Apex Sunburn

🗡 Roses and Daggers 🎕

Time: Night
Location: Sorian Harbour; aboard Remembrance
Interactions:
Mentions:
Attire:

Hider

Plain roughspun shirt (white) and trousers (brown)
Patched knee-length coat
Shoulder- and waist-belts
Old leather boots

What a feckin’ eyesore.

Dark against the deep indigo sky, and imposing amidst a field of buildings dwarfed by its presence, Castle Sorian loomed over its city like an ominous shadow. Flickering orange dots, sparsely scattered across the main keep’s sheer walls, and visible from afar despite their faint glows, marked where windows had been carved out of monolithic stone blocks. Peering over the curtain wall separating the keep and its courtyard from the rest of Sorian, those pinpricks of light were like the eyes of beasts leering out from their den, and down upon the people wandering the streets below.

Cynwaer snorted as he gazed towards the damnable fortress from Remembrance’s quarterdeck. To draw any similarities between the people within that place and beasts would be a gross insult to the latter, as far as he was concerned. A beast’s actions were guided by instinct, and not thought. If they were cruel, if they were savage, or if they were depraved, it was only because it was in their nature to be so. They didn’t, and couldn’t be expected to, know any better.

The people of Castle Sorian, however, had no such excuse.

For they were creatures of thought, and could know better. Cynwaer knew that. After all, weren’t they like him, possessed of a rational mind with which to think, and senses with which to perceive the world? Even if the bastard king himself and his sycophants were bent on being as wicked as possible, surely they had to be someone, or many someones, who could see the miseries the Kingdom visited upon its own people, and were outraged enough by such injustices to do something about them.

But no, they did nothing. Once, Cynwaer had been disappointed by such a fact, but now he simply took it as one of the ugly truths of the world. Those people, like many others – not just in the castle, not just in the capital, but across all of Caesonia – were more than happy to keep themselves deaf and blind to the pains of their fellows, so long as they themselves could live in comfort.

And so, they would continue to toil for a king and court that cared little for anything but themselves, and for a kingdom that was so thoroughly rotten.

A grunt rumbled in Cynwaer’s throat as he swept his eyes from the castle to the rest of Sorian. He leaned forward, resting his elbows on the gunwale. “What a feckin’ eyesore,” he repeated in a dark murmur. Then, he looked to his right.

“‘Tis nae the trut’, Neirynn?” He asked in a louder voice.

Perched on the gunwale right by his side, the harrier stopped in the midst of tearing apart her latest catch, an unfortunate rabbit. She still had a claw on the carcass’ neck, whilst the talons of the other held onto the gunwale, digging shallow notches into the wood. Sinewy threads of pale crimson streaked and hung from her hooked beak, and the mottled plumage around her face and chest was speckled with blood.

Neirynn regarded him with dark, beady eyes for a moment, her head cocked. Then, she chirped.

Cynwaer chuckled, shaking his head as he reached across to brush his fingers over her scalp. Letting out a series of satisfied coos, the harrier pushed herself against his touch. “‘At’s a good lass,” Cywaer said, his tone gentle and lips in a smile. It were such moments, when Neirynn acted like any other pet, that made it difficult for him to remember that she was in fact a vicious huntress in her own right, with plenty of victims to her name, both human and animal.

He ran his hand down her back, flattening a few stubborn feathers that jutted out from her otherwise sleek form. She bent low, head stretched towards him and eyes closed. “Someone’s feelin’ affectionate an’ such ta’day, hm?” He chuckled again, patted her on the head one more time, and drew his hand back. “Best yer be back tae yer dinner, lass. We’ve a lang night ahead o’ us, I reckon.”

Neirynn chirped, dipped her head in a nod, and promptly returned to her meal. Cynwaer watcher her for a moment before himself returning to leaning against Remembrance’s bulwark and looking at Sorian and its castle, his visage cold and hard. Silence descended over the pair.

Well, amidst as much silence as a ship could afford, at least. Behind him, and down a short flight of stairs, the main deck hummed and buzzed with activity as Remembrance’s crew prepared her to sail. A chorus of boots thumped across wooden planks, interrupted every so often by shouts. More calls came from above, amidst ratlines and rigging, and alongside ruffling sails, creaking yardarms, and clanging tackles. Cynwaer had long since gotten used to such noises, however, and paid them little heed. Remembrance was, to his ears, perfectly and pleasantly quiet.

Time seemed to slow to a crawl. The noise behind him intensified, then slowly withered away until all that remained were vague murmurs of chatter. Cynwaer leaned further forward, resting his weight on his arms as he glared at the city. The warmly-lit streets, sparse crowds, and smoking chimneys made for a peaceful scene. They reflected a city at rest; a city that had nothing to worry about.

And that felt so, very wrong.

“Yer e’er wonder, Neirynn,” Cynwaer started, casting a sidelong glance at the harrier. She looked up at him with a string of meat still swinging from her beak. Without missing a beat, she snapped her head back and swallowed it. Cynwaer chose to ignore that. He continued, “If any o’ those who work fae ta’ court e’er gave a thought about what they were dae’n? An’ I mean, gave it actual, serious thought, aye? Like, if ta’ fecker who ‘elps tae write aw’ these feckin’ piece o’ shite laws e’er realises just ‘ow fecking stupid they are? Or if ta’ cunt who sends ta’ taxmen out tae squeeze another wee village dry knows jus’ ‘ow many ‘ave tae suffer fae ta’ fat bastard o’ a king’s pleasure?”

Or if ta’ fecker who sends out mage’unters know jus’ who’s bein’ ‘unted.

Dark memories, painful ones, pushed their way into Cynwaer’s mind at that thought. With the sort of ease borne from suffering this exact thing many times over, he forced those images back to their corner. Still, he heard the chilling screams of that fateful night echo in his head. He heard the pounding of fists against his door; his daughters frightened cries, his wife’s desperate pleas; the crack of a pistol, the cold hiss of steel against leather. They had all been from a different life, experienced by a different Cynwaer Fiachin, but still they cut him deep all the same.

A worried chirp pulled Cynwaer from his mind. It was swiftly followed by a few taps of Neirynn’s beak upon his elbow. He turned his head, and the harrier raised hers, her dark, beady eyes meeting his mossy green ones. She chirped again, flapping her wings as she hopped towards him.

“Dae’n worry yer head about it,” Cynwaer said with a smile that was a touch more forced than what he had hoped. He rubbed a thumb over the top of her head. “Jus’ thinkin’ ou’ loud, ‘tis aw’. Dae’n worry.”

He glanced at the rabbit’s carcass, then looked back at her with a raised eyebrow. “On ta’ contrary, ‘tis yer food that worries me, aye. It did’nae belang tae someone, did it?” Neirynn averted her gaze, stretching out a wing to hide her face as she scratched it with a claw. Cynwaer groaned. “Dae’n tell me yer went an’ did it again, yer dafty. ‘Tis nae cheap tae pay off yer huntin’ debt, aye ‘tis nae, dae’n yer know?”

“It’s okay, Captain,” a woman said from his other side. That dry, monotonous voice came suddenly enough to make Cynwaer almost flinch. “She no caught it. ‘Tis Mister Bannoch who bought it for her when he went ashore earlier.”

Cynwaer spun around, and came face-to-face with Remembrance’s quartermaster. As always, Adaleida’s countenance was that of wood – empty of emotion and seemingly unchanging. That wasn’t to say that she looked unfriendly or unwelcoming, however. She simply looked neutral, with lips in a perfectly straight line and downturned hazel eyes giving nothing away. A stiff breeze whistled over the two of them, whipping her pale, blonde tresses across her face. She paid them little heed. “Talking politics with Neirynn again?”

“Nae, jus’ speakin’ me mind, is aw’,” Cynwaer replied and shook his head. “An’ ‘ow about yer? What’re yer dae’n bein’ aw’ sneaky?”

“Sorry, Captain,” Adaleida said with a slight bow of her head. She ran her fingers through her messy locks, smoothing them out, as she continued. “I heard you talking and I did no want to interrupt, that’s all.”

“Yer me quartermaster, Ada,” Cynwaer said. “It’s normal fae yer tae interrupt me. Of aw’ the people aboard Remembrance, yer probably ta’ only one I want tae interrupt me, aye.”

“Normal,” Adaleida repeated that word, her voice distant, as if she was ruminating on it. Then, she nodded and flashed Cynwaer an almost-smile – the corners of her lips twitched upwards, but didn’t go far enough or high enough to be perceptible by most. Cynwaer was one of the exceptions. “Got it, Captain.”

“Sae, what d’yer need me fae?”

“Ah, right,” Adaleida said and tilted her head towards the main deck. “Remembrance’s ready to set sail on your command, Captain, and…” She trailed off, her eyes focusing on something far behind Cynwaer, and the ghost of a frown clouding over her face. “Our friend over there’s already pulling from her pier.”

Cynwaer nodded slowly. Then, he pushed himself away from the gunwale and turned to face Adaleida, his lips curled into a knowing smirk. “Well, are yer gae’n tell me what’s botherin’ yer, Ada, or d’yer wan’ me tae keep proddin’ an’ pryin’ until yer annoyed enough tae jus’ tell me tae get me tae feck aff?”

“‘Tis nothing–”

“I’ve known yer fae a whiles now, Ada,” Cynwaer cut in. “I know when yer troubled, so dae’n e’en try ta’ lie tae me. An’ besides, I cannae ‘ave yer workin’ at yer best when there’s somethin’ weighin’ on yer, aye? So come on out wi’ it.”

Adaleida averted her gaze, and chewed on her lip for a moment before speaking. “I’m no questioning your decisions, Captain, and I can understand doing shifty work for coin. Gods above and below know we need a steady stream of that shite. But working with a privateer? Someone who sails for the piece of piss crown and the bastard wearing it? I’m no sure I understand why we’re doing any of that, Captain.”

Cynwaer nodded slowly, then jerked his head to his left. “Come along wi’ me,” he said and walked towards the port bulwark of the quarterdeck. As he passed Neirynn, he ran a hand along her back. She cooed, but didn’t look up from her dinner. “Dae’n leave a mess now, aye? ‘Tis nae easy cleanin’ blood an’ viscera frae wood, I’ll ‘ave yer know. Drop what yer cannae finish intae ta’ sea, an’ fae ta’ love o’ aw’ the Gods up there and down below, dae’n bring it up ta’ masts an’ leave it there.”

“It gives the crew reason to go up high regularly, though,” Adaleida offered. She mimicked Cynwaer, giving the harrier a gentle pat on her back as she walked past. Neirynn basked in the attention, standing up and leaning into her touch, chirping and cooing all the while.

“Aye, I s’pose there’s that,” Cynwaer said and chuckled.

He stopped at the gunwale and looked across the piers at the foreign ship. She had her strange, triangular sails fully unfurled, and hanging from long, slanted yardarms that bowed under their own weight. Lanterns affixed to her gunwales lit up the ship, their yellow glows strong enough to reveal the crimson fabric of her sails, and more importantly, the many gunports lining her svelte, dagger-like hull. “Tell me, Ada, what d’yer think o’ ‘er?” Cynwaer asked.

Adaleida stood beside him with arms crossed over her chest. She shrugged. “Well-armed, built to be quick and nimble, but I can’t see her being well-protected.” She cast a quick glance over to Cynwaer. “She can’t be, no with that many guns, aye. Her sails are interesting, though. They remind me of an Alidashti…What do they call those little cutters they like so much, again? Dhow, I think. But yes, those sails on her look like the ones used on those boats, aye they do.”

“Good eyes.” Cynwaer caught her glance and grinned. “But yer missin’ one big thing, an’ that’s she’s nae Caesonian, nae Varian, and nae e’en any o’ them Alidashti folks. I met ‘er Captain ta’ other night, an’ I can tell yer that ‘e might look Kimoonese, but ‘e’s sure as shite nae one o’ ‘em.”

“So we’ve got someone in our waters who’s a complete stranger,” Adaleida said. She looked at the ship as it quickly pulled away into the night. “And commands a ship that can match a light frigate gun-for-gun.”

Cynwaer nodded. “Aye. Now, frae what I’ve ‘eard, ‘e’s likely nae a fan o’ ta’ bastard king, or ‘e’s nae gae’n tae be one sooner rather than later. But still, ‘e’s a huge feckin’ question mark fae aw’ o’ us, an’ if good ol’ Renegade and Songbird’s gae’n dae what I think they’re gae’n dae, we cannae leave anythin’ tae chance, least o’ aw’ a ship that powerful ‘at’s nae under any flag we know, aye?”

“And if we sail with that ship, we get to see what she can do firsthand,” Adaleida surmised.

“Now yer gettin’ it,” Cynwaer said. “An’ who knows? If we play our cards righ’, an’ everythin’ gae’s well fae us, maybe we can e’en make oursel’s a new friend tae raise some ‘avoc wi’.”

Adaleida raised a brow. “You really think that’s possible, Captain?”

Cynwaer shrugged. Personally, that possibility wasn’t one he thought realistic. It was a pleasant thought to be sure, but as things stood, it was simply just that. But there were too many unknowns, even beyond the ones he had shared with Adaleida. For one, he didn’t even know for how long that ship would be in Sorian, and if it was even going to return after it left for home. Neither did he know for certain if the foreign Captain would agree with his ideals. Granted, he had sounded sympathetic, but Cynwaer knew firsthand that a gulf existed between sympathy and agreement.

But all the same, Cynwaer kept that idea in his back pocket. “Frae what I’ve ‘eard, ‘e’s a good mate tae ta’ smallfolk, an’ if ‘e’s nae got a bad impression o’ ta’ bastard king already, I’ve a feelin’ ‘e’ll learn tae think o’ that wee fecker as a cunt sooner or later.” He shrugged. “But ‘at’s nae our concern fae ta’day. Let’s jus’ get underway an’ catch up wi’ ‘er befae she slips intae ta’ night, aye?”

“Aye, Captain,” Adaleida said. “Should I give the order, or do you want to give it yourself?”

“Save yer voice, Ada,” Cynwaer replied. “I’ll ‘andle this one.”

He strode over to the guardrail overlooking the main deck. Adaleida followed close behind him, and stood beside him as he swept his eyes across the length and breadth of his ship, and those who milled about on her planking. Dozens of heads turned towards him with expectant looks. Cynwaer gave them a grin. “Right lads,” he shouted and raised a hand. “Time tae look lively! Let's bring 'er out!”

🗡 Roses and Daggers 🎕

Time: Late Evening / Night
Location: Sorian Waterfront >> Sada Kurau
Interactions:
Mentions: Dahlia Fletcher @princess
Attire:

Hider

(Placeholder until I get a better reference image)
Roughspun, blue trousers
A shoulder belt and waist belt carrying his equipment
Two swords and two pistols, one on either side
A woven, conical hat wide enough to shade his entire face

---

For the second time in less than half-a-day, Sjan-dehk left the Privateers’ Office. He moved with haste, his boots thumping loudly against well-trodden planks as he marched across the veranda and jogged down its steps to reach the cobblestones of the waterfront.

There wasn’t much of a crowd – Sjan-dehk supposed that it was late enough that most people had already found their haunts for the rest of the evening. Even so, there was still a steady trickle of longshoremen still grimey from labour; of well-to-do citizens who gave them wide berths; and of commoners strolling leisurely along the waterfront. Some moved with purpose, their heads bowed, shoulders hunched, and coats pulled tight against the chilly seaward breeze. Others instead stopped every so often to bask in the warm, yellow glows of street lamps, and gaze out over the dark waters of the harbour.

Sjan-dehk didn’t know what they were looking at. He heard no waves, and he doubted that the lamps were bright enough to show passers-by anything more than an endless, black expanse. But perhaps there was an attractive mystique to that, to stand before an ink-black void.

He shook his head and quickened his pace, pulling his hat a little lower over his eyes and holding the ratty book and bundle of fabrics in his arm close to his chest. This wasn’t any time to ponder; Sada Kurau was waiting for him to return before she could finally sail out for her mission. She would have gone out earlier, before the sun had fully set, had Sjan-dehk not needed to pay the Privateers’ Office another visit. It hadn’t been a long one, thankfully, but still he felt embarrassed for having needed to make it in the first place.

“Good evenin’, Cap’n,” a vaguely familiar voice called out to him. Sjan-dehk looked up and to his left, and saw a vaguely familiar man walk towards him. His head of fiery hair was in a mess, as was his green coat, unbuttoned down the middle to display a brown waistcoat and off-white shirt. Both his hands held onto the handles of a heavy crate.

“Good evening,” Sjan-dehk replied and furrowed his brow. “Captain…”

“Cynric,” the man completed for him with a mischievous grin as he approached. He hefted the crate with a grunt and rested it against his thigh. “Dae’n tell me yer’ve forgotten aw’ready?”

Sjan-dehk nodded sheepishly. “Apologies. Your names, they are still strange to me. Hard to say. Harder to remember.” He glanced at the crate. “These are…Supplies? No. Provisions?”

“Aye,” Cynric replied. “Figured I’d get ta’ lads an’ lassies some good drink tae keep ‘em ‘appy fae a whiles longer. Nae sailor like stayin’ in ‘arbour fae tae long, ‘tis sae.” He then tilted his chin towards the book and bundle that Sjan-dehk was carrying. “An’ I see yer’ve taken tae privateerin’?”

“Yes,” Sjan-dehk replied, shades of his surprise showing through. “How do you know?”

Cynric grinned. “I wan’ tae say that I recognise ‘at signal book that yer carryin’, but nae, ‘tis nae that. I jus’ saw you leavin’ tae privateer’s office earlier,” he said. “Hope yer dae’n mind me askin’, but did yer jus’ sign up, or are yer headin’ out on a job?”

“Sada Kurau will sail, yes,” Sjan-dehk said. “I joined in the afternoon, but I forgot to ask about your signals and your flags.” A sheepish tone tinted his words. As far as mistakes went, that was one that a captain as experienced as Sjan-dehk shouldn’t have made – signalling was how a ship talked, and it was as vital to a ship as her sails or hull or crew – and that he had made it brought him some modicum of shame. He took it as a lesson learned, however. At least now he knew one thing he had to look out for when sailing waters beyond the Commonwealth’s borders.

“Ah, dae’n s’pose yer mind ‘avin’ an extra ship tae ‘elp?” Cynric asked. “I was jus’ thinkin’ o’ signin’ mysel’ and my crew up as privateers tae, aye. Figured ‘at if I lend yer a ‘and, it migh’ dae us some favours in tiltin’ ta’ odds in our favour, ‘tis sae.”

He grinned again. “An’ maybe it migh’ convince yer tae put in a good word, tae.”

Neither of those seemed necessary to Sjan-dehk. Based on what he had seen, Kerr would be overjoyed to have another ship that wasn’t a gunboat, and a captain who knew what he was about, at his disposal. But Sjan-dehk was in a rush, and he had dawdled for long enough. And besides, if he was going to go hunting for an unknown ship – or ships – in the dark, he wasn’t about to turn away extra sets of eyes to help keep an eye out for things.

And so, he nodded. “Okay. That is good. How soon can you sail?”

Cynric hefted the crate off his thigh. “As soon as I get this bastard o’ a crate stowed awa’,” he replied. “I’ll ‘ave eyes on yer ship, aye? We’ll make sail when yer start makin’ way.”

“Yes, that will work,” Sjan-dehk said. “We should go now. Otherwise, will be too late.”

“Aye.” Cynwaer grunted as he took a few steps forward, trying to reacquire his balance. “I look forward tae sailin’ wi’ yer, Cap’n.”

Sjan-dehk nodded to him, said a few parting words, and continued on his way. It didn’t take long for him to return to Sada Kurau – the ship was docked only a short distance away from the Privateers’ Office – but it still felt as if he had been away for far too long. He went up the gangway. Just as he took his first step onto Sada Kurau’s deck, he caught the tail end of a conversation that was going by the bulwark, directly beside the gangway’s landing.

“...don’t know, Inshahri, I-I can’t sense anything.” It was Yasawen. “L-Look, the Captain’s back. Maybe you should ask him b-before you go any further.”

That got Sjan-dehk’s attention in an instant, and – the mission momentarily forgotten – he snapped around to face Yasawen. “Is there something you plan to do to Sada Kurau that I should – no, I must know about, Yasa?”

The boy wilted beneath his gaze, and he looked off to the side. “N-No, Captain,” he said in a small voice. It didn’t seem as if sending him off to explore Sada Kurau on his own had done him any favours. If anything, he seemed even more timid than when Sjan-dehk had first seen him.

“I-Inshahri’s the one who was doing…Things,” he continued, pointing to the girl standing beside him.

The girl pressed her fingers to her lips and giggled. “Aw, come on, Yasa,” she said, her voice melodic, and every syllable sounding as if they were part of a song. “Don’t tell me you didn’t have fun chasing down this mystery with me.”

Yasawen flushed. “I–”

“You can’t lie to me,” the girl sang. “I know you too well.”

Sjan-dehk sighed and held up his hand. “Alright, that’s enough,” he said and turned to the girl. It took him a moment to remember her name, as well as the reason why she was even aboard Sada Kurau in the first place. “Inshahri, yes?” He asked.

“That’s me,” the girl chirped.

Dark of skin and mischievous of face, Inshahri was another arcanist Sudah had sent over – a woodshaper and counter-arcane specialist. Sjan-dehk remembered that part about her clearly; both her specialisations were very much welcome aboard a ship-of-war, and he distinctly recalled being not as annoyed by her late arrival – a few hours after Yasawen – as he should have been because of that very fact. That she seemed to have some history with the geomancer, and was his utter opposite in terms of personality, had appeared to be an added bonus. Sjan-dehk had hoped that her presence would make it easier for Yasawen to ease into becoming part of Sada Kurau’s crew.

Now, however, that seemed to be wishful thinking.

Yasawen stood ill-at-ease beside her, his eyes looking at the sails; at the pier; at the sea; at everything but Sjan-dehk. His slouched shoulders made Inshahri look even taller than him, beyond the few scant inches that separated them. Coupled with his disheveled clothes – likely a result of squeezing through the narrow hatches and lower decks of Sada Kurau – he looked quite miserable.

Sjan-dehk let out a quiet sigh. He would have to do something about the boy at some point. Otherwise, he wasn’t going to last long as part of Sada Kurau.

Shaking his head slightly, Sjan-dehk spoke to Inshahri. “So, want to tell me what you’re doing?”

The girl hummed, her shoulders faintly swaying back-and-forth. “So you know I’m a counter-arcanist, right, Captain? That means I can sense magic and stuff like that.” She tapped a finger against her lip, turning to look towards the stern, then towards the prow. The cat-like smile on her face never faded. “I just thought I sensed something earlier. Still do, actually! It’s magic, that’s for sure, and it’s not Yasa’s.”

She looked at the boy with a playful look. “His magic has a nicer song. This one is just weird.”

Yasawen’s face flushed. “S-Stop it, I know y-you’re just teasing…” He muttered, eyes looking at the space between his feet.

“Enough of that,” Sjan-dehk interjected. He wasn’t quite sure why, but there was something familiar about how the two of them interacted with one another. Whether it was a good thing or not, he still didn’t know. “Inshahri, focus for now. When did you start detecting that magic?”

“Not too long ago. Maybe just a little while before you returned?” She hummed thoughtfully, then shrugged before wiping her hands over her shirt. It hung loosely about her shoulders, and was messily tucked into a calf-length skirt. A bright, yellow sash tied around her waist completed her simple outfit, one that reminded Sjan-dehk quite a lot of what Iyen preferred to wear. And now that Sjan-dehk took a proper look at her, she even wore her hair in a pair of tails that wasn’t too dissimilar from how Iyen wore hers.

“I tried looking, and Yasa helped, too!” She continued. “But we didn’t find anything, so I wanted us to go to the holds and the…And the…” Her smile faded slightly and she scratched her head. “What’s the place with all the gunpowder called?”

“The magazine,” Sjan-dehk said. He turned to Yasawen. “You did the right thing, stopping her. Nobody but Young Master Sohn-dahn and his boys, and Master Mursi and his gun crews should be there.”

Yasawen smiled hesitantly. “T-Thank you, Captain.”

“Boo,” Inshahri whined with a pout. “What about me? I found the magic first, Captain.”

Sjan-dehk flashed her a grin. “I’ll praise you once we find that magic, Inshahri,” he said and lifted the book and bundle. “Let me get these to Chief Sai-nahn and get us underway. Then, I’ll join the two of you to look for that source of magic. Just do exactly as I say and nothing else. I don’t want anyone accidentally killing themselves before we even leave harbour. It’s bad luck.”

🗡 Roses and Daggers 🎕

Myaatyun Kidelaut

(Character sheet)

Time: Evening
Location: Redwater

Kidelaut knew Redwater as how one might know an old friend – with fond memories of their past together, and a wistful longing to experience those times again.

He still remembered the day he first laid eyes upon the town. He had been a mere youth of fourteen back then – a recent arrival from Kimoon with nothing but dreams of making a name for himself in these foreign, Caesonian lands. And Redwater, unburdened by infamy in those good old days, had been a quiet town on the outskirts of Felipina, barely half-a-day’s ride from the city. Kidelaut recalled making the trip on foot – he hadn’t the coin for a carriage – with apprehension gripping his heart the entire way. After all, he hadn’t any idea what to expect. He hadn’t even known much about Caesonia as a whole.

And yet, when he saw the town rise into view, saw how it straddled the River Vermelleuve with its series of bridges and waterwheels, and saw how idyllic it looked sitting peacefully beneath the snow-capped peaks of the majestic Sans Pareil Mountains, the worry and anxiety melted away, replaced by awe. Kidelaut had, up until then, never seen a sight quite like it. The Redwater of that time had looked as if it had been pulled straight out of a fairy tale, and planted in the Caesonian countryside.

Kidelaut closed his eyes. Even now, everything was still vivid in his mind, as if his memories were of things that happened a few days ago, and not well over a decade in the past. He could still smell the crisp, alpine air, invigorating and refreshing; hear the chirping songs of birds unknown to Kimoon; sit beneath a sky that was never overcast, be it day or night; and see the eponymous red-tinted waters, courtesy of the riverine mosses which the locals used to make a distinct, crimson dye.

He exhaled slowly through his nose. For the better part of a year, he had called Redwater home. In return, the town had carefully etched those pleasant memories; those bucolic moments that brought him comfort during dark times, onto his mind.

And those etchings were now all that remained of the old Redwater.

“‘S’cuse me, this seat taken?”

A man’s voice shocked Kidelaut out of his thoughts. His eyes snapped open, and he blinked a few times to clear his mind. Still, he possessed enough mental clarity to notice that the man spoke with an accent, one that was just thick enough to identify him as a Varian northerner – someone who hailed from the eternally snow-covered lands beyond the Krasnivaya Mountains.

“No, not at all,” Kidelaut said and shifted further to his side of the bench, until he could rest his arm on the scrollwork of its armrest. He cast a sidelong glance at the man. Like most who ventured onto the streets of Redwater, he kept the lower half of his face covered. The upper classes had a preference for comfortable masks made of soft, layered fabrics. This man however, dressed as he was in garb that marked him quite clearly as a sellsword – drab, earth-coloured clothes beneath a cuirass and short tassets, and a sword by his side – wasn’t of such a class. And so, he instead had a thick scarf wrapped up to his nose.

“Please, do have a seat,” Kidelaut continued. The sight of the man’s scarf, and his attire, made him aware of his own. Just like the man, Kidelaut was dressed as a sellsword. Though his suit of half-plate might be a touch shinier, and his forest green shirt and trousers a little less frayed, he nevertheless looked every part a blade looking to be hired.

Such attire, coupled with the muggy air, made for a very discomforting experience. The scarf Kidelaut had pulled up to the bridge of his nose didn’t help with matters. Every breath felt like a chore, one that couldn’t even adequately fill his lungs. But Kidelaut also knew that without that strip of fabric, the air he would invite into his body would be little better than poison.

The man said a word of thanks, his armour clanking as he sat down heavily with a grunt. Then, he reclined with an arm stretched over the top of the bench, the hand of the other running through a head of straw-like hair which had the appearance of short and pointed grass. Kidelaut responded with a simple nod, his gaze fixed on Redwater’s main square, directly ahead of him and just beyond the point of his boots.

He sighed and hung his head. Here, he had no better view of Redwater’s sordid fate.

Gone were the clear skies; the light of the evening sun could barely pierce the thick smog which blanketed the town in clouds of dusty brown. Street lamps struggled to provide illumination, but their lights were little more than vague, yellow glows through the hanging filth. Gone was also the fresh, clean air; so pervasive was the scent of iron that it was palpable even through Kidelaut’s scarf. He felt the metallic tang creep into his nose, and could even taste it upon his tongue. And gone were the birds and their songs; it didn’t seem as if there were any living creatures in Redwater apart from the people who called it home. The only songs that remained were the droning hums and angry grumbles of distant machinery.

But worst of all was the river. Kidelaut couldn’t see it from where he sat, but he could hear it. One couldn’t escape the rush of water here in Redwater. Once, he would have enjoyed the noise, but now all it did was remind him of the sorry state of the Vermelleuve. It still flowed red, but it wasn’t the rosy pink of Kidelaut’s memories, and instead a sickly orange, as if the water itself had rusted over. Dam and dam exploiting the river for more and more power slowed its flow to a gurgling trickle as it meandered through town, staining desolate riverbanks and sapping life from all that it touched.

Kidelaut shook his head. If the Redwater of years past had been a setting from a fairy tale, then whatever it had become was surely a victim of a Kimoonese cautionary story. One that cautioned against the sins of rampant industry with all of the subtlety of a brick to the face, he noted.

Beside him, the man cleared his throat. It was an awkward, unnatural sound. “I hear that Veirmont is a fine place to visit in the spring,” he said.

“Not as fine as Vayansk in the summer, however,” Kidelaut replied. Under his scarf, he grinned. “It is good to see you, Jaakko.”

“Likewise, Renny,” Jaakko replied. Neither used the other’s real name. Both had done this exact thing too many times, and knew far better than to make such elementary mistakes. Jaakko glanced at Kidelaut from the corner of his eye. “Frostbite take my fingers, Renny, you look like someone just took a steaming shit in your dinner. What’s going on?”

“Do I, now?” Kidelaut chuckled and shook his head at Jaakko’s strange choice of words. “That is very, very strange of you to say, especially since our faces are hidden.”

“True, but I don’t think I’ve ever seen you happy whenever you visit Redwater,” Jaakko replied, the grin on his face clear in his tone. “Call it my gambler’s instinct to bet on whatever’s most probable, eh?”

“As you wish,” Kidelaut said. “And you said it yourself. If I do appear morose, it is because of this place.”

Several years ago, when Kidelaut visited Redwater for the third time since moving to Hartworth, he hadn’t been just morose. He had been furious. The sight of a forest of chimneys spewing plumes of black smoke into the air; of sprawling refineries dumping their refuse onto dying fields; and of the mines burrowing deep beneath the Sans Pareil allowing their toxic run-off to drain into the Vermelleuve, had enraged him. Dutiful knight that he was at the time, he had raised his concerns to his then-master, only to be told that although such things were ghastly, they were ultimately inevitable along the path of progress.

And like a fool, Kidelaut had allowed such a flimsy excuse to placate him. Such moments, such memories made him wish for a temperament closer to Cynwaer’s. That seafarer was brash and overly-quick to resort to violence, but at least he would have fought hard for what he thought was right. He wouldn’t have simply taken a noble’s word at face value.

Kidelaut drew in a deep breath. The scarf flattened against his nose. “In any case,” he said. “Do you have what we asked?”

“Sure as the springmelt, I do,” Jaakko replied. He paused, eyes narrowing as he took a quick look around them, disguising that action with the pretence of stretching his neck. Apart from a handful of people quickly crossing the square, and a few hurrying past a row of squarish buildings to their left, there wasn’t much in the way of a crowd. Kidelaut had expected that. Redwater only truly came to life at night, well after sunset, and after the refineries closed for the day. Only then would the smog be at its least dense.

Satisfied that nobody was watching, Jaakko quickly slipped a hand between his cuirass and shirt, carefully pulling out a thin, stained, and slightly bent folder. It had no markings on it. No names, no labels, not even a scribbled drawing. To anyone else’s eyes, it would have likely appeared to be something mundane, of no particular import or significance. That was if they even noticed it in the first place.

And that was exactly what Jaakko and Kidelaut had intended.

Jaakko placed the folder beside him, as if he were simply putting it down for a moment. Without looking at Kidelaut, he slid it towards the middle of the bench.

Kidelaut waited five heartbeats, then pulled the folder towards him. He picked it up, peaked at its contents, and slotted it between his own cuirass and shirt.

And that was it.

“You have our thanks,” Kidelaut said with a nod.

Jaakko chuckled. “I’ll need more than that, considering the trouble I had to go through to get that,” he said with a shake of his head. “Tell Songbird they owe me more than just a drink, this time. Giving me less than two days to dig up all that information on His Iron Lordship, what were they thinking?”

“You managed it, however,” Kidelaut noted.

Jaakko nodded. “That, I did. Don’t make it a habit, though.”

Kidelaut tapped a finger on his thigh. “I do admit that I am curious, however,” he said, turning his head fully to look directly into Jaakko’s chilly, azure eyes. “You are rather forthcoming about working against the man who employs you. Is there a reason for why that is so?” He paused. “Oh, I mean no offence, and certainly no suspicion. Please, do not misunderstand. Your loyalty is without question. I am merely intrigued.”

He grinned, and his words took on a more teasing – a more Sioridann-like – hue. “Unless, of course, there is reason for us to be suspicious.”

Jaakko regarded him with a strange look in his eyes for a moment before shaking his head. “Frostbite take my– no, take your fingers, Renny. Songbird’s rubbing off on you,” he said with a chuckle. Then, he sighed, eyes gazing out towards and beyond the square. “But, to answer your question, my contract with that little bastard ends this week, and I’m not planning on signing another one, so he’s not going to be my boss for much longer. I’m sure as springmelt not going to care about whatever befalls him.”

He adjusted his scarf, pulling it further up the bridge of his nose. “And besides, it’s about time that bastard paid for all the shite that he’s done. By summer’s thaw, I’d even bet that it’s not just you and Songbird who have plans for him. Half of Redwater probably wants His Iron Lordship gone.”

Kidelaut nodded slowly. That wasn’t the answer he had been expecting, but it was certainly an interesting one. One of which he wanted to hear more. “That is news to me,” Kidelaut began, his voice low. For once, he found himself thankful for the scarves they had to wear. The fabric muffled their words, and kept them close. Conversations didn’t drift far in Redwater. “Please, do elaborate.”

“Come on, Renny,” Jaakko said. “Surely as snows will melt, you’ve heard of all the shite he’s done?”

“Only as much as what little I hear from beyond Redwater’s borders, I fear,” Kidelaut admitted.

‘His Iron Lordship’ was the moniker by which the people of Redwater – both high and low – knew a certain Gratien Wesschler, a captain of industry and mining magnate. That much, Kidelaut knew with certainty for a fact. He also knew that the moniker was a misnomer. Wesschler wasn’t an actual lord, for one. As far as Kidelaut knew, he wasn’t even of noble birth, even if he did act to the contrary. And secondly, it wasn’t just iron in which Wesschler dealt. Coal, bloodstone, silver, and even gems; if it came out of the ground, and if it came from Redwater, Wesschler likely had a hand in its extraction, refining, and sale.

All that made Wesschler a very, very rich man. It wasn’t a secret as to how he spent such wealth; even the lowliest miners were aware of the generous bribes he handed out like sweets during a festival, or the gifts he lavished upon the local nobility. Such acts bought him influence; bought him power; and perhaps most importantly, bought him the ability to have his way in just about every matter in Redwater. Indeed, Kidelaut had never heard of Gratien meeting trouble when he bought almost a third of all the mines in Redwater, or when he took over one of the larger and more productive refineries.

Kidelaut’s stomach turned at the mere thought of such corruption, but even so, he could admit that Gratien hadn’t done anything particularly reprehensible. True, his actions likely didn’t endear him to anyone – and had likely achieved the opposite – but Kidelaut didn’t think that a hostile takeover here, and a bribe to get his way there, were enough to antagonise half-a-town, as Jaakko had said.

“Well,” Jaakko continued. “Where do I even fucking begin?”

His shoulders heaved as he drew in a deep breath. “Maybe from his love for women? And I’m using ‘love’ very fucking loosely here. We’re both– Well, you were a sellsword, Renny, but I’m sure you’re no stranger to fellows who think with their cocks more than their heads, right?” Kidelaut nodded. “Well, this rat bastard lordship takes that to the bloody extreme. Frostbite take my fucking head if I lie, but I swear I’ve seen him with one girl in the morning, another in the afternoon, and maybe three others by evenfall.”

“Sounds like some people we’ve known, Jaakko,” Kidelaut noted.

“Yeah, well,” Jaakko said, his tone darkening slightly. “The people we knew had standards, Renny. At least they left married women alone, and didn’t…” He stopped himself and looked away. “Let’s just say that he’s not used to being rejected. I’ve heard from some of the local sellswords that if he can’t get what he wants by throwing money at it, he’ll use force.”

Kidelaut’s hands balled into fists, and he set his jaw. “And those sellswords, they don’t stop him?”

Jaakko turned to look at him with a flat expression in his eyes. “Renny, the bastard could sign a confession to every crime known to man and beast, and he’d still be a free man by sundown. Anyone who’s got family in Redwater knows better than to cross him.” He paused and leaned back onto the bench. “I guess that’s why he doesn’t pull his nonsense when me and the other North Varians are around. We’d cave his fucking head in with a hammer.”

“So, this…Iron Lordship is a vile lech in addition to being corrupt,” Kidelaut said. “Songbird is going to love playing with him, of that I am certain.”

Jaakko chuckled mirthlessly. “I hope they make it hurt,” he said. “By the long winter night, Renny, if he was just a corrupt, perverse bastard, that’d be enough for me to want him dead. But no, he has to go the extra mile and be involved in some shady horseshite.” He looked around once more. There were only the two of them around the square; everyone else had likely scurried into some building and away from the smog.

“I’ve written it all down,” Jaakko said, nodding towards the folder behind Kidelaut’s cuirass. “But since I’ve already started ranting about the bastard, I might as well continue.” He cleared his throat, coughing into a fist, before continuing. “Look, Renny, I don’t know much about mining and how it works, but I think I know enough to be fucking sure that you don’t need to bring in close to three hundred new workers every other week, and all of them from just about every corner of Caesonia. Either something in those mines is eating workers, or that bastard is up to no fucking good.”

That caught Kidelaut’s attention in an instant. What Jaakko was saying was eerily similar to the rumours of missing – or abducted, depending on who you asked – persons that had brought Sioridann and his paths to Redwater, and to Gratien, in the first place. “I know Wesschler owns a number of mines,” Kidelaut said, reaching under his scarf to scratch his chin. “I do not doubt that he is involved in some criminal enterprise or other, Jaakko, but I will ask this to be absolutely clear. Is it possible that his mines and his refinery are just that dangerous? Enough so that he would need that many fresh hires regularly?”

“Not a damn chance.” Jaakko’s response was immediate. Evidently, he had already considered – and then rejected – such a possibility. “That bastard treats his workers worse than dung, don’t get me wrong, but it’d take him actually, actively killing them to lose a few hundred every two weeks.” He paused to breathe. “I’m not even sure that they’re actually workers, to be honest. I’ve patrolled the mines and refinery many, many times since he started bringing in these people and I can’t remember ever seeing a new face at work.”

Kidelaut chewed on his lip. “That is indeed very troubling.”

“That’s putting it lightly,” Jaakko said. Then, he sat up straight, clenching and unclenching his hands. “You know what, Renny? Now that I’ve said everything out loud, I’m not sure I can just walk away from that little bastard without giving him a piece of my mind. The North Varians listen to me, mostly, so if you need extra muscle for whatever you and Songbird have planned, you let me know.”

Kidelaut looked at him and grinned. “Ah, finally decided to fight the good fight, have you?”

Jaakko chuckled. “Just this once, Renny.” He stood up and stretched his arms. “Though I’ll definitely need new work once we’re through with that bastard, so who knows, eh?”

“Then I shall endeavour to make this operation of ours one that is spectacular enough to convince you and yours to join our cause.” Kidelaut stood up as well.

“I won’t deny that I’ve thought about it,” Jaakko said. “Especially after seeing just how people like that rat bastard treats the lower classes.” He looked off to the side, then back at Kidelaut. “Anyway, I should return to my duties before they miss me too much.”

“Very well,” Kidelaut said. “Be safe and be discreet. We would hate to lose a friend such as yourself.”

Jaakko waved his words away. “Eh, I wouldn’t worry, Renny. If anything happens to me, the North Varians would probably riot, and that bastard might be a bastard, but he’s not a stupid bastard. Not stupid enough to want a small band of very, very angry North Varians on his property, at least.” He nodded, and Kidelaut returned the gesture. “But I’ll be careful, and I hope your path is true as the autumn frost, Renny.”

Kidelaut said one last word of farewell before the two men parted ways. Jaakko stalked off northwards, to where most of the town’s workers had their quarters, and the part of the city that was closest to the mines and refineries. Kidelaut remained where he was for a moment longer, looking up towards an obscured sky, listening to the gurgle of a poisoned river, and tasting the tainted, metallic air.

He looked down and shook his head. An industrialist, hm? He mused. It felt almost poetic. Here he stood, in the midst of an old friend ruined by industry. And in his mind, he still clung onto memories of an old love, murdered by a soulless profiteer. Kidelaut made it a point to never take pleasure in ending his marks – he did what he did because there was no other option.

But for Gratien Wesschler, corrupt industrialist and exploiter of suffering, Kidelaut supposed that he could make an exception.

🗡 Roses and Daggers 🎕

Flashback: That Noon and Afternoon

Time: Noon -> Late Afternoon
Location: Sorian Waterfront
Interactions:
Mentions:
Attire:

Hider

(Placeholder until I get a better reference image)
Roughspun, blue trousers
A shoulder belt and waist belt carrying his equipment
Two swords and two pistols, one on either side
A woven, conical hat wide enough to shade his entire face

---

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Fancy seein’ you here, Cap’n.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What do you mean?” Olivier asked.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

---

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The man shifted, but otherwise there was no response.

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

Nothing.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I do not,” Sjan-dehk replied. “Ask.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“So, that is all?” Sjan-dehk asked.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

---

A stranger stood on the pier.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

To the Fourth Lesser Marquis of Jafi, and Captain of Sada Kurau,
Wasun Sjan-dehk,

I write to you regarding the concerns you have raised in your last missive. Those of us aboard Sudah share them as well. You are right in assuming that our finances will be in dire straits if we are to stay in this city for a period any longer than two months. I would also rather not enforce austerity measures when we are so far from home, and the men are liable to homesickness.

As such, I, on behalf of the Expedition Council, applaud you taking the initiative to shoulder some of our financial burdens. You are therefore approved to engage in privateering activities on behalf of the Caesonian Kingdom, provided that you abide by the following rules and restrictions:

1. Under no circumstances are you to engage in any acts of war against another sovereign state whilst flying Caesonian colours.

2. You are to take no actions that would negatively impact the well-being of the expedition and its constituent members, both people and material.

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

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

As your ship will likely enter combat, we have taken the liberty of reassigning some of Sudah’s crew to aid you in your venture. The first will be the messenger possessing this letter. He is Aijah Yasawen, one of our junior healer apprentices. We believe that you will make good use of his abilities. There will be more sent to Sada Kurau once we finalise our duty rosters, so I suggest that you start making the necessary arrangements to add more crew to your vessel.

In addition,

In light of your report about local attitudes towards magic, the following guidelines must be adhered to for any arcanist or otherwise magic-user going ashore:

1. Under no circumstances are they to display any magical abilities

2. They are to be escorted by at least one non-arcane crewmember at any given time

3. Should they be arrested by local authorities, a report should be made to Sudah immediately regardless of the time of day. You, as Captain, are to also begin negotiations for their release as soon as possible

That will be all for now. Any new updates to the rules and regulations that have been outlined in this missive shall come in the form of official standing orders.

Good luck,
Sehseh Kaizahn
Captain of Sudah

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

🗡 Roses and Daggers 🎕

Time: Mid-morning
Location: The Range
Interactions:
Mentions:
Attire:

Hider

(Placeholder until I get a better reference image)
Roughspun, blue trousers
A shoulder belt and waist belt carrying his equipment
Two swords and two pistols, one on either side
A woven, conical hat wide enough to shade his entire face
Lamellar armour: Cuirass, tassets, armguards

---

Keeping a warship up and running, as Sjan-dehk was quickly finding out, wasn’t exactly cheap.

That said, however, he did have some inkling of his Sada Kurau’s running costs. As her dutiful Captain, he made it a point to keep track of everything she used – in battle or otherwise – lost, or needed replacement, repairs, or restocking. He knew, for example, that since leaving Viserjanta for Caesonia, Sada Kurau had expended fifty-eight shells of various types. Two-and-a-half rolls of sailcloth had been used to maintain her sails. Roughly a mile of rope, to replace rigging that frayed from wear-and-tear.

And that was just what the ship herself had used. Her crew had consumed almost three tons of provisions of various sorts, and those would have to be replaced sooner rather than later. Similarly, the rifle and pistol cartridges that had been fired – five hundred-and-sixty-eight in total – would also need to be replaced in as short order as possible.

So, yes, Sjan-dehk had known about what it took to keep Sada Kurau operational. What he hadn’t known, and what he was now discovering, was the amount of money needed to purchase all those things.

An annoyed huff blew from Sjan-dehk’s nose. The fingers of one hand drummed an erratic beat against a gnarled, wooden tabletop. In the other, he held a brush with such force that it started to bend. Beneath the cooling shade of his hat, his eyes scanned the numbers and notes scrawled across the crumpled sheet of paper before him. With each row he looked over, his brow pushed closer and closer to each other, and his expression grew darker and darker, as if the paper that was somehow at fault for showing him calculations that were less than satisfactory.

He sighed and dipped the brush into an inkwell. “You’re a demanding lady, aren’t you?” he muttered under his breath as he scribbled another line, adding another item to the list; five barrels of gunpowder to replace the roughly six tons that had been used up.

Sjan-dehk clicked his tongue. None of this would be such a headache had he been in the Commonwealth; replenishment there was a simple matter of listing down everything Sada Kurau needed, bringing that list to the local Naval supply depot, and then waiting until the requested items were loaded into her holds. The monetary cost would be a problem for the Commonwealth Navy to handle, not Sjan-dehk.

But here in Caesonia, there was no such luxury. Sjan-dehk chewed on his lip. The final amount he arrived at for Sada Kurau’s approximate expenses didn’t look wrong, but neither did it look appealing. It was much larger than he would have liked, and he couldn’t see a way to make it any smaller without giving up things which he felt were utterly essential to keeping Sada Kurau fighting fit. Sjan-dehk wondered if this was why the Navy had entire offices dedicated to managing its finances.

“I don’t like this.” Kai-dahn’s dour voice came suddenly, and as a distraction Sjan-dehk welcomed.

He looked up at Sada Kurau’s Commander-of-Seaborne. “Neither do I, Commander,” Sjan-dehk said and tapped a finger on the paper. “But shit work’s still work, and someone has to do it.”

Grass crunched beneath sturdy, lightweight boots as Kai-dahn approached the table. Tall and well-built, he stood with his back ramrod-straight and hands folded neatly behind his back in front of Sjan-dehk. Despite the heat of the ascending sun, Kai-dahn looked immaculate in his uniform, with barely a crease of either of his tunics out-of-place, and his leather equipment sitting flush enough against his body to look tidy, but not so much that it wrinkled his clothes. His helmet – a conical hat made of hardened leather and steel – hung from his waist belt.

“My apologies, Captain,” Kai-dahn said with a bow of his head. “I should have made myself clear. I wasn’t talking about Sada Kurau’s expenses.” He threw a quick glance over his shoulder. When he turned back to Sjan-dehk, his lips were turned downwards in a severe frown. “I’m talking about what’s going on there.”

Sjan-dehk leaned to one side to look around Kai-dahn, the rickety folding chair beneath him creaking with his shifting weight. At a glance, Sjan-dehk saw nothing out of the ordinary. Sada Kurau’s crew were where Sjan-dehk had left them, gathered at the firing line. Granted, most of them were in some state of undress, with a handful having undone their sashes and opened their tunics to their waists, and most had taken off their webbing and helmets, leaving them stacked in neat piles on the grass.

But that wasn’t anything Sjan-dehk thought to be alarming. If anything, he was pleased to see that, despite having been given leave to rest, none of the crew had left their rifles unattended. They had their weapons either cradled in their arms, or slung behind their shoulders.

“You’re against them resting?” Sjan-dehk asked, looking at Kai-dahn with a raised brow.

The Commander frowned. “Captain, they’re fraternising,” he said pointedly. “That’s strictly prohibited under section twenty-eight of the Commonwealth Naval Book of Laws.” His face darkened, his usually impassive features cracking ever-so-slightly to reveal some modicum of displeasure. “I also caught some of the men exchanging arms with local troops.” By the tone he used with that last sentence, one could be forgiven for thinking that to be one of the gravest transgressions possible.

Sjan-dehk furrowed his brow. For a moment, he was confused; just who was Kai-dahn talking about? But, he soon remembered the dozen-or-so Caesonian soldiers who had arrived at the range not too long after Sjan-dehk had finished addressing his crew. He hadn’t paid them much attention – the Caesonians mostly kept to themselves and went about their business on their side of the range – but now as he examined the crowd once more, he did notice the neatly uniformed Caesonians mingling with the less-than-presentable crew of Sada Kurau. They communicated mostly with exaggerated gestures and stilted conversations, but that didn’t seem to get in the way of them getting along amicably, as far as Sjan-dehk could see.

Coincidentally, he also saw them swapping firearms, as Kai-dahn had mentioned.

Right away, Stratya’s words from the previous night surfaced in Sjan-dehk’s mind. From what little he had seen of the Caesonian’s shooting this morning, it was clear she had been telling the truth. Muzzle-loading and smoothbore, the muskets used by the Caesonians were wholly inferior to the rifles arming Sjan-dehk’s crew. In the time it took the former to load and fire a single shot, the latter would have already fired off five, or even six, if the shooter was skilled enough. And at a range of a hundred paces, each of those five or six bullets could be guaranteed to strike a target the size of an average person. A Caesonian musket couldn’t match even a third of that accuracy at half the distance.

With all that in mind, Sjan-dehk could see why Kai-dahn was concerned. Allowing the Caesonians to study and possibly replicate Viserjantan rifles would be, at the very least, irresponsible. At worst, it could be akin to surrendering a powerful battlefield advantage for no reason whatsoever. However, as much as he could understand Kai-dahn’s perspective, Sjan-dehk couldn’t say that he agreed with him.

“Fraternising only applies if they’re with the enemy, if I’m not mistaken,” Sjan-dehk started, bringing up his elbows to rest on the table, and supporting his chin with the backs of his hands. “Unless something terrible happened in the time it took me to put this abyss-forsaken list together, we’re not going to make enemies of the Caesonians. And as for the rifles…” He trailed off and nodded towards the crowd. “I don’t think they can understand each other enough to tell each other anything important. And besides, Mursi is there with them. He made the damn things, he’ll know what should or shouldn’t be shared and act accordingly.”

Kai-dahn didn’t look entirely convinced, but nevertheless, he nodded. “As you say, Captain.”

“We’ll have them back in action soon enough, anyway,” Sjan-dehk said, picking up the brush and twirling it around his fingers as he reluctantly returned his attention to Sada Kurau’s expenses. Kai-dahn remained standing, still as a statue, and eyes gazing dispassionately at his Captain. Sjan-dehk glanced at him from under the brim of his hat. An exasperated sigh left his lips, and he gave the empty chair beside him a hard nudge with the tip of his boot. “Might as well come help me with these fucking numbers, if you’re just going to stand around.”

Kai-dahn immediately marched himself around the table, coming to a stop directly behind Sjan-dehk’s right shoulder. The Captain shook his head. He didn’t doubt that had he said nothing, Kai-dahn would have just stood in front of the table until it was time for him to return to the firing line. “Sit down,” Sjan-dehk ordered and jerked a thumb towards the empty chair. “I need you to tell me how many cartridges we’re expected to use by the end of practice.”

“As you say, Captain.” Kai-dahn nodded, pulled the chair out, and sat down. Even with an action so simple and mundane, the Commander managed to make it seem like a military drill with the deliberateness and sharpness of his movements. He took a moment to straighten out invisible creases on his uniform before turning his body to look at Sjan-dehk’s list. “The men don’t seem to have much trouble with the new rifles, other than reloading the reloading drill, but that will come with use and practice.”

“They can’t reload properly?” Sjan-dehk’s brow creased. “Sounds like trouble to me.”

Kai-dahn shook his head. “Apologies, Captain. It’s nothing as major as that. They simply fall back on their old drills under stress. There’s no need for concern, Captain. I can assure you that all of them would be as capable on these new rifles as they were on the old ones by noon.” A pensive look came over his face and he looked at the firing line. “With your permission, Captain, I will have the men carry out a second round of familiarisation shooting before we move onto snap shooting and battle drills and commands. That should iron out most of the problems the men have with reloading.” He paused. Sjan-dehk turned his head to look at him, prompting him to continue. Kai-dahn cleared his throat. “That will be another twenty-four cartridges on top of the two hundred-and-fifty I’ve set aside for today, Captain.”

“That’s all I needed to know,” Sjan-dehk muttered and made the necessary amendments to his list. He sat back, holding it in his hands as he scanned through the rows of items and numbers. Then, with a grumble, he dropped it onto the table and made another change. “Better get another eighth-ton of powder to be on the safe side.” As he scribbled, he waved a hand towards Kai-dahn. “Do whatever you think is best for the crew, Commander.”

“As you say, Captain,” Kai-dahn replied. He glanced over the list, and frowned. “Captain, that’s not a list of our expenses for the day, if I’m not mistaken.”

“No, you are not,” Sjan-dehk muttered. “It’s for everything since we left the Commonwealth.”

Kai-dahn didn’t say anything immediately. For a few moments, the only sounds that reached either man’s ears were the vague chatter of soldiers, the quiet rustling of grass in the breeze, and soft birdsong coming from the trees just behind the range. “If I may ask,” the Commander began, clearing his throat. “Is there a reason you are doing this?”

“Better to get it over and done with, than to leave it and let it become a nasty surprise.”

“I understand that, Captain,” Kai-dahn said with a nod. “But we don’t have to calculate the exact costs, do we? I was under the impression that Sudah has people for this sort of work.”

“No, we don’t,” Sjan-dehk admitted, but continued scribbling nonetheless. He tapped the end of the brush on the table as he formulated an explanation. Even so, when he eventually spoke, his words didn’t sound as convincing as he had hoped. “But it’s better for us to know how much we’re spending. Especially when we’ll be stuck in this city for however long it’ll take for Lady Adiyan to become well enough for us to move.”

Kai-dahn grimaced. “That shouldn’t take more than a week. Master Sahm-tehn returned to duty in half that time after he lost his arm.”

“Master Sahm-tehn is a sailor like you and me,” Sjan-dehk replied drily. “And he’s likely made of the same wood as Sada Kurau. You can’t compare Lady Adiyan to him.” He drew in a deep breath, releasing it as a long, resigned sigh. “We should be prepared to stay here for at least a month. Maybe two. Either way, we’ll be here for much longer than planned, so we’ve to be ready for when Sudah can no longer sustain both us and herself with her supplies. Best we start finding ways to be at least somewhat independent.”

“But as you said, Captain, we still have a few weeks before supplies will become an issue.” Confusion was clearly written across Kai-dahn’s visage. “While I understand the need to be prepared, surely it would be a lot easier to come to a decision when we’re closer to that stage, and after we have exhausted all austerity measures as outlined in section thirty-one of the Commonwealth Naval Book of Laws? It would be wise to first consult with Sudah as well, to know their supply situation before coming up with our own plans.”

Sjan-dehk waved off Kai-dahn’s last sentence, but his own response died on his tongue. The Commander did have a point. Naval regulations provided Sjan-dehk with a list of possible actions to take when the risk of a supply shortage became a distinct possibility. He could, for example, enforce rationing to stretch what provisions they had left for as long a time as was physically safe. He could also keep Sada Kurau moored at harbour to reduce damages from sailing. Those were just two of the suggestions Sjan-dehk recalled out of a list that spanned pages. He felt almost certain that, if he cared to look through the Book of Laws, there would be at least a handful of suitable actions he could take.

Alternatively, he could – as Kai-dahn suggested – check with Sudah to see if he even needed to take such measures.

But, despite the doubt growing in him as he looked at the paper, Sjan-dehk said, “The Book of Laws was written with the assumption that we’d be in Commonwealth waters and not elsewhere. Its suggestions only account for things like food or water, and not money.” He paused, his eyes still glued to the list, seeing the words and numbers, but not reading them. “It assumes that we would only have to hold out as long as we need to either reach a harbour, or be resupplied by another ship. Money’s not an issue, there. But here, it is. We’ve to pay for everything we use, and while rationing and keeping Sada Kurau docked can avoid that issue for a while, it’s still an eventuality. I don’t want us to have a lack of local currency if and when we’ve to start relying on ourselves to keep Sada Kurau supplied.”

The more Sjan-dehk spoke, the less he felt like he was convincing Kai-dahn. If anything, his words felt like they were meant for himself. He shook his head slightly and continued. “I’ll send word to Sudah about our intentions, though. Let them know what we’re going to do.”

“And what are our intentions, Captain?” Kai-dahn asked.

Sjan-dehk’s answer came quickly. A little too quickly, surprising even himself. “Could try privateering.”

More surprising, however, was how easily Kai-dahn agreed to the idea. “A bit of action every now and then would keep the crew in practice, yes,” he said with a nod, his usually flat voice carrying the barest hints of excitement and approval.

A strange mix of uncertainty and hesitation stormed in Sjan-dehk’s heart, and he knew that it was certainly showing on his face. Had he hoped that Kai-dahn would be opposed to the idea? That someone would tell him that he was being rash with his plans? But that wasn’t the case, was it? This wasn’t something that he thought up on a whim; many considerations had gone into his decision to give privateering a go. It wasn’t as if there was much else a warship could do to earn her keep, and Sada Kurau wasn’t the sort of vessel which could be anything other than a warship.

And yet, Sjan-dehk couldn’t say anything until Kai-dahn called for him. “Captain?” The Commander asked with some concern. “Are you alright?”

“Yes,” Sjan-dehk replied even as he admonished himself. What was he, Sada Kurau’s Captain, doing? He couldn’t afford to be so indecisive. His crew would follow him no matter what choice he made, there wasn’t any question about that. And so he had to choose, and he had to be resolute about it. “Think they’ve had enough rest,” he said and nodded towards the firing line. “Let’s not waste any time. Get the crew back on the line and get them shooting. And get me the runner. Need him to send a message to Sudah.”

Kai-dahn got to his feet and saluted. “As you say, Captain,” he said with a nod. With that, he marched over to the disorganised crowd, barking orders along the way.

Sjan-dehk looked around the table and grabbed the first blank sheet of paper he could see. It didn’t seem as if anything important was written on the other side, and so he started writing his message for Sudah’s Captain and Lady Adiyan. With each painted stroke and each completed logograph, the doubts that had been in his mind faded. It was as if by writing this message, he was setting his decision into stone. It was no longer something to be questioned, but something to be acted upon.

And if there was one thing Sjan-dehk was good at doing, it was taking action.

🗡 Roses and Daggers 🎕

Riona / Sjan-dehk / Dai-sehk the Surgeon

Flashback: The Previous Night

---

Flickering shadows danced on the cluttered desk. The pungent smell of dried herbs and steeping infusions filled the cramped and stuffy cabin. An oil lantern squeaked as it swung from an steel hook punched into the wall by the door.

Hunched over the desk, Dai-sehk did his best to ignore the rolling floor as he picked up a dried leaf with a pair of forceps. With great caution, he dropped it into a small vial of water. Almost immediately, wispy trails of green wafted from the leaf. Dai-sehk paid it no further attention – he would run further tests of the newly brewed mixture once it had time to rest – and instead focused on the other leaves and herbs arranged in neat rows on the pages of an open book. Its pages were covered in illustrations and sketches of various plants found throughout the Commonwealth and its closest neighbours. Dai-sehk’s own handwritten notes decorated the margins and between paragraphs.

One-by-one, he compared the appearance of each herb and leaf to what was in his book. And with each, his lips pressed tighter and tighter together until his mouth was a mere crack cutting across his face. None of what he had bought matched either illustration or description. Not enough for him to be able to ascertain their use and purpose with confidence, at least. He had plenty of experiments to look forward to, it would seem. Normally, he wouldn’t mind – it might even bring him some modicum of joy – but he needed to find a reliable way to replace his supply of medicine. And the sooner he could do that, the better.

He slid his glasses up his nose. With a muted grumble, he picked up another leaf with his forceps.

The rap of knuckles against his door interrupted him. “Dai-sehk? You in there?” It was the Captain’s voice.

Dai-sehk huffed, carefully placed the leaf back onto the book, and shut it. He placed the heavy tome on a pile of yet more of his day’s bounty from Sorian’s markets. Only then did he call out a response. “Yes, I am here, Captain. The door is unlocked.”

The door creaked open and the Captain stepped into the cabin. Dai-sehk didn’t bother to stand, nor did he salute. He had served with Sjan-dehk long enough to know that Sada Kurau’s Captain didn’t like standing on ceremony. If anything, the man actively avoided it. Dai-sehk did, however, offer him a nod as a show of respect. It was the least he could do for the person who had once snatched him from death’s door. Behind the Captain came a young woman. A local Caesonian, Dai-sehk guessed from her curled tresses, tanned skin, and generally non-Viserjantan appearance. He glanced at her, then at the Captain. “Who is she?”

Riona couldn’t stop her eyes from darting about the doctor’s cabin. Everything was new, from the creak of wood to the sway of the floor beneath her feet. The unfamiliar motion sent a thrill through her stomach.

“She is…” Sjan-dehk began. He furrowed his brow as he thought about how to introduce her. “Rehn-ah is probably the closest we’ll get to her name. Anyway, she has wounds I want you to look at.” He ushered the woman into the cabin, which was quickly becoming even more cramped. “Been lashed recently, from what I understand, and she hasn’t seen an actual doctor yet. I would’ve gone to Rasehndah or Sazarin, but they looked like they were busy with many things.”

Dai-sehk nodded slowly. “Yes. I told them to study and practice.” He looked at Riona and Sjan-dehk in turn with scrying eyes. The Captain had clearly just stepped back aboard not long ago – he was still dressed in armour, and his weapons still hung from his belts. Wherever he had come from, it couldn’t be too friendly a place. The woman – Riona – however, was dressed simply in a dress. It was unlikely the Captain met her anywhere near a fight, as his attire would suggest.

With a mental shrug, Dai-sehk decided not to dwell on the matter any longer. There was no point. It wasn’t his place to decide who could come aboard Sada Kurau and who couldn’t. All he needed to know was that the Captain had personally asked for his help, and Dai-sehk wasn’t about to decline. Dai-sehk reached for a stool and dragged it over. Then, he twisted around and reached under his desk to pull out a leather bag, the very same one he had taken with him on his trip around Sorian that very same day. “Well, have her sit and lift up her shirt. There should be something around for her to cover her chest if she wants to.”

Sjan-dehk looked around a few times. Then, he grabbed a used tunic hanging from a hook punched into a nearby wall. Dai-sehk saw him do it, but didn’t voice any complaint. And so, the Captain turned to Riona, handing her the shirt and stepping aside to let her pass. He pressed himself almost flush against the hull of Sada Kurau. “There, you sit,” he said, pointing to the stool. “Face away from Dai-sehk. Then you show your back and if you need, use this–” he tilted his chin towards the tunic “–to cover your front.”

Sjan-dehk and the doctor’s conversation washed over her in alien syllables, but her nose twitched at familiar scents. The sharp bite of silvermist—good stuff for lowering fevers—mingled with moonbloom’s sweetness. Strange, moonbloom petals were normally used for soaps, not medicine. And was that—yep, bloodroot. Poison, but useful if you knew how.

“There.” Sjan-dehk’s voice drew her attention, and she turned to see the offered shirt. With a nod, she accepted it. “So, uh, I’m not sure what you told him, but a simple check-up is fine. It’s been…” she trailed off, fatigue suddenly leaden in her bones, “a rough couple of days.”

Sjan-dehk blinked once, as if not fully understanding what she was saying. “But you are still injured, that is correct? Better to be safe than sorry, like your people say, yes?”

True. Riona began to remove the layers of her clothing, carefully folding each piece and stacking them on the nearest table. “I used some home remedies on myself, so my injuries shouldn’t be too bad.” With a final tug, Riona pulled her cotton dress over her head, leaving in her undergarments. “I got into a scrap yesterday. Nasty one. Took a knock to the head, nearly got my windpipe crushed, and the guy dosed me… something. I want to make sure there’s no permanent damage.”

As she bent to deal with her shoes, the light caught the myriad of scars that criss crossed her exposed skin. Each mark told a story, some faded with time, others looked more recent. But one... one old silvery line demanded attention like a shout in a silent room.

When Riona turned around, a matching scar on her abdomen completed the horrifying picture: they were the entry and exit wounds from a blade that should’ve been fatal.

The wounds, distinct and almost crying for attention with their pale glows, immediately captured Dai-sehk’s attention. Whatever blade that had pierced her had to have been well-sharpened, and used by someone who knew what they were about, judging by how clean the scars were. Riona was either a very lucky, or a very unlucky woman to have suffered and survived such an injury. On the one hand, she had been inches away from death. But on the other, that she had kept her life by such a close margin meant that she had to be possessed of no small amount of fortune. That, or she had caught the fancy of a Deity, Spirit, or some other supernatural force of some kind.

Sjan-dehk cleared his throat. “You are lucky,” he commented, surprise tinting his words.

Suspecting he was referring to the oldest scar on her body, Riona shook her head. “Not lucky.” Her fingers traced the line. Flashes of that fateful day crossed her mind, “Just a mother’s love.”

“What did she say?” Dai-sehk asked.

“She got into a fight yesterday,” Sjan-dehk replied, translating only what he knew Dai-sehk was interested in hearing. “Took a hit to her throat and her head. Sounds like she got drugged as well.” He chewed on his lip and looked in Dai-sehk’s direction. “Just make sure there’re no lasting wounds. Treat what you can, do something for what you can’t.”

Dai-sehk nodded. “As you say, Captain.”

Riona’s feet, bearing the kind of marks you get from dancing in fire some time ago, padded softly across the floorboards to the waiting chair. In the low light of the cabin, those wounds went unnoticed by either man, although Dai-sehk did note that there was something odd about the sound her feet made. But, he didn’t think too much about it. There were more pressing wounds for him to see.

Words seemed pretty useless when you couldn’t understand each other, so Riona settled for a polite smile-nod combo that she hoped were universal gestures before settling into the seat, back turned to him.

Dai-sehk leaned forward and examined the scars criss-crossing Riona’s back. And right away, he knew for a fact that she had been lashed many, many times. Fresh scars – still red and angry – cut into old, faded ones, and those rested upon scars that had long since turned into fleshy ridges on her flesh. He grimaced; there was nothing he could do about the latter two, and even the new ones were already starting to scab, a sign that they too would soon become immutable scars. Spots and lines of dark crimson marked where the scabs were tearing, and it were those areas where Dai-sehk focused his attention.

He twisted in his seat and swept his eyes over the desk, quickly finding a murky, glass jar half-filled with a green paste. “This, it sting,” he said matter-of-factly, his voice dull and devoid of any warmth. “Stay still. Do not move. Otherwise, will be difficult.” He dipped his fingers into the jar, scooping up a generous amount of the paste and daubing it onto Riona’s weeping scars.

Riona flinched—not from the cool paste or the sting, but the unfamiliar contact against her skin. Breathe, she reminded herself. Just a doctor doing his job. No threat here. She fixed her gaze on the far wall, willing her muscles to unclench.

If Dai-sehk noticed her reaction, he either didn’t show it, or didn’t care. With him, it could easily be either of the two. Or both. “Do not worry about throat,” he said as he worked. “If there is injured, you would know by now. Also for drugs. You say you it happen last night? Then already one full day. Most drugs, they already affect you by now also. Just be careful. You feel normal? Is okay. You feel different? Then worry.”

Sjan-dehk let out a sigh. “Dai-sehk has own way of talking,” he said and glanced at the surgeon. The man merely responded with a shrug. Despite himself, Sjan-dehk chuckled as he shook his head. He supposed that a warship wasn’t the best place for Dai-sehk to develop his bedside manners, even if it did give him a place to polish his already exemplary skills. “But he is good surgeon.”

“Too kind, Captain,” Dai-sehk murmured.

A half-laugh escaped Riona. The doctor’s bluntness was refreshing. No sugar-coating, no bullsh*t. Just the facts, raw and unfiltered. This one, at least, wouldn’t dance around the truth or pat her hand while lying through his teeth. She met the man’s eyes, noting the sharp intelligence there, and nodded. Yeah, she could work with this.

For several moments, Dai-sehk continued his work in silence, punctuated only by the occasional grumble whenever he found a spot he had missed. Meanwhile, Sjan-dehk leaned against the door frame with arms folded across his chest. He looked over Riona, taking in the sheer number of scars on her person. It didn’t take long for him to give voice to the question that gnawed at his mind. “You have many scars,” he started a touch more awkwardly than he intended. “They are…No, what I mean is, the people, the ones you work for, they do this to you a lot? Flogging?”

Riona’s lips quirked in a half-smile that didn’t reach her eyes. “That’d be giving them too much credit.” She shook her head, “No, not all of these were because of them.” Her hands absently rubbed the raised lines on her forearm. “Some are from accidents. Some happened during training. And some…” She flexed her work-worn hands, gaze catching on the ruins of her once-pristine manicure—remnants of a rare moment of vanity, “Some are… self-inflicted, in a sense. To remind myself. To…” The words “punish myself” hung unspoken in the air.

There wasn’t any need for Riona to complete her sentence. Neither Sjan-dehk nor Dai-sehk needed much thought to guess what she had meant to say. Self-flagellation and self-mutilation were common practices of certain sects which existed in the darker corners of the Commonwealth. They had flourished during the War, and had persisted for months after its conclusion. Dai-sehk never quite understood the theory behind their actions – and he had no desire to learn – but he knew enough to know that adherents of such beliefs got it into their heads that they had to punish themselves to appease some Deity or Spirit. And that once they were appeased enough, they would put an end to all pain and suffering.

It was all idiocy, as far as Dai-sehk was concerned. Of course, he was all too aware that there was nothing about Riona that indicated she was the same brand of idiot as those cultists, but it would be a lie if he said that he didn’t think of her as a silly person for doing what she had done. Words formed on his tongue, but a very sharp, very stern, and uncharacteristically severe look from the Captain made him swallow them.

Sjan-dehk breathed in deeply through his nose. “Well,” he said. “No matter where they come from, you still have wounds. They must be looked after.”

“It is done,” Dai-sehk said and slid the jar back onto his desk. He wiped his hands on his trousers, reached into the leather bag, and pulled out a white bandage, folded into a neat square. For the first time since he started treating Riona, his actions were gentle as he pressed the fabric against her wounds, making sure they were covered completely. “Scars will heal. But will leave mark. If you want to remove them, you go to Sudah. Find Sehja. She can do that better.”

“Sehja, she is healer,” Sjan-dehk explained. “Not doctor. She heals with arcane ways. Can do many, many things. Strange and interesting things.”

Riona’s eyes widened at the casual mention of arcane healing. “You shouldn’t talk about that so openly,” she cautioned. “Magic is... it’s not exactly welcomed in these parts. So, be careful.”

That was news to Sjan-dehk, and it was news he stored away with a note to pass it on to Sudah as quickly as possible. There were more than a few magic-users aboard the larger vessel. It would be troublesome if any of them were to run afoul of Caesonian authorities. And if things got to the point where Sjan-dehk had to invoke Jafi’s long-standing promise to offer all magic-users protection, it could get very, very messy.

“Thank you,” he said to Riona with a nod.

Her gaze drifted down to her scarred flesh. There was a time, not so long ago, when she’d considered erasing every mark, every reminder of her past. The thought had become particularly tempting after things with Dan had shifted, blossoming into something more than friendship. She’d wanted to be beautiful for him, unblemished.

But Dan... he’d seen past the scars, told her she was lovely just as she was. That there was no need to hide the story written on her skin. Riona’s lips quirked in a bittersweet smile at the memory.

It wasn’t just for Dan that she’d kept the scars, though. Deep down, in a place she rarely examined too closely, she didn’t believe she deserved to be free of them.

“Do you think I should erase them?” The question slipped out without thought. She looked up, meeting first the doctor’s eyes, then Sjan-dehk’s. “I... get myself hurt so that I don’t forget what was done to my home. So that I can keep…” She paused, weighing her words carefully. How much could she reveal without saying too much? “Keep the feeling I had then, alive.” The spell needed that energy to feed on, lest it withered and faded before having the chance to properly activate.

Riona’s gaze flicked between the two men, searching their faces. “What... would it mean if I let my scars fade into nothing?”

“Means they go away,” Dai-sehk replied flatly. What other answer was she expecting? With deft and skillful hands, he wrapped the bandage around Riona’s body, taking care to avoid touching or even brushing his fingers against anywhere sensitive. He finished it off with a secure knot on her back. “You want scars to go away? You can. But only ones on body. Ones in mind? Not easy to go away.”

He fell silent for a moment. Then, he shook his head slightly. He didn’t know what it was that Riona wanted to always remember, but he knew that it wasn’t his place to tell her to do anything. “What you do, it is your choice. But if you do not let yourself, you never forget.”

Riona nodded slowly, feeling a faint flush of shame creep up her neck. The question had tumbled out before she could stop it, and now she wished she could snatch the words back from the air. These people were strangers. What right did she have to burden them with something so personal, so weighty?

Objectively speaking, the doctor was right: a scar was just a scar. Lines on skin, nothing more. It was her mind that gave it power, her memories that imbued it with significance. There was no reason for these people, or anyone really, to care about what it meant to her.

Sjan-dehk noticed the flush on Riona’s cheeks. He sighed, looked at Dai-sehk, then at her. “So your home, it is no more?” He probed cautiously, and even as those words left his lips, he realised that it likely wasn’t the best question to ask. Not now, in any case. “No need to answer,” he added quickly. Clearing his throat, he continued, “What Dai-sehk mean is that your scars, the one on your body, they are not what you should worry about. They are there, they are not there, they do not affect what you remember. You want to forget, you will forget. You want to remember, you will remember. Scars only…Only form.”

“... I almost did once,” she muttered. She’d never make that mistake again. Quickly, Riona lifted her head and forced a smile, “Thank you for the offer. I’ll carry them with me… to the very end.” And beyond, she thought, if there was a beyond for someone like her.

“You can wear back your clothes now. All is done,” Dai-sehk said as he leaned over to snatch a satchel off the desk. “Do not let bandages become wet. Otherwise, infection. Take off when you wash. Replace if you need. Can use any clean cloth. If not sure, boil water. Soak cloth. Let dry.” He handed her the satchel. “For pain and itch. If need, crush, mix with water. Make paste. Apply to wound and cover again. If wound start to smell like fish, start to worry. Find doctor, or find the Captain again.”

Riona bowed her head slightly as she accepted the satchel. “Thank you, Doctor Dai-sehk,” she said. As she dressed, her mind wandered to the satchel’s contents, anticipation building at the thought of discovering unfamiliar remedies.

Back with the physician, Riona caught a glimpse of dried leaves peeking out from beneath a leather-bound book. Curiosity got the better of her, and she gently lifted the book, revealing an assortment of herbs scattered across the wooden surface.

“You–” Dai-sehk began. Despite the mess Riona had made, and what she had done with his work, he only sounded somewhat annoyed. The rest of his irate words, however, died on his tongue when he saw what Riona was doing.

Setting the book aside, she scrutinised the plants. Her hands moved swiftly, sorting them into distinct piles. Before long, three neat stacks lay before her.

Riona pointed to each in turn. “Poisonous,” she said, indicating the first pile. Her finger moved to the second. “Can make things smell and taste nice, but doesn’t do much aside from that.” Finally, she gestured to the last group. “Has medicinal benefits.”

Dai-sehk blinked. She had worked fast. Much, much faster than what he would expect from someone with no professional knowledge. He looked at the neatly organised piles. Riona had likely saved him countless hours and even days of work and trouble. And as much as he wanted to know more about her, particularly how she knew so much about herbs and poisons, his itch to get back to work was stronger.

“Thank you,” he said to her with a slight bow of his head. His eyes glanced at the pile Riona had said was composed of poisonous leaves. That was certainly very useful information. “Very helpful,” he added. Then, he promptly turned back to face his desk. He pushed his glasses further up his nose, picked up a pen, and returned to his work. “All is done, yes? Then you can go. Close the door.”

Pride glimmered in her eyes. Adjusting the satchel’s strap, Riona said, “Thank you again. Have a good night.”

Dai-sehk didn’t look up. He didn’t even say anything, and simply waved his hand.

Sjan-dehk sighed and gestured for Riona to leave. He followed behind her, quietly closing the door behind him. “Do not mind him,” he said as he led the way back up to Sada Kurau’s main deck. “Dai-sehk, he likes to work. But he is good man. Most of the time. Other times, even we feel like throwing him overboard.” He looked over his shoulder at Riona with a grin to make it clear that it was a joke.

The crisp, night air, light with ocean salt, greeted them as they emerged from Sada Kurau’s lower decks. A cooling breeze washed over the deck, rustling sails and ropes. Roosting seafowl cooed and cawed above, from where they sat on the mast tops and rigging.

“Wait,” Sjan-dehk told Riona, and quickly swept his eyes across the deck. His gaze soon rested on a pair of sailors standing by the gunwale, their rifles slung over their shoulders, hats atop their heads, and eyes fixed on the pier. “You two,” the Captain called out to them. They both let out a yelp of surprise and turned around, snapping to haphazard salutes. Sjan-dehk regarded them with a smirk. “I’ll pretend I didn’t see or hear that, but I expect better from both of you next time.”

“Y-Yes, Captain!” The shorter of the two replied.

Sjan-dehk pointed to Riona. “Our guest is going home. Go with her, make sure she’s safe, then come back as quickly–” He stopped himself, thought about it a little more, and shook his head. “Belay that. Escort her home, make sure you’re with her until she’s physically through the door, then the two of you can spend a little time in the city if you like. Just don’t do what Yehn-tai did and get into a fight, otherwise I’ll personally see to it that you’re both scrubbing latrines till your hands bleed. And make sure you’re both back before midnight, otherwise it’s Master Kai-dahn who’ll do that. Understood?”

The taller one nodded. “Understood, Captain. Thank you, Captain.”

Sjan-dehk turned his attention back to Riona. “Ahn-seh and Izayan will send you home,” he said, walking her to the gangplank as he did so. “Lead, and they follow.”

“Thanks for your help and hospitality, Captain Sjan-dehk. I’m glad I was able to finally talk to you in person.” Riona smiled at him. “My sister talked about you with such enthusiasm. I’ve been curious.” She nodded a greeting to her escorts as her fingers traced the outline of the medicinal satchel at her hip. The unexpected kindness she’d received tonight settled warm in her chest.

One foot on the gangplank, Riona paused. The night air carried the scent of salt and possibility. She turned, “Hey, crazy thought, what if we—you, me, my sister—get together sometime? Nothing fancy, just... I don’t know, grab a drink, have a meal, or something?”

Sister? Sjan-dehk couldn’t think of a reason as to why Riona would invite him to meet with her. Maybe she was someone he had met before? But he couldn’t recall meeting anyone who looked similar to Riona. Or maybe he did, and it was his memory that was once again failing him. Regardless, he couldn’t think of any reason to refuse. He was going to have to get used to Caesonian society as soon as possible, and getting to know another Caesonian would surely help with that.

“Okay,” he replied. “But we eat somewhere…Not like today, yes? This afternoon. That was strange place.”

Riona barked a laugh, “Agreed.”

With that, he stepped back from the gangplank and waved Riona off. “Will be very late soon. Can talk next time. Goodnight, and be safe.”

🗡 Roses and Daggers 🎕

Art thou worthy?

“So, thou hast returned’st.”

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

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

“Thou desirest to join thy forebears?”

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

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

Except he didn’t. Not entirely.

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

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

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

“Dost thou believest thyself unworthy?”

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

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

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

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

He blinked. And the scene changed once more.

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

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

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

He blinked again.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The whispering breeze cooed into his ear.

“Dost thou believest thyself worthy?”

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

“I don’t know,” he rasped.

And then he awoke.

---

Time: Morning
Location: The Range
Interactions:
Mentions:
Attire:

Hider

(Placeholder until I get a better reference image)
Roughspun, blue trousers
A shoulder belt and waist belt carrying his equipment
Two swords and two pistols, one on either side
A woven, conical hat wide enough to shade his entire face
Lamellar armour: Cuirass, tassets, armguards

A sharp, resounding crack sliced through the cold, morning air. Solid wood kicked against Sjan-dehk’s shoulder. Off in the distance – roughly a hundred paces across the field of Sorian’s range – the upper-left corner of a rectangular, wooden slab burst into splinters, matching it with the other three. The painting of a person brushed haphazardly on its centre, however, was markedly untouched.

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

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

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

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

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

“Captain,” a voice called to him.

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

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

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

“Dost thou believest thyself worthy?”

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

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

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

Sjan-dehk nodded, then looked at Kai-dahn. “All yours, Commander.”

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

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

“Dost thou believest thyself worthy?”

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

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

Dead centre.

🗡 Roses and Daggers 🎕

Anastasia, Cynwaer, Sjan-dehk, Thea

Thea felt a flicker of confusion at Cynwaer’s brusque attitude, but quickly brushed it off. She wrapped her arm around Anastasia's waist, supporting herself with a giggle. “Annie, you're right, sailor boys are the best!” she exclaimed, her voice bubbling with excitement.

She turned her attention to the captains, her eyes bright with curiosity. “Yes, please! Tell us about your wildest adventure at sea. I love a good story!” she said, her enthusiasm matching her friend's. She leaned against the bar, ready to immerse herself in whatever thrilling tales the captains had to share.

She then briefly leaned into Annie and whispered, louder than she intended, “Did I do something wrong? Why does the red haired one seem so angry with me?”

“He’s probably just very attracted to you and doesn’t know what to do with the energy.” Anastasia whispered back.

Cynwaer smirked. If Thea was trying to be subtle, she had failed spectacularly. Not even the din of the tavern could keep her attempted whisper from his ears. Letting out a sardonic chuckle, he shook his head and took a long sip from his mug. “Oh, dae’n yer worry yer pret’y wee ‘ead, little lass. ‘Tis nae yer person I ‘ave trouble wi’,” he said without looking at her. It wasn’t entirely a lie; at least three-fifths of it was the truth. In fact, between Thea and Annie, Cynwaer had to say that the former was more palatable. She was, at least, sharper than her butterknife of a friend, if she could so quickly gather that Cynwaer wanted them gone.

A shame she was a noble girl. “‘Tis yer entire sort I’m dae’n like,” he said after another sip. This time, he shot a piercing glare at Thea, his green eyes narrowed and filled with disdain. “Whether yer jus’ a pair o’ bored lasses, or yer treatin’ this like some adventure instead o’ ta’ lives o’ folks who cannae ‘ave bet’er, I dae’n care.” He paused and drew in a deep breath. A fire was starting to grow in his chest, and he extinguished it before continuing. Riling himself up now would be a mistake. “If yer quick enough tae get that I want ta’ twos o’ yer gone, then dae’ us aw’ a favour an’ get ta’ feck–”

“Captain Sjan-dehk,” Sjan-dehk suddenly interrupted. He leaned over the counter and looked at Annie with a friendly smile, at the same time pushing his empty mug away. “Captain Wasun, that is not how we say. Captain Sjan-dehk is better.” Cynwaer twisted around in his seat, a mixture of exasperation and annoyance colouring his rugged features. Sjan-dehk merely cocked his head and raised a brow. “They are no…They are not trouble, Captain. The two of them, I do not mind if they join.”

“Captain Sjandehk!” Anastasia repeated excitedly and smiled, “ That sounds even better!”

“Well, I dae,” Cynwaer grumbled. “An’ word o’ advice tae yer, Cap’n. Lasses like ‘em are always trouble, nae feckin’ exceptions. Either they’re ta’ trouble, or they bring it tae yer.”

Sjan-dehk’s eyes narrowed momentarily, in an act so quick that even he didn’t realise it himself until after the fact. That Cynwaer was so aggrieved by the mere presence of these two girls was very curious. Suspicious, almost. Was this merely an aspect of Caesonian society that he failed to understand, as had so often been the case? Or was there indeed something off about the two girls? Or even off about Cynwaer, for that matter? The questions that swam through Sjan-dehk’s mind were endless, and most annoying of all, there wasn’t much he could do to answer them. It wasn’t as if he could just start questioning his current company just like that. Not without looking suspicious himself, in any case.

And so, he did what he had learned to do rather well over these past few days. He pushed such thoughts aside, and resigned himself to merely waiting and seeing.

Thankfully, Annie had asked a question he could answer. “It is…Not good, yes? To ask a sailor about storms,” he replied slowly with a grin. “It is like…Like asking you about your most bad and most painful day. That thing, not good to talk about, yes?”

“Aye, the Cap’n ‘ere’s nae wrong,” Cynwaer added. There wasn’t much of a bite in his words as compared with before; he sounded matter-of-fact, as if this was common knowledge. “Storms’re terrible things, an’ frae ‘ow yer askin’, I dae’n think yer e’er experienced one, lass-in-pink.”

“Oops… Sorry!”

“But,” Sjan-dehk continued. “You ask, so I answer. There was one.” Cynwaer let out a long sigh, but didn’t stop him. He instead beckoned the barkeep over to refill their mugs.

Sjan-dehk nodded his thanks to the burly man behind the counter, waited until Cynwaer placed another two coins into man’s shovel-like hands, and sipped from his mug. “Storms, they are like dance, yes? Between Mother-of-the-Waves, Storm-gull, and One-that-dwells-below. The Gull, it makes the wind strong. The One-that-dwells-below, they find…No, they collect the ones that do not survive. And the Mother, she challenge us with her Sea. She makes sure we are strong.” He drank from his mug again, wetting his lips. Vivid memories flashed in his mind. The cacophony of lashing winds, crashing waves, and shattering hulls echoed in his ears. Dark skies and darker waters filled his mind’s eye. He could even taste blood and salt.

“So there is one place. We, Jafins, we call it Yahk-peh Huun. It means…It means ‘Where storms are born’, I think. It is violent place. Mother, Gull, and Dweller all play there. It is the Way, that all Jafins sail there once before they become Captain.” He shook his head slightly and wrapped his hand around the mug, but didn’t lift it. Instead, he just stared at it. “Anyway, not that story. This is when I sail there for second time.”

“Tempestes’ feckin’ tits, what possessed yer tae dae that?” Cynwaer asked.

“It was war. Sada Kurau, we were being chased.”

Cynwaer nodded slowly. “Must be a feckin’ grand story.”

Sjan-dehk looked at him, then at the two girls with an inscrutable look on his face. “It was war, it is never good story,” he said, voice suddenly dark. “Four ships chase us. Strong ships. All have many guns. Sada Kurau is good, but against so many, she cannot win. But the sea, we knew it very…We knew it very good. So we lead them to Yahk-peh Huun. That time, there was a storm there. Our enemies, they followed. That time, skies were dark. Very dark. And rain very heavy. I could not see. My crew could not see. We sail like blind. And the sea, it was strong. The Mother, she tested all of us. Three times, she almost took us to sail to Unending Horizon.” He paused to take in a deep breath. “Sada Kurau, she lost people. Some fell into water. But we cannot save. It would kill us. So we must leave them. And our enemies, they did not know Yahk-peh Huun like us. So they suffer. Their ships, all destroyed. All sank. Their people, some survive. They beg us to save them. But how can we?”

Cynwaer could easily tell where Sjan-dehk’s story was leading. It was a story anyone who plied their trade on the waves knew all too well. To attempt a rescue during a storm – especially one as powerful as described by Sjan-dehk – was both insane and reckless. Callous as it was, there was no point in risking an entire ship to save one, or even a handful of people. A Captain’s first duty was to their ship and crew, and thus had to prioritise their safety. [color=DC143C]“Yer cannae,” he said in a firm tone. “Yer cannae e’en feckin’ stop in a storm, aye, or yer’ll be fecked by waves an’ shite.”

“Yes, it is that,” Sjan-dehk said and took a long drink from his mug. “So we do what we can. The ones that fall and float in water, we sent to the Dweller. By bullet, death is quick. That way, it is a kinder death.” He let out a long sigh and shook his head. In a quieter voice, he repeated, “It is a kinder death.”

He paused for a while, then looked at Annie. There wasn’t any sadness on his face, just a slight hint of wistfulness. As if he had just recalled something that pained him, but also something that he had long since accepted as inevitable. “There. Your story. Now, take advice. Do not ask any other Captain same question. Okay?”

Anastasia frowned and crossed her legs as she sat on the bar still. “That’s fucking depressing.” She bluntly commented once silence filled the air. She tapped her chin as her eyes fell on Sjandehk. “ Yeeaaaaah I will probably take that advice…. Anywaaaaays….” She gazed between the two captains. “You cuties wanna do some shots with us? Totally on me.”

Thea felt a pang of sadness as she listened to Sjan-dehk's harrowing story, but her gaze remained fixed on Cynwaer. His earlier disdainful words echoed in her mind. What did he mean by "her kind"?

As the story concluded and Annie asked about doing shots, Thea took a deep breath and addressed Cynwaer directly. "What exactly do you mean by 'my kind'?" she asked, her tone firm yet curious. "I can only assume one of two things. Either you mean blonde women, which I find unlikely and silly, or you're referring to what you perceive us to be—rich and spoiled."

She straightened up, her heterochromic eyes locking onto his with determination. She had dealt with jealousy and hatred for her wealth all her life and she was tired of it. "It's curious for you to judge me for something I had no control over, being born into a certain life. You wish for me to stick with 'my kind,' yet who does that help in the long run? If I were to only frequent bars for the rich, wouldn't that just put more money into the pockets of those who already have plenty?"

Cynwaer couldn’t stop the grin which spread across his lips as Thea spoke. Not that he had any desire to, in the first place; she was proving to be the most entertaining person he had seen or heard all evening, albeit unintentionally. And with each successive word, his grin grew wider and wider, until it was a veritable smirk, filled with equal amounts of amusement and mockery. There wasn’t anything new in what the girl slung at him. Indeed, it would have been boring were it not for her fervour, and how she seemed to truly believe in her own speech.

He sipped from his mug as she spoke, and said nothing. Let the girl have her moment of glory; it would make his response all the sweeter. Peering over the uneven rim of the mug, his piercing, verdant eyes gazed into her own, mis-matched irises.

She gestured around the tavern. "But coming here, spending my family's money in places like this—doesn't that benefit those who need it more than the rich? Isn't that a better use of my resources?"

She leaned forward slightly, her voice softening but remaining resolute. "I may not fully understand your world, but I'm trying to do something good. And if that makes me 'trouble,' then so be it.”

“Yer done, then?” Cynwaer asked and placed the mug on the counter. Before Thea could reply, he wiped his mouth with the back of his sleeve and said, “Ah, feck it, ‘course yer’re. Yer’d still be mouthin’ aff, otherwise.” Casually resting an elbow on the bar, he turned to look at Thea, and for a moment, he didn’t say anything, and merely looked at her with that same, condescending grin on his face. “Tell yer what, lass, I was’nae gae’n tae say yer type was ‘rich an’ spoiled’, but now ‘at yer’ve gone an’ said it, I like ta’ sound o’ it. Cheers fae that, I’ll be usin’ it frae here on out.”

He leaned back slightly. “Now, where dae I begin? At ta’ start, I s’pose. I’m sorry–” he said it in a way that didn’t sound like he was apologetic in the least “–that yer’re offended, but I’ll dae be fair tae yer and tell it tae yer straight. I don’t really feckin’ care if yer feelin’ are ‘urt. Aye, mayhaps I was mean tae yer fae somethin’ that’s nae yer fault, but yer know what’s fecking worse? Gettin’ killed ‘cause yer unlucky enough tae be born wi’ ta’ wrong blood, or ‘avin’ tae work yersel’ to ta’ point o’ death, or bein’ treated like a feckin’ slave ‘cause some other fecker ‘ad the fortune to be born tae’ a fortune. If yer don’t believe me, then gae take a gander through yer own villages an’ see ‘ow yer people live. Gae ‘ave a look at what yer King’s lads dae, and maybe yer’ll start tae understand why folks like me might nae like folks like yer.”

Aware that he was getting far too close to giving himself away, Cynwaer quickly stopped himself and took a long drink from his mug. It was difficult – close to impossible, even – for him to avoid going on a rant. Not when he had witnessed just about every possible injustice in Caesonia, due in no small part to his work with Kidelaut and Sioridann. And not when he had experienced such injustice himself.

“Anyway,” he continued and glanced sideways at Thea. “Yer got one thing wrang, lass, an’ aye, ‘tis me fault fae makin’ yer think what yer think, and sae I apologise fae it, but I’ve really nothing’ against yer type comin’ down ‘ere. An’ I’ll gee’s it tae yer, rather yer spend yer ma and da’s coin ‘ere than up near ta’ castle.” He let out a short chuckle, one that was almost derisive. “But don’t gae thinkin’ yer dae’n anyone a grand favour. Unless yer buyin’ out ta’ ‘ole feckin’ place each an’ e’ery night, the coin yer spend’s just a drop in ta’ ocean.”

Sjan-dehk had been listening to the exchange with a growing sense of discomfort. Part of it was because, between Cynwaer’s accent and the ambient cacophony, he understood just enough to be drawn into the conversation, but not enough to fully comprehend what was being said. It was as unhappy a balance as it could be.

The other part was that as much as he didn’t like how Cynwaer was treating Thea – and as little as he understood – he couldn’t quite disagree with the parts he did understand. For all his vitriol and unnecessary aggression, the other Captain did make sense; if Thea was trying to frame her coming to this tavern as an act of kindness, then she was wrong. Of course, that was if that was truly her intent, and Sjan-dehk wasn’t about to place too much trust in his ability to comprehend what was going on.

And so, he simply said, “Yes, but many drops make ocean, no?”

Cynwaer threw Sjan-dehk a look over his shoulder, then shook his head. “Aye, but that’s only if ‘tis a drop o’ wat’er we’re talkin’ about.” He turned back to Thea. “Lass, yer’re a customer, that’s all yer are. Don’t get me wrang, there’s nothin’ wrang wi’ that. I’m sure our pal ta’ barman’s mer than ‘appy tae take yer ma and da’s coin, but let’s nae lie tae oursel’s, aye? Yer jus’ ‘ere fae ta’ same reasons as anyone else. Yer ‘ere tae ‘ave a drink, and maybe a change o’ scenery, an’ I’ll nae’ say anythin’ about that fae now.”

Then, after emptying his mug in a long swig, Cynwaer finished with, “An’ come now, if yer really want tae ‘elp the common folk, there’s easier ways than ‘avin’ a drink at this hour. I’m sure a lass like yer’ve got coin, status, maybe e’en influence tae spare. Nae shor’age o’ poor folk needin’ a donation tae get food in their bellies, or fisherfolk needin’ tae repair their boats, or people–”

That was about as far as Sjan-dehk allowed Cynwaer to go. He stood up and physically inserted himself into the conversation by standing between the red-haired Captain and Thea. “I think you say enough already, yes?” He said to Cynwaer, and although his tone was calm, the displeased look in his eyes made it clear that he wasn’t seeking an answer to that question. “This thing you talk about, you are…You feel strong for, yes? That is good. But she–” he gestured to Thea “–is a young girl. Your feelings, they are not directed correctly, yes?”

Cynwaer’s lips turned into a frown, and he shook his head. “Trust me pal, I want tae believe yer, but I’ve seen enough tae know I cannae.” He let out a sigh and hung his head for a moment, his eyes closed in thought. Then, he looked around Sjan-dehk at Thea. “But I’m man enough tae be able tae know when I’m barkin’ up ta’ wrang tree. ‘Tis yer ma or da I should be rantin’ tae. Nae a young lass, e’en if she’s a mouthy one. An’ besides, I’m nae lookin’ fae a fight.” He smirked, this time a mischievous one rather than one meant to annoy. “Come find me a night or two frae now, if yer spoilin’ fae one. I’ll let yer ‘ave it well and proper, then.”

Sjan-dehk smiled at him, then at Thea. “Good. Now we can do important thing,” he said, looking at Annie. “Sorry. You wanted something to drink, yes? Rude of us to…To not pay you attention, I apologise for that. You order what you want. I can pay for it.”

Anastasia had been watching the exchange, her gaze fixated. Despite her outward behavior, she had been well aware deep down that their presence hadn’t been welcome. Frankly she just hadn’t really cared. Out of Cynric’s vision, she made a puppet with her hand, opening and closing to indicate blabbing. She gave Thea a comforting wink. “ Redhead sailor boy, her point was that it only benefits the tavern to have her business, silly. Doesn’t matter if she came here with that intention or not, just matters you should thank your lucky stars sexy ladies with loaded pockets are here instead of bitching about it.”

She then took out her coin purse and gazed at Sjandehk, “ No worries babe, I can buy us all drinks. Super sweet of you though. “ Anastasia then whistled to beckon the bartender.

Sjan-dehk looked at Annie for a moment, blinked once, then shrugged. If the girl wanted to pay for their drinks so badly, then who was he to stop her? Of course, Sjan-dehk knew that were his father present, the old man would have probably disapproved, vocally and physically. But as far as Sjan-dehk was concerned, he had already paid his dues to courtesy by offering. That the girl turned him down had nothing to do with him.

Thea let him go off, keeping as neutral of an expression as she could as she did so. She wasn’t quite surprised he was reacting in such a way, had actually even wondered if she’d get a similar reaction. She couldn’t entirely blame him, she wasn’t blind to the injustices around her, but she also knew that she herself had little influence in helping fix it. If she were in better standing with her mother and others with higher authority than her, perhaps she could use that to help in a more effective way, but the truth was that she wasn’t. So here she was, trying to do what she viewed she could.

With all his words, however, she actually accomplished something she’d actually been after. She wanted to determine more of this man’s character, as his reactions were much more harsh than the other man’s. So when Sjan-dehk stepped in, she simply continued watching Cynwaer for a moment. Just the slightest hint of an accomplished smile crossed her face just before she turned away from the redheaded man and turned to address Annie instead. [color=o35e7b]”Oh Annie, I’m so sorry! I haven’t given you the attention you deserve! Shots sound like a lovely plan!”[/color] She said to her friend, back to her bubbly self once more.

Anastasia smiled and pulled her friend into a hug. “Aww my Thea baby!”

Cynwaer caught the look on Thea’s face, but said nothing about it. Instead, he let out a resigned sigh, shook his head, and went back to nursing his mug. There wasn’t any use in continuing this little spat any further; quite clearly, the girl merely wanted a rise out of him, and he wasn’t going to give her any more of that than he already had. And besides, there wasn’t any use in talking to her about these things. Either she didn’t care, she didn’t understand, or she wasn’t in a position to do something about it. Cynwaer would just be wasting his breath.

Better for him to leave such things to Kidelaut. That former knight knew how nobles worked and how nobles thought, and knew how to speak their language. Or Sioridann; the question mark of a person could convince anyone to do anything. The peasantry, disenfranchised workers, the oppressed commonfolk, Cynwaer always did work better with those groups.

Just then, the barkeep returned, thick arms crossed over a chest that was just as broad, and his lips turned in a slight frown. He looked down at Annie. If he recognised her for who she was, he didn’t show it. It didn’t seem like he would have cared, even if he did. “First things first, girl. Don’t whistle. I’m not your damn dog.” Though his voice was level, its gruffness accentuated the hints of displeasure in his tone. “Secondly, what d’you want? We don’t have any of the fancy stuff, so don’t even ask. Your choices are mead, shine, or whiskey. Some of it’s legit. Some of it’s brewed out back.”

“Word o’ advice, lass,” Cynwaer piped up, leaning over the bar to look at Annie. There wasn’t a trace of his earlier belligerence or annoyance on his face. “Unless yer tired o’ ‘avin’ a brain that’s able ta’ string mer than twa thoughts together, dae’n touch ta’ ‘ome-brewed shite. ‘Tis feckin’ like lantern oil on some days, an’ I’m pret’y sure it’s actually lantern oil on others. Yer could light ‘alf o’ Sorian wi’ that shite, aye.”

Anastasia first smirked at the barkeep, “Shine sounds good, puppy.” Her gaze shifted to Cynwaer and she raised a brow, “Think I can’t handle my booze? …Sounds like a challenge to me.”

The barkeep’s eyes narrowed, and he drew in a deep breath. “Listen here, girl,” he began, voice a low growl. “I told you once already, don’t treat me like your fucking dog. If you can’t follow that one simple rule, then you and your friend should fuck right off before I do it for–”

“Aw’righ’, easy, easy,” Cynwaer quickly interrupted. The barkeep’s threat wasn’t an empty one; it had taken a handful of painful lessons for Cynwaer to find that out firsthand, and as amusing as it would have been to see a pair of noblegirls tossed out by the mountain of a man, he wasn’t in the mood for what would almost certainly be a huge commotion. “Just gee’s ta’ lass what she’s after, aye? I’ll e’en pay fer ‘er.” He cast a sidelong glance at Annie and smirked. “An’ besides, if yer still servin’ that sort o’ shite, then she’ll be payin’ fae ‘er wrangs in nae time at aw’.”

The barkeep huffed through his nose, but reached under the bar for a pair of glasses. He placed them on the counter, then turned around to pluck a mottled and clearly overused bottle from the rickety shelf clinging to the wall. “I s’pose you’re right, Cyn,” he groused and popped the cork off the bottle with a finger. Right away, the burning scent of strong drink filled the air.

Sjan-dehk wrinkled his nose. “What is that? Whale oil?”

Cynwaer grinned. “Nae that fancy, pal. ‘Tis ta’ drink o’ the masses.” He took the bottle from the barkeep and poured a generous amount in both glasses. “There yer gae, lass,” he said to Annie and nodded to Thea. “One fer yer, an’ another fae yer pal o’er there. Dae’n force yersel’s, I’ll tell yer that now.”

As the hours passed and the drinks flowed, the atmosphere in the bar grew more lively. Anastasia, now visibly drunk, swayed slightly as she clung to Thea. Her voice grew louder and more uninhibited with each passing moment. “You know what we need to do?” she slurred, leaning heavily on Thea for support. “We need to find the mafia! I need my revenge!! They’re out there, and we can totally take them down! Who’s with me?” Her proclamation drew a few amused glances and chuckles from the other patrons, but Anastasia seemed utterly serious, her eyes gleaming with inebriated determination. It was then a lovely little tune cut through the air, drawing the attention of many nearby.

“adieu to you my Dinah a thousan' times adieu
We`re goin' away from the 'oly Groun' and the girls tha' we love true
We will sail the Sout' sea over and then return for sure
To see again the girls we love and the 'oly Ground once more.”

Anastasia had no idea just what song was being sung, but she decided to sway with Thea with a pleased smile as she listened.

Amusement had long since given way to concern as Cynwaer watched Annie empty glass after glass after glass of the barkeep’s brew. By the fact that she was still conscious, it was clear that she could hold her brew better than the average man. By the way she rambled about looking for and fighting a mafia, however, it was clear that her mind was on its way out. He reached for her glass. “Aw’righ’, I think yer’ve ‘ad enough fae one night–”

The song that interrupted him also distracted enough that, for a moment, he forgot what he was doing, and he simply listened. He recognised it as an old sailor’s song; one that was unknown to a younger crowd, but very familiar to a seasoned man of the sea such as he. There were a few scattered attempts to carry on after the unseen songstress stopped, but either the singers were too soft or the lyrics too garbled for anyone to join in.

And so, Cynwaer took it upon himself to get the job done right. He drew in a deep breath.

“A fine lass yer be,
Yer ta’ lass I dae adore,
An’ still live in ‘ope tae see,
Ta’ ‘oly ground once mer.”

He paused and looked around the tavern. “Come now lads, yer know what tae dae, aye?”

“A fine girl you are!” came a roared chorus.

Cynwaer chuckled, shook his head and turned back to the bar. Behind him, the crowd carried on with the song with vim and verve. “Tell yer what, pal,” he said to Sjan-dehk. “I miss these sort o’ songs, aye. Most lads these days prefer ta’ sort wi’ aw’ that bawdy shite and what ‘ave yer, but these ones?” He let out a long sigh and patted his chest. For a moment, a wistful look came over his face, but he quickly pushed it away with a rueful chuckle. “They get yer righ’ in ta’...” He trailed off and shook his head. “Well, I think yer get what I mean, aye?”

Sjan-dehk nodded. He supposed it was the same everywhere; a sailor only ever sang about one of three things. The ship, the sea, or a woman. Sometimes it was about two of the three, or all of the three at once, but it was rare to find a shanty that sang of some other thing. He couldn’t say he didn’t understand, however. Anyone who sailed the open sea became intimately familiar with both their ship and the waves, and thoughts of home, well, those always lingered in any sailor’s mind, whether they wanted them to or not.

“It is nice song,” he remarked.

“Aye, ‘tis sae,” Cynwaer replied. “Yer ‘ave any good ones tae share?”

There were plenty of songs which Sjan-dehk knew. There were eulogies to the dead, prayers to the Mother, or even ones bemoaning a lover who had absconded with another whilst the singer was out at sea. Whether Sjan-dehk cared to share them, however, was a whole other matter. He didn’t think of himself as a capable singer, and even here, in a place where most would likely not understand a single word he sang, he was still reluctant.

“You would not understand them,” he said. “Let us enjoy what we have, yes?”

Avalia

Time: Morning
Location: Campsite outside Roshmi
Interactions: Mari @princess; Thraash @funnyguy; FIVE @shiningsector
Mentions:
Equipment:

Hider

His travelling clothes - Dark, earthy shirt and coat, with trousers tucked into boots
A hooded, oilskin cloak
His bow, unstrung
A musket
Two pistols
Two hatchets
His travelling pack

Scathael frowned as he listened to the Dragonborn’s suggestion, and that frown only deepened as the rest put their own ideas forward. There were really only two answers to his question; that much had been clear to him even when his question was still formulating in his mind. Vallana had to either go with them, or she had to stay somewhere else for as long as it took for them to take care of a manticore. What other options were there? Still, Scathael had asked the group in hopes – vain ones, as it turned out – of finding another solution that had perhaps eluded him.

That, unfortunately, wasn’t the case, and he was left with two equally terrible options. The first was…Well, it was obvious why bringing a child to a manticore-hunt was a bad idea. Vallana couldn’t fight, she couldn’t run fast if it came to a speedy escape, and she could barely look over some of the shrubs that surrounded their campsite. The young foxgirl would be worse than a millstone; she would be a danger to both herself and whoever – most likely Scathael himself, he noted grimly – was tasked with looking after her.

The Warforged had voiced the second possibility, that they could simply leave Vallana somewhere. On the surface, that wasn’t a bad idea, but Scathael had his own, unshakeable qualms about it. But before the elf could say anything about it, Vallana herself piped up.

“T-There’s no one,” she said in a small voice, peeking from behind Scathael as she tried to keep her eyes on FIVE. Her little hands gripped his cloak so tightly that it seemed as if she would tear it. Clearly, she was still unused to some of their current travelling companions. She looked at the ground. “F-Father came from somewhere far, m-mother said. Very, very far. A-And I don’t know…I don’t…” Her voice warbled, and she sniffed as she rubbed her eyes with the backs of her wrists. “I-I’m all alone–”

Scathael quickly cut in. “We don’t know and we can’t know, and even if we knew, it’s not realistic to expect us to find them,” he said definitively, placing a firm hand on Vallana’s shoulder. The time and effort he had spent on calming the child enough to stop her constant crying had been substantial, and he wasn’t about to allow her to talk herself back into such a state again. “And I wouldn’t trust a bunkhouse or tavern or any place that would ward children with Vallana. The ones that would take good care of her, we probably can’t afford since we’ll be away for an unspecified period. The ones that we can are–”

He caught himself and looked down at Vallana. She looked back at him with wide, innocent eyes. Scathael swallowed whatever phrase he was going to use and started again. “The ones that we can aren’t the best places. A starving dragon would probably do a better job.” He glanced at Thraash. “No offence intended.”

That left them with only one option, as Mari so confidently declared.

"She'll be safe with me, rest assured. I'm the most talented woman you'll ever meet."

Scathael looked at the Light Elf, eyes impassive and gaze hard. On the surface, she didn’t seem like much of a fighter, but then again, he had lived long enough to not allow appearances to mislead him. From what he had seen back at Roshmi, she was more than capable of taking care of herself. His only question was whether she could take care of a child as well, and to do so whilst in combat. The dark elf couldn’t help but scoff at her proclamation. Not so much out of derisive mockery, but rather as almost a reflex. “Words easy to say, harder to prove. You’re not the first–”

“Come on, Scath, you can trust me! There’s no better mapper than yours truly!”

It was her voice which echoed through his head. Although lasting for barely a moment, it was still as clear and as bright as on the day when Scathael first heard those words from her lips. He could even catch the teasing giggles with which she typically ended her sentences, and the flicker of mischief in her eyes, as if daring him to walk away from whatever plan she had concocted. A small lump formed in Scathael's throat, but he swallowed it with practised ease and shook his head. She was dead, and had been dead for a long time. He couldn’t keep carrying her in his mind. And he couldn’t carry her now, especially, when he had far more urgent things to worry about.

“Sorry,” he said and cleared his throat. “You’re right. But I’ll be with you.” He patted the wheellock leaning against the trunk he sat on, then gestured to the unstrung bow still in its leather sheath. “I’m better fighting at a distance. If we have to be quiet, then I can use the bow. Otherwise, I’d rather use the musket. It sends bullets through everything up to forged iron plate. Even steel ones, if they’re close enough.”

Vallana shrunk away as Mari approached. “Come on,” Scathael said, trying to keep the exasperation from showing in his tone. With a gentle push, he urged Vallana to approach the Light Elf. The foxgirl looked up at, uncertainty in her eyes. “I can understand if you fear a Dragonborn or a Warforged,” Scathael said and glanced at both Thraash and FIVE. “No offence, again,” he added quickly before turning his attention back to Vallana. “But the Light Elf and the Demi-human? You have to get used to them, at least.”

Still, Vallana clung to him and refused to move. “I-I want to stay here…” She mumbled.

Scathael sighed. He couldn’t entirely blame her. Sad as it was, his face was probably the only familiar one she knew, and considering what she had gone through, he could see why she would be reluctant to go off with a stranger. Even one who seemed as friendly as Mari. “Fine, fine,” he said, his efforts to not sound too grumpy clearly failing. Thankfully, Vallana didn’t seem to pick up on that. Scathael gave Mari a glance that was almost apologetic before saying, “I’ll go with you. Is that better? You can spend time with her, and I’ll just be around. Okay?”

Vallana looked between him and Mari for a moment, then nodded slowly. “O-Okay,” she said, then hopped to her feet, Scathael’s cloak still wrapped around her small frame. She slowly approached Mari, and with a clumsy curtsy, introduced herself. “Hello. I-I’m Vallana.”

Behind her, Scathael let out yet another sigh. This was going to be a long day, he could already tell.

🗡 Roses and Daggers 🎕

Featuring: Wasun Sjan-dehk

Time: Evening
Location: The Tough Tavern
Interactions: Thea @Tae; Anastasia @Princess
Mentions:
Attire:

Hider

Plain roughspun shirt (white) and trousers (brown)
Patched, green, knee-length coat
Shoulder- and waist-belts
Old leather boots

Despite what Cynwaer had said earlier that day, he hadn’t come to the tavern with the intention of causing or even seeking trouble. He wasn’t an unreasonable man, after all; trouble could wait until his second day in the city, at the very least. Unfortunately for him, trouble had other plans. What had been supposed to be a quiet evening of getting himself acquainted with the city’s happenings turned into him breaking up a fight and disciplining his unruly crew. Suffice to say, that wasn’t at all Cynwaer’s idea of a good time. To say that he had been displeased would have been quite the understatement.

Fortunately, however, trouble had it in its heart to show him some mercy. Through his misfortune, he found out more about the foreign ship – and her Captain – that had piqued his interest earlier when he first saw it through his spyglass. True, all he got were their names, but it was a start. Besides, this Sjan-dehk seemed to be – arms and armour – a decent enough person. Surely, Cynwaer could wrangle more information out of him through a simple chat.

Unfortunately, again, the two Captains were rudely interrupted by two young women before they could talk about anything substantial. Cynwaer didn’t drink when they did. Judging by the look of abject confusion on Sjan-dehk’s face, the foreigner was also at a complete loss as to what to do.

Well, Cynwaer did have something he needed to do. It had nothing to do with the girls, but nevertheless, it was something that had to be done. “Oi, lad in ta’ brown ‘at!” He twisted around in his seat and shouted at the man who had been accosting the girl in the green dress. As expected, the man in question turned and looked at everyone and everything, as if Cynwaer hadn’t noticed him trying to approach the girl even after she had left him. “Stop tryin’ ta’ pretend yer nae did a thing, lad. Yer only makin’ yersel’ look e’en more like a proper feckin’ idiot.”

The man finally got the hint. Turning towards Cynwaer, he pointed at himself. “M-Me, Captain?”

“Who ta’ feck else?” Cynwaer snapped. “Yer nae a bright one, are yer? Yer just saw three o’ yer mates get feckin’ tanner like ‘ides on a rack fer gettin’ tae ‘andsy, and yer decide yer want ta’ try yer luck. Yer saw ta’ big’un ‘at fecked yer mates?” He jerked a thumb over his shoulder at Sjan-dehk. “This madman lookin’ like ‘e’s gae’n ta feckin’ assault ta’ castle by himsel’ is ‘is cap’n. What dae yer think ‘e’ll dae tae yer?”

An amused grin came over Sjan-dehk’s face. He sipped from his mug. “Your crew. Your problem.”

Cynwaer clicked his tongue. “Well, yer nae wrong,” he groused, then addressed the man again. “Look, lad, I’ll make it easy fae yer. I’m in nae mood ta’ deal wi’ any mer o’ this feckin’ nonsense. If yer cannae control yer ane ‘ands, get yersel’ back aboard Recompense befer’ yer dae anythin’ ta’ get yersel’ tanned till yer a pair o’ boots and gloves.”

The man gulped and nodded so quickly it was as if he would snap his own neck. “Y-Yes, Captain!” He said a little too loudly. “Sorry, Captain. I-I wasn’t myself. I’ll leave right away.”

He made a quick exit.

Cynwaer turned to the girl in green. “Dae’n look tae feckin’ thankful, lass,” he snapped. “I did’nae dae it ta’ save yer arse. ‘Twas just a good chance ta’ remind ta’ lads ta’ stay in feckin’ line an’ no gae and get feckin’ arrested fae somethin’ stupid.” He looked her up and down, not even bothering to hide his gaze. She was young, pretty, and utterly out of place. Not just here, in this specific tavern, but in this entire quarter of the city. She was far too clean, for one, something easily noticeable when just about everyone else was heavy with the scent and grime of labour. And her dress, although of a common enough cut, was clearly made of fabric that a regular person wouldn’t waste on clothes meant for daily use.

But if Green looked as if she came from a different part of the city, her friend – Pink, to Cynwaer – seemed to be of another world entirely. He couldn’t help but smirk as he turned his gaze to her. “Look, I dae’n know what ta’ two o’ yer are tryin’ ta dae, but word o’ advice, long gowns an’ ta’ slums dae’n mix. Yer look like a feckin’ clown, aye.” He shook his head and returned to his drink. These two were more likely than not just nobles looking to have some fun by spending an evening pretending to be a commoner. It was either that, or they were just stupid. Either way, Cynwaer wanted nothing to do with them, and so he ignored Green’s question entirely.

The sound of an empty mug hitting the countertop reminded everyone that there was still another person present. Cynwaer turned his head and saw Sjan-dehk wiping his mouth with his sleeve. “This drink, it taste like seawater that is boiled,” the foreign Captain remarked plainly. Cynwaer wasn’t sure if it was meant as a compliment or a very mild complaint. “It is supposed to be that way?”

“Aye,” Cynwaer replied slowly. “Yer nae supposed ta’ drink it like feckin’ water. Gods above an’ below, are yer aw’righ’?”

Sjan-dehk nodded and shrugged. “Rice wine is stronger. This, more gentle.”

“Aw’righ’ nae need ta’ boast.”

Pushing the mug away, Sjan-dehk turned to face the two women. A brief look of recognition flashed across his face, but it was quickly replaced by the nonchalance of unfamiliarity. “Cynric is right,” he said to the one in pink. “Your clothes, it is not…Good? Not practical, yes, not practical for here.” He paused for a moment, then nodded to both women in turn. “I am Captain Wasun Sjan-dehk. Of Sada Kurau.”

Cynwaer groaned. “Yer lucky our pal ‘ere’s polite,” he grumbled. True, he could simply just walk away and find a quiet corner of his own, but then he would be giving up a perfect chance to find out more about this foreign Captain, his ship, and more importantly, where he fit in the grand scheme of things as far as Sorian and Caesonia was concerned. And so, with great reluctance, he introduced himself. “An’ I’m Cap’n Cynric Fletcher. Recompense’s my ship. Now dae us a favour and feck off.”