journal closer and opened to a fresh new page.
“Wendel, want to place a wager? I say it’s cursed. Or alive. Or cursed and alive.”
“Her satchel?” Wendel commented with a glance toward the item in question. At first, he thought little of the travel bag but the way Talis reacted only drew more curiosity to it.
If that woman could fly, she definitely would have by the way she fled to the restroom with haste. The dwarf found Talis to be quite the mess, frowning slightly as she demonstrated how strange it would have been for him to leave the bar in the same fashion. The sight of it only proved he made another great decision.
With a sigh of relief, Wendel dug unusually deep into his very own satchel strapped over his shoulder, retrieving a shiny chrome-colored pen. His eyes locked onto the black page but he kept his ears perked for conversation. He wouldn't dare be so rude and ignore those in his company.
“She forgot her water.”
“Don’t hang up on it too much, Bastion. The lass might have spilled it with how fast she was moving.” Wendel commented as he started writing.
“Also… um…” He attempted to address the woman but realized he hadn't gotten her name. “Miss, I couldn't wager what that satchel might contain if I wanted to… I only have three gold coins to my name,” He admitted, using his free hand to jingle his coin pouch shamelessly.
Wendel has taken the helm again, and I must admit, Eleanor definitely left us with little to work with. I have already spent two coins on mead for my troubles.
Wendel paused as the guilt sank in.
Wendel has taken the helm again, and I must admit, Eleanor definitely left us with little to work with. I have already spent two coins on mead for my troubles.
Location: Top Deck Race: Dark Elf & Human Class: Artificer & Rogue Interactions:@PapaOso Gears; @Tae Meiyu Mentions:@FunnyGuy Miris (as Wendel) Equipment:
Scratch Medical bag Tinkerer's kit Arcane spindlelock (shortened) musket Spindlelock pistols x2 Hand axes x2 Val First-aid bag Tinkerer's kit Spindlelock pistols x2 Steel daggers x2
Attire:
Scratch Dark brown, knee-length coat Black waistbelt Grey button-up shirt Dark brown trousers Heavy leather boots Val Off-white shirt Red ribbon tied around left arm Brown hooded coat Brown trousers Leather boots Goggles on her head
Gold: 65 Injuries:
Scratch NA Val NA
The subtle hesitation, the flicker of emotion; that intense, yet tired gaze in her optics – none of those slight changes in Gears’ demeanour escaped Scaerthrynne’s notice. Neither were any of them unfamiliar to him; he’d seen them all before. Not just in warforged like her, but in humans; in elves; in tieflings; in halflings; in dwarves; in orcs; in dragonborn, in just about every race he’d ever met. Everyone had the same looks, the same reactions when the past decided to rear its ugly head.
He’d experienced them himself, even. There were times when he’d pause in the middle of maintaining his weapons, and recall a time when hardly a day would pass without his firelocks’ muzzles blackened, or the blades of his axes bloodied, by sundown. There were times when he’d be refilling syringes, and he’d think of the times when he’d used his knowledge to kill, more than to save.
“Old ghosts?” Vallena’s question distracted him before he delved too far into the matter.
The girl’s visage was the very picture of curiosity, even if it was genuine concern that filled those two, short words. She tilted her head slightly as she met Gears’ optics.
“She means memories, Val,” Scaerthrynne explained, giving the warforged a nod of understanding. “Don’t worry about it.”
Vallena looked between Gears and the dark elf several times. She didn’t look wholly convinced, but after a while, she turned to the warforged and gave her a bright, toothy smile. “Okay, I’ll try not to worry too much, Miss Gears. But come find us if anything’s wrong, okay? Scratch and I will fix you right up!”
“Speaking of fixing, and optics…” Scaerthrynne leaned over the bar, his face serious and his gaze intense as he looked right into Gears’ glowing, bluish orbs. Nothing about him suggested mischief, or that this was just part of some elaborate banter. “How long has it been since your last check up, Gears?” He asked with the clinical professionalism of a doctor with their patient. “Because I can’t remember the last time we had a look at your optical subsystems. Or any of your subsystems, for that matter. I’m not telling you what to do, but…” His eyes narrowed, squinting as he examined Gears’ face. “Hm, left ocular receptor looks like it’s a little slower than the right to react.”
“Is that bad?” Vallena asked worriedly. “That sounds bad. Is Miss Gears going to be okay, Scratch?”
“I don’t know, Val.” Scaerthrynne didn’t take his eyes off of Gears. “Why don’t you tell me?”
Vallena tapped her fingers on the counter, humming as she stared up at the ceiling. She leaned back, with brows furrowed and tongue sticking out from between her lips. “If…If an ocular receptor reacts slowly, then it’s either a…Problem with the socket linkages, or with the visual interpreter.” She bolted upright, turning to look at Scaerthrynne, then at Gears. “But since it’s only one side that’s slow…It’s the socket linkages?”
Scaerthrynne nodded, pulling back and standing straight. “Good enough answer, for now,” he said. “Those two issues you mentioned are the most common causes of ocular receptor malfunctions, but there’re more ways for an ocular receptor to fail.” Rubbing his chin, he looked at Gears with a surgeon’s eyes. “But since you seem perfectly fine in every other way, and you don’t seem to be going crazy from hallucinations, and you’re not feeding people sheet metal thinking it's bread, I’d say that your socket linkages just need a bit of readjustment or lubrication. Nothing serious.”
And nothing interesting. But he supposed that, with Gears, that was a good thing.
“Sorry,” he said with a grin that was as apologetic as it was mischievous. “But fussing over people, things, this whole ship in general, is what I’m underpaid to do. You’re just going to have to live with it.” He let out a quiet chuckle before turning around, leaning his back against, and his elbows on the counter as he kept an eye on the bar’s patrons. “But I’ll stop holding you and let you get back to work. Wouldn’t want the Captain to find more reasons to pay me even less.”
“Sorry again,” Vallena mouthed to Gears.
It didn’t take long for the warforged bartender to return with their food. Scratch got his sandwich – a simple thing that didn’t look tasty at all – while Vallena received a plate of sliced bread fried in butter, topped with a wide selection of colourful, sliced fruits, and all of it drizzled with honey. “Wow! This looks amazing, Miss Gears!” The girl looked up at the warforged with a grateful smile. “Thank you so much!”
“Just put these on my tab,” Scaerthrynne said over his shoulder. “I’d hate to get you into trouble, and I’ll be back up here after sundown to hunt for faulty lights, anyway. I’ll pay it all then, as usual.”
Vallena picked up her fork, and was just about to dig in, when realisation struck her. She looked to her left, watching the dark elf watch the crowd as he took small bites from his sandwich. She looked to her right, at Riddles as the formerly scary lady chatted with the really grey dwarf. How foolish of her! In her rush to get to Miss Gears, Vallena had placed herself squarely between Scratch and Riddles, and now neither of them looked like they were going to talk to the other! How could they get to know each other, like in those books she’d read, and how could they possibly, maybe, perhaps grow to like each other, like in those books too, if they didn’t talk?
No, she had to fix this. And she had to do it fast, before anything else could distract them.
“Scratch,” she called out. “Can you switch places with me?”
“Nah, I’d rather not.” came the near-instant reply.
“Why not?” Vallena whined.
Scratch shrugged. “I don’t see how shifting a few inches left is going to make a difference, and my senses that tell me that you’re planning something are tingling.”
Why did he have to be so sharp? “Please, Scratch?” Vallena pulled out her best pleading voice, the same which had convinced the guard at the cargo hold to let her pass. “I won’t ask for anything else for the rest of the day, I promise!”
That got his attention. He looked at her with a raised brow. “The rest of the day?”
“Okay, the rest of the morning.”
He didn’t look convinced.
Vallena squirmed in her seat. “Maybe just the next hour?”
Scratch held her gaze for a moment before sighing. He turned around and pulled her plate over to him. “I’ll probably regret this,” he grumbled, gesturing for Vallena to stand up. The girl giggled, hopped off her stool, and squeezed past Scratch to get to her new perch. “But I guess you're not going to stop until I either give in or my head explodes. There, happy now?"
“Almost,” she chirped. This was only the first part of her master plan. Now to put the second into play. She pointed across Scratch’s front, to Riddles. “Can you get her name, please? I don’t think we got it.”
“Whatever happened to not asking for anything for the next hour?”
“Please, Scratch? It’s just asking for her name!”
“Ask her yourself, then.”
Thinking quickly, Vallena cut off a large chunk of bread with her fork and stabbed it, along with a large slice of a peach. She pushed everything into her mouth, her cheeks bulging like a squirrel’s. “Busy,” she tried to say, but her words came out as a garbled mess. “I’m eating.”
Scaerthrynne shook his head. Really, the girl could do the silliest things, sometimes. But she was still just a child. Silliness was to be expected. Vallena kept her gaze on him as she chewed slowly. Deliberately so, almost. He sighed. He knew that she was planning something, but he also knew that arguing with her was a pointless task. Not when she was so set on seeing things through. One couldn’t win an argument when one’s opponent didn’t operate on logic, after all.
So for now, he’d play along, and see where that would get him.
He turned to the woman. “Sorry,” he said. “But my idiot girl over there insists that I’ve to get your name, and I've to get it now before...I don't know, she's just really insistent for some reason. So here I am, asking. What’s your name?”
Race: Aasimar Class: Paladin Location: Stormrider; Top Deck - Sick Bay Interactions: Liana @PapaOso Equipment: His longsword; Retribution and a healing amulet. A backpack with supplies and his lute. Attire: Clothing and gloves Gold Balance: 63 Injuries: Old injuries include a missing eye, numerous iridescent scars, and a knee that aches when it rains.
“Of course,”
Ezekiel waited. He assumed her response was her agreement to his terms: the full story. What exactly was going on with her parents and their curse. He watched with the expectation that more words would follow.
They did not. Just as she had when he’d asked for her name, the woman did not even acknowledge that a question had even been asked.
Instead, from her lips came what might’ve been a soft chant or a whispered prayer. Arcane words were sung so softly they did not echo down the empty corridor but were carried by a voice enchanting enough that they commanded his full attention.
A soft glow illuminated from her fingertip, and she traced a shape against the wall. Instead of an answer, he got a door—a door where previously there had been only a wall. It glowed as her finger had, and he wondered if the inconvenience of the golden doorway was intentional. It was too short; he’d have to duck his head. A touch too narrow for his shoulders for him to walk straight through it without pivoting to the side.
“Ma’am, before I walk through that door, I need a few answers.” His tone remained soft and calm, less of a demand and more an appeal to reason. Knowledge fosters success, and taking her distress into account, he asked the most important questions.
“Where in the cargo hold are your parents?” There was no reason to waste time looking around the cargo hold, even if she was purposefully avoiding answering his question; this was the least intrusive. He held up a gloved finger, indicating there were a couple more questions to follow.
“What sort of state are they in that keeps them oblivious to their status as stowaways?” He held up a second finger. He needed to know if her parents were perhaps unconscious and hidden in a crate. Maybe placed in some sort of state of stasis to avoid further progression of the curse. It was the most logical answer he could come up with, and something like that, any mystical interference, would need to be taken into account.
“How did they end up cursed? Do you know who placed the curse or what curse it is?” He held up a third finger and then lowered and relaxed his hand. Any details involving the curse were imperative if he were to be successful in breaking it.
“Please, any information you can share will help. If you are honest with me, I will keep anything you share between us.” Ezekiel’s words stayed gentle, an attempt to soothe and prevent the fall of tears that lingered around her eyes. “I will do all I can, but I need your help to ensure we do this right.” He added. He wished he could’ve said that he wouldn’t let them die, but it wasn’t something he could guarantee. It was cruel to hand out false hope.
The wind was strong at altitude today. A clean current from the south kept the Stormrider humming like a songbird, her elemental ring pulsing with steady arcs of red and orange light as she soared through cloud and sunlight alike.
Captain Jovik Cindralis stood at the fore end of the helm, one hand on the polished wood of the wheel, the other flicking through airspeed and altitude dials built into the arcane console. His white hair was swept back, catching the light just so as it moved in perfect, effortless disarray. The sun kissed the fine trim of his officer’s coat, gold embroidery tracing sharp lines across his broad shoulders. His green eyes, keen and impossible to lie to, scanned the horizon like they always did: calm, calculating, unbothered.
They were but a day away from Sharn. No storms, no dragons, no bullshit.
Yet.
"Starboard drag on the aileron three looks a little lazy," came a voice from behind. "Pullin’ left by a hair."
"I’ve got it," Jovik murmured. He shifted the wheel slightly, muttering a short Draconic word under his breath. The elemental ring responded instantly...wobble corrected.
First Mate Duren Reiss stepped up beside him, arms crossed, half-squinting into the wind. Scarred, stocky, and carrying the vibe of a cantankerous warrior. He wore a red bandana tied tight around his shaved head and had the kind of gravel voice that came from war cries and bad whisky.
"By the way, Captain...you know we’ve got a godsdamn Karrnathi general in the mess right now? Just sittin’ there. Eating our food. Like he didn’t spend twenty years sending undead after us in the Wroat campaign."
Jovik didn’t look at him. Just adjusted a flow stabilizer rune and replied dryly, "Former general. And it’s not our food. He's passenger, which means he paid for his meals."
Duren let out a long, annoyed breath. "Doesn’t sit right, Cap. Feels like lettin’ a pyromancer nap in a hay barn. You remember what those bastards did. The smells. The screams. All the boys and girls we left in the mud. And now I gotta smile at one like we’re trading sky-pear punch recipes?"
"Wind’s shifting," Jovik said instead. "Roll pitch three degrees to port, up one on vertical lift fin. We’re catching an airstream."
Duren obeyed without missing a beat, hands moving over the secondary controls like a pianist playing from muscle memory. "You didn’t answer me."
"I did," the captain replied. "The war’s over. You don’t like it? Maybe I don't like how it all turned out either. But clinging to the hate that fueled it is how it starts again."
Duren gave a bitter chuckle. "You sound like my therapist. If I had one. Which I don’t. Because I kill problems, I don’t talk to them."
"Try it sometime."
"I’d rather arm wrestle a lich."
Jovik finally glanced his way. That damned smile. The one that turned barmaids to poets and smugglers to loyalists.
Duren groaned. "You’re probably right. As always. Doesn’t mean I’m listenin’, but you’re right."
They fell into a practiced silence, the only sound the whirring of the arcane core and the rhythmic hum of elemental fire in motion. The ship swam like a shark through the sky, graceful and deadly.
A light tap of boots against the deck announced a third voice.
"Captain?" It was Chief Deck Officer Callandra Venn...sharp-featured, brown-haired, and unflinchingly competent. "We’re getting some anomalous readings from the cargo hold. Energy flux in a small radius...not dangerous levels, but enough to trigger a core ping."
Jovik tilted his head, thoughtful. "Send Engineer Airresh to investigate."
Callandra hesitated. "Sir, Scratch is on his break. But...I can go find him, if you want."
"Please do. And let him know I owe him something fermented for the trouble. Maybe even an extra lunch break, if he's feeling greedy."
Duren snorted. "What about the girl? She's not allowed in the hold anymore. Shouldn't be allowed onboard at all in my humble opinion."
Jovik’s lips curled again, just slightly. "We both know that if Scratch is going, Val’s going. I’ve stopped wasting time trying to keep water from falling downhill. Can't run from your shadow."
Callandra gave a sly nod. "I’ll make sure Airresh is with her the whole time. Should keep things from catching fire."
"Much appreciated," the captain replied, already returning his focus to the heading readout.
Callandra turned and left, and after another brief period of that same practiced silence, Duren spoke up again, quieter this time.
"…Are you sure we can’t have a ship rule about necromancers? Like… toss ’em overboard. No trial, no fuss."
Jovik just smiled and shook his head...then adjusted the altitude ring by a quarter degree.
The Stormrider kept flying like she was born to chase the sun.
🌸 A finely crafted katana 🌸 A concealed dagger laced with paralytic venom 🌸 Throwing needles coated with different poisons 🌸 Black silk combat outfit reinforced with hidden Mithril chainmail 🌸 Soft-soled boots that allow for near-silent movement 🌸 Smoke bombs and illusion charms for quick escapes 🌸 A set of forged documents under multiple aliases 🌸 A tea set and an assortment of teas 🌸 Incense
Attire: Gold Balance: 56 Injuries: None currently, but has numerous faded scars on her body
”If I'm wrong, Wendel, I'll give you three gold. If I'm right, well, then I merely request you grace me with your company again.” Meiyu smirked at the dwarf, briefly glancing at his journal he wrote in, before looking away.
She leaned back slightly in her seat, one leg crossed neatly over the other, her elbow resting on the edge of the bar as she held her empty tankard like a trophy. Her eyes had followed Talis’ dramatic exit with the kind of amused interest one might give a particularly jittery rabbit and for the briefest moment, her smile faltered. Just a flicker. Her gaze narrowed, sharp and glinting like the edge of a blade freshly drawn. But just as quickly, that razor's edge dulled to silk again as Scratch addressed her.
She turned her attention to him with a sly smile, the corners of her eyes crinkling with mischief. She briefly glanced past him to Vallena before meeting his gaze again. She hadn't missed the exchange between him and the girl that caused the switch in seats.
“Well, since your ‘idiot girl’ insists,” she said smoothly, mimicking his phrasing without a hint of offense. “You can tell her my name is Meiyu. Meiyu Sadai Xian, if she likes the sound of all three. Most don’t bother asking, and most who do tend to regret it later. But I like that she did.”
Meiyu turned slightly, catching Vallena’s wide-eyed, bread-stuffed stare, and raised her tankard in a mock-toast. “Eat up, little matchmaker. Life moves fast when you’re trying to orchestrate romance.”
She then set the tankard down, her fingers lingering on the cool rim, her gaze drifting back toward the hall Talis had fled into. Her expression turned thoughtful, though only someone truly observant might notice the way her eyes sharpened or how her body language subtly shifted from leisurely to ready.
“Well, ladies and gentlemen,” she said with a sudden softness, rising from her seat while quickly downing her original drink Gears gave her. “Seems something in that mead stirred more than conversation. I do believe I need to… relieve myself as well. Biologically. In a place. That is not here.”
There was a faint echo of Talis’ earlier words in her delivery—subtle, mocking, but not unkind. If anything, she seemed amused by the mimicry. Her eyes lingered for a heartbeat longer on Bastion, unreadable, then flicked to Wendel with a wink.
“Don’t miss me too much,” she purred to the dwarf, before turning to Scratch.
”If you find yourself in need of some potentially interesting conversation later, do feel free to seek me out.” She then turned on her heel and followed the same path Talis had taken, with steps far too quiet for someone simply heading to the restroom.
Location: Top Deck Race: Dark Elf & Human Class: Artificer & Rogue Interactions:@Tae Meiyu Mentions: Equipment:
Scratch Medical bag Tinkerer's kit Arcane spindlelock (shortened) musket Spindlelock pistols x2 Hand axes x2 Val First-aid bag Tinkerer's kit Spindlelock pistols x2 Steel daggers x2
Attire:
Scratch Dark brown, knee-length coat Black waistbelt Grey button-up shirt Dark brown trousers Heavy leather boots Val Off-white shirt Red ribbon tied around left arm Brown hooded coat Brown trousers Leather boots Goggles on her head
Gold: 70 Injuries:
Scratch NA Val NA
“Meiyu Sadai Xian.” Scaerthrynne repeated the woman’s name, slowly and loudly. The latter for Vallena’s benefit, the former for his own. Each syllable came off of his tongue with clinical, mechanical precision, as if he were analysing every minute sound in his mind before saying them aloud. “Nice name,” he remarked, taking another bite from his sandwich. He swallowed and continued with, “Very Yuan-ti. It’s got a good flow to it. Better than some names I’ve heard, at least.”
Meiyu’s remark about how people rarely asked for a name, and that those who did, regretted it, didn’t pass his ears unnoticed, but he decided not to delve further into the matter. Everyone had their own secrets and their own mysteries. Scaerthrynne didn’t need to go uncovering every single one. He couldn’t deny that his curiosity was piqued, however. This lady certainly was interesting.
He turned to Vallena. “There’s your answer,” he said to the girl. “Are you even going to use it?”
“Nope!” She didn’t even try to pretend otherwise, looking at him, then at Meiyu, with a satisfied smile wide on her face. “Riddles is Riddles, like how Scratch is Scratch.”
“Huh.” Scaerthrynne raised a brow, his expression more quizzical than annoyed. “What’re your reasons for asking me to ask her in the first place, then?” Before Vallena could reply, however, Meiyu spoke.
“Eat up, little matchmaker. Life moves fast when you’re trying to orchestrate romance.”
A deep flush came over Vallena’s cheeks. The toes of her boots tapped against the counter as she kicked her legs, the fidgeting a sign of her nervousness at being found out. “W-What?” She squeaked and looked down at her plate. A skittish giggle bubbled from her lips and she scratched her neck. “I didn’t– I mean, I’m not orchestrating anything! I’m not even good at music! I was just curious, is all!” She hesitantly looked up at Meiyu, her smile now mostly-sheepish. “I-I like your name, by the way! It sounds really pretty! Like what Scratch said–”
“I didn’t say that,” Scratch interjected. “I said it sounds nice.”
Vallena went on as if he hadn’t said anything. “–And it’s really different! I mean, compared to other names I’ve heard before, at least. It’s…” Her brows scrunched as she tried to think of a word. “It’s…Exotic? That’s how that word is used, right?” She glanced at Scaerthrynne, and got a shrug in response. That was good enough for her, and she continued, “But I’ll still call you ‘Riddles’! N-Not that I don’t like your name, it’s just, um, not easy for me to remember. Like Scratch’s name. It’s really long, you know? And weird. So I call him Scratch!”
She paused. And then added simply, “Names are hard.”
Scaerthrynne chuckled and shook his head. Vallena had a nickname for just about everyone who passed through the Stormrider, with the exception of Gears. It seemed that, in exchange for possessing a head for medical and engineering knowledge, she gave up her memory for peoples’ names. Luckily, things worked out in her favour more often than not. So far, at least.
Meiyu didn’t stay long at the bar, and left soon after Vallena finished speaking. ”If you find yourself in need of some potentially interesting conversation later, do feel free to seek me out.”
“If we meet again, I’ll do that,” Scaerthrynne called after her. He didn’t have a tankard or glass to raise, so he raised the last remaining bite of his sandwich before popping it into his mouth. There was little chance of their paths crossing, he had little doubts of that – the Stormrider was a large vessel. One could spend a week exploring her many hallways, service corridors, and holds non-stop, and only see a third of what she had to offer.
But still, he found himself hoping that he would see her again. She was interesting. The way she spoke of the deadly art of poisoning, the way she carried herself – such as when she went from relaxed to ready for a fight in almost an instant – and the enigma surrounding her all told Scaerthrynne that she was someone who was very dangerous, whose line of work was likely shadier than most, and who had lived a storied life different from most.
And thus, she was very, very interesting.
Scaerthrynne kept his eye on her until her back disappeared into the crowd. Then, he glanced sideways at Vallena. “Matchmaking, huh?” He asked. The girl’s bashful look gave him the answer he needed. “Haven’t you learned anything from the last time you tried something like that?”
“No? What happened?” Vallena looked at him, genuine puzzlement on her face.
“I got punched in the knee by a halfling, Val.”
Realisation dawned on her face. “Oh! That was–”
“And before that, I had a very angry dragonborn coming after me.”
“Well, that was…It was just an experiment?” Vallena tried defending her indefensible position, augmenting her argument with a wide-eyed look of innocence. And it worked, Scaerthrynne had to admit. He huffed in a short, quiet laugh, and shook his head.
“Well,” he said and turned around. “I’d take your failures as a sign to stop experimenting.”
“Aw, I was only trying to help, Scratch,” Vallena replied.
“I know,” Scaerthrynne said, reaching over to ruffle her hair. She giggled and leaned into his palm. A smile, soft and slight, crept across his lips. Really, he didn’t know what was with her obsession with finding him a partner. It wasn’t as if he had the time or desire for one. Almost a half-millenium of life had given him his fill of that sort of companionship. It wasn’t as if any of them had ever ended favourably.
“I don’t understand you, Thrynne! Are you heartless, or just a Gods-damned cunt?”
“I’m sorry, Cutter. I’m sorry I ever asked this of you.”
“Goodbye, Scaer. I…I wish things could’ve gone differently.”
More unpleasant memories. Words only, this time, but still unpleasant. He willed them away with a shake of his head. “I promise you, Val, if that day ever comes when I decide that I want another person to worry about, you’ll be the first person I’ll turn to for help.” He gave the girl a mischievous grin. “But I don’t think that day’s coming anytime soon. Looking after you keeps me busy enough.”
“Hey!” Vallena protested, but laughed anyway. “Who’s looking after who? Where’d you be without me?”
“I don’t know,” Scaerthrynne replied. “Somewhere where I’m not getting punched by halflings, or hunted by dragonborn, or having to clean up after your messes, I imagine.” A soft chuckle left his lips. “You make me wonder, really. How’s it that in some things you’ve got a silver tongue, and in others, you have all of the subtlety of an un-aerodynamic brick?”
“I’m still learning! Just you watch, Scratch.” She huffed, then tilted her head at him. “Wait a minute…Aren’t all bricks not aerodynamic?”
“That, they are.” Scaerthrynne nodded to her plate. “You should eat up. Only a matter of time before we’re asked to go somewhere else. Probably on the ars– I mean, on the other side of the ship, with my luck.”
Race: Warforged Class: Warrior Location: Airship; Top Deck - Bar Interactions/Mentions:@PapaOso Talis, @FunnyGuy Wendel, @Tae Meiyu, @princess Phia, and everyone else at the bar. Equipment:
☼ Tower Shield ☼ Greatsword made of Glacium (A material as hard as steel, yet formed from eternally frozen ice.) ☼ Titan Chain – A reinforced tow chain housed in his left palm, functioning as a powerful grappling hook. ☼ Aged Leather Satchel ☼ Worn but cherished scarf ☼ Maintenance Kit . ☼ Heavy-duty rations (for companions, not himself). ☼ A delicate glass figurine of a bird—an old keepsake. ☼ A locked, timeworn journal—contents unknown.
Attire: ☼ Etched and weathered plating with bronze accents. ☼ Fitted harness for carrying supplies. ☼ Worn scarf Gold Balance: 39 gold Injuries: ☼ None, but signs of past battle damage remain.
“Don’t hang up on it too much, Bastion. The lass might have spilled it with how fast she was moving.”
Bastion turned slightly to look at Wendel, eyes glowing steady. He gave a quiet nod of acknowledgment but said nothing. Then he looked back down at the glass. The water sat perfectly still, untouched.
The lights in his optics narrowed, the soft blue edges drawing in as if squinting at something only he could see. A stillness came over him again, quiet and thoughtful, but not entirely peaceful.
Something was stirring behind the glow.
“Well, ladies and gentlemen...”
Meiyu was standing now. Moving away. Her tone was light, but Bastion didn’t fully register the mimicry or the reason behind it. Just that she was leaving, too.
He watched her disappear down the same hallway as Talis.
Then he looked around the bar. Wendel was still there. Gears was cleaning a glass. The pretty pink-haired girl named Phia and the others were chatting themselves. It wasn’t quiet. It wasn’t empty.
But he felt alone.
Without really knowing why, Bastion reached up. His hand found the scarf wrapped around his neck, fingers brushing the fabric like it might help him remember something more clearly.
Then, slowly, his hand moved lower. He placed it over the golden sun etched into his chest, fingers tracing the lines gently, fondly. The paint was faded in places, but the mark remained.
His optics dimmed.
And for a moment, he didn’t move. He didn't speak. He just...was.
Attire: ⋆ Outfit ⋆ Hair Gold Balance: 23 Injuries: Scars on body, old chain marks on wrists, ankles and neck, tattoo on wrist with number
Arya watched as the wolf and elf girl joined her once more. She smiled nervously at the wolf. His fur looked fluffy, but she didn’t dare touch it. The elf girl stopped in front of Arya and began to bow. Alarm bells rang off in her head, and her chest tightened. Images of this happening once more in cool, darker places raced through her mind. Stella, noticing her tension, eased her claws into her to ground Arya. She took several deep breaths and listened to her speak. While her words were meant to be comforting, it brought her a sense of dread. Not again…
Despite the tension boiling inside, Arya couldn’t stop the amusement in her eyes. Rocks in his brain and a sour smell in his clothes? A ripple of giggles escaped her and she covered her mouth. The seriousness in her voice caused her to pull it together. ”Dear, me, Phia.” Arya’s voice was gentle and laced with amusement. ”Nobody has anything to worry about. You don’t need to apologize. All is well,” She went to offer her hands to help her up, but the girl rocked on her feet and then lunged for the plate of meat.
Now her laughter bubbled out of her clearly. Arya covered her face bashfully and glanced at the wolf. ”I… Hello, sorry. She made me laugh. I promise I am not laughing at her! Sorry!”
If an eagle could sigh, Stella managed to do so.
In an effort to be more sociable, Arya gleaned around. There was a tall black haired woman nearby talking to Wendel who left after the red haired girl, a dark elf and his human child, and the warforged nearby. She fidgeted with her hands and addressed the group nearby at large.
”....Nice day we’re having,” Arya commented and her stomach rumbled once more. She drank her tea in haste, lest someone steal it from her. ”Miss.. Miss.. Gears.. Miss gears, can… Can I please order some-food?"
Then, her gaze moved to Bastion. She watched him touch his scarf, and sadness seemed to fill his expression. ”That’s a lovely scarf, Mr. WarForged. Are you all right?”
⋆ Lots of Clothes ⋆ Arming sword ⋆ Battle-axe ⋆ Mace ⋆ Daggers ⋆ Bow & Arrows ⋆ Shortsword ⋆ Leather Armor ⋆ Half-plate Armor ⋆ Hide Armor ⋆ Toolkit ⋆ Camping Equipment ⋆ Locked chest filled with old trinkets that ARE NOT FOR SALE ⋆ Magnifying glass ⋆ Diary ⋆ Sketchbook ⋆ Pencils ⋆ Dried and Cured Meats ⋆ Nuts ⋆ Second Locked Chest with self-care products ⋆ Bag of holding
Attire: beige trousers, brown tunic, and worn brown boots Gold Balance: 3 (on hand) Injuries: None currently Current Persona: Wendel
Wendel has taken the helm again, and I must admit, Eleanor definitely left us with little to work with. I have already spent two coins on mead for my troubles.
Sorry.
The Stormrider, however, is quite wonderful, especially on the top deck, where the view is the best on the ship. There are also some interesting characters aboard. Firstly, there’s
“If I'm wrong, Wendel, I'll give you three gold. If I'm right, well, then I merely request you grace me with your company again.”
The pen came to an abrupt stop, adding a bit too much ink onto the end of the last “s” he jotted down. He gulped and removed his pen from the page, grateful his attention had been divided as he planned. Unfortunately, the woman's voice had quite some pull on him. Why does she speak like that? He turned to face her only to give her a firm nod. Her wager was one he'd have to accept if he aimed to make any coin on this ship. Having six gold coins would at least put him in a better place than where he had started.
His stomach grumbled quietly to remind him he'd need to buy something to eat with all that he had left. Looking back at the book, he frowned. Eleanor… I hope you're next. I pray you are lucky enough to show yourself next.
Miris’ dilemma was a strange one with strange problems and even stranger ways for people to send a stern message to one another. Wendel could never forget the time he woke to find himself nude and handcuffed to a metal bed frame in a very cheaply rented room. The mattress was nearly bare, its sheets and pillows tossed on the floor. Only the journal and a pen in reach.
Wendel shook the strange memory from his mind.
The Stormrider, however, is quite wonderful, especially the top deck where the view is the best on the ship. There are also some interesting characters aboard. Firstly, there’s a kind and old Warforged named Bastion. Be kind to him, please if you meet him. Then there is the bartender, Gears, also a Warforged. She is quite delightful, and her prices are fair, but please remember, we don't have much coin.
There are others, such as
“...my name is Meiyu. Meiyu Sadai Xian…” Another “s” fell victim to the woman's voice.
There are others, such as Meiyu Sadai Xian. I believe her first name is appropriate enough. I met her at the bar. I
What was he supposed to write about her? That she was beautiful? Her voice was alluring to him?
I met her at the bar. She’s picturesque in appearance. Black hair, amber eyes, and patches of scales here and there. I heard someone mention her being a Yuan Ti just now. She's very beautiful. Anyway, I made a wager with her, which may potentially yield some coin. Perhaps tomorrow, someone could try to entertain her games to get more. I don't like to condone gambling but we need the coin. I'll try to find another way. Maybe I can dig into our bag for some loose gold. Hopefully, there's more.
Also, most people here are quite pleasant, save for one. Avoid him, please. He's a red-scaled Dragonborn accompanied by his daughter. He's trouble and might be looking for a fight. At worst, we can wait until we land if any of us have any misgivings for him.
Safe travels, For all of us
Despite feeling like he had finished, Wendel kept the journal open. It was his shield against Meiyu, but fortunately for him, she was announcing her temporary leave from the bar. He watched her take a long moment to look at Bastion before she struck with a wink and purring words.
His cheeks lit up once more, but again he kept himself together, literally. He gave her another nod but quickly turned his head front toward the journal. With the pen, she struck through the mention of her beauty once more.
“....Nice day we’re having,”
Wendel reacted to Arya’s words with a low defying grunt.
“Something like that.” He mumbled before feeling his stomach grumble again. He needed to eat before he fell victim to a sudden change. And so, as Arya ordered her food, Wendel raised his hand. “One Breland Breakfast for me, please. My stomach is about ready to fight me.” Wendel gave Gears a short-lived smirk. Arya’s concern for Bastion had caused him to shift his eyes to his newfound friend.
“He might be bored… Bastion…” Wendel would never understand how it felt to be at a bar with no desire or need to eat or drink. Once conversations and laughter died down, there was little left to enjoy. “You can always… watch them. Just like you do with the birds.” Wendel was attempting to string something together for Bastion's sake. “A friend of mine calls it, people watching. Sure, we don't soar the sky with grace, but sometimes we do very silly and interesting things… Or you can…” Wendel turned to look at Arya and Stella. “...make new friends. And she even has a bird.” Wendel stifled a chuckle.
She inhaled through her nose, held it for a moment, then spoke with measured clarity. Her voice was soft, her control returning.
“They’re located in the back corner of the hold, just behind a stack of cargo near the main ventilation shaft.”
She didn’t look away from him, didn’t blink.
“They’ve been sedated. I administered something mild to keep them unconscious and still during the transfer. It was the only viable way to bring them aboard without detection.”
Her fingers folded neatly in front of her, the gesture practiced, composed.
“The curse came from a fortune teller in Sarlona. A woman we tried to help, who responded with spite. Her pride led her astray and she died for her cruelty. She called it a blood-binding. It presents no symptoms at first, but over time it depletes the body’s strength. Quietly, persistently. They’re deteriorating from within… The very blood in their veins is killing them.”
She glanced to the portal, then back to Ezekiel. Her voice, though still soft, became even more deliberate.
“I’ve tried everything I know. I can’t stop it. But you might be able to.”
Her lips parted slightly, then pressed together again for a beat before she spoke once more.
“My name is Liana...Liana Vestra”
The smallest of pauses passed between them.
“If that makes any difference.”
She stepped aside, leaving the path open. Nothing else moved in her expression but her eyes, which remained glassy and full of restrained urgency.
“Please. I need you.”
Ezekiel. The portal hums softly beside her, golden light brushing the corridor like morning sun. It should feel warm, but It doesn’t.
She stands still, not pressing, just waiting. Her hands folded. Her voice soft. Her tears real… or close enough to pass for it.
She has told you everything you asked for. Every word precise. Every tear perfectly timed.
You sense no lie. And perhaps that troubles you more than if you had.
You feel the weight of her gaze. Not hostile, just desperate. But also… expectant. As if some part of her already knows the outcome.
Behind that door, there might be the dying. Or a lie. Or both. But here, in this quiet moment, all that matters is one question.
Will you follow hope... or caution?
The decision is yours.
It’s time, Ezekiel. Make your choice. Who is it that you wish to be?
Race: Aasimar Class: Paladin Location: Stormrider; Cargo Hold Interactions: Liana @PapaOso Equipment: His longsword; Retribution and a healing amulet. A backpack with supplies and his lute. Attire: Clothing and gloves Gold Balance: 68 Injuries: Old injuries include a missing eye, numerous iridescent scars, and a knee that aches when it rains. He had not expected satisfactory answers, but Liana had delivered them. A hazy picture was painted: the location of her parents, the state they were in, and the nature of the curse. Curiosity tugged at parts of her story: what had led to them crossing paths with the fortune teller, why the curse had been placed, and the circumstances revolving around the death of the fortune teller. But life rarely supplied one with every answer, and there was no need to trouble Liana further for the unabridged version of the story. It seemed she struggled to share what details she had told him.
Entirely understandable, trust was hard to offer strangers even under the best of circumstances, and requests for help were rarely unflawed. There was little surprise in hearing her and her parents had been betrayed by some fortune teller. Con artists who deal in false prophecy and leech off the desperate - they were an unsavory lot. What had transpired was a dark act, a malevolent curse that needed to be corrected.
His faith demanded action.
His oath demanded action.
His blood demanded action.
The soft glow of the portal illuminated Liana’s features. Tears lingered in the corners of her eyes, her plea lingered in his ears. It must be a terrible thing to witness, watching people you love slowly deteriorate.
Ezekiel had watched his entire nation vanish in an instant, almost certainly the result of some dark curse. It was not the slow, drawn-out wasting that Liana’s parents suffered from, but the end result was not too different - a helpless and devastating loss.
“I lost my family in The Mourning. I do not wish to see another lose theirs.“ He said with a solemn nod of his head.
There was no other choice.
Ezekiel ducked his head and stepped through the portal into the cargo hold without a second thought. What more was there to think about, besides the fragile lives of two people, whose blood had been cursed by a spiteful grifter, that teetered near death? And the chance to spare another an immeasurable amount of pain.
His footsteps echoed in the cargo hold as he walked with the confidence of a man on righteous footing. The area was off limits to passengers, but he had a purpose for being here, and that trumped any ship rules. Without delay or distraction, he headed toward the back of the room, looking only for the ventilation shaft Liana had mentioned.
🐾 Special Magic Item: A magically enchanted Haori garb of snow🐾white fabric made of a mix of various creature materials and what few rare magic crystals scrounged. It enables the haori’s internal temperature to be adjusted to keep the user at the optimal temperature within feasible degree and minor elemental resistance of the basic 4 elements imbued. 🐾Oruna tribal moon bracelet: a charm bracelet made in pairs sharing a deep bond. Those of the tribe share them with a close friend, cherished family member, or lifemate that holds a fanged tooth, one for each of those most trusted and loved. 🐾Small pouch holding emergency dried meat and any fresh fruit picked 🐾Small pouch of freshwater 🐾Sewing kit 🐾Small tool kit 🐾Small gold pouch (17) 🐾A partially started personal journal 🐾A personal dear drawing hidden on his person
Attire: Gold Balance:17 Injuries:
The stoic wolf stood waiting for the jungle elf to follow; pride held in his eyes even as she mocked the hateful lizard, his cowardice through bravado and cruel words lost out to this seemingly weak elven girl, but here showed her Oruna gumption.
"He must have caught a whiff of his future defeat." She nodded to herself as if affirming a great truth of the universe, then spun on her heel, clearly under the assumption that her very presence had sent the lizard boy packing.
She would see the blue-eyed wolf studying her curiously with a raised brow and slight creases of amusement.” Indeed, a defeat assured the moment he witnessed your magic staff's might. Its healing glow is too deadly for those with such wicked tongues.” His nose crinkled briefly still able to smell his rancor stench. He felt relieved for her intervention even if she nearly caused a fight to break out, but in the end, the pair settled the situation with little issue. His appreciation was given with a gentle squeeze to her shoulder that earned a soft pat in return, and the kind adoring smile did much to melt the predatory hunger and stressful excitement still coursing through him.
Seeing that the mention of meat had gotten Phia mind off the unpleasant encounter and gave an acknowledging nod as he started to make his way back toward the bar when-
"...But if a goddess is insulted and we do not seek forgiveness—then what if the stars stop glowing? What if the moon crumbles to ash? What if the other Gods—or even this one—strike vengeance upon this ship!"
Halting in his step by the unexpected string of questions that left the snow wolf paused with a low airy sigh.* She thinks Lady Arya is an actual goddess?* Unsure whether to explain or not. He then glanced over at Arya, the dark-blue-skinned tiefling speckled with twinkling stars and hair that spilled like strings of moonlight silver like streaking shooting stars.* Hm, a night sky beauty that is undeniable. Her timidness and attempts to hide do seem to show she could hold some potential importance…one in great need of help at that….* Menzai pondered this quietly to himself while getting himself settled back to his seat, the tea having sat long enough.
His mind though too frayed and distracted from the recent near-heated exchange to persuade Phia otherwise, a pointless effort for he knew quite well that once she got into one of her prayers convincing her to stop proved better to let her do as she wished, he could only hope she wouldn’t overdo it as he gingerly sipped his tea savoring its soothing flavor.
. “Great Goddess of the night sky,” she began, very seriously, though her eyes kept trailing off toward the nearby plate of meat, “...on... behalf of the lizard-man who has rocks in his brain... and... a sour smell in his clothes, I humbly ask for your forgiveness.”
She placed a shiny pebble at Arya’s feet as if it were the highest offering. “He does not understand divinity when he sees it. His tongue was clearly cursed. Please do not smite us all.”
Menzai was staring incredulously at the elf, the cup held frozen in mid-sip.* Sweet Phia..please…have some modicum of awareness.* The snow-wolf mentally palmed with an eye-closing wincing groan while a part of him wanted to chuckle at the overzealous offered prayer; hardly the first she had acted in such zany ways that it had him suspect a part of her doing so was to make him laugh.
However what had the wolf fretting more was how awkward and embarrassing this all could be, especially for Arya, who had been trying to hide herself. And here his charge was unknowingly drawing attention with this whole prayer offering to appease a goddess.
The shame only worsened upon witnessing Phia grab and chomp at her meat like a starved goblin as if they were back at the village. A cringed frown at the bits of grease and meat dripping onto the counter and moved to wipe it up, a dab in a nearby glass of water to better seep up the mess.” Now, sweet Phia. you’re making a mess of yourself and of Madam Gear's counter.” A small shake of the head as he nudged the plate closer to the edge where she could hover it.” Try to be more mindful of your manners, when in public or with strangers.” He thought to remind her in slight reprimanding with no anger in his tone, merely amused annoyance.
Now her laughter bubbled out of her clearly. Arya covered her face bashfully and glanced at the wolf. ”I… Hello, sorry. She made me laugh. I promise I am not laughing at her! Sorry!”
A bubbly laugh tickled his fluffy ears like popping bubbles that turned his attention to the tiefling now bashfully hiding her face with a continuous stream of bubbly laughter. Where he feared the lady put off or agitated by Phia’s antics; instead laughed gleefully with a light pink hue that gave a rosy glow to those twinkling starry eyes.
His ears flicked both relieved and delighted to hear her taking it well.” Laughter is never something to apologize for, as long as it is not done with mockery. And this ravenous elf goblin enjoys laughing, so no need to fret.” Nodding intending to assure her.” If anything, let me apologize for…sweet Phia’s antics, she means well..Goddess Arya was it?” He asked with a teasing raised brow, amusingly piqued at the potential good friend for Phia, one that wasn’t an animal or smelly wolf shifter idiots like Salan and the monkey-brained Kozu..their influence evident with the elf’s reckless eating habits and the like.* If you can get this wild goblin elf to eat with manners, then you may be a goddess after all.* Loathes as he tries. An opportunity to learn of the tiefling culture and the stars if her twinkling tattoos were anything to go by.
A light tap of a clawed finger against the counter in a thinking fashion as he studied the pair beside him. Phia, haphazardly eating away like a starved child, cute and innocent in her wildness; a timid tiefling slowly warming up with life once more to try requesting an order albeit needing multiple attempts that showed a deep hurt had set in leading to such distrust, but through some weird twist of fate met Phia and already showed signs of a bond needed for their own reasons.
Then his gaze lifted up to Stella, the female eagle stern in her perched watch, seemingly annoyed or exasperated. A trusty protector and an overprotective one which this guardian wolf funnily shared. A cumbersome trait he knew he needed to work on but-
Noticed Phia’s face quickly becoming a mess and with a teeth-gritted groan and then a relented sigh as he picked up a napkin dabbing at her chin.” Be sure to dab the chin at times. Don’t want to stain the lovely plant dress you and Mama Anna made together?” Menzai thought to remind the messy-eating elf in hopes of being a bit more modest.
He stopped after a few dabs recalling she wasn’t a child, fearing he might be humiliating her more than anything, and finished with a quick nod with the brief demonstration enough to keep it in mind.
Shifting back into his seat with a small guilty headshake feeling stupid letting his doting side out or play into Phia’s antics so easily. An irritated pinching of the bridge of his nose.* This airship has proven far more fascinating than the rumors thought possible. Need to settle down..this is unbecoming of a disciplined loreguard.*
”That’s a lovely scarf, Mr. WarForged. Are you all right?”
Intending to resume sipping his tea when Arya’s words caught his ears, only catching a snippet of scarved warforged; enough to distract from the bout of guilt to roam his gaze over to Bastion. A hint of concern seeing the warforge sit almost statue-like, a solemn sadness could almost be sensed in the sun-white metal where magic thrummed as its unending life source.
What curious thoughts might be going through that mechanical mind (or biological perhaps?) with that small woman who had been soaked from overzealous drinking having departed? A sign of wanting to help though seemed to lack understanding of the customs of biologicals and a desire to learn. For a moment Menzai allowed himself to take in the awe of his impeccable design and nary a scratch or dent; a testament to warforge immense durability and though he lacked Madam Gear's graceful elegance, he made up for it with gentle controlled might, still astounded at the way such automatons could move better than most awkward walking flesh folks.
Seeing that Arya had already addressed it, chose to leave it to her and let his eyes wander over the bar, where he would spot the snaketress departing; curious gaze following briefly to see her seemingly make for the bathroom, peculiarly she moved less like a casual goer and more like a quiet stalker, the way she hardly made a sound, each footstep moved with skillful silence, even her large sleeves went without must rustle. He studied the woman a moment longer with wary sharp eyes though again felt no real malice that should warrant alertness; a dangerous beauty with a sultry kiss deadly as her bite from the looks of it; recalling the glinting fangs. An assassin was his guess though surprising about the sultry snake was the mercy she afforded the pickpocket with a hard lesson, harsh but fair….and quite lucky.
More so than the boy thought since assassins and those of thieving guilds aren’t known for such kindness as a simple broken wrist. One to keep a cautious ear out for, the traces of various poisonous scents proved more worrisome as equally as it was interesting.
Leaving the snake-tress to her business with a mental note to catch their name having heard it muttered but had been too distracted to make much out while tending to Phia. His eyes then rested on the dwarf who had been writing in his journal, now conversing with Arya; again he could smell the strange thin vestiges swirling around him.* Even when this close? A truly peculiar phenomenon.* It was strange and almost frustrating being unable to get a proper hold as Wendel’s was simply too dominant but the various colors at least made it feasible to count around 7-10 of them.
Being surrounded by countless other individuals and happenings made them all but invisible, awashed in the crashing sea.
The sound of rumbling bellies pulled him from his studying focus having him realize he might have been staring at him or the journal and quickly slid his eyes away to find dark-elf having finished his chat with Madam Gears with what sounded like a check-up. And it seemed he was left in indignant annoyance, the giggling girl showing that familiar mischief grin of a troublemaker. He shook his head sharing in his mutual pain, with Phia besides him evident. A good physician and father, strict as he seemed.
Then he turned back in his seat when a mixed rumbling of hunger and unsettled battled with different urges once more. A slow calming inhale as he peered into the half-drunk cup of tea feeling he had let his mind wander too much and now had too many things to note down.
Taking a page from Wendel and took out his small journal, letting it slip down the right sleeve where it would come to a soft thump against the counter, its light sea-blue cover sporting a crudely cute drawing of a fluffy wolf being hugged by a chibi jungle elf with little wonky misshapen hearts scribbled around it.
His clawed fingers gently brushed the precious drawing and felt his upset nerves melt away. Picking up and drinking the rest of the tea with a satisfied sigh then a soft clink of it placed back down followed by two firm taps of the counter before raising said finger.” Pardon, Madam Gears. Another of your deletable mule tea..” A testing gulp feeling a small strain in his throat gave a quick clearing cough.” With two dollops of honey perhaps to soothe this sore throat..at your next convenience.”
An appreciative nod after asking then gingerly slipped the pencil out from the ring binding and opened his journal to quietly scribble away his latest findings and encounters. An almost giddy flick of the ears as he delved in eagerly at his notes.
✦ Antler Headdress – Elegant branching antlers wrapped in vines and blooming wild roses and other flowers, dangling with purple crystal teardrops. ✦ Thick Magenta Hair – Flowing in long, heavy waves with many braids, tiny beads and blossoms braided throughout. ✦ Forest Bralette – A natural fabric top adorned with layered leaves, hide, flowers, and shimmering gem accents across the bust. ✦ Arm Jewelry – Vine-wrapped armlets and bracelets studded with glistening stones in violet and turquoise hues. ✦ Green Cloaklet – A light green cloak clasped with a gem like amber—crafted from flora and fauna ✦ Layered Skirt – Flowing petal-draped skirt with high side slits, woven from cloth and flower petals ✦ Waist Adornments – A golden vine belt holding a satchels, feathers, and a charm pouch of herbs and trinkets. ✦ Leg Jewelry – Beaded anklets and thigh cords with gemstone charms ✦ Nature Tattoos & Paint – Faint tribal markings or nature-inspired body paint peek beneath her outfit
Phia glanced over at Arya with meat still dangling from her mouth, clenched between her teeth. She beamed, cheeks slightly puffed out, and managed to speak around her mouthful.
“Yor laff ish shweet… n’ pweshush.” she mumbled earnestly, though her words were not too distinguishable, the meat wobbling as she spoke. Before Arya could reply to that, Phia immediately whipped her head to look at Menzai, cheeks puffed slightly with meat. She made a high-pitched, indignant noise at his comment. “Uh-uhn! I’m not a goblin,” she insisted, even as she immediately went back to gnawing with zero goblin-denying dignity.
When Menzai then reached out with a cloth to dab her chin, Phia tilted her head up obediently, too deep in meatland to protest. Her arms went limp at her sides as he cleaned her face like one might a messy toddler. It wasn’t until he mentioned the risk of staining her dress that something clicked. Her eyes widened.
She decided then that she'd just eat it faster to get rid of it and lower the chances of damage. Without further warning, she launched into a frenzy, ripping into the last bites with wild, determined chomps as if the dress itself might vanish if she didn’t finish in time.
Then—
SCREEEEEEEEK.
The sound of a stool scraping across the floor filled the air.
Phia flinched, her head snapping up. Subsequently, she rose to her feet atop the stool, crouching low with her hands gripping the edge for balance. Her pupils dilated as the last strip of meat disappeared past her lips in a quiet slurp.
But then her gaze settled on the redheaded elf. She recognized the lack of threat, and the tension melted from her frame. Still… she remained just a little alert. After all, the goddess could exact her revenge at any moment. With a soft exhale, Phia lowered herself back onto the stool, brushing a crumb from her chin with exaggerated nonchalance, as if nothing had just happened.
“...I...uh. I need to go. Gotta…uh… relieve myself. Biologically. In a place. That is not here.”
Phia blinked slowly as the elf began to leave. Her brain tried to catch up to the words. Then, as a beautiful dark-haired woman, with gold sparkly stuff on her face, rose with the same mysterious purpose, Phia’s eyes widened in realization.
“...Seems something in that mead stirred more than conversation. I do believe I need to… relieve myself as well. Biologically. In a place. That is not here.”
Phia stared after the women like a squirrel watching other squirrels suddenly vanish up a tree she didn’t know was important. Then, with great urgency, she rose.
First, she turned her attention to Gears as she had been mid-task, and took a hold of her wrist. Without warning, she forcefully placed a marble into the warforged’s hand with solemn finality. “This is for you. In case I do not return.” She pressed it firmly into Gears' palm. “I want you to keep it and remember... we are friends now.”
She smiled sweetly as if she had not been aggressive at all. Phia then turned to Menzai, lowering her voice to a serious whisper.“I have been wondering where the chamber of relief is hidden. I’m going to follow them and discover its secrets. I will return promptly.” She placed a hand on his arm. “Please watch over the goddess in my absence.”
Without further adieu, she quietly crept after the women in a curious little trot that slowly grew into an aggressive charging.
She caught up to Talis quite quickly, calling out, “Wait!” Phia scampered to their side with a bright, eager smile. “I have decided to follow you!”
There was a beat of silence before Phia decided to assure her, “But do not be alarmed—I am not a vicious predator.” She looked at her with the wide-eyed sincerity of someone who had clearly been mistaken for one before.
Then, with a hopeful flutter of her lashes, she glanced down the hall. “I simply wish to find the place of biological release. And perhaps, learn its secrets.”
Race: Warforged Class: Warrior Location: Airship; Top Deck - Bar Interactions/Mentions:@FunnyGuy Wendel, @Potter Arya & Stella Equipment:
☼ Tower Shield ☼ Greatsword made of Glacium (A material as hard as steel, yet formed from eternally frozen ice.) ☼ Titan Chain – A reinforced tow chain housed in his left palm, functioning as a powerful grappling hook. ☼ Aged Leather Satchel ☼ Worn but cherished scarf ☼ Maintenance Kit . ☼ Heavy-duty rations (for companions, not himself). ☼ A delicate glass figurine of a bird—an old keepsake. ☼ A locked, timeworn journal—contents unknown.
Attire: ☼ Etched and weathered plating with bronze accents. ☼ Fitted harness for carrying supplies. ☼ Worn scarf Gold Balance: 44 gold Injuries: ☼ None, but signs of past battle damage remain.
The glass of water had not moved, and neither had Bastion. He remained by the stool where Talis had been, one hand resting gently on the edge of the counter, the other idle at his side…as if waiting for instructions that would never come. When Wendel spoke, Bastion turned toward him, quiet and steady, his optics focusing with a subtle shift.
“Don’t hang up on it too much, Bastion. The lass might have spilled it with how fast she was moving.”
A slow nod was his reply, small and thoughtful, before his gaze returned once more to the glass. The light behind his eys drew in faintly, not dimming exactly, but concentrating, as if trying to see something beneath the surface of the water that wasn’t truly there. Something lingered behind the glass, something unsaid, something only he could feel, and even then, only barely.
Then a gentle voice reached him.
“That’s a lovely scarf, Mr. Warforged. Are you all right?”
He turned again, this time more carefully. Arya sat nearby, her voice kind, her eyes kind too. The sort of kindness that resonated with him. Her skin shimmered like the stars he sometimes watched when the world felt too full, and she had noticed something in him that most did not.
“Yes,” he said, softly, “Thank you. I am operational.”
He reached up then, fingers brushing over the fabric wrapped around his neck. It had been given to him, years ago, and he wore it not for function but for meaning, which was strange for someone who had been built without the need for either warmth or sentiment. But it mattered to him, and that was enough.
Wendel spoke again, his voice steady and familiar.
“… Bastion… You can always… watch them. Just like you do with the birds. A friend of mine calls it people watching.”
The phrase struck something deep. Bastion’s head tilted, just slightly, as if to better hear the weight of the words. People watching. He had no term for it before now, no proper classification, but he knew the behavior well. On the docks, in gardens, on rooftops and railings, in the corners of rooms while others danced or played or simply lived. He had watched them all, curious, quiet, studying the way their hands moved when they were happy, the way their voices lifted in laughter, the ways they leaned toward one another when they were safe. All to be more like them, more like the other biologicals.
People watching. That’s what it was. The word felt right. He would keep it.
“Or you can… make new friends. And she even has a bird.”
Bastion’s gaze flicked toward Arya again, then toward Stella, perched and proud. He studied the two of them, something soft flickering in the center of his chest. He gave a nod, slow but certain, and spoke gently.
“Thank you. Both of you.”
He adjusted the scarf at his neck, almost like a reflex, and then lowered his hand to the sun painted on his chest once more. His fingers found the golden lines, tracing them slowly, thoughtfully, the way someone might retrace the path of a memory. But his eyes never left Arya. “You have a bird. Just as Wendel said. Just as I see there with you. Is it…fun having a bird?”
The bar had quieted just enough for Gears to catch her breath between the clatter of plates and the ever-changing chaos. Her hands moved on instinct now. Wendel’s breakfast came first, and as she slid it across the counter, she gave him a little smile that danced somewhere between teasing and fond.
“Breland Breakfast, comin’ in hot.”
She let the plate land with a satisfying clink, then leaned in just a touch and added, quieter, and through a wink Wendel’s way as she spoke. “And for the record… still too much coin for one mead. You keep tippin’ me like that, I’m gonna have to start sleeping like you folk, all so I can start having dreams about you, honey.”
Her gaze drifted, just briefly, catching the girl with the stars in her skin as she spoke up. Arya, bless her, barely got the words out, but she looked like she was trying. Gears softened at the effort.
“Of course, sweetheart. You just sit tight and I’ll whip somethin’ nice up just for you.”
She started wiping down the bar again, then paused when Menzai spoke up behind her.
“Another mule tea. With honey this time.”
She smiled to herself, already reaching for the kettle. “Well now, listen to you, Mr. Sophisticated. Tea with a sweet tooth. Comin’ right up.”
She was halfway through assembling the tray when she heard a voice.
“Old ghosts?”
It was Val. Little thing always managed to cut right to the center of things with no warning. Gears paused in the middle of prepping a lemon wedge and gave her a soft look.
Scratch explained it before Gears could. Memories. That’s all they were. Just... old gears turnin' slow in her head, and not much else.
But then Val was leaning in again, eyes all wide and sincere.
“Come find us if anything’s wrong, okay?”
That one hit. Somewhere deep in her core.
Gears reached across the bar, her fingers brushing Val’s with the faintest touch.
“You’re a sweetheart, y’know that? I will. Promise.”
She turned her attention to Scratch, who had that look he got when he was about to start listing every loose bolt on the ship. Sure enough, he started squinting at her ocular receptors like she was a piece of broken cargo.
She rolled her optics.
“You know you’re not the only man alive who can flirt and do diagnostics in the same breath, but you might be the best in the world at what you do?” she muttered as he leaned in.
But then he got serious. Really serious. Started talking about sockets and subsystems like he wasn’t also teasing her about her “curvature” a few minutes ago. Val looked concerned as well. Too concerned.
Gears held up a hand.
“I’m not seein’ the world in double, darlin’. Just got one eye maybe a hair slower than the other. I promise, I’m not gonna mistake a spoon for a battleaxe just yet.”
She winked, then added, “But I’ll swing by for a checkup later if it makes you feel better. Even warforged gotta get tune-ups now and again.”
Then came Arya’s gentle voice again. Asking about Bastion. That scarf. That sadness.
Gears didn’t say anything at first. She just stepped over and placed a hand on the big guy’s arm. Not heavy. Just enough to be felt.
“You need anything, big guy, you just say the word. Or don’t. I got you.”
The kettle whistled behind her, and she turned to finish Menzai’s tea. But right as she reached for the honey, she felt a small hand wrap around her wrist.
Phia.
And before she could blink, the girl was pressing something into her palm. Small. Cool. Smooth.
A marble.
“This is for you. In case I do not return.”
The words were simple. Honest. Utterly ridiculous. And yet...
Gears looked down at the little sphere in her hand like it was the rarest gem in the world.
“I want you to keep it and remember... we are friends now.”
She didn’t move. Just stood there. Marble clutched in her fingers. Watching this strange, wild, wonderful jungle elf trot off toward the head like it was some quest of a lifetime.
When Phia disappeared around the corner, Gears slowly opened her hand and stared at the marble nestled in her palm.
Then she bent down, opened the small drawer beneath the bar, and carefully, reverently tucked it inside.
Not with the other trinkets. Not in the tip jar. But in the drawer where she kept the things that mattered. She closed it with care.
“All right, sugar,” she murmured to herself. “I’ll remember.”
And then, with the weight of that moment still clinging to her like steam on metal, she turned back to her work. Time to make Arya’s food. Time to pour Menzai’s tea.
Location: By the Bar Interactions: Scratch / Val @Apex Sunburn
Callandra Venn stepped out onto the deck, the tails of her dark coat caught in the breeze. The light caught on the buttons at her cuffs, and her expression, as always, was sharp enough to cut rope. She scanned the passengers casually until she landed on the pair she was sent to find.
There they were.
Scaerthrynne Airresh, the last bite of a sandwich already claimed. His posture was easy but guarded, like someone resting with one eye open. Vallena, beside him, giggling mid-retort, her legs swinging, face flushed and full of fire.
They looked like they’d just finished a story. Maybe something funny. Maybe something old.
Callandra slowed her pace. She didn’t interrupt immediately. Instead, she let her boots click softly against the wood as she stepped into view, pausing just as Scaerthrynne finished that last line about “the other side of the ship.”
Her chest tightened in a familiar, foolish way.
The Chief Deck Officer approached, her hands rested behind her back in a folded grip, posture confident without being stiff. A practiced smile settled on her lips as she came into speaking distance, and she cleared her throat only once, gently, before stepping forward fully into view.
"Evening, Miss Vallena and Scratch..." A slow, irrepressible smile crept onto her lips as her eyes fell on Scaerthrynne, her heart accelerating. She held his gaze a moment longer than necessary before continuing, "Apologies for interrupting your break, but Captain Cindralis asked me to find you directly... We’ve picked up a minor energy flux down in the cargo hold—nothing catastrophic, but odd enough to ping the core." She let that sit for a moment, just long enough to imply it wasn’t the sort of thing any old engineer should be sent to check out. She cleared her throat again and tried to reel herself back in. "Captain says he owes you something fermented for the trouble...and maybe an extra lunch break, if you’re feeling greedy."
She darted her eyes back to Val before she could embarrass herself further. "And yes. He knows. If you’re going, she’s going. And somehow the ship’s still flying, so I’m not about to argue."
She turned just slightly, coat shifting with her."I can escort you down, if you're ready."
Callandra didn’t look at him this time—not right away. She focused on a spot just to the left of his shoulder, trying not to let her smile widen, or let her fingers twitch with the instinct to smooth her coat, or adjust her hair, or... gods forbid, ask him if he was doing alright today.
But then again... maybe she'd ask. On the way. Maybe.
If he didn’t notice how her heart was absolutely tripping over itself.
Location: The Bathroom Interaction: @Tae Meiyu @princess Phia
Talis didn’t so much walk down the hallway as she evaporated into it,shoulders hunched, satchel hugged to her chest like a lifeline, her boots making rapid little clacks that only got faster the more her brain replayed all those horrible questions.
Her thoughts bounced like trapped fireflies, Meiyu's voice haunting her even as she had seemingly escaped her.
So, little sparrow… what’s in the bag?
Feeling a rise of anxiety, she turned and—a pink-haired elf was charging at her..
Talis shrieked then slapped a hand to her chest, her eyes wide.
“Wait!”
Talis flinched so hard she smacked her shoulder against the wall. She wheezed, hand over her heart as Phia trotted up like a deer wearing a smile and a warning sign all at once.
“I have decided to follow you!”
Talis blinked. Once. Twice.
“...Oh.”
“But do not be alarmed—I am not a vicious predator.”
“That’s… great news.” Talis’s voice was high, tight, and only getting higher.
“I simply wish to find the place of biological release. And perhaps, learn its secrets.”
Talis opened her mouth. Closed it. “You’re...here. That’s…great. That’s so great,” Talis said, her voice climbing an octave like it was trying to escape the conversation altogether.
After another beat, Talis asked nervously, “Um, so, are you planning to interview the bathroom?” Her voice cracked like a brittle biscuit, her eyes twitching slightly as if even asking had taken psychic damage. She shook her head quickly, as if trying to reset her entire existence. “Never mind. Um, we can... go. Together. As… one.”
She turned on her heel, too quickly and nearly spun into the wall again before catching herself. “It’s just right here, actually,” she added hastily, pointing with the stiff enthusiasm of someone giving a tour in hell. “See? Door. Handle. Architecture.” She stepped forward, reached for the latch, and pulled the door open like a magician unveiling her final trick.
The door creaked open with a reluctant groan. Inside: the legendary chamber of relief.
With an exaggerated flourish, Talis swept her arm toward the entrance before stepping inside. She strode over to one of the sinks, leaned forward, and began splashing cold water onto her face in frantic handfuls, as if trying to wash away not just her face, but her mind.
Location: Top Deck Race: Dark Elf & Human Class: Artificer & Rogue Interactions:@Princess Callendra; @PapaOso Gears Mentions: Equipment:
Scratch Medical bag Tinkerer's kit Arcane spindlelock (shortened) musket Spindlelock pistols x2 Hand axes x2 Val First-aid bag Tinkerer's kit Spindlelock pistols x2 Steel daggers x2
Attire:
Scratch Dark brown, knee-length coat Black waistbelt Grey button-up shirt Dark brown trousers Heavy leather boots Val Off-white shirt Red ribbon tied around left arm Brown hooded coat Brown trousers Leather boots Goggles on her head
Gold: 70 Injuries:
Scratch NA Val NA
Scaerthrynne saw the Chief Deck Officer long before she greeted him. It was hard not to; nobody else but a senior officer would have buttons that polished, or an attire that sharp here at the bar. A large part of him had wished that she wouldn’t approach, but when she did, he found the irritation at being given even more work to do minor, and easy to shrug off. It probably helped that Callendra was one of the officers who were nicer to Val.
And it also helped that she always had that oddly charming smile on her face. It was reminiscent of Val’s, if he had to be honest, if that girl was maybe a decade or so older.
“Evening, Venn,” he greeted with a nod. “How’re you going to interrupt our rest, today?”
It was said as a half-jest, of course. While it was true that every meeting Scaerthrynne had with Callendra almost always ended in Val and him being dispatched to perform some of the most mind-numbing, boring, and utterly uninteresting maintenance tasks, he also knew that it wasn’t the Chief Deck Officer’s fault. She really was just the unfortunate messenger of the Captain.
Vallena polished off her plate and spun around in her stool. “Hello, Venny!” She smiled, giving the officer a wave with one hand, and wiping her mouth with the back of the other. “Are you here to eat too?”
Scaerthrynne had his doubts, and with her next words, Callendra confirmed all of them. The urge to let out a resigned sigh was strong, when he heard that it was only a minor energy flux that had given the Captain cause to worry, and so he didn’t bother fighting it. Chances were, it was either a poorly-package, or simply badly-sealed magical artifact leaking arcane energy, or a stowaway who decided that it would be hilarious to play around with the runic arrays set into the cargo hold’s walls for climate control purposes.
It was always possible for it to be something else, of course, but those scenarios were so uncommon, and so far and few in-between, that Scaerthrynne didn’t let them dwell for too long on his mind. He did hope for one of them to come true just this once, however. A rogue sorcerer, for example, would certainly be far, far more interesting than a broken runic array. It would also give the Chief Provost something to do.
"And yes. He knows. If you’re going, she’s going. And somehow the ship’s still flying, so I’m not about to argue."
Vallena giggled at that. Then, she cheered. “Yay! I was worried, you know? That I’d be left here while you and Scratch got to have all the fun.” She clapped her hands on her thighs and looked at Callendra with an expectant expression about her. “Oh, oh! Venny! If, if I do a good job today, can you ask the Captain to let me back into the cargo hold on my own again? What happened last time was just an accident, I promise it probably won’t happen again! Promise!”
Scaerthrynne placed a hand on her shoulder. “Let’s not get too ahead of ourselves, Val,” he said, casting a sidelong glance at the girl. He turned his attention back to Callendra. “Captain sent you because he knew I’d tell Reiss to piss off, didn’t he?” A wry smile tugged on his lips, and he chuckled dryly with a slow shake of his head. It was a jest, of course. He couldn’t disobey a direct order from the Captain, but he could have made it very, very difficult for Reiss to get things done.
“Tell the Captain to keep his ‘something fermented’,” the dark elf continued. “I’m four-fifty. Four-fifty-one in a few months or thereabouts. I’ve to start watching my drinking. And I don’t need an extra lunch break. I’m busy enough to not be able to use it, anyway.” He jerked a thumb in Vallena’s direction. “If he really wants to give me something, he can allow Val to wander the cargo hold again. She’s not so much of an idiot that she’ll make the same mistake twice, and do you have any idea how annoying it is when I need her to fetch something from down there, only to realise that I’ve to go with her?”
“Aw, thanks, Scratch!” Vallena chirped. Then, she tapped a finger against her lip. “I…Think?”
Another sidelong glance at her, this time accompanied by a grin. “You’re welcome, Val,” Scaerthrynne said and looked back at Callendra. “Oh, and Reiss can apologise to her for all the shi– I mean, nonsense he’s been saying about her. Don’t think for a second I don’t know about that.”
With his terms set, he pushed himself away from the counter. Vallena turned and gave Gears a big wave, and a few parting words, before hopping off her stool. “See you later, Miss Gears!” Her energetic voice cut through the ambient noise of the bar like a knife. “That was really yummy! Thanks again!”
Scaerthyrnne straightened his clothes before taking a step forward. “Well, lead the way,” he said. Then, he leaned in a little closer to Callendra, his eyes narrowed. “You’re looking a little red. I thought I was the only one getting overworked on this ship. You’re not going to collapse along the way from fatigue, are you?”
The cargo hold was dim, colder than the decks above. Lanterns flickered in their fixtures, casting long shadows over crates and coiled chains. It was quiet. Too quiet. The only sound was the soft echo of Ezekiel’s boots on metal flooring.
Toward the aft corner, just as she said, two shapes lay curled beneath a blanket. Still. Silent.
One of them shifted ever so slightly.
He moved toward them, each step steady, guided by purpose.
Halfway there, he spoke.
“I lost my family in The Mourning. I do not wish to see another lose theirs.“
She tilted her head slightly at his words, and for a moment, her expression softened.
“Then you understand.”
There was a pause just long enough to feel like it mattered.
“That kind of loss stays in the bones. It never leaves you. It just waits for someone else to carry it.”
Her voice never wavered. But something in her eyes flickered, like a match held a second too long.
“You know…”
She said, still standing in the entrance behind him, her figure framed in the warm light of the fading portal. Her voice was softer now, touched by something that might have been regret.
“I’m about to admit something to you that’s never happened to me before. Not once, in all my years of doing this, have I ever felt bad for being good at my job.”
She stepped into the hold. The golden light from the portal dimmed behind her.
“Not until today. Not until you.”
She walked past him, slow and composed, toward the blanket. She knelt beside it and placed her hand on the edge of the fabric.
“I’m sorry.”
And she pulled it back.
Two passengers lay beneath it, bruised and bloodied, chained at the wrists and ankles. They were alive, breathing shallowly. Between them sat a rounded arcane device, hovering an inch off the floor. It pulsed slowly beneath a translucent field of energy, covered in shifting runes that flickered with unstable power.
Dark tendrils of magic stretched from the bomb, connecting to the metal chains wrapped around them. The implication was immediate. Obvious.
Any movement. Any attempt to break the chains. And it would go off.
Liana looked at him, and for the first time, her mask was gone. Not shattered. Just… set aside.
“You can probably save one of them. If you’re lucky.”
Her eyes met his, steady and unflinching.
“But try to free them both, and all three of you die.”
She took a single step back, letting the briefest pause hang between them…one that showed a hint of regret.
“I’m sorry it had to be a good man. You truly are a dying breed. But this is about something more important than good or evil. Goodbye, Ezekiel.”
Black smoke bloomed at her feet. Her body dissolved into shadow and vanished in a silent burst of arcane vapor.
The portal collapsed behind them with a dull thud, sealing the hold in silence once more.
And Ezekiel was left standing between the weight of two lives… and one impossible choice.
