She sat alone, poised on a simple bench of darkwood bolted to the Stormrider’s upper deck.
The wind toyed gently with the loose strands of her dark hair as she watched the commotion unfold from some distance away. Around her, the airship bustled with life—passengers laughing, engines humming softly beneath the floorboards, the distant creak of rigging. But to her, all of it was filtered through glass, irrelevant. Her attention was singular.
The woman in the gold and black kimono was the first to draw her eye.
There was violence in her stillness. A perfected calm. Every movement deliberate, every word calculated to control the temperature of the room around her. She comforted the child she had maimed with the same hands one might use to pour tea.
Beneath the woman’s poise, Liana could sense it: the coiled tension of someone who had long since ceased pretending to be good. Not out of malice, but efficiency.
Then came the soldier, or whatever was left of him. Not by uniform, but by bearing. One eye glowed faintly—a sign of lingering arcana. His anger was measured, his morals worn like old armor. The way he stood, shoulders tight, hand never far from the blade at his side—he was a man who still believed the world could be corrected by the edge of a sword, if only he swung it at the right people.
Naïve.
The Dark Elf—he was a different kind of instrument. Sharp. Detached. The type who didn’t flinch at cruelty because he could already see how it all fit together. He did not guess. He deduced. He was not emotional, but he was curious.
Curiosity was far more dangerous.
And the girl with him—the assistant, his shadow. Eager and bright. Liana figured she hadn’t yet realized how sharp the world could become. She would, eventually. The question was whether she'd survive the lesson.
The boy was irrelevant.
Pawns often thought they were players until the board shifted beneath them. This one had tried to steal and learned what hands like the gold-clad woman’s did to thieves. He would walk away from this changed, but not in any meaningful sense. A footnote in someone else's story.
She turned her eyes briefly toward the clouds, then reached into the folds of her coat and withdrew a slender device—a cross between a monocle and a tuning fork, its surface etched with concentric glyphs that pulsed faintly with shifting chromatic light. A quiet chime sounded as she pressed it to her temple.
A flicker of arcane light passed before her right eye, unseen by any but her. It whispered truths. Names, perhaps. Fates. Glimpses. She did not flinch as the device hummed—just the faintest twitch of her brow as it settled with a quiet tone and dimmed.
She tucked it away without ceremony.
The moment she’d activated it, her body language had changed—posture straightened, chin lifted. Not arrogance, not quite. But something just adjacent. A sense of superiority so complete that it no longer required defense.
Her gaze returned to the group. She studied them like one might examine insects in a jar—fascinating, grotesque, and pitifully unaware of the walls that confined them.
They thought they were solving something. That this moment mattered.
How quaint.
The faintest curl of amusement touched her lips as the scene played on. She did not smile so much as acknowledge the idea of one.
Let them posture. Let them teach their lessons and dress up righteousness in pretty words.
Location: Top deck Race: Dark Elf & Human Class: Artificer & Rogue Interactions:@Tae Meiyu; @Helo Ezekiel 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: 40 Injuries:
Scratch NA Val NA
“I appreciate the honesty, but you can save your breath, lady.” Scaerthrynne didn’t even look at the woman as he spoke. Far too busy was he with digging item after item out of his medical bag, squinting at scrawled labels tied to vials and scribbled numbers on rolls of bandages and small, battered boxes. Those which he didn’t need, he unceremoniously returned to the bag. That which he thought might be useful, he laid out in a neat row on the floor. And that which could be discarded – dressings stained to be used, vials too dirty to be safe, dates too old to be good – he heaped into a pile by his side.
He picked up a bottle of colourless liquid by its neck. ‘Slaked ether’, the label read. Several sheets of cloth covered its mouth, secured tightly by multiple loops of twine. “Why you broke the boy’s arm isn’t any of my concern, only that you did.” He continued to address the woman, and continued to not look at her. Instead, he held the bottle up to the light and gave its contents a few swirls. It remained clear. Then, he tossed it to Vallena. “Use this, Val,” he said. “It’s stronger than our usual vaporized azote. Wet a rag with three drops of that stuff and press it over the boy’s nose and mouth.”
Vallena caught the bottle, but only just. Scaerthrynne finally looked at the woman, his expression empty of any outrage, or even annoyance. If anything, he appeared pleased. “Knowing you did what you did proves me right, and tells me that the only thing wrong with the boy is a broken arm. Knowing why, however, does nothing for me. It’s not exactly useful information for my sort of work.”
“Scratch?” Vallena called to him. He immediately turned to her. “Did we…Did we ever test this stuff?”
Scaerthrynne shrugged, but waved his hand dismissively anyway. “It’ll be fine. Either it’ll knock the boy out or it won’t, in which case you can use vaporised azote.” Vallena didn’t look convinced. Her face scrunched up in both uncertainty and concern. She looked at the bottle, then at him. Scaerthrynne let out a sigh, then shook his head. “Alright, it’s not entirely untested. I tried it on myself the other day. Gave me a good night’s sleep and I woke up alive the next day. Is that proof enough for you that the boy will be fine?”
Vallena’s eyes widened. “You did what?” She exclaimed, her voice crackling slightly. Scaerthrynne wasn’t perturbed in the least.
“The path of progress is paved with sacrifices, or something like that.” He nodded to the boy. “But for now, you should worry less about me and more about him. The shock of breaking his arm might be keeping the bulk of the pain from his mind, but I don’t imagine it’s going to last much longer.” He clicked his tongue and started to pack his things away. “And that’ll be when the real screaming starts, and then I’ll want to put him to sleep with everything we’ve got.”
The boy looked at him with nervous eyes, his lips trembling. “Relax,” Scaerthrynne said. “She’ll knock you out long before that happens.” He cast a questioning glance at Vallena. “Isn’t that right, Val?”
A moment’s hesitation, then the girl nodded. She pulled out a rag from her own bag before unwrapping the bottle with the sort of care one might use with prodding a dragon. Despite the lack of colour, a sweet scent wafted from the bottle’s contents. “Don’t breathe in too deeply,” Scaerthrynne warned. Vallena didn’t reply, her brows knitted in concentration as she gingerly dabbed the rag against the bottle’s mouth. Once, twice, and immediately after the third time, tied the cloth sheets back over the bottle.
“Good,” Scaerthrynne said, nodding his head. “Remember, nose and mouth.”
Vallena nodded. “Got it, Scratch.” She moved, kneeling by the boy’s head with both legs folded under her, before gently lifting it and letting it rest on her lap. Nervous eyes looked up at her. She smiled back. “Don’t worry,” she said softly, gently pressing the rag over his face. “Deep breaths now, okay? Everything’s going to be fine when you wake up.”
The boy nodded. His shoulders heaved as he drew in his first breath. Within three breaths, his eyes began to flutter shut. Another four, and his body went limp. Vallena removed the rag, chucked it aside, and looked at Scaerthrynne. He moved over to her and felt for the boy’s pulse on his neck. Then, he did the same with his wrist. “Heartbeat’s steady,” he said, nodding to Vallena. “He’ll be out for a few hours, I think. Well done, Val. Proceed with setting his arm.”
“Okay, Scratch.” Vallena took a moment to wipe the sweat from her brow before going to the boy’s arm. She set the splint – a brass tube taken from the engineering stores – beside the broken limb. Then came the bandages, which she set next to the pipe. She took another moment to collect herself before carefully manipulating the limb, getting the bones into the right position.
While the girl went about her work, Scaerthrynne caught the tail end of white-clad man’s words. He spoke sense – Scaerthrynne agreed that the boy didn’t deserve to have his arm broken, or to be given a sudden trip to the ground from altitude, as the woman had suggested as an alternative. Children were meant to be stupid, and should be expected to do stupid things. And of course, they should be made to win prizes that were just as stupid as a result of their actions, but surely they could be shown some mercy. Scaerthrynne certainly did, with regards to Vallena, as much as she would disagree.
He wiped his hands on his trousers and stood up. There wasn’t any need for him to share his thoughts; he had already spent more time than he would have liked here. “My office is in the engine room,” he replied to the man. “Not the best place for an injured child. I’ll have some members of the crew move him to the sick bay one deck below. If you’d prefer, you can do it yourself. I’m not stopping you, but I’ve got other duties to attend to, so I’m not helping either.” He rummaged in his bag, pulled out a box of pills, and handed it to the man. “Willow bark extract. Helps with pain. The boy should sleep through the worst of it with how much slaked ether we've given him, but this should help with the aches when he wakes up. If you bring him down, give it to the orderlies. They're adequate enough to know what to do. If not, hand it to whatever crew members you get to bring him down."
Then, he turned to the woman. She seemed remarkably at ease for someone who had just broken a boy’s arm, but Scaerthrynne supposed that none of this was anything new to her. Judging by what she had said, this was probably the norm for her, if anything. “Try not to do this again, if you don’t mind,” he said, sounding almost bored. “These injuries aren’t the most interesting to treat, and I’ve better things to do with my time. Next time someone picks your pocket, tell a crew member. The Captain doesn’t allow us to have fun anymore, so we’re not going to throw anyone overboard.”
“All done!” Vallena’s announcement snatched Scaerthrynne’s attention from everything else. He went back to her, standing over the boy with arms crossed as he examined the dressing with keen eyes. The dressing was a simple one – little more than a brass tube strapped to the arm with bandages – but it would do until someone, probably Scaerthrynne, could make a proper cast. The girl looked up at him expectantly. "How did I do, Scratch? I remembered all the steps you told me before."
"I'd hope so," Scaerthrynne said drily. "There's only five of them, at most." Vallena blushed and chuckled nervously. He smiled at her, an upwards twitch of the corners of his lips, and extended a hand to help her up. "Good girl. You're doing well."
Race: Yuan-ti Class: Rogue Arcane Assassin Location: Top Deck Interactions: @Apex Sunburn Scratch and Val, @Helo Ezekiel Equipment:
🌸 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: 40 Injuries: None currently, but has numerous faded scars on her body
Meiyu didn’t react at first, merely swirling the remnants of her tea as Ezekiel spoke. His conviction was an interesting contrast to the usual self-righteous fools who pretended at morality while turning a blind eye to the uglier truths of the world. But unlike them, he seemed to believe what he was saying.
Fascinating.
She took a slow sip, letting the silence stretch between them, her golden eyes watching him over the rim of her cup, never blinking. Finally, she exhaled, the faintest hint of amusement curling at the edges of her lips.
“A cruel overreaction,” she echoed, as if tasting the words. “Perhaps. But tell me, would you have preferred I let him go? Allowed him to sharpen his skills, to grow bolder, more desperate, until one day he chose the wrong mark? Until he met someone far less inclined toward mercy? I guarantee you he will think of this moment the next time he considers stealing and it'll make him consider his actions.”
Her gaze flickered toward Scaerthrynne as he worked, methodical and detached, his attention solely on the task at hand. Efficient, unbothered—she had to admire that. No grand moralizing, no unnecessary outrage. He simply dealt with it.
Her lips quirked slightly at his offhanded dismissal of her reasoning, though it was less amusement and more acknowledgment. That was fine. He wasn’t the one who needed an explanation.
Still, when his attention briefly fell on her, his expression unreadable but perhaps curious, she met his gaze directly. “The explanation wasn’t for you,” she said smoothly, the corners of her mouth twitching in something that was almost a smirk. “I had no illusions that you cared.”
She let the words settle, watching for any flicker of reaction before shifting her gaze back to Ezekiel.
“But you,” she continued, voice softer now, laced with something almost teasing, “seem to think this was an act of cruelty rather than pragmatism.” A quiet hum left her throat, just above a whisper. Mercy’s just a softer blade, dull enough to make you stay.
A pause. Then, a slight shrug.
“But if you believe there’s a better way—take him.” She waved a delicate hand, fingers flicking dismissively. “Mold him into something greater. Teach him kindness, if that’s what you think will keep him alive.”
She wasn’t being cruel. She was simply being honest.
And as Scaerthrynne finished his work with effortless precision, Meiyu idly wondered if he saw it the same way. If he, too, understood that sometimes mercy was just another form of cruelty—delayed, but inevitable.
She tilted her head, considering him for a moment longer before letting out a soft, thoughtful hum. “I’ll try to make my next victim’s injury more interesting for you, doctor,” she mused, her voice rich with amusement. “Wouldn’t want you getting bored down here.”
She tapped a single nail against her cup before adding, “Tell me, what does[ make for a more entertaining challenge? Something messier? A blade wedged between ribs, perhaps? A poisoned wound using a unique poison? A limb dangling by just enough sinew to keep things interesting?”
Her smirk deepened ever so slightly as she took another sip of tea, watching for his reaction. “Or do you prefer something more... delicate? The sort of wounds where one wrong move decides whether they live or die?”
She let the question linger for a moment before a shift laugh escaped her and she glanced sidelong at Ezekiel. ”And before you lose your mind thinking I am some sort of threat or danger on this ship, I assure you I merely jest. I will not harm another soul on this ship. Consider me sufficiently chastised.” The last word came out in an odd, soft almost hiss as she dipped her head respectfully to Ezekiel.
Attire: ⋆ Outfit ⋆ Hair Gold Balance: 10 Injuries: Scars on body, old chain marks on wrists, ankles and neck, tattoo on wrist with number
Arya quietly observed the scenery around her. How this young pink haired lady carried herself so elegantly astounded her. Soon afterwards, a wolf joined and her eyes widened. The two quickly converse and it was quickly obvious they knew each other. Arya tried not to listen in, but it was hard not to notice the two. Being an observer soon was not enough, because the wolf was now addressing her. Her, of all the creatures here? Not only was he addressing her, he’d given her gold. Arya moved a fingerless gloved hand under her long cloak to pinch herself. Was this another dream or hallucination? The pain she felt was definitely real. Astonishment covered her like her cloak.
Her heart hammered in her chest. She folded her hands together to quit from fidgeting. Arya’s voice, longing to be heard, was caught in her throat. Why had he given her money? Was he expecting something in return? She opened her mouth to speak, but now the pink haired elf addressed her too. Her words further bewildered the tiefling. Smokey berries and secrets…? Arya swallowed nervously and took the coin.
”....” The first attempt at speech failed miserably. Oh Gods, would she lose her chance to talk to the only two people who’d spoken to her? What if they turned against her?
”....Thank you,” she murmured. Arya cleared her throat as quietly as possible without drawing too much attention to herself.
”....Th.. Thank you.” She stammered, repeating it louder as she glanced over at the duo. The movement caused some of her white hair to fall into her face and frame the left side of her face. She quickly wiped it out of her face and did her best to hide the rest of her appearance. The horns were impossible to ignore…
”....I don’t know what a smokey berry is, or why you’d think I have secrets… I’m sorry.’
The confusion rose in her voice, as a dwarf now joined them and sat beside her. Why of all places, were they sitting near her? No matter, once they learned she was a tiefling, they would leave. She decided to make the best of the moment. Then, a warforged joined, and now Arya couldn’t help but gawk at the two figures. A dwarf and a warforged together? The combination was a curious sight.
Arya gathered her courage to speak up–then suddenly lost it. A loud yell caused her to flinch and immediately duck her head. Arya braced for pain–sharp, throbbing, stabbing, or burning pain, it didn’t matter—but nothing came. Memories flashed through her mind’s eye and Arya was temporarily void of reality. Heart pounding, she tried to catch her breath, and began to hyperventilate.
This was a mistake. A mistake. I have to-”
A familiar and comforting voice caused her train of thought to come to a screeching halt. ’Arya.” Stella, back from flying, perched on her shoulder and kept pecking her head until she responded. ”You are okay. It was a gnome. Not a threat to you. Chin up. Make some friends.”
”I don’t…” Stella pecked her again and then unfurled a wing to give her head a half hug. A small smile finally escaped her. She took a deep breath as she pulled out of the reverie. Arya turned to face the unexpected group beside her while Stella folded her wings.
The gnome was now attempting to flirt with the bartender, Gears, and the commotion seemed to have died down. The noise level of the bar went back to its normal level, though she could sense unease and tension from the scene that unfurled before them all.
”Sorry,” she addressed the group, unaware her hood had fallen off and exposed her face and features. ”... I.. Thanks,” she directed her words to the wolf finally. ”It’s… It’s nice to meet you all…” She paused and a peck from Stella encouraged her to continue speaking. ”I’m… Ayra.”
The words slipped out of her mouth before she could stop herself. The name change was out of necessity for survival. Stella peered down at her with disapproval but Arya shrugged at her.
Then she realized her hood was off. Panic flashed across her face. Quickly, she pulled it up, but not before she heard: ”Tiefling filth!”
Arya flinched once more and commenced her panic internally. Stella turned to glare at the speaker menacingly. Then, she returned to comforting the terrified blue tiefling.
Race: Aasimar Class: Paladin Location: Stormrider; Top Deck Interactions: Meiyu@Tae, Scratch@Apex Sunburn Equipment: His longsword; Retribution and a healing amulet. A backpack with supplies and his lute. Attire: Clothing and gloves Gold Balance: 38 Injuries: Old injuries include a missing eye, numerous iridescent scars, and a knee that aches when it rains.
The doctor carried on as expected. He did not care about motives and reasoning but focused entirely on getting the job done. It was only slightly concerning to hear that the dark elf occasionally tested out his own supplies on himself, but Ezekiel supposed they had to be first tested on somebody. Honorable, if he really thought about it, that Scratch would risk his own safety first.
“I would’ve preferred you use words instead of violence to correct a child.” His reply to the Yuan-Ti was flat and his eye did not bother to travel in her direction. His full attention stayed on the boy, the dark elf, and the human girl.
Despite the caution the duo used when handling their ether, as soon as the amber bottle was opened, its scent wafted through the air. Sickening. A little sweet. Pungent enough that Ezekiel felt his developing headache grow stronger. It certainly did the trick though; within a few breaths, the boy was out like a light. His eye never moved from the sparse rises and falls of the kid’s chest once he’d slipped out of consciousness.
“Already planned to.” Again, he answered the woman without a glance in her direction. Of course he’d offer the child some guidance, the only logical next step after healing the arm. “I'll find out why he has resorted to theft and correct it. Likely desperation or idle hands. You said he wasn’t a very good thief. Means it’s a new habit. Easy to break.” A teenager who just started trying to pick pockets, that wasn’t some irredeamable spree, and hardly a wicked act. “Things that make life worth living are worth more than things that only keep you alive.”
He watched the young assistant set the bone, wrapping it with the various bandaging materials. It was neither too loose nor too tight, a well-done job. Ezekiel gave Scaerthrynne a nod and accepted the box of pills. “Thank you for your time.“ He glanced first at Scratch and then at Val. A quick nod of his head. “I’ll get him to sick bay.” He kept his response to the point, Scratch seemed like a busy guy.
The surgeon lightly poked the snake. The snake struck back with a venomous barb. She joked about her next victim. His eye flickered back to the Yuan-Ti. “That’s awfully dramatic.“ Ezekiel scoffed as he scooped up the now sleeping child and looked around for the route down to Sick Bay.
“Chastised. Sure.” He said as he headed off. “What did you expect? You snapped a child’s arm; did you think anyone would praise you for that?” It was a rhetorical question. He didn’t wait for an answer.
Location: Top Deck Race: Dark Elf & Human Class: Artificer & Rogue Interactions:@Tae Meiyu; @Helo Ezekiel 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: 45 Injuries:
Scratch NA Val NA
Scaerthrynne looked at the woman, then at the man. The beginnings of a smile crept onto his face – much as he would prefer to stay out of their spat, he couldn’t help but be entertained by people with diametrically opposing viewpoints exchanging ideas. He was even learning a few things. One, the man, despite his age, was an idealist. That was admirable, if Scaerthrynne had to be honest, and rather interesting. Most people with that many years under their belt tended to be jaded. Cynical. Disillusioned with the world. And yet this man here still saw the light in things.
Two, the woman wasn’t just familiar with violence. From her words, Scaerthrynne wondered if perhaps she had been raised in it. Or perhaps she just had a very, very rough upbringing. One where childish idealism was beaten out of a person before they could even understand what it even meant. How did she navigate the world? What were her perspectives on matters? Scaerthrynne considered her to be just as interesting as the man. Part of him wanted to find out what made either of them tick. The other part wanted to just get out of here as soon as possible and finish with his tasks.
But, before he could get another thought in, and before his smile could even fully materialise, he felt a pair of hands tug on his coat. He looked down at his side. Vallena was there, partially hiding herself behind him and sneaking glances at the woman.
“She’s scary,” she said in a small voice.
“There’re scarier people out there,” Scaerthrynne replied nonchalantly, his smile dying before its birth. “Go give the man directions to the sick bay, Val.” He reached back and patted one of her hands before nudging her away. She hesitantly let go of his coat, but kept most of her body hidden behind him.
“Alright, Scratch.” With a nod, and another furtive glance at the woman, Vallena turned away.
Scaerthrynne placed himself between her and the woman, and faced the latter. “That’s quite a selection on offer,” he remarked, sounding almost impressed. Almost. “But it’ll take more than variety to interest me. I’m not bragging, but I lived through the entirety of the Great War. Fought in most of it, too, so I’ve seen plenty of injuries. Minor ones, major ones, ones that rearrange a body entirely. That last one was fun to treat the first few times, but even they got boring quick. Only so many ways you can maim a person before actually killing them outright. So, if you can think of an injury that’ll surprise me, I’d honestly appreciate it. I might even take notes instead of giving treatment.”
He paused. A smile twitched on his lips. “Okay, maybe I was bragging a little.”
“But since you gave me a list of options, it’d be rude if I didn’t address all of them,” he continued. “Physical injuries are always uninteresting. Challenging, if you stab them through the ribs and into the lung, but not a particularly tricky puzzle to figure out. And if you get the heart, they’re dead before I can get to them, so it’s a mortician you’d want. A partially severed limb? Potentially interesting, if the victim insists on remaining in one piece, but if it’s hanging by sinews, then amputation would likely be the only course of action. With the limited surgery aboard, I can hardly be expecting to reattach limbs. Even I’m not that skilled.”
His smile widened, and set into his face. “Now, poisons are always interesting, but it depends on what kind of poison. Since you specifically mentioned a poisoned wound, I imagine it’s a fast-acting poison, meant to make a near-miss lethal. In which case, the victim would likely be dead before I can do anything. But if it’s a slower-acting poison, well…” A brief jolt of excitement made his heart flutter. He could already picture all the experiments he would have to do; all the tests; all the analyses, deductions, and eventually, the sweet taste of success.
“That might be interesting,” he concluded. Taking a step back, he looked at the woman with an expression that was midway between minor approval and slight anticipation. The former not so much because of what she intended to do – a joke or not – as it was her knowledge of the lethal arts. To heal and to hurt were, as it was often said, two sides of the same coin, after all. And the latter, well, that was because a small part of him held some hope that this trip might turn out to be one of the less boring ones.
“Oh, and another thing. I’m not a doctor. I’m a surgeon. I didn’t go to some fancy school and study until my brain turned to soggy mush, so I won’t claim that title for myself.” He looked over his shoulder to check on Vallena, then turned back to the woman. “And in my role as ship’s surgeon, I have a duty to advise against you causing further harm. But as a surgeon, well…” He trailed off again and shrugged. “Only thing I’d mind is if it was uninteresting, that’s all I’ll say.”
Vallena met Scaerthrynne’s brief gaze before returning her attention to the man. “That’s just Scratch! He’s always saying things like that. I mean, in that way.” She giggled nervously, looking up at him. “He’s not actually saying that it’s okay for her to do…That kind of stuff, really. He just, um…He just has that way of talking. It’s a little weird, I know, but I swear he’s not bad! He’s just strange. And a little–”
“Vallena, if you want to criticise me, just do it outright. This somehow hurts even more.” Scaerthrynne’s dry voice cut her off. “Directions?”
“Oh, right! Sorry.” Another nervous laugh. She pointed off to her side. “There’re stairs over there that’ll take you to the second deck. It’s around the bar, you can’t miss it. Then when you’re below, just go all the way to the bow. The sick bay’s the most forward area. If you get lost, just ask someone! They’ll know where to go.” She looked over her shoulder at Scaerthrynne. He shrugged and nodded. “Scratch and I have other stuff to do, now.”
The woman at the end of the bar looked like she was losing a very intense argument—with herself.
She perched on the stool like it might buck her off at any moment, knees glued together, spine ramrod straight, hands clenched in her lap as if they might go rogue and knock something over. Her red curls had frizzed into wild, anxious spirals, a few strands sticking to her forehead like even her hair was sweating. Her robes—once, probably, the mark of an academic—hung open over a wrinkled blouse that screamed “I’ve been wearing this for two days but please don’t judge me.” A satchel at her hip bulged like it had secrets, and one rebellious piece of paper was poking out the corner like it was trying to escape the stress of its owner.
She wasn’t eavesdropping. Not… exactly.
But her eyes kept sneaking sideways toward the group a few stools down. Big, bright, very green eyes—like fresh spring grass if that grass also had mild anxiety. Every time someone laughed, she smiled reflexively, like maybe she could be included by proximity. But every silence made her shoulders inch up toward her ears like they were trying to hide her. She was frazzled to say the least.
But more than anything she was very, very thirsty.
Her mouth was so dry it felt like her tongue had been replaced by parchment. She reached a trembling hand halfway toward the bar—and froze. Gears, the Warforged bartender, was in the middle of a conversation with other patrons. Lots of hand gestures, too. Talis didn’t want to interrupt. That would be rude. Worse—what if someone looked at her?
So she sat. And waited. And slowly melted into a human puddle of mild panic and dehydration.
A single bead of sweat traced a dramatic, theatrical path down her temple. She stared at the empty spot of the bar before her like she was trying to manifest a glass of water through sheer force of will.
Endearing, though. Something about her was just… root-for-the-underdog adorable. Maybe it was the way she bit her lip and kept mouthing the phrase “Excuse me” like she was practicing for a spelling bee. Or the part where she swatted at a fly, missed entirely, and then apologized to the fly. Out loud.
The fly came back. She sighed. A deep, world-weary sigh of someone just barely hanging on.
“All right,” she whispered, rallying. “Hydration is a basic need. You can do this. Just… words. You know words.”
She turned toward the bar. Drew in a breath. Steeled herself. Lifted a hand—
—and then bam! A gnome arrived, all sudden and cheerful and incredibly gnome-shaped.
Talis flinched. Like, full-body flinch. Shoulders shot up, eyes went wide, and then—uh-oh—there was momentum.
She yeeped, or at least let out a noise that could only be described as a “yeep”. It was an involuntary sound, somewhere between a gasp and a hiccup, and it escaped her just as she slipped right off her stool in a spectacular tumble of limbs, bag, and dignity. She hit the floor with a solid thump, blinking up at the ceiling like maybe it would offer a do-over.
But! She had managed—miraculously—to cling to her satchel in the process. Her arms were wrapped around it like it was a small, terrified animal.
“I’m fine!” she called from the floor before anyone could even think to ask, voice muffled slightly by the scarf now halfway across her face. “Totally fine. Just testing the… uh… gravity. Works great. Still functional.”
She peeled herself upright slowly, like she wasn’t entirely sure her bones had survived the landing.
🐾 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 (10) 🐾A partially started personal journal 🐾A personal dear drawing hidden on his person
Attire: Gold Balance:13 Injuries:
The snow-haori-garbed wolf sat in his seat feeling trapped within currents of scents and activities occurring all about like a swirling cocoon of near-overwhelming sensations. Every creaking step, the sounds of muttering voices crashing like an endless onslaught of thunderous light. His body faintly trembled in trepidation and bubbling curiosity overboiling within like lava in his veins.
The golden bronzed automaton beauty only added to the influx of inquiries; dark blue eyes crashed like waves spilling over the intricate metal craft, the finely shaped metal made in a feminine figure. How every robotic stiff movement shifted with a strange hypnotic grace with a clear aquamarine heart glowing with syrupy sweet life with a hint of metallic spice.
“You two from a traveling circus, orrr...?”
The peculiar question left Menzai momentarily paused, his cloudy ears perked up with intrigue; mind briefly recalling the mythical jungle and the countless various oddities and unknowns..and the dinosaurs. (claws twitched to an exciting prey missed)”
A gentle turn to glimpse Phia whispering to the coin he left as payment; a flick of the left ear briefly catching snippets of her thanking the gold metal lump as if to comfort it to know its value appreciated. Menzai could feel the intensely bright calming presence emanating in her every touch holding only kindness. The way she tensed excitedly and called his name in recognition soothed his electrically charged body and did much to soften the ache to hunt with questions.
“ Hm, a jungle circle comes to mind. And perhaps an activity to seek out when the opportunity arises, how does that sound, sweet Phia?” The wolf suggests cooly, his face maintaining its neutral expression, a slight crooked amused smile at the elven maiden cute pouty antics towards having the dreaded veggies mixed in.
“Alright then. This I can work with,” she said, sweeping it up. “One order of meats—extra vegetables for balance—and somethin’ strong for the chest, mmkay. Got just the thing steepin’. Hope you like tea that kicks like a mule. It’ll calm ya for sure…just not right away.”
A perked raise of the fluffed ears and brow at the offered suggestion, a slight crinkle at the mention of mule (muddy bland meat), and gave a soft, precise tap of a snow glinting claw careful not to tarnish the lovely mechafemoid’s counter.” That sounds most refreshing and palatable, and vegetables under the meat, an extra topping of meat if possible.” An appreciative head bow.
Intending to say more till he noticed his elven charge overzealous chugging of her hot drink elicited a small sigh while quietly swiping tissue from a nearby dispenser, where he gingerly wiped any wet residue from her burned lips.” Sweet Phia, please, must I remind you we are not with the tribe? And it seems you have forgotten that meat does not grow either.” A disappointing tsk.” Apologies miss, a glass of milk may be needed as-”
“Hello, barkeep. I am lucky- no, I am happy to say I have met two Warforged today. My name's Wendel and this fellow here is Bastion,”
The aged dwarf from before spoke up gruffly pushing for the lovely barkeep’s attention cutting him off though unbothered as his eyes had been drawn to the huge mechanical giant( bastion his dwarf companion Wendel bellowed) and was perplexed at the quiet ease Bastion placed his heavy bulk on the chair. A brief queer awe at the level of control as metal parts screeched and steam actuators hissed within; a treasure chest of enigma waiting to be delved into, much like the lovely miss tending the bar.
“…You smell like secrets,” she whispered toward the figure. “And maybe… smoky berries?”
Only then noticing that Phia had slipped away while distracted mid-cleaning to find her whispering to the cloaked figure; a glimpse of a curled horn? A tiefling horn perhaps? Finding himself drawn to the figure, this elven maiden always had a way of sniffing out secrets in her unabashed approach that always astounded the wolf, a jealous tinge quickly shaken away by shock at Phia’s ping ponging rudely inquired questions.
“Can you tell us your name? And what species you are?” Her eyes sparkled with genuine wonder. She leaned in again, whispering in awe with widened eyes: “Are you a rock girl?”
Her shameless unintentional insult to the golden miss had Menzai mentally facepalm.” Now, Phia, Surely this mechanical craft of beauty is a shiny metal treasure. Please forgive the young miss for forgetting to offer greetings first.” He interjected in haste before the barkeep may take offense.” This young elven maiden is Phia and I am her charged protector, Menzai.” A guilty small wilt of the ears hoping to amend the possible misunderstanding.
Then an ear shrieking screeching pierced the air sending an unsettling rake of nails on the chalkboard down his spine forcing him to lower his ears before they got blown out causing an irritated tremor to course through his body.
An uncomfortable reminding stench of cheese and a hint of putrid brimstone that could only belong to the blasted gnome he had briefly caught sight of while settling himself. His deep blue eyes prowled their way to the gnome now suddenly leaning on the counter and gawking at the barkeep. Cat eye crimson glints twitched like a snapshot picking up a hint of Phia’s scent buried in his sack; canine ears having caught the distinctive lack of clinking coins when searching in her bag.
The realization hit with a rippling rush of rage.* You…dare steal from…my sweet Phia?* A dark bloody growl rasped beneath closed lips as pink-tipped snowy claws delicately raked along the counter, a faint spine-chilling scrape directed at the thieving cheese-thinking bastard. Even in his struggling bout of bestial urge, he refrained from scratching the well-cared-for wood even as the grains scratched the pointed tips.
A small stabling huff of his nostrils; heart pounding and body nearly shivering from the building adrenaline now mixed with feral ire at this slight towards Phia. A suppressing snarl as he turned away, wanting nothing more than to hunt and teach the ball of chaos regret much as the inexperienced pickpocketing child had learned though doubted he would stop at merely breaking a bone for such disservice.
Feeling his body heating up in a multitude of frustrating ways and sought Phia's calming jingling scent but found himself stunned in perplexed disbelief upon taking in the young tiefling miss now revealed with the cloak slipped away.
*A starry constellation?* The words were breathed on a silent breath as his ocean blue eyes reflected the glittering stars. Every star was a brilliant smile glittering in beauty, the dark pale blue of the night illuminated with kind starry blue gems for eyes that appeared to peek at an eastern sunrise and a western downward when catching the light.
For a brief moment, his body qualms were washed away by Phia's bubbly sweetness and the star-speckled tiefling tenderness and shyness, like a scared lamb bleating a cry for help. The terrified pounding of her heart resounded loudly, almost drowning the burning ire when…
”Tiefling filth!”
Snarling wolf eyes arrowed in on the Dragonborn father that dared rasp such an unjust and uncalled-for insult to a delicate nightly beauty. Predatory eyes glaring sharply in tandem with Stella, only now taken notice of the mighty female eagle; a protector of her own that put him at ease, only somewhat.
Menzai struggled and sought to hold it in, but twice now the lizard breath bastard has crudely insulted without any cause and the thieving cheese gnome had tested his bestial ire enough.” Dear sweet Phia.” A restrained casual lean, reaching to gently grasp the dazzling blue marble between the tips of his thumb and forefinger, graciously held in the tips without a scratch.”But I have need to borrow this wondrous blue treasure, but I assure..it shall return to your hand.” Holding it up to briefly admire its simple clear blue elegance.” Perhaps share some of your treasure stories with your new tiefling friend. I shall return shortly.” A thankful pat on Phia's shoulder.
Without waiting or explaining, the wolf quietly stalked off the chair, the rankle of his ears and twitching of claws as he peeked at the gnome in turning.* Watch gnome….watch and see what awaits you as well.* A shadowy wisp of blood lust slithered its way up the gnome's spine in a cold chilling snake hiss in the air in wicked promise.
Pausing when passing Arya and leaned in only partly not wishing to invade her space.” Please Stay with Phia and you will be safe.” Whispered softly for her ears alone, brows furrowing in concern then tilted his gaze up to the eagle her immense care for Arya felt in the warning glare aimed at the unknown wolf; shoving his boiling urge to give a light bow with a small spread of snow draped arms to show no sign of deception, his reasons honest and intent genuine.
Then with the faint rustling of falling snowy fabric, had turned to stride towards the racist lizardbrain father; every step meticulous with stalking intent; eyes zeroing in on the dragonborn as every step drew him closer the world melted around him, no longer important. The sounds of travelers and adventures bustling fading, turning dark.
Rippling deep blue eyes crackled from the jagged furious crimson glints seeming almost to stretch and claw at the edges, a snarling huff breath, tense ears focusing solely on his foul hateful breathing, and nose rankling stench. On the outside Menzai walked with a neutral gate while beneath a trashing growl wracked just beneath his chest with its fire-raked claws pounding viciously with a wicked hunger now given target.
The stalking hunter came to a casual stop a few steps before the towering dragonborn, his domineering 6’5 bulk of scalie muscle scowling down; a wolf stepping up to a wolf. Yet, Menzai stood unfazed as he stared at his scalie neck, eyes crackling with the beast beneath drooling to rip his throat out, but then the faint scared gasp of the little girl being taught such horrible things and was immensely grateful for her presence, allowing him that bit of restraint needed.
However, the racial grievances could not stand and so lifted his gaze up into the snarling scalie lizard prick’s face. Then in one momentary concentrated burst unleashed his bloodcurling malice directed with all his predatory fury into those closed-minded eyes on a silent sky letting growl released on a simple.” Sir…” Exhaled on a raspy snarl, eyes flashing blood red in a bone-chilling rush that could easily be felt by those with acute senses.” Twice now you have cruelly spat your disdain without cause towards those minding their business.” A Restrained rumble as he kept his posture calm, raging eyes burning his feral ferocity.” Before you snap or snarl in response, I should remind you where you are.” A passing motion of the deck around them shows the crowds of people.
A good number of them could be felt sharing their animosity towards the bulking father as he did so.” This is a place free for all and….there are many shadowy places. So I would be remiss to keep this in mind..next time you openly bleat that hateful fire. Might find the shadows alive next time you display such disgraceful talk.” A gentle shifting motion towards the daughter.” Most disgraceful teaching this pretty young princess such…language.” A disappointing shake of the head uncaring if the dragon approved or not, his clawed hands kept at the ready if he dared to attack.
Having said what he wished to say, the burning ire settled back down as he slowly bent down to one knee in an apologetic manner.” Forgive me, little princess, if this snow wolf scared you and your…father.” A lifting growling gaze up at him then a lowering gentle soft smile as his right hand rose presenting the glinting blue marble position hovering a short distance over her eye, a caressing turn as Menzai shifted to the side to let her see through it.” See this, a precious treasure. Like a pretty sea mirror?” Asking in a soft parental tone with a slight playful hint rarely shown.” See the pretty elven maiden at the bar? She has plenty like these and is happy to share, though she seemed to have misplaced this. Would you like to take this treasure back to her for me? And the sweet tiefling, maybe if you give her a smile she may grant you a wish?”
Gingerly placing the marble in the girl’s hand with a soft hand cupping it close.” I trust her treasure in your hands, carry this promise with an honest heart.” Whispering gently with a comforting squeeze then pulled his hand away leaving the girl to decide what was right, staying knelt waiting while glaring up at the dragonborn daring to challenge interfering in her daughter’s curiosity he so evily shut down.” Perhaps the bird-watching warforged may enjoy it as well, he is quite..cool, is he not?” An uncertain pause in the usage of cool though the word felt adequate; refusing to allow the past disdain to corrupt another innocent curious mind.
Race: Yuan-ti Class: Rogue Arcane Assassin Location: Top Deck Interactions: @Apex Sunburn Scratch and Val, @Helo Ezekiel Equipment:
🌸 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: 45 Injuries: None currently, but has numerous faded scars on her body
Meiyu watched Ezekiel leave, her gaze lingering on his retreating form longer than necessary. He was an interesting one—rigid in his morality, so utterly convinced of his own principles. Not many like him existed, not in her world. Most who walked that path either broke under the weight of their convictions early or learned to compromise, inching toward pragmatism until they barely resembled who they once were. Yet he remained steadfast. How?
Her first instinct was to want to break him. That was always the way of things, take something solid and see how much pressure it took before the cracks formed. But something about Ezekiel made her hesitate. She wasn’t sure if she wanted to shatter him completely… or if she wanted to understand him first. What shaped a man like that? What made him cling to his ideals so stubbornly, even in a world that devoured the idealists first? Perhaps, if their paths crossed again, she would explore this.
She exhaled through her nose, shaking off the thought as she turned her attention back to Scratch. Meiyu caught the word as Val muttered it—scary. She didn’t react, didn’t even glance toward the girl at first, but she tucked the observation away.
Scary.
It wasn’t an untrue statement, nor was it one she typically minded. Fear was useful. Fear made people predictable. But something about the offhanded way it had been said—it wasn’t awe, wasn’t grudging respect. It was simple fact. Something in her presence alone had unsettled the girl, and Meiyu wasn’t entirely sure how she felt about that.
Instead of dwelling, she let her smirk return and turned her attention back to Scratch, her voice light as she continued, “Oh, I wouldn’t be that careless with my poisons. What’s the fun in something too fast-acting? The best ones make you feel it. Not just pain—awareness. The creeping realization that something inside you is failing, and you don’t know how to stop it.”
She tapped a finger thoughtfully against her arm. “Some poisons and venoms burn through veins like fire. Some slow the heartbeat to a whisper, leaving the mind awake while the body refuses to move. But my favorites?” She let her gaze flicker toward Scratch. “The ones that mimic a fatal wound. Make the body believe it’s dying—sweat, convulsions, the slow fade of consciousness—only to let them survive just long enough to know it wasn’t real. This time.”
She let the words flow, watching for any flicker of understanding or unease, letting the weight of them settle as she realized she let her love of poisons cause her to speak too much about them with a complete stranger. She was being careless and she scolded herself for it before she finally, subtly, shifted her gaze. The girl still hovered near Ezekiel, her wariness plain.
Meiyu hesitated, feeling an unfamiliar twist of something in her gut.
It wasn’t regret—not exactly. But something about the moment sat uncomfortably within her. She could ignore it. That was the easy choice. The familiar one. But hadn’t she already started to wonder if she should be something else?
The words came before she had time to reconsider them.
“…Didn’t mean to scare your girl.”
The apology tasted strange on her tongue—light, effortless, but alien. She didn’t take it back, though. Instead, she met Scratch’s gaze briefly, gauging his reaction before rolling her shoulders and letting her smirk return, as if the slip hadn’t happened at all.
“Until next time, surgeon.”
And with that, she turned and was gone. She slowly made her way in the direction of the bar, deciding she needed something stronger than tea to wash away that strange taste in her mouth.
⋆ 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: 5 Injuries: None currently Current Persona: Wendel
“You move very well.”
Wendel briefly raised an eyebrow at Bastion's odd compliment to the barkeep before considering that it could be appropriate for Warforged to say such things to one another. Besides that, Bastion did not seem to have a lecherous bolt in his body and couldn't have meant any harm. If he did in fact say something in poor taste, Wendel was sure he could help Bastion when it came to social interactions, at least for the short time they’d have together.
“Is it your first time at a b-” Wendel was interrupted by the startling sight of a flying red-bearded gnome of all things crashing into Gear’s breastplate.
“My…” Wendel had thought he had seen it all, and was damned proud of that fact too but now he found himself staring down at the gnome with his mouth slightly agape. The gnome was as strange as his entrance as he now smoothly posed himself against the bar while attempting to flirt with the same person he crashed into. All the while, something appeared to be writhing beneath his clothes.
“I don't want to assume, gnome, but you're not-” Again, Wendel was interrupted. This time it was from the eagle mounted on the cloaked woman, pecking at her skull. With his eyes now shot open, Wendel balled a fist, prepared to clock the eagle hard enough to be considered a new exclusive item on the dinner menu. He’d pluck the feathers off at himself.
Luckily, he noticed the young woman speaking back to the eagle rather than screaming bloody murder that the creature was attempting to publicly scalp her. The timing was too narrow for comfort. With a tired sigh, Wendel lowered his fist and shook his head, disappointed in how impulsively he had nearly been. He almost broke two of the rules as well.
No fighting… No making a butt out of yourself…
No drinking…
For once, he felt like he was one of the problem children of the ‘crew’.
“Whew…” Wendel almost voiced what he had intended to do but kept it to himself so as to not cause any unnecessary panic… or ‘make a butt of himself.’
And though the brief moment of chaos failed to compromise him, it gave him even more reason for needing that mead he’d been patiently waiting for.
He turned to look back at the eagle but his eyes fixed upon the cloaked woman who no longer wore the hood that hid her most prominent features: skin resembling the starry night sky that one would only see far from the busy cities and towns, ebony-hued curved horns that were a mark of her fiendish bloodline, stark white wavy hair tied into a single braid hanging down past her shoulder, and last but surely not least, her kind sky blue eyes. Their hue contrasted with her complexion in what they resembled rather than their actual difference in color.
But where Wendel identified beauty, another saw something more vile.
”Tiefling filth!” Wendel turned from the bar to lock eyes with the one who said such a heinous thing. There was a rare fire building up within but the purple-haired shifter reacted faster. A fitting thing as Wendel was no longer the proud and rambunctious fellow he had been in his youth. He had a different role to fill these days.
Turning to face the bar, he looked at the Tiefling from the corners of his eyes. For a second he was afraid of what his comfort might produce from the stranger but that quickly washed away in knowing he'd rather do something good at the expense of making himself vulnerable to however she chose to react.
“There’s no use in you acknowledging that type of talk, lass. Filth? He's a blind fool, that one. Beauty is what I see… That Dragonborn is fortunate that he didn't say such a thing to the Tiefling companion I know.” A light chuckle escaped him. “Ah, Vrexen… he would have made quite the scene, that one… My name's Wendel by the way.” He spoke not only to Arya but Stella as well when introducing himself.
Race: Aasimar Class: Paladin Location: Stormrider; Top Deck - Sick Bay Interactions: Meiyu@Tae, Scratch & Val@Apex Sunburn Equipment: His longsword; Retribution and a healing amulet. A backpack with supplies and his lute. Attire: Clothing and gloves Gold Balance: 43 Injuries: Old injuries include a missing eye, numerous iridescent scars, and a knee that aches when it rains.
“That’s just Scratch!…” Vallena spoke up, defending the surgeon as Scratch and The Breaker of Arms casually discussed their interest in poisons and preferred wounds. Because, of course, the Yuan-Ti had a thing for poison. The connection there was just a bit too poetic not to notice, but not worth commenting on.
“I swear he’s not bad! He’s just strange. And a little–”
“I agree, Scratch is good people.” He softened his expression and tone for the child apprentice. He wasn’t concerned with how the dark elf spoke, only that the surgeon helped when he was needed. Actions mattered over words. He glanced back at the two as they continued their grim conversation. For the most part, it was easy enough for him to tune out, but it was likely disconcerting for someone like Val to hear.
“...But my favorites? The ones that mimic a fatal wound. Make the body believe it’s dying…”
“She is scary, isn’t she?” He agreed with Val’s earlier hushed statement as his focus returned to the girl. The Yuan-Ti would be far from his first pick if he got to choose his enemies. “But not stupid. Certainly not stupid enough to get on Scratch’s bad side. I think you’re safe.” He added in a hushed tone.
Ezekiel followed Val’s direction to Sick Bay. Down a flight of stairs, past the bar, and towards the forward most end of the ship. Sick Bay ran like a well-oiled machine, an oasis of order amongst a relatively chaotic ship. Nothing against Scratch and Val; they provided a speedy triage and stabilized the arm, but the medics at Sick Bay handled everything else without a single detail overlooked.
Someone was sent to find the boy’s parent(s) or guardians. Someone set the kid up in a bed. Someone kept careful watch over the young man’s vital signs while he remained unconscious from the ether.
Ezekiel removed a glove from his right hand and affixed his healing amulet to his wrist. It rested against the back of his palm while his palm rested on the break in the bone. With his eye closed, and the rest of the world almost non-existant, he prayed to the Silver Flame. He chanelled those prayers into the amulet. Light leaked out from behind the cloth over his missing eye. His focus remained unbreakable.
Location: Top Deck Race: Dark Elf & Human Class: Artificer & Rogue Interactions:@Tae Meiyu; @Helo Ezekiel 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: 50 Injuries:
Scratch NA Val NA
The man understood!
“Yes! Scratch’s a nice elf.” Vallena beamed at him and nodded, loose tresses dancing with delight. Most of the people her dark elf friend and she had met before had been either wary or outright hostile towards the former at first, and had been slow to change their minds, if they ever did. Some amongst Stormrider’s crew still viewed Scratch with suspicion, Vallena knew, and that really, really irked her. Sure, he could say some pretty strange things from time-to-time – like now – and many of the things he did were questionable, but it was always for a good cause! Like saving lives, or fixing stuff.
Well, almost always for a good cause. Scratch could be really scary when, as the man said, people got on his bad side, and that was when he would do really scary things. Just the thought of some of the things he had done sent a shiver down her back.
But people rarely got on his bad side, and so those weren’t things he did often. He still did more good stuff than he did bad, as Vallena saw it. That made Scratch a good enough elf, in her books, regardless of what anyone said.
And now there was one more person that agreed with her! That made it five whole people whom she knew that didn’t get put off by Scratch upon their first meeting. Maybe things were starting to look up.
This person was an interesting one, too. Mostly because he was missing an eye, and that immediately lit a curious blaze in Vallena’s mind. How did he lose it? And when? Did he ever miss the eye, or had he grown used to the injury? Would he let her take a look at the wound? Or Scratch? Maybe Scratch could build him a replacement. The dark elf was great at tinkering and making things, after all. And then there were all the scars on the man’s face. What adventures had he had? Were they fun? Exciting? Scary? Did he meet any strange or interesting or nice or bad people? And what about the places he had been, what were they like, and what did the people eat, and what did they wear and speak and do–
Vallena quickly pulled herself from her thoughts, just as the first of many questions was about to leave her lips. A light flush coloured her cheeks. Scratch had pointed this out about her before; she was an excitable girl, and one easily distracted from her tasks. But could he blame her? It wasn’t often that she met anyone new outside of when Stormrider took on fresh recruits, and working in an airship’s engine room or surgery didn’t give her many opportunities to interact with passengers.
But when Scratch was right, he was right. The two of them still had things to do.
She blinked up at the man. He seemed cool. He probably was cool, and he was nice to Scratch too! Thus, he needed a name. Just as she called Scratch, Scratch, Vallena decided that from now on, she was going to call this man Eyepatch. Or Mister Eyepatch, if she was feeling formal.
“I’ll get someone to help you carry–” she began, but cut herself off when she saw that Eyepatch carried the boy with absolutely no trouble. He didn’t even seem to feel the weight in his arms. “Or nevermind. The sick bay’s just down below and all the way at the bow!” She reminded him again. “Don’t worry if you forget, that happens to me a lot. Just ask someone for directions! Or you can just walk in the opposite direction of the engines’ sounds! Scratch taught me that, and it’s always worked for me!”
She waved Eyepatch off, then turned around. A shudder rippled through her as she laid eyes on the scary lady again. There was something about her that didn’t sit well with Vallena, and it wasn’t just what she had said, even if that had done plenty to make the girl want to run very, very far away from her. But it was to do with the scary lady’s airs. It reminded Vallena of people she used to avoid when she had been living on the streets, people who were simply dangerous, and not to be messed with.
Or maybe it was because she had broken another thief’s arm without a second thought.
Vallena shook her head. There wasn’t any need for her to be afraid. Really, there wasn’t! She had Scratch around, after all, and she knew he would always look out for her, just as how she looked out for him. There was absolutely nothing for her to be worried about.
But still, she kept her movements quiet and herself scarce as she slipped behind Scaerthrynne.
The more the dark elf listened to the woman, the more he found his interest piqued. And he liked it; it was a welcome change from the usual, boring fare who booked passage aboard Stormrider. But then again, he supposed that born killers weren’t exactly all that common. And a born killer was exactly what this woman struck him as. The way she spoke of poisoning; the glint in her eye; the way those words flowed so easily, so fluently from her lips, as if they were but her usual thoughts given voice, they all told a story of a person who didn’t just work with death, but had grown up around it.
However, she had reacted somewhat strangely to Vallena’s quiet, spur-of-the-moment remark. A soft-spot, or a sore one, perhaps? Or maybe this woman wasn’t as tough as what he had thought?
He shrugged mentally. None of it mattered, in the end. She was a passenger, and would soon enough be nothing more than a memory, if even that. It was more likely that she’d just fade into being just one, vague face amongst the thousands Scaerthrynne had seen on Stormrider.
“Can’t argue with you there,” he replied anyway. This conversation was an interesting one, and it would be a shame to simply let it go to waste. “The fear of what’s to come, and knowing that it will come, is usually a great incentive for someone to start talking. Or to just make them die in fear, if that’s your sort of thing.” He shrugged, physically this time. “But I’ve to admit, when I did things like that, I didn’t use poisons. Diseases were more of my thing, and it was usually for–”
“Why are you doing this?” The man’s voice was rough, much like the days-old growth covering his jaw. He laid on a simple bed, the sort one might find in a prison, his limbs lashed to its frame by thick, leather restraints. Sweat, and only sweat, covered his body in a thin sheen. He drew in a breath, choked on it, and coughed. Metal rattled loudly as he bucked against the straps on his wrists and ankles. The laboured breath he released after his fit bubble in his throat.
In a dark corner, unlit by the single, oil lamp hanging from the ceiling, Scaerthrynne sat, perched on the edge of a table. That one piece of furniture was the sturdiest thing in this fetid cell. In his hands, he held a sheaf of papers, which he flipped through one by one. “Mister Edgar Federland,” he read aloud, ignoring the man’s question. “You’re an unpleasant son-of-a-bitch, aren’t you?”
The man turned his head as much as he could, squinting his eyes to peer through the dark. “Fucking elf, I should’ve known,” he spat.
“You’ve got a great deal of charges,” Scaerthrynne continued, and continued to ignore him. “Let’s see here…Twenty burglaries, seven murders, five kidnappings and…Twenty rapes?” He looked up from the sheaf, a wry smile on his face. “You must wake up very early to get all this done in…What? A week? Two, at most? Did you ever consider putting this sort of work ethic to other things?”
“Fuck you.” The edge in the man’s words were blunted by the hacking cough that tore his throat raw.
“Oh, I’m afraid your fucking days are over, Mister Federland.” Scaerthrynne hopped off the table. He turned, humming a tune as he ran his hand across a row of syringes before selecting one, holding it up to the lamp and inspecting its contents. “Your town is sick,” he said matter-of-factly. “Very sick. But I’m sure you know that already. How many died in your prison? Thirty, was it?”
“It’s no fucking business of mine!” An edge of fear in his words. “This fucking town sentenced me to hang, what’s their suffering got to do with me?”
“Nothing,” Scaerthrynne replied with a shrug and approached the bed. “And everything. You’re right, they did sentence you to hang, but I think you’ll find that so long as you’re dead, your fellow townsfolk won’t really care about the process of it.” He flicked a finger against the syringe. “But let me go back to your first question. Why am I doing this? Well, first of all, your town hired me to find a cure for this plague, and in order for me to do that, I must first know how it progresses.”
“Get the fuck away from me!” The man struggled, but the restraints were too tight. Too secure. The bedframe rattled loudly. It skidded and scraped against the bare, stone floor, but otherwise, he achieved painfully little. “You fucking mad elf! Get away!”
“I must know how it kills, you see,” Scaerthrynne went on. He watched the man fight, watched his muscle bulge, and his veins pop as he fought in vain against his lashings. The dark elf clicked his tongue, then held the syringe like a dagger. “You’re only making this harder for yourself, you idiot.” Then, without another word, he stabbed the needle into the man’s gut. The man howled, an otherworldly, blood-curdling sound. “It doesn’t matter where I prick you, you see. This syringe,” he said and pushed on the plunger, “is filled with infected pus, taken from the dead.”
The man’s screams turned to sobs, then to weeping pleas. “Just fucking kill me, you gods-cursed demon!”
Scaerthrynne pulled out the syringe and tossed it aside. A wicked smirk came over his face. “And that brings me to my second reason for why I’m doing this.” He stepped away from the bed, returned to his perch, and picked up the sheaf of papers again. Pulling a pencil from his ear, he tapped the blunt end of it against the sheaf. “It’s interesting. Wouldn’t you agree?”
“–medical studies and such.”
Scaerthrynne blinked. That was a strange memory his mind had brought up. More irksome was that it was a very vague one – he had experimented on people many times before, and had done so under conditions that were similar. That recollection could have come from anywhere. He shook his head slightly, disguising the movement as a mere tilt of his head, as if to work out a crick from his neck. “Anyway,” he said, clearing his throat. “I have other things to attend to. That was a good talk. Enjoy the rest of your journey.”
He paused. “And it’s alright,” he said, responding to her apology. “Val was probably just put off by what we were talking about. She’ll learn to get used to it.” He looked down at the girl. “Especially if she wants to be a surgeon in her own right, someday.”
“But not today,” Vallena piped up.
Scaerthrynne chuckled quietly and nudged her away so that he could start walking towards the bar. “Yeah, not today, or yesterday, or tomorrow. I find myself asking when exactly, sometimes.” He glanced at the girl with a knowing look. She didn’t respond, and instead looked away with a nervous giggle. For a while, they walked in awkward silence – Scaerthrynne somewhat level with the woman, and between her and Vallena. The girl trailed just a step behind him, biting on her lip and looking this way and that. Then, she picked up the pace, squeezing between Scaerthrynne and the woman. She swallowed hard and hesitantly reached for the woman’s sleeve, tugging on it gently.
“Hey, uh,” she began, averting her eyes for a while before looking up at the woman. “Sorry. For saying that you’re scary earlier. You are, though, for breaking that boy’s arm, but um…You don’t look scary. You just–”
Scaerthrynne sighed, covered the girl’s mouth with a hand, and pulled her back. “She means she accepts your apology, and that it’s okay,” he quickly said to the woman.
Race: Warforged Class: Warrior Location: Airship; Top Deck - Bar Interactions: Talis 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: 25 gold Injuries: ☼ None, but signs of past battle damage remain.
Bastion had gone very still.
Not out of fear. Or confusion. Or even concern.
Just... stillness. Like a sculpture that had been animated for just long enough to walk into this moment, and was now deciding what to make of it.
A lot had happened in the time it took him to sit down.
There was the gnome with the beard and the velocity, and the complete disregard for spatial awareness. He had made contact with the bartender names Gears in a manner Bastion could only describe as "not normal." Bastion had winced internally at the sound of the collision—a solid clang, followed by a flurry of commentary, admiration, and what he suspected might be... flirting?
Then the cloaked girl had become the not-cloaked girl, and she was made of stars. Truly—her skin shimmered like the night sky, like someone had bottled midnight and poured it into her veins. Bastion thought it was beautiful. So did Wendel, apparently, whose gentle kindness in the moment made Bastion feel... something. He didn’t know what, exactly. But it was good.
There was also yelling.
Not from Wendel. Not from the girl. From the dragonborn.
Again.
The same one who had shouted at Bastion earlier. The one who saw threats in metal and now shadows in skin. Bastion didn’t react this time. Not outwardly. He just noted the pattern. Logged it. Watched.
But then Menzai moved.
The man in white. The wolf. There was a sharpness to his motion—graceful, yes, but also controlled. Contained. Like something dangerous had just brushed against its leash. Bastion watched as he crossed the deck with purpose, quiet and low like a storm cloud on four legs.
It was a lot to process.
And then...
There was a sound.
Not a scream, exactly. Not quite a yelp.
More of a... yeep.
His eyes turned.
She had fallen. The red-haired woman at the edge of the bar—the one with the big eyes and the papers trying to escape her bag, and the posture of someone who had been holding their breath for far too long. Now she was on the floor, limbs tangled, dignity slightly dented, insisting she was fine in a voice that said otherwise.
No one else moved.
So Bastion did.
He stood up slowly, the joints in his legs releasing a soft hssssk as he did so. One step. Two. His footsteps made no hurry, but they were heavy enough to be heard. He stopped beside her, tilting his head down like a confused animal.
"You fell," he observed.
Talis blinked up at him from her seated sprawl. "Yes," she replied weakly. "That... that did happen."
A pause.
"Do you require medical assistance? Or a blanket, perhaps?"
Talis stared at him.
Then laughed. Just once. A startled, breathless sound like a hiccup got caught on a giggle. "No blanket, thank you. But a do-over would be great. If you have one. Do those come standard, or...?"
Bastion crouched down. It was not a graceful movement. His knees made a mechanical creak, and his scarf hung awkwardly around his plated legs.
"I do not have a do-over," he said. "But I can offer a hand."
He extended it. Carefully. Like he was presenting her with a gift.
Talis looked at the hand. Then at him. Then back at the hand.
"You're very... tall," she said. It sounded like a warning. Or maybe a confession.
"Yes," he agreed. "And you are very on the floor."
That earned another tiny laugh. She took his hand.
He pulled her up with alarming gentleness. For someone made mostly of metal and wood, Bastion moved with the kind of careful precision you’d expect from someone holding a newborn chick. He even dusted off her satchel for her when she wasn’t looking.
She swayed a little as she regained her footing.
"Thank you," she murmured, cheeks redder than her curls. "That was very kind. And I, uh... I meant to do all of that. Just so you know."
"The fall?"
"The whole thing. Dramatic flair. I call it character development."
Bastion paused, processing.
Then nodded.
"I don't understand."
There was a long pause.
Talis stared at him again, uncertain if she was supposed to walk away now. Bastion stared at her, uncertain if she was perhaps broken. Neither moved.
Finally:
"I'm Talis," she said, because someone had to talk if neither was going to leave. "Professor. Formerly. Kind of. It's complicated."
Bastion inclined his head. "I am Bastion. I am not a professor. Formerly or currently."
He looked pleased. Or at least he tilted his head in a way that suggested someone had told him this was the correct reaction to a compliment being accepted.
Behind them, the bar continued to buzz with life. Menzai still loomed near the dragonborn, Wendel sat like a wise old sentinel, the pretty pink-haired girl shimmered with energy, and the gnome was probably doing very gnome related things.
But for a moment, none of that was imperative.
Bastion had found someone who had fallen.
And now she was standing again. And sometimes, that's all that matters.
Interactions: Mentions pretty much everyone at the bar. Interacts directly with Phia @princess
Steam puffed softly from Gears’ shoulder vents as she observed the growing circus around her bar.
One minute it was just the pretty pink-haired rock-trader and her frost-flavored protector, and now—
Well.
She blinked slowly as it all unfolded.
Wendel had appeared and was asking about mead. He was kind to her in a real way. A good way.
Then, Bastion introduced himself. The name fit. Sturdy, soft-spoken, with a kind of quiet strength that didn’t need announcing. He stood a little apart from the others, like he didn’t quite know if he belonged. She knew that stance. Knew it deep.
For a moment, Gears just watched him.
Something about the way he carried himself… gentle, but reserved. Braced like someone always half-expecting to be called a weapon again.
She felt it in her chestplate. That old, hollow pang.
He’s like me, she thought. Not just Warforged—forged different.
The sight of him pulled at memories she kept boxed up and rusted over. Days she didn’t talk about. Orders barked. Friends fallen. The sting of knowing you were built for something you didn’t choose.
And yet...
Her optics softened slightly as he glanced her way, unsure. Kind. Too kind for something built for battle.
That made two of them.
Then…he complimented her movements…which was a new one, for sure.
It was at that time that Bobi cannonballed into her chestplate and was now waxing poetic about her “plating curvature” like some kind of tiny, bearded pervert. A tiefling girl had been called filth by some self-righteous dick of a Dragonborn, and a squirrely red-headed girl yeeped herself off a barstool like a clumsy child.
It was a LOT.
Gears stared at nothing for a long second.
She tapped the bar once, twice. Then let out a slow, metallic sigh that said more than words ever could
Still, her hands were already moving. A warm cup of tea for Menzai here, a steaming bowl for the tiefling girl there. Mead for the Dwarf. The food Phia ordered, with a few veggies to make the wolfman happy but not enough to ruin he sweet girl’s meats. She even placed a fresh cloth near the fallen scarf-girl without saying a word…just in case she needed to clean herself off.
Then she heard it again.
That voice. Bright and airy. “Thank you, shiny one.”
Gears turned.
Phia was standing there, eyes wide and filled with earnest curiosity. She looked like she belonged on a festival float, not in a bar. The air around her practically jingled with magic and mischief.
“Can you tell us your name? And what species you are?”“Are you a rock girl?”
Gears blinked.
And for a moment, everything stilled.
Then she let out the gentlest little puff of a laugh. Almost motherly.
“You are just too sweet, aren’t ya?”
She leaned her elbows on the bar, chin tipping slightly, voice dropping to a softer tone.
“I’m Gears, sugar. Just Gears. And I’m a Warforged, though if you wanna call me a rock girl, I’ll allow it. Ain’t the worst nickname I’ve earned.”
Her eyes—those warm cyan lights—softened a bit more.
“And you must be Phia.” She nodded slightly toward Menzai, then back to the elf. “He looks after you real careful. That says plenty good about you.”
She reached beneath the bar and came back with a simple pastry—a little twist of bread drizzled with sweet glaze. She set it in front of Phia with care.
“Maybe this can make up for those yucky veggies, eh? And don’t you fret none about the coin just yet.”
Then, more gently, almost a whisper.
“Also, do you mind if I ask you something sweetheart? You doin' alright? Sky this high can be a lot, especially on your first flight. Just takes some gettin' used to, is all.”
She didn’t push. Just let the words hang there like a warm blanket left nearby, waiting in case someone needed it.
Race: Yuan-ti Class: Rogue Arcane Assassin Location: Top Deck Interactions: @Apex Sunburn Scratch and Val Mentions: @PapaOso Bastion and Talis Equipment:
🌸 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: 48 Injuries: None currently, but has numerous faded scars on her body
Meiyu almost reacted.
The moment she felt the slight tug at her sleeve, her muscles coiled, instincts primed to seize the offending wrist before she even thought to stop herself. It was a reaction honed from years of being hunted, betrayed, used. Touch was rarely harmless in her world—it came with a blade, a chain, a price.
But she did stop herself. Just before her fingers twitched, she caught herself and let out a slow breath. It’s just a girl, she reminded herself, pulse settling. Not a threat.
Her head turned slightly, golden eyes flicking down to Vallena. The girl stumbled through her words, nerves clear in her averted gaze, her hesitance. The apology—or whatever it was meant to be—came in uneven pieces, ending in something not quite an insult but not quite a compliment, either.
Meiyu smirked, more amused than anything. She’s bolder than I thought.
Scaerthrynne intervened before the girl could ramble herself into a deeper hole, covering her mouth with the kind of ease that spoke of familiarity. Meiyu let it happen without comment, tilting her head slightly as she regarded the two of them. “She accepts your apology, and that it’s okay.”
Did she? Meiyu wasn’t entirely sure.
It wasn’t the words that stuck with her, but the girl’s choice to say them. A strange thing, to care what Meiyu thought. Stranger still to try and correct an impression she’d already decided was true. “You don’t look scary. You just—”
Just what?
The thought nagged at her, but she let it go.
Instead, she arched a brow, shifting the conversation with an easy, fluid step forward. “You two heading to the bar, then?” Her tone was casual, as if the last few moments hadn’t happened at all. “Because if so…” She glanced toward the direction they were walking, observing the Warforged she'd watched earlier helping a young woman pick herself up off the floor, then back at them with a smirk. “I could use a drink.”
Location: Top Deck Race: Dark Elf & Human Class: Artificer & Rogue Interactions:@Tae Meiyu 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: 50 Injuries:
Scratch NA Val NA
Vallena’s muffled protestations buzzed against Scaerthrynne’s hand. She struggled indignantly against the dark elf’s grip, but he simply ignored her with the nonchalance of someone who had, quite evidently, been in this exact situation many, many times before. “We are, yes,” he replied to the woman right as Vallena hit him in the jaw with a flailing hand. Then, she chomped on his hand. Scaerthrynne cried out, more from the surprise rather than pain. His hold on her loosened, and the girl smoothly slipped away.
“Why’s your face so hard?” She cried, cradling and rubbing her right hand.
Scaerthrynne shot her a glare as he rubbed his aching jaw. “You hit my fuc–” It was close, and despite the irritation bubbling within him, he still managed to catch himself. “You hit my jaw. It’s supposed to be hard. If it isn’t, I’m in trouble. More important, what was that for?”
“You were suffocating me!”
It took all of Scaerthrynne’s willpower not to roll his eyes. She was just a child, he reminded himself. It was normal for them to be ridiculous. “Oh, don’t be dramatic,” he said. “Only thing I did was to save you from a hole you were so fuc–” He coughed into his fist. “A hole you were digging for yourself. Next time I’m going to just watch and fill it in after you’re done. How’s that?”
Vallena stuck her tongue out at him before turning away in a huff.
Scaerthrynne continued to massage his jaw. There wasn’t any chance that she had done any damage, but it sure stung, where she had hit him. “Does that look like a frightened girl to you?” He nodded towards the girl and cast a sidelong glance at the woman. “I’m not saying that you are, but if you are, don’t worry about her nonsense. Val speaks her mind easily and forgets things just as easily. She didn’t mean anything more than an observation by what she said earlier, and knowing her, she probably has a whole new impression of you, or a handful of them, by now.”
Shaking his head, he chuckled. “And for what it’s worth, she’s called me scary before, and I’ve been taking care of her for…Well, for several years, now. Ungrateful little brat.”
He folded his arms across his chest and watched Vallena make her way down the deck. She moved with a carefree sort of confidence, and a spring in her step. Like she owned the ship, and everything that had just happened – the boy’s broken arm, meeting new faces – was nought but a distant memory. A smile, wistful and thoughtful, tugged on his lips as he followed her, keeping himself just close enough to keep her within his sight. Every one of her actions exuded childish whimsy. Scaerthrynne could scarcely remember a time when he had been the same. Perhaps that was why he couldn’t ever stay annoyed at the girl for long. She was just a child. Let her enjoy immaturity and youth, and make the memories that he had long forgotten.
Vallena continued on her merry way, and Scaerthrynne could tell that something up ahead, something that was hidden from him by the crowd, had caught her eye. Her steps became quicker, her head kept trying to look through, above, and around the people milling about on deck. Of course, that meant that she paid too little attention to where she was actually going, and it was only a matter of time before she walked straight into a passenger, a halfling. He watched Vallena apologise profusely, with several bows of her head. Then, he watched the passenger berate her.
The smile on his face morphed into a smirk. Some lessons, she needed to learn on her own. But when the passenger’s berating went on for a little too long, and seemed to be going a little too far, he decided that it was time for him to step in.
“Hey!” He shouted across the deck. Both Vallena and the passenger turned to him. “That’s enough. Leave the girl alone.”
“Who’s she to you?” The passenger challenged him.
“My daughter,” Scaerthrynne replied without missing a beat. As he expected, and as he had seen so many times before, the passenger’s anger slowly melted away, replaced by confusion. He looked at him, then at Vallena, then at Scaerthrynne again.
“Your daughter?”
Scaerthrynne shrugged. “She really, really takes after her mother. What can I do?”
“Oh, well…” The passenger glanced at the woman, then at Vallena, then nodded to Scaerthrynne, as if in understanding. “Well, you…You should be more careful with her!”
He disappeared back into the crowd. Scaerthrynne grinned at the woman. “Works every time,” he said, but quickly followed it up with, “Most times.”
Vallena returned to the two of them, her eyes shining with excitement. She looked at him first, then also at the woman, then at him again. “Scratch, it–I mean he–I mean they’re there!” Her words came tumbling out one after another, and were all buzzing with energy. “The Warforged!”
“Yes, Gears has been with us for a while now. Glad you finally noticed.”
“No, I mean–Hey!” Vallena gave him a playful slap on the arm, but then instantly continued as if he hadn’t interrupted her. “I meant the passenger Warforged! He’s–” she pushed her arms out to her side “–Big! And armed, too. Or they. I don’t know. I couldn’t tell. But they’re definitely not like Gears! Gears is prettier. This one looks like they’ve been places! A Warforged adventurer, isn’t that cool? I wonder if they’re using stock pieces or if they did any modifications. Do you think they’d let me–”
“Easy, Val,” Scaerthrynne cut in. “You can’t just go up to them and ask to look at their insides. You wouldn’t do that to a flesh-and-blood patient, would you?” Vallena thought about it for a moment, and Scaerthrynne felt his stomach drop a fraction of an inch before she giggled and shook her head. “Right, well, as much as what everyone else believes, Warforged aren’t just machines. That means if you want to do anything, you need permission. And that means you’d better start learning how to ask for something incredibly ridiculous and get away with it really quick, if that’s what you’re after.”
Vallena tapped a finger on her chin, then nodded. “Okay! Maybe after we’re done working, I’ll give it a try.”
Scaerthrynne hoped she would forget. He could do without explaining to a Warforged why the girl wanted to, in what he expected to be her own words, ‘open them up and study their insides’. Certainly, it would be an interesting experience, but not the sort of interesting he liked.
By the time the soldier disappeared into the corridor leading toward Sick Bay, she was already descending the stairs behind him, footsteps quiet, deliberate. No one noticed her leave the upper deck. No one ever did...until she wanted them to.
The air in Sick Bay was cold, sterile, efficient. She did not enter fully, only lingered at the threshold of a side hallway, mostly obscured behind a half-parted curtain meant for privacy. From here, she could see clearly.
The boy lay on the cot, pale but peaceful in sleep. The damage had been set properly by the medics—splinted, stabilized, and managed with practiced hands. But this was the real work.
The man stood at the child’s side, glove removed, palm resting lightly against the boy’s arm. An amulet pulsed faintly on his wrist. Not just a symbol. A conduit.
The glow that spilled from beneath the cloth over his missing eye shimmered like a wound in reality—quiet and unflinching. His voice, low and steady, broke the silence in quiet prayer. Words in reverence to the Silver Flame, spoken with conviction but not spectacle. A soldier’s prayer, plain and stripped of ornament, yet filled with weight.
She watched intently.
The way his shoulders rose and fell, the stillness of his fingers, the utter concentration carved into every line of his body. This was no charlatan healer, no hedge-priest mimicking power. This was faith, channeled like a scalpel. He believed—and worse, his belief worked.
The boy’s breath steadied. Color returned to his cheeks.
Interesting.
The Silver Flame. How quaint... and yet, how terribly effective. Even those heretical, zealot cunts could be useful from time to time.
She waited until it was done.
Waited until the boy was tucked in again, the healing complete, and the soldier’s hand had withdrawn. The soft hum of clerics and medics returned to the air like birdsong after thunder.
Only then did she step forward.
No footsteps. No fanfare. One moment the hallway was empty, and the next, she was there—standing near the edge of the curtain, still cloaked in the faint scent of old paper and strange perfume. Her voice came like wind behind his shoulder.
“And here they say the age of good men has come and gone...” she announced, followed by the slightest of pauses before continuing.
"Yet you care for the wounded with real conviction,” she said softly. “And skill. That is… rare.”
Her tone wasn’t reverent. Just matter-of-fact. Like a scholar noting the properties of a rare mineral.
“I watched you. Not just now.” She stepped into view fully, hands folded at her waist, expression unreadable. Her dark coat clung to her like a second skin, and her eyes—sharp and unsettlingly calm—did not blink as they found his.
“You carry yourself like a man with purpose. That, too, is rare.”
A long pause. She studied him for just a breath longer than was comfortable.
“I have a task. A sensitive one. And I find myself in need of someone… like you.”
She glanced toward the boy, then back at Ezekiel. “Someone with a steady hand. And a discerning eye.”
Her lips curled into the faintest, most elegant approximation of a smile. Not warm. Not unkind. Just... precise.
“If you have a moment, I’d like to speak with you in private.”
There was no command in her voice. Just a quiet certainty that this was an invitation one did not ignore.
✦ 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 caught sight of the large, shiny fellow from earlier waving at her, and her face immediately lit up. She waved back with unrestrained enthusiasm, her elbow just narrowly missing a drink as it tipped dangerously toward the edge of the table. But then, a sudden yelp echoed through the air, and her attention snapped to the source of the commotion.
A tiny creature was zipping around the bar deck, darting in and out of legs and under tables with startling speed. Phia’s eyes grew wide with delight, and she let out a high-pitched squeal, her hands clapping together with excitement as if she’d just spotted the cutest forest animal. The sight was so captivating that she couldn't help herself.
But then, as if to add to the spectacle, a small bearded man—just as erratic and full of energy as the creature—rushed after it. His enthusiasm carried him straight into the metallic chestplate of the warforged bartender, sending a light thud through the air.
She couldn't help but smile as the little man fumbled, clearly enamored by the warforged bartender, and her heart softened at the sight of such innocent adoration. She whispered under her breath, a gentle blessing to the little creatures and their strange antics. “Sweet little friends. May the spirits watch over you.”
” It’s… It’s nice to meet you all...I’m… Ayra.” Phia's attention turned to the voice and she froze, her eyes widening, unable to tear her gaze away from the celestial beauty standing before her.
The shimmering white hair caught her breath. The deep blue skin, as if the night sky itself had descended to the mortal realm, gleamed softly, dotted with constellations. Phia's heart raced, her senses overwhelmed by the sight of a living goddess. Her own body leaned instinctively toward the beauty before her.
She stared at Ayra with wide, almost childlike awe. "...You must be the night itself."
Then someone yelled at Ayra, using word Phia did not quite understand, however, she knew from the tone and implied idea that she was filth that it was immensely disrespectful. Her eyes narrowed as anger boiled within. She found herself nodding as Menzai informed her he would borrow her marble, but her eyes hadn't left the offending creature- which Phia thought might be a giant lizard.
Phia kept watch as Menzai approached him, eying the situation protectively. The lizard did not seem to be interfering as Menzai gifted its child a marble, so she allowed the laugh of the shiny lady to bring her attention forward.
“You are just too sweet, aren’t ya?”
Phia’s smile brightened with genuine delight as she reached across the bar, taking Gears' shiny, metallic hands in hers with surprising tenderness. Her amber eyes were intense as she informed her very seriously, "Yes. I have been told I am so sweet."
“I’m Gears, sugar. Just Gears. And I’m a Warforged, though if you wanna call me a rock girl, I’ll allow it. Ain’t the worst nickname I’ve earned...And you must be Phia.” She nodded slightly toward Menzai, then back at her, “He looks after you real careful. That says plenty good about you.”
Phia tilted her head, eyes widening with sudden clarity as if she'd unraveled a great mystery. "You are... for war? You are a warrior?" She asked, nodding slowly as if now everything made sense. "That's why you have covered yourself in armor, miss Gears!" she exclaimed excitedly, hitting the table with unnecessary enthusiasm.
Before Gears could correct her, Phia’s attention snapped to the warm, pleasant-smelling pastry placed in front of her. Without any hesitation or care for decorum, she immediately grabbed it, tearing pieces apart and placing them on her tongue with childlike joy. Her eyes widened, and she hummed delightedly, savoring the sweetness as if it were the most exquisite treat she'd ever tasted. "Mmmm!"
“Also, do you mind if I ask you something sweetheart? You doin' alright? Sky this high can be a lot, especially on your first flight. Just takes some gettin' used to, is all.”
Phia’s eyes lit up again, pastry crumbs dusting her fingertips as she eagerly responded, "Yes! It is my first flight on this wood bird! " She gestured excitedly around her, genuinely baffled but clearly impressed. "I don't know how you all managed to find such a giant bird and cover it with wood, but it's incredible!"
She leaned forward, voice dropping to a whisper. "Menzai and I have come from deep within the jungle. Though I can't tell you where so don't ask. "
Phia grinned widely, retracting backward as she placed another sweet morsel on her tongue, savoring its deliciousness with another delighted hum. "I’m eager to see more of this world... especially knowing even its warriors can be so kind. You are a blessing upon us all, Miss Gears. Continue to be kind, and the spirits will favor you. "
Just then, her attention shifted downward, meeting the shy gaze of the little dragonborn child who approached, carefully clutching her beloved blue marble. Phia’s smile softened as she leaned down gently, eyes filled with tenderness.
"It's alright, little lizard baby. You can keep it," she said softly, warmly touching the child’s tiny hand. "Enjoy the blue."
Only a beat passed after the child retreated from her side when Phia suddenly rose to her feet abruptly, pastry crumbs still dotting her fingertips. Her amber eyes burned with determination as she addressed the group around her, her voice ringing clear with conviction. "Everyone!" she declared firmly, raising her chin with purpose. "I have decided something important. It is unacceptable that someone dares disrespect a goddess of the night sky in our presence! Such rudeness must be corrected swiftly, or surely, fate will grow cross with us all."
She tightened her grip on her druidic staff, and the blossoms adorning it bloomed vividly as if feeding off her emotion. Then, Phia marched boldly toward the dragonborn father, the air around her crackling with primal authority.
Stopping firmly before him, she raised her staff, pointing its sharpened end accusingly at his chest. Her voice lowered to a dangerous, intense tone:
"You," she growled fiercely, eyes blazing, "have insulted a goddess who walks among us. Do you understand what that means? Disrespect to her is disrespect to the very stars, the spirits, and every ancestor who came before you."
Phia's eyes flashed dangerously as she pressed the tip of her staff closer toward the dragonborn's chest. "Now listen well," she commanded. "If you do not kneel right here and beg forgiveness from the goddess you dared to insult, you'll leave me no choice but to challenge you to battle. And believe me," she added fiercely, "the spirits will not favor your arrogance."
The blossoms on her staff glowed vibrantly, reflecting her simmering anger. "Choose carefully," she warned, her eyes locked unflinchingly onto his, "for your next action decides your fate."
Korrak's fiery gaze narrowed dangerously, muscles tensing beneath his crimson scales. He clenched his jaw in restrained fury, silently weighing his response. A glance at the crowd watching attentively forced him to reconsider his impulse to violence, though the anger smoldered clearly behind his glare. He offered no words in reply—only a low, resentful growl under his breath.
At his side, his little daughter gazed at the marble now resting gently in her palm, her soft eyes wide with wonder. She looked uncertainly between her father and Menzai, then shyly raised her gaze to the wolf’s eyes.
"Thank you," she whispered softly, clutching the marble protectively. "It's beautiful." Then the girl scampered off to return the marble to the girl he had pointed out.
It was then Korrak spoke up. "You think your pathetic snarling frightens me?" he spat, voice dripping with venom. "Keep your self-righteous preaching. You’re nothing but a stray animal who forgot his place."
His sharp claws flexed dangerously, barely restrained from violence. Korrak leaned forward, scales bristling. "Mind your tongue—or someone will rip it out for you." Korrak's glare shifted sharply from Menzai, narrowing onto the bearded dwarf seated casually at the bar. His lips curled in disgust, teeth bared in a menacing snarl.
"Something amusing, dwarf?" he snapped, voice echoing with open hostility. "Mind your business!"
He stepped forward slightly, looming threateningly, anger sparking dangerously in his eyes. "Perhaps you’d like to share the Tiefling’s humiliation, tiny filth."
Then, a small elven woman approached him defiantly. Amusement flashed coldly behind his eyes. A goddess? This wild-haired fool actually believed the horned devil-spawn to be divine. His expression darkened further into disdainful mockery as he regarded her staff and the blooming flowers upon it, as if she were some child playing pretend.
"You must be joking," Korrak scoffed harshly, voice dripping with scorn. "A goddess? That Tiefling is nothing. If you're fool enough to confuse filth with divinity, then you're even more of a moron than you look."
He leaned forward, his large frame towering intimidatingly over her, and met her fierce amber eyes with contemptuous dismissal. "Take your pathetic threats and your flowery little stick elsewhere, girl. You embarrass yourself."
He stepped backward and threw his arms into the air, a growl of disgust escaping through gritted teeth as he glanced at the wary crowd now focused entirely on him. Anger and humiliation burned hot beneath his scales, but another glance at his daughter made him pause.
"Enough!" Korrak snarled bitterly, his voice dripping with venom. He pointed a sharp claw accusingly. "I won't waste any more breath on fools like you. But mark my words—I'll remember this insult. The day will come when you'll regret embarrassing me."
With a sharp growl of frustration, he turned sharply, his cape billowing behind him, and strode toward his daughter, roughly but protectively guiding her to a table in the back. He did not look back, though his tense, rigid posture made clear he would not soon forget this moment.
Race: Yuan-ti Class: Rogue Arcane Assassin Location: Top Deck Interactions: @Apex Sunburn Scratch and Val @PapaOso Bastion, Talis, & Gears Mentions: @princess Korrak the Racist, Phia, @Samreaper Menzai, @FunnyGuy Wendel, @Potter Arya, & @Tracxyx Bobi Equipment:
🌸 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: 53 Injuries: None currently, but has numerous faded scars on her body
Meiyu watched, expression carefully schooled into detached curiosity, as Vallena struggled against Scaerthrynne’s grip. The girl flailed, squirming with all the reckless energy of a child who had never truly needed to fight for her freedom. Her protests were muffled, then followed by a wild swing that connected hard with his jaw. Meiyu arched a brow. That was amusing enough, but the bite that followed—that was funny.
Scratch barely reacted at first, though the sudden cry confirmed he hadn't expected it. His hold loosened just enough for the girl to slip away like a minnow through fingers, triumphant in her small rebellion.
Meiyu hummed thoughtfully. “You should teach her how to properly break free,” she mused, golden eyes shifting to Scaerthrynne. “For her own protection.”
She’d seen enough in her time to know what happened to people who didn’t know how to get free. How easy it was for a moment of weakness to turn into something far worse. Vallena was young, sharp, filled with an energy that made her seem untouchable. That was dangerous. The young always thought themselves invincible, right up until they weren’t.
A memory stirred. Too late to stop it now.
Meiyu had been much younger, no older than Vallena, when she’d been pinned. Not by bindings, not by weight alone, but by skill. One moment she had been walking to the mess hall to get food, the next she was on the ground, her breath stolen from her lungs in the chaos of the motion.
A hand pressed down against her chest, just light enough to remind her of its presence. Another ghosted along her throat, two fingers resting just beneath her jaw. The Whispering Coil assassin above her sighed, a sound like silk being drawn over a blade.
“Faster,” he murmured, unimpressed. “You were too slow. Tell me—do you know what happens if you don’t get free?”
Meiyu swallowed hard, unwilling to give him the satisfaction of a reply, as she tried to work herself free unsuccessfully. He leaned in with a wicked smirk, and his breath ghosted against her ear, the same way his fingers had against her throat.
“Let me teach you of one of the many things that could happen to you if you don’t get free…”
Meiyu blinked, the present settling around her like a slow tide returning to shore, an icy chill filling her veins. Vallena was no longer fighting for her freedom. She was darting off again, full of boundless energy. No. She thought to herself, a rare moment of anger coursing through her. No girl should learn a lesson in that way. Not like that.
She let out a slow breath, shaking the thought from her mind. It was a waste to think of such things here. The girl wasn’t hers to shape, nor did Meiyu particularly care to. She was merely a curious thing, nothing more.
Her gaze followed Vallena as she all but bounced her way into an unfortunate collision. A halfling passenger, one who clearly lacked any tolerance for the chaos that followed her like a storm cloud, wasted no time in berating her. Meiyu tilted her head, eyes glinting with mild amusement as she watched the girl bow and apologize, only to be met with further scolding.
Then came Scaerthrynne’s voice, sharp and unyielding.
The halfling turned, irritation flickering to something more uncertain. “Who’s she to you?”
Meiyu was still watching the exchange when she felt the passenger’s gaze flick toward her. There was a pause. A moment where she simply looked back, unreadable, before realization dawned.
Oh.
Did he think I was—?
The idea was so far removed from anything she had ever considered that it didn’t immediately occur to her. It was only as she followed his darting glance—first to Vallena, then back to Scaerthrynne—that the implication settled.
He thought she was the mother.
How… curious.
Meiyu said nothing, merely arching a brow in response, before looking back to Scaerthrynne as he spoke to her. She let out a quiet chuckle, shaking her head. “It’s an interesting choice, I’ll give you that.” Her gaze flicked to Vallena, who was now practically vibrating with excitement. The girl spoke in rapid bursts, her words tripping over each other as she relayed her discovery of a Warforged passenger, and then—
The moment passed, and the world moved on. But the idea still lingered, the faintest wisp of amusement curling in the back of Meiyu’s mind.
Mother? Now there’s a first.
As Meiyu walked alongside Vallena and Scratch, she cast a sidelong glance at the young girl and smirked faintly. "Your curiosity is boundless, isn't it?" she murmured, amusement lacing her tone. "The curious mind is a blade—sharp enough to cut through ignorance, but just as likely to draw its own blood." There was no expectation of an answer, merely an idle observation as they continued forward.
Her steps remained deliberate, measured, as they neared the bar. Meanwhile, she’d been quietly eavesdropping on the conversation between the dragonborn, shifter, and elven girl. The dragonborn’s growled insult toward the dwarf reached her ears, and something in her shifted. What had the dwarf done? He wasn’t even a part of the conversation it seemed. Without altering her pace, she turned her head slightly—just enough to let her gaze settle on him. A well-placed look, when done right, could unnerve more than a blade at one's throat. Meiyu understood this intimately. Her amber eyes locked onto his, unwavering, calm yet carrying an unmistakable weight. She held the stare with an air of silent amusement, assessing, unfazed, making sure he caught her gaze. Only then did her gaze flick briefly to the small girl at his side, noting the way she clutched the marble protectively, before returning to him once more. A slow, wicked smirk curled her lips, dark and unreadable. No words passed between them. None were needed. Then, as if dismissing him entirely, she turned away and continued walking.
The atmosphere near the bar hummed with a different kind of energy—less overtly hostile, yet brimming with its own undercurrents of tension and curiosity. Her gaze swept over the tiefling girl briefly before moving past her, not lingering. She was the one Meiyu had observed earlier trying to hide and yet standing out to her because of it. She was curious of her secrets, but also didn’t care enough to engage her currently. Reaching the dwarf’s side, she stood with the sort of presence that did not demand acknowledgment yet was impossible to ignore.
A quick scan of the area took in the large warforged and young redheaded woman who fell, their presence noted with a flicker of interest before she moved on. The gnome behind the counter caught her attention for a moment—standing near Gears—before her gaze settled fully upon the automaton.
She met Gears’ eyes with something bordering on respect, inclining her head slightly before speaking. "Something strong, when you have a moment." Her voice was smooth, composed, carrying neither urgency nor hesitation. It was a request made with quiet confidence, one that did not press but simply lingered in the air. Then, she leaned slightly against the bar, waiting, her expression unreadable yet entirely at ease within the moment. Her gaze flicked to Talis, noting the way she clutched her satchel almost protectively. "You seem uneasy," Meiyu observed, tilting her head slightly thinking back to when she first observed her earlier. "Is it the company, or do you always carry something that makes you nervous?"
