Apex Sunburn

🗡 Roses and Daggers 🎕

Interactions: Roman @ReusableSword
Mentions:
Time: 1530

As Roman spoke, Sjan-dehk did his best to commit the man’s words to memory. It was unlikely he could remember or even understand enough to reproduce them with any sort of coherence later, but to sate his own curiosity and as a brief, first day’s report to Lady Adiyan, it would suffice.

His brows arched in pleasant surprise when the larger man mentioned his people’s – and in particular, his sister’s – affinity for the sea. Immediately, he began to wonder what their ships were like. Were they quick and agile in the water, or did they favour a slower and steadier approach? Did their hulls bend and roll with the waves, or were they solid beasts that ploughed through all with strength and determination? And their sails; did they billow in the wind as a net would fill with fish, or were they battened things that would clatter as they corralled and bent the ocean gusts to their will?

Of course, none of them were questions pertinent to the matter at hand. They were, however, enough to almost distract Sjan-dehk from the fact that Roman had misinterpreted his concerns. Any sailor with a map and some level of bravery would certainly find their way between their lands. It was the physical distance Sjan-dehk had been trying to talk about. After all, a distant heart ached the hardest, as it was said, and the distance between Viserjanta and this new continent was definitely vast.

He decided against correcting Roman. It wasn’t a big issue and besides, he’d more likely than not simply make things even more confusing for the two of them.

Only when Roman was done did Sjan-dehk begin to formulate his reply. The first order of business was to politely and respectfully decline the generous offer of the services of his people’s doctors. “Lady Adiyan, I think she is…Alright.” That ran a little too close to being a bold-faced lie for Sjan-dehk’s liking, but he didn’t know how else to say that even though she was likely to lose a leg and had more shrapnel in her than a loaded canister, she was stable and out of any immediate danger. “For now. Healers, we have. But I will see her later and know more. If we need help, will let you know.” He paused. “Thank you.”

Now all he had to do was to talk about Viserjanta. A task easier said than done.

Had he known more of the local tongue, he could’ve waxed endlessly about the history – both distant and recent – of the Commonwealth; of how it had once been a kingdom, then empire, governed by rulers both wise and wicked. He could have spoken about the rich histories of the myriad of people and cultures that called the scattered islands home, left behind by sagacious scholars and dutiful courtiers. If time allowed, he could have even touched on the various schools of philosophies founded by great thinkers and worldly visionaries, their words and deeds recorded for posterity by their loyal students.

Unfortunately, Sjan-dehk didn’t know enough of the local language.

And so, he had to settle for something a little more basic. “Viserjanta, it is a land of islands. Many islands, big and small. Also many ah…Ways? Different peoples, different ways, yes? Viserjanta has a lot. I-” He patted his chest. “-From Jafi. We are…Ajadi.” His brows knitted together as he struggled to think of a way to describe a march. “Viserjanta, the…West? We protect. So they call our land Ajadi. Many types of lands, but all bow to the High Queen.”

There wasn’t much Sjan-dehk could say about Daraya the Second. He had met her once – personally, no less – when she had paid Jafi a visit after the war to convey her appreciation for the march’s loyalty and its services to her cause. She seemed nice enough; not at all the stuffy aristocrat Sjan-dehk had expected, and more of a soldier-queen with a temperament that reminded him of his sisters. They had shared a few words – mostly over the Far Western theatre of the war, and Sjan-dehk’s extensive experiences – before she had to be called away to meet with his father, and he had to return to his ship for duty.

“The High Queen, she rules all. Queen of kings. With her…Damasaang. It is many nobles, they meet and decide Viserjanta’s…Path.” Crown and council, that was the cause Sjan-dehk had fought for. It was still a cause he believed in, even if their decisions sometimes frustrated him. “Jafi, and other islands, we have own Damasaang. It is…The Way. Harmony.”

He stopped and drew in a deep breath. Translating his thoughts into the local tongue had taxed his mind a lot more than he had thought it would. He could feel his head throbbing from just behind his eyes to the back of his head. That was enough sharing about Viserjanta; if Roman wanted to know more, Sjan-dehk could offer a few books and maybe volunteer one of his crew to help translate. Or confuse. It was really a toss-up between the two.

It was only then did he realise that while the ring had been empty for the entire time the two of them had been conversing. He nodded towards the empty arena. “More? Or finished?”

🗡 Roses and Daggers 🎕

Interactions: Roman @ReusableSword
Mentions:
Time: 1530

“They don’t know what true suffering is, but you do. My people do.”

Sjan-dehk couldn’t tell why, but those few words struck a particular chord with him. It resonated within both his head and his heart, the note low and baleful. Scattered memories he couldn’t recall forming washed up upon the shores of his mind. Reddened decks and stinging smoke; burning timbers and dancing flames; a flash of steel and crack of gunpowder; piercing screams and desperate pleas. All so vivid. All so familiar and yet at the same time, not. It was almost as if he was seeing the echoes of someone else’s life.

In the back of his mind, he knew what he was seeing. The minutiae of battle, the little details one could so easily overlook once taken by the raging blood. Images and sounds so gruesome and frightful that a calm and sane mind would try to forget. To pretend it never happened. To pretend that all was normal, that one was the same person they had been before the fight. To keep all these dreadful recollections locked away until some random event, some coincidental happenstance, brought them all back out.

With a blank stare, Sjan-dehk gazed out at the arena. He pondered over Roman’s words, and despite not wanting to pass judgement on anyone, he found himself agreeing with the man. Duels carried their own set of dangers – Mayet had proven that rather strikingly – but they were nothing compared to the horrors of war. At least in a duel, you knew where your possible death would come from. You would know exactly how you died. With enough skill, you could even put up enough resistance to make it an honourable end.

There was no such luck in war. One could know every stance and every move of every school of martial arts in the world; could memorise every manual-of-arms and military treatise of every weapon that existed; could cut swathes through enemy ranks, and still they would fall easily enough to a stray musket shot, be reduced to nothing by cannon fire, or simply cut down from behind by a passing foe. Sjan-dehk did his best – he really did – but he couldn’t help but wonder how the two duellists from before would fare amidst the frenetic confusion of an open battle. He found no answer. He doubted he even wanted one.

Sjan-dehk drew in a deep breath and rested his elbows on his thighs. Leaning forward, he dipped his head and rested his forehead against his fingertips. For a moment, he closed his eyes. He exhaled slowly, then filled his lungs to the brim once more.

The war was over. It was all in the past. To opine on local ways was not his place, and to contemplate the nature of peace and strife was even farther from what he needed to do. Roman had given a suggestion, and so all he had to do was to simply respond to it.

When he sat back up, stretching his arms in front of him as he did so, it was as if nothing happened. There was that usual ghost of a smirk tugging on his lips, the mischief twinkling – albeit somewhat dulled – in his eyes, and his typical levity laced his floundering speech. “That is…Very interesting. Your idea.” Even as he said those words, he doubted Lady Adiyan would be receptive to it. There were still too many unknowns to make his plan palatable.

Even so, Sjan-dehk made a note to mention it to her. “I will tell Lady Adiyan. She will, ah…Likely want to meet with…The one who speaks for your lands. All of your lands. Your kingdom. To hear and see things for herself, yes? Viserjanta, it is very far. Long journey for your cra– craftsmen. And ours. A lot to discuss before we can make decision.” He hoped that it was a satisfactory answer. As things were, Sjan-dehk felt quite sure that he had far overstepped his boundaries as far as responsibilities went. Until Lady Adiyan recovered and was well enough to receive visitors, he wouldn’t know for sure.

And that was when Sjan-dehk realised he forgot to mention one very important detail. “Ah, Lady Adiyan, it might be…Time? Some time before she can meet. Or talk. She was wounded on our journey here. Maybe a day, maybe two, before I can meet her.” He paused for a moment, trying to think of anything that he may have forgotten. Finding none, he simply added, almost apologetically, "So you might need to wait."

🗡 Roses and Daggers 🎕

Interactions: Roman @ReusableSword
Mentions: Mayet @13org Riona @JJ Doe
Time: 1530

Sjan-dehk had to agree; this whole thing was far too much of a spectacle for his liking.

Then again, he only did know of two kinds of duels. There was the sort which arose – rather naturally, he’d add – from the festive and oftentimes drunken mood of a banquet. Simple displays of combat skill, that’s all they were. A chance to learn techniques and share experiences with like-minded peers. The other was usually a more serious affair. Slighted officers and nobles had a tendency to right perceived wrongs via a fight with none of the usual risks of battle. Regardless, prestige was at stake in either circumstance, and neither was something carried out in the presence of a large audience. A moderate one, perhaps, and it would almost certainly be a closed affair at the very least.

Here, it was completely different. Between the wild and unrestrained audience, the blaring trumpets which heralded the king’s arrival, and said king’s attempt to direct the crowd’s cacophonous fervour towards his son, this all felt like a sporting event than anything else. Sjan-dehk wasn’t quite sure how he felt about it; on the one hand, a bit of friendly competition never hurt anyone. On the other, making it a show, a form of entertainment, felt almost gratuitous.

Or perhaps, he was simply putting too much thought into it. Roman did say that only fought to the point of submission. Likely, it was nothing like the blood sport Sjan-dehk was imagining, the gladiatorial matches that were said to be so common during the high point of the old Viserjantan Empire.

By the time he took his seat and got settled, the current fight was already reaching its end. Even so, there was enough action for Sjan-dehk to see that both fighters were evidently highly skilled. Their blades shone in the light, the clang of their clashes reverberating over the roar of the crowd. It was impossible to know which was the favourite, but Sjan-dehk doubted it mattered. Eventually, one duellist got the better of the other. Judging by the reaction of the crowd, and the chanting of his name, Sjan-dehk assumed that it was the local prince that won.

“Yes. Lady Adiyan speaks for Daraya, second of her name. Our High Queen.” Sjan-dehk took advantage of the relative lull that fell over the arena after the two fighters cleared the stage to answer Roman. There wasn’t much he could say, however. Most of him was still trying to figure out why Roman would’ve brought up the issue of manpower, or the lack thereof. Was he hinting that his lands traded in people? That would be awkward. The High Queen had been especially harsh towards those who dabbled in the flesh trade.

Sjan-dehk decided to shrug off those thoughts. It was far more likely that it was just another instance of his poor command of Caesonian coming back to bite him. “Food, wine, medicine, all good. Dried is best. We sailed far to come here.” There was likely more that the trade delegation would be interested in, but those three categories were what stood out to Sjan-dehk the most. “We have weapons too. Mostly bows. Also crossbows. Sudah, that is the trade ship, she has gems and metals and woods. Good for crafting. Spices and wine also. Your lands, what do...Does it need?”

Once again, Sjan-dehk declined to mention the guns and cannons that were available for trade.

Before Roman could give his response, the next fight started. He helpfully provided the name of one of the duellists along with his assessment of their skills. Sjan-dehk nodded as if he understood. For all he knew, this ‘Mayet’ could be either of the two. He watched with rapt attention, in any case, leaning slightly forward with arms resting on his thighs. This was the first time he observed fighting styles originating from places beyond the boundaries of his home region. There was much he could learn, and he didn’t want to miss a single detail.

Both fighters were women, by the looks of it, one more obviously so than the other. That was about as far as their similarities went. Their arms and clothing of choice diverged greatly, with one so wrapped up that she was conspicuous in her attempts to remain hidden; the other wearing little enough to make Sjan-dehk immediately believe that she had plenty of skill to back up her confidence. As if to accentuate the point, she hefted a curious looking weapon, a circular blade that didn’t seem to have an obvious handle.

Sjan-dehk knew whom he would be watching closer.

After a brief greeting, the fight began. The wielder of the circular blade fought with the fluidity and grace of a raging river. Every movement of each limb flowed into the other, her weapon guided by the current. Her opponent was no pushover, however. She weaved between the strikes, allowing the deadly circle to cut through air where she could and expertly deflecting it with her blade where she couldn’t. Sjan-dehk could only imagine the amount of force that came behind each strike of the circle. He had fought against curved blades before – such vicious weapons were favoured by the northern sea raiders – and they were always fearsome to see unsheathed, and tricky to deal with.

Sjan-dehk wasn't sure how much time had passed, but soon both women stood apart once more. For a moment, he thought he had missed something amidst the turbulent fray. Perhaps one of them had caught a blade somewhere. He was swiftly proven wrong, however, when the ring-blade wielder adopted a new stance and swiftly resumed her offensive.

This time, she was much faster on the attack, with kicks punctuating each swing of the blade. Sjan-dehk found himself nodding in agreement without even knowing it. A warrior’s first and best weapon was their body; that was the first thing every Viserjantan soldier and sailor learned in training. Brandish a sword, a gun, a bow, or any weapon, and that was all most opponents would see. Few would expect to catch a fist to the jaw, a kick to the chest, or an elbow to the head.

The fight intensified with each swing and each parry. Sjan-dehk furrowed his brows. Was this still a fight to submission? It felt as if they were just one misjudged limb or one mistimed attack away from turning this into a very, very bloody affair. He could tell that the swordswoman was already beginning to tire under the furious onslaught of the ring-blade wielder. The latter struck like a surging river, each attack eroding more of the former’s strength, each attack widening the gap needed for the decisive blow.

That blow came not too long after. Sjan-dehk couldn’t for the life of him understand the stance adopted by the ring-blade wielder, and neither was he going to try, but he did know one thing. He’d fought in enough battles to know a killing blow when he saw one. His hands went for the armrests of his seat, gripping them with knuckle-white strength, and he clenched his jaw. Surely, someone had to have seen the same thing and would be calling for an end to the fight. They had to, otherwise everyone would soon be witnesses to an execution.

But no one moved. “She’s going to fucking die!” He called out in his native tongue, but the clamour of the excited crowd whisked away his voice the minute it left his lips. Something had to be done. By the laws of his native Viserjanta, this would be the moment when the swordswoman’s second would jump in to stop the fight by force if necessary. Applying it here, to Sorian, was foolish – Sjan-dehk knew that even as his right hand flew across his body for the pistol on his left – but to do nothing was a moral wrong.

To take a shot from this range at a moving target, and to hope to hit it, called for more luck than skill. Then again, Sjan-dehk didn’t need to shoot the ring-blade wielder. He just needed to cause enough trouble to hopefully get someone to stop everything. A gunshot would likely suffice in that. Sjan-dehk started to stand up, his hand already sliding the pistol from its holster.

A lion let out a ferocious roar. The ring-blade wielder caught herself just in time. She pulled it away from the swordswoman at the very last moment. Sjan-dehk fell back into his seat, exhaling as if he had been holding his breath for ages. The pistol fell back into its holster.

Silence descended over the arena. For a moment, nothing happened. It was as if everyone and everything needed time to process what had just happened.

Then came the deafening applause and cheers from the crowd. Sjan-dehk didn’t join in; his heart was still racing from that narrowly-avoided disaster. However, he did find it in him to look over to Roman to answer his quip from during the fight. At least, Sjan-dehk thought he had heard him say something; as far as he knew, it could’ve just been his imagination, but he really wasn’t in any state of mind to debate such things with himself. “It was…Exciting. She…Ah, Mayet, has good control. Very close.” Even as the words left his mouth, he wasn't sure if he believed them. A fighter with truly good control wouldn't have needed a literal lion's roar to narrowly avoid killing their opponent. Sjan-dehk couldn't say he didn't understand, however; he doubted he'd be able to keep himself under control in a similar situation.

Not that it mattered, ultimately. It wasn't his place to judge.

He drew in a deep breath. "Too close."

🗡 Roses and Daggers 🎕

Interactions: Roman @ReusableSword
Time: 1510

The Sjan-dehk of a few years prior – hot-blooded and eager as he was – would’ve certainly jumped at the opportunity to prove his mettle and bring honour to his name on the field of battle. Or in this case, in the arena of a duel. Reputation was everything for a man under arms, after all. All the more so when said man was considered a noble, albeit only marginally.

The Sjan-dehk of today, however, needed to do no such thing. For one, there was simply not much left for him to prove. He already captained his own ship – one which he earned through blood, no less – and had already fought enough battles to earn his family and himself fame to last a lifetime. More than that, most likely, if the poets and scholars did what they were wont to do and embellished the odd detail. Granted, such fame would likely be mostly limited to the outlying western islands where Jafi’s fleet spent most of the war, but that was perfectly fine with Sjan-dehk.

More importantly, however, was that Sjan-dehk simply wasn’t good at duelling. Fighting deep in the thick of it and cutting down his enemies was one thing. Fighting a duel with rules was another. The last time he had fought in such a fight – ceremonial swordplay, as his father called it – had been during a banquet held to celebrate the end of the war. Sjan-dehk didn’t even last one round. It took only three bouts before the rush of battle got to his head and he gave his opponent a savage kick to the nether regions. Suffice to say, that had earned him a swift disqualification.

Starting his stay in Sorian with such an incident would be inauspicious, and so Sjan-dehk decided to do the prudent thing and decline the invitation. “Sjan-dehk. That is my name. Wasun is family.” He first gave Roman a quick correction. The royal tutor had already prepared him for such errors. “I will watch. Maybe fight next time, yes?” A slight grin accompanied his last sentence. He followed Roman through the side entrance into the stands. The heat from bodies packed so tightly together and the smell of sweat met him like an overly-familiar friend. It smothered and made wading through the crowd feel harder than it actually was, but it wasn’t anything Sjan-dehk wasn’t used to.

There was one other reason for Sjan-dehk to watch the fight with Roman. The man had raised the notion of establishing trade between his lands and the Commonwealth earlier, and though Sjan-dehk still didn’t quite know exact whereabouts or even exact name of his homeland, it would’ve been remiss of him if he allowed this chance to slip through his fingers. At the very least, he wanted to get something he could later pass on to Lady Adiyan. “I am not a trader. More like…Fighter?” Sjan-dehk opened by admitting. Honesty was key in all affairs, as the saying went. “Lady Adiyan, she ah…She knows more about trade. But we can talk about it first. Know more about our land, yes? I will tell her what we say and she can decide.”

🗡 Roses and Daggers 🎕

Interactions: Roman @ReusableSword
Time: Around 3 pm

By now, Sjan-dehk had grown accustomed to how his conversations in Sorian went. He would manage at least one or two smooth exchanges. Three, if his luck persisted, but eventually his limited command of the local tongue would rear its ugly head and bite hard.

Unresourceful men made poor captains, however, and Sjan-dehk was no poor captain. There was no real need for him to parse every word of every spoken phrase; so long as he could pick out the important parts like a marksman picking off targets, he’d know enough to just get by. It was not a perfect situation by any stretch of the imagination, but it was good enough for now.

With this stranger, Sjan-dehk understood enough to know that the man’s name was Roman, that he was a craftsman of some sort – a trademark of his important-sounding lineage, it seemed – and most noticeably of all to Sjan-dehk, that he wasn’t Caesonian. Or at least, he didn’t sound like one. It was entirely possible that his accent was just one of many that existed within the city, but after – quite literally – running into Alidashti royalty at the castle, Sjan-dehk allowed himself a modicum of hope. Making contact and perhaps even deals with three different lands would surely more than satisfy the trade delegation still aboard the Sudah. It could even mean a quick return to familiar waters and familiar duties for Sjan-dehk.

That thought sat strangely in his head. It should’ve pleased him, and yet it didn’t. Not as much as he had expected, at least.

“Come friend.” Roman beckoned him to follow with both words and gesture. Seeing as he had nowhere to be and no idea where to go, Sjan-dehk saw no reason not to fall in half-a-step behind the giant. “Tell me of your land? I have only heard of the Commonwealth in passing stories from our traders. What brings you all the way out here?”

Sjan-dehk’s brows climbed higher up his forehead. Even in the years leading up to the attempted coup by the absolute royalists, Viserjanta had been in enough simmering turmoil and unrest to keep all but the most dogged and intrepid merchants away. Perhaps the ones Roman spoke of had only reached the very peripheries of the Commonwealth. Far enough away from the major seats of power and thus more-or-less insulated from political and courtly intrigues, these provincial regions – Jafi amongst them – had been the safest places to be. Ironic, considering that most of them grew out of military outposts and settlements to pacify said regions.

Not that it mattered in the end. Like a wildfire, the following civil war burned its way to every corner of the Commonwealth. Sjan-dehk had been present to witness enough of its excesses to last at least a handful of lifetimes. War had a strange way of turning even the mildest person into wanton monsters relishing in their own depravity.

“To explore. To trade.” Sjan-dehk kept his answer simple. Even if he knew the words to describe the recent history of the Commonwealth, he wouldn’t have used them. It wasn’t a topic for casual talk. Or any sort of talk, the more he thought about it. “We had war for many years. Fought…Our own in many battles.” There wasn’t much emotion in Sjan-dehk’s voice. He may as well have been describing the weather. It was all in the past. Whatever grief and sorrow he felt had been expressed all those years ago. Now he was simply talking about a fact of life.

He shrugged. A man standing under an awning loudly hawked skewers of some unknown meat from his little stall. The solid, generous chunks dripped with a sauce that sizzled as they touched the coal-fired grill underneath. “But now we have peace. Less fighting, so ships can do other things.” Sjan-dehk continued as they walked past the stall. He’d have to remember to tell Avek about it later; the smell alone was tasty enough to warrant asking the steward to try his hand at a facsimile. “The High Queen, she ah…Decided that I am more useful here.”

As they continued on their way, the clamouring noise of a distant crowd grew louder, accompanied by the vague sounds of combat. Roman had mentioned an arena, and Sjan-dehk had already roughly guessed what it was that happened there. His ears simply confirmed his suspicions. “Ah, duels,” he said with a nod and a grin. Even in Viserjanta, he had always been keen to observe how others fought in the field of honour. Taking part, however, wasn't something he did. Winning battles was one thing, a duel with all sorts of rules and whatnot was another. “Will be interesting to see, yes? Who competes?”

🗡 Roses and Daggers 🎕

Interactions: Roman @ReusableSword
Time: Around 3 pm

Had the man not spoken, Sjan-dehk would’ve likely never noticed him. So dense was the shuffling crowd and so distracted was his mind that the near-collision had gone utterly unnoticed. Even the man’s offered apology almost went unanswered had Sjan-dehk not picked it out – and only just – amongst the thrum of a myriad of simultaneous conversations. He turned, ready and with the intention to politely dismiss what was really a non-issue.

The first thought that crossed Sjan-dehk’s mind upon laying eyes on the man was that this was a person ill-suited for life aboard a ship. His considerable height and build would’ve likely made navigating the short and cramped lower decks torturous. That said nothing of the space he’d need for his berth, or the troubles he would have with low-hanging tackles that would surely come loose during rough winds.

The second thought through Sjan-dehk’s mind was directed more towards himself. Just how could he not notice such a man? He towered above the milling crowd, with few standing up to his shoulders. Sjan-dehk berated himself mentally. To allow his mind to wander off so simply because he was away from his ship was unbecoming of a Viserjantan sailor, let alone a captain. An unfocused mind, after all, was of little use to anyone, least of all himself.

Granted, it didn’t help that he didn’t have anything upon which to focus his mind, but that sounded like an excuse concocted by his mind for himself. It probably was.

He was just about to tell the man that he really didn’t need to apologise – they hadn’t even bumped into each other, after all – when his weapons and his origin were brought up. Sjan-dehk couldn’t help the little grin that crept onto his face. If there was one thing he took particular pride in, it was keeping his arms properly maintained and always ready to impress. Functionally and materially speaking, they were nothing special. No prestigious smith or carpenters had worked on them. No rare metals or woods were used in their construction. They were simply very well cared for. Sjan-dehk had always believed that that would be reflected in their appearance, and this man’s brief comment felt like vindication.

With a quick flick of a thumb, he pushed one sword out of its sheath just enough to show a gleaming sliver of its blade. Single-edged and backed by a heavy and solid spine, the straight sabre was a weapon built to cleave and slash. In Sjan-dehk’s hands, it performed both with magnificent viciousness, much to the woe of his enemies. “Yes, beautiful,” he agreed, voice carrying with the sort of proudness of a parent boasting about their child. “Used them a lot. Many battles They ah…have been on me? With me for very long time.”

The man’s own weapons didn’t escape Sjan-dehk’s notice. A person’s choice of arms often reflected their nature, and Sjan-dehk could see that adage in action with this man. There was little doubt in his mind that the sword the man carried would be a heavy, two-handed weapon in the hands of anyone else. Even the shield he carried looked like it could be a small roof. That he could carry both as if they were just regular arms was impressive. Very much so.

Sjan-dehk pressed a hand to his chest and dipped his head in a shallow bow. “Wasun Sjan-dehk. Fourth Lesser Marquis of Jafi, of the Viserjantan Commonwealth.” He introduced himself. How many times had he repeated those very words today? He’d lost count. He nodded towards the man’s arms. “You? You are going to ah…A fight? Think you would win.”

🗡 Roses and Daggers 🎕

Interactions:
Time: Around 3 pm

The Sada Kurau was, by Viserjantan maritime standards, an odd ship. Granted, her keel hadn’t been laid in any of the Commonwealth’s many shipyards, and she surely wasn’t an indigenous design by any stretch of the imagination. Even so, most captains who chose captured vessels as their commands usually did their utmost to crew and equip them according to conventional naval practices. As much as one could, in any case.

Not Sjan-dehk, however. Of course, he didn’t have much choice in the matter; overly-long for her narrow beam and with a sail plan that exuded speed and agility, the Sada Kurau brooked no argument over the manner in which she took to the seas. She was a ship that accepted no masters, only patient equals who understood that she was a ship one learned to work with, rather than controlled. Sjan-dehk, for the most part, was perfectly happy with that arrangement. It had brought him from victory to victory, and she had saved his crew and himself from violent and premature ends more times than he could count.

Still, the relationship wasn’t perfect. There were a few quirks here and there that Sjan-dehk wasn’t sure he would ever get used to. As he stood on the quarterdeck, looking out over his assembled crew, one such unfavourable trait made itself painfully obvious.

To work the Sada Kurau’s complicated system of ropes and sails required a significantly larger crew of riggers than was necessary for a ship of her size. Coupled with her odd proportions, it meant that when all of the crew were assembled on deck – such as now – she looked almost comically overcrowded. Not only was her main deck choked with men standing shoulder-to-shoulder, those who had no place to stand had to either stand precariously on her gunwale or even cling to her stays and ratlines.

Sjan-dehk wasn’t too worried about the men in such positions – most of them were experienced riggers who knew how to keep themselves safe. Besides, they were in the calm waters of a harbour. More than anything, it was the apparent disorganisation that irked him.

All the more reason for him to get through this bit of formality quickly.

He drew in a deep breath and leaned forward, resting his hands on the guardrail. “All of you should know what I’m about to say. We are, however, the first of our people to make tracks through a city that’s not part of our islands, so I’d advise every one of you to listen up and listen close. We don’t want to be the reason why these fine people–” he jerked a thumb towards the city “–think of us Viserjantans as lousy guests, now do we?”

A murmur of assent rippled through the crowd, accompanied by nodding heads and a scattering of light chuckles. “So,” Sjan-dehk continued and stood up straight, hands behind his back. “It is my duty as your captain to remind you of naval regulations regarding going ashore.” He had said these same words so many times that they didn’t roll off his tongue as much as they burst forth in a droning torrent. “Most, if not all of you, would likely spend much of your time away from your ship. However, bear in mind that you are still bound by Viserjantan law. More importantly, you are still subject to the naval code of conduct. It is thus requested of you that you act as you would in any Viserjantan city. If myself, or any of my officers find out that you’ve been misbehaving, we will not hesitate to take all necessary actions to enforce discipline.”

The implication in his words were clear, but looking at the crew, he may as well have been giving them an update about the weather. Sjan-dehk didn’t blame them; this was a spiel – albeit with some adjustments here and there to fit their current situation – he had to go through every time they pulled into harbour. He didn’t doubt that the older members of his crew could likely recite everything by heart. Still, Sjan-dehk was bound by duty to give them timely reminders.

“Start no conflicts. Be honest in trade. Return what is borrowed. Compensate what you damage. Touch neither thread nor grain. So long as you abide by these five points of attention, all will be in harmony and all will be well.” It was a very brief summary of the code of conduct – one not endorsed by the navy – but it served Sjan-dehk’s purpose well enough. Much as Sjan-dehk wanted to, he couldn’t take the credit for it; his old captain had been the one who first used it, according to naval rumours.

Now, he could move on to what he really wanted to say. “I don’t think I’m lying when I say that I doubt most of us can speak a damn in the local tongue.” He deliberately paused, as if waiting for someone to prove him wrong. Nobody did. “It’s also too late for me to order you all to start learning, so this is how things are going to work. I’ll leave how you want to talk to the locals up to you. You want to use gestures, draw them a picture, or even a whole damn smoke signal, I don’t care.”

That got a few more chuckles from the crew, but they quickly silenced themselves when Sjan-dehk gazed at them with a steely glare. “But if you get into trouble with the law, I expect all of you to cooperate. Even if they insist that you must sit behind bars. I want no trouble while we’re here. Moreso if their laws and their courts get involved. For my part, I will do my best to come quickly to get you out. Of course, if you really did break a law, then there’s not much I can do, so use your reason and think before you act.”

Sjan-dehk thought back to the king. It was often said that the ruler of a land was a reflection of the values held dear by the people. He had found it to be true more often than not, but he hoped that Sorian would be an exception. Then again, the one person who seemed genuinely pleasant had been Saiya, and she could hardly be called a local of these lands. The women who harassed her, however…

He shook his head slightly. It was unbecoming of him to judge an entire people based on just one brief interaction. “These people have ways different to ours,” he said simply. Then, he turned around. Most of his senior crew were standing behind him, with the exception of Hai-shuun. The carpenter had insisted on staying aboard the Celestine for a little while longer with a handful of his men to ensure that every tool and material they had brought with them was accounted for and properly returned. “Any of you have anything to tell the men?”

“No, captain,” Azwan replied on behalf of the others.

Sjan-dehk nodded and turned back to the crew. “Alright, I suppose we’re done here. Just one more thing before you all leave. We’ll be going on a fishing trip tomorrow morning. I expect us to leave before sunrise, so make sure you’re back aboard before then. Make sure you get enough sleep, too. I don’t want to see anyone sleeping tomorrow morning.” He stood back and grinned. “I catch anyone napping while we’re out, I’m making you bait.”

He turned around to the sound of his men’s laughter. “Azwan,” he called out. The first officer replied with a crisp and smart salute. “You may dismiss the crew, then you may dismiss yourself.” Sjan-dehk chewed on his lip for a moment as he considered his next words. Or more accurately, as he worked himself up to say them. “I’m going to take a look around the city. Sada Kurau is…Yours.” He nodded to each of his senior officers, even to the diminutive Sohn-dahn. “I will let you all settle the rostering out yourselves, but I want at least one of you to be on board and in charge at any given time.”

“Understood, captain,” Azwan replied. “First watch will be mine. I understand the rest have duties that will take them ashore.”

Dai-sehk pushed his glasses further up his nose. Dressed in an immaculate blue coat over white clothes, he looked as if he was trying to match the clear skies overhead. “I need to move some of the wounded to somewhere suitable ashore. That may take me all day if my fates do not align.”

“Do they ever, master Dai-sehk?” came Sahm-tehn’s dry response. That earned him a mischievous smirk from Avek, and even a sliver of a smile from Mursi. “Fortune, as I recall from your own words, takes joy in pissing on you.”

Sjan-dehk quickly interjected. “Like I said, how you want to split watch duties amongst yourselves is up to you. As long as I have a Sada Kurau to come back to and nothing bad happens to her while I’m away, I’ll be more than satisfied.” He paused and regarded each man – and boy – with a stern look. “Please, don’t disappoint me.” Though he intended to sound serious, it didn’t escape him that his words may have came out sounding a lot more pleading than he would have liked.

Azwan offered him a smile. Likely, he meant it to be reassuring, but Sjan-dehk didn’t feel it. “We won’t let you down, captain. Sada Kurau is home to us as well. We’ll be sure to keep her safe.”

“I’ll take your word for it, first officer.” Sjan-dehk saluted his men, and they replied in kind. As per tradition, he then turned and quickly jogged down the steps onto the main deck. Only when both his feet were upon the wooden planks of the dock did he hear Azwan loudly dismiss the crew. Normally, Sjan-dehk would’ve been the one to give the order. And normally, Sjan-dehk would’ve been amongst the buzz of activity that now wafted from the deck, wandering across and between decks to supervise work. That, or spend time planning their next course of action.

Sjan-dehk let out a long sigh as he walked towards the city. Though not as well-armed as before, he still had his two swords and a pair of pistols at his hip. It was enough to attract some curious and concerned stares, but he paid them no heed. He barely noticed them. Part of his mind was still ruminating on what he would be doing now were he aboard his Sada Kurau. The rest of it was trying to think of something useful he could do whilst ashore. Exploring aimlessly wasn’t going to do him – or anyone – any favours.

He looked up at the castle in the distance, peeking over tiled roofs. Well, he was here now. On land, in a strange city, and every step bringing him further away from the familiarity of his ship without even the hint of a plan. Sjan-dehk picked a direction, and started walking. With luck, he would find something that would keep his ship and crew occupied over the coming days. If not, then he just hoped he would find something interesting.

🗡 Roses and Daggers 🎕

Interactions: Marciano@Alivefalling Oswald @princess
Time: 1 pm

At last, some progress.

Sjan-dehk watched in silence as the prisoners were herded off the Celestine. Each heavy, trudging step brought them further and further away from the ship, and ever-so-slightly lightened the weight which had been resting upon his shoulders. Where were they going? What would happen to them? Such questions lingered far in the back of Sjan-dehk’s mind, and he made no attempt to pay them anything beyond the most cursory of heeds. If the Caesonians were anything like the Viserjantans, it would be a simple matter of putting the former pirates to work. Under their past victims, if at all possible. Let them pay off the debts incurred by their actions through labour, and redeem themselves through blood and sweat.

But really, how the Caesonians dealt with the prisoners was none of Sjan-dehk’s concern. This was their land and their city, and so their laws were all that mattered. Surely, they had a system of justice that could dole out fair and appropriate punishments. At least, Sjan-dehk hoped so. He couldn’t imagine King Edin lasting too long otherwise.

He mentally shrugged those thoughts away. True, Edin was a colourful man to say the least, but it was still inappropriate – rude, even – to think ill of him whilst a guest of his, even if only tangentially. Instead, he turned his attention to the last of the king’s men still aboard. “Master Hai-shuun,” he called out with a quick glance to his carpenter. “Stand the men down. If there’s anyone still working, tell them to stop what they’re doing and come up on deck. Let’s not disturb our guest while he’s having a look around.”

“Understood, captain.” Hai-shuun snapped off a quick salute before marching off.

Compared to the wreck that she was just days ago, the Celestine as she appeared now was an absolute gem. Even so, it didn’t take a trained eye to tell that she still needed plenty of work if she was to ever take to the seas as a proper ship-of-war again. Or just as a proper ship in general, even. Fresh planks nailed over gaping holes in the hull could only do so much, and that said nothing of the severely damaged mast that needed replacing. Of course, the former was far more obvious than the latter, miraculous as it was. It wasn’t an exaggeration when Sjan-dehk thought that they were only a day or two’s sail away from the tall piece of timber cracking under the strain of sailing and coming crashing through the hull like a butcher’s cleaver through a haunch of meat.

That was all the more reason for this Oswald to see the damage below decks.

Sjan-dehk offered the man a friendly smile. “Please ah…Feel free to look.” He stepped to the side and motioned for Oswald to come through, vaguely gesturing towards the narrow flight of steps leading into the ship’s dark interior. “We are not yet done…Fixing the ship. Only fix enough to sail here. Bottom decks is where we ah…Damaged her most. You should see. Know what you need.” He paused for a moment to give Oswald a chance to parse his halting speech, and also to consider his next words. “To fix, yes? If the king wants to keep her.”

🗡 Roses and Daggers 🎕

Interactions: Marciano@Alivefalling
Time: 1 pm

The Prisoner

One last prize, that was what the captain had said.

One final attempt at riches on the high seas, that was all he had asked for. Win or lose, they would all go home and lead the lives of honest landsmen till their final days. Never again would their fates and fortunes be left in the hands of something as capricious as the open sea. Never again would they have to toil with the spectre of capture and death haunting them at every juncture. No more weevil-infested biscuits; no more salted meat that was more mineral than food. Just quiet, peaceful lives for men who have had more than their fill of blood and adventure.

At least, that was what the captain had promised. In hindsight, Sean realised that he’d been a fool to trust the crafty old man. Well into his fourth decade and looking easily twice that age, Sean had sailed with the Celestine since the day she turned pirate. In all that time, he could count the number of promises kept by her captain on one hand. Though if Sean had to be fair, none of that was because the captain was a liar, but rather, because lady fortune simply didn’t seem to like them all that much.

And it was more like than not because of that very same poor luck that Sean found himself here, locked in the brig of his former ship alongside with what remained of his former crewmates. Damp, musty air laden with the stench of days-unwashed bodies filled his nose with each breath. Gnarled and uneven wood pressed into his back and head as he struggled in vain to find a comfortable position to sit.

A stifled, halting sob escaped one of the younger men. “Stop that,” Sean snapped and leaned the back of head against the hull with a sigh. Despair was like a disease to men like them. Let one person succumb to it and soon everyone would be begging on death’s door for entry. That couldn’t be allowed to happen. He needed every last one of them fit and ready if they ever hoped to get out of here. “Crying won’t be getting us anywhere.”

“He’s right. We’re alive, aye?” Someone else piped up, much to Sean’s relief. “That’s better than what–”

“You’ve said enough. Be quiet.” Sean interjected quickly. No one needed a reminder as to the fates of the unfortunate few who had been singled-out by their former victims. He doubted he’d ever forget the pitiful pleas for mercy each man bellowed at the top of their lungs just before they were unceremoniously thrown overboard and dragged along the length of Celestine. Worse still was the lone survivor, who with his dying breath begged for a quick death even as Sean and the rest of his fellows were forced at musket-point to lash him to a raft, then push him out into the open sea.

Sean squeezed his eyes shut and did his best to force those memories from his mind. Now was not the time for him to be reminiscing about such dark things. He needed to keep his spirits up and his mind sharp if he wanted to escape. He drew in a deep breath and folded his arms across his chest. Where could they go from here?

Everything was fine, for now. They were fed – not well, but enough to put strength in their muscles – and were allowed to go on deck to work on repairing Celestine. More than a few of his fellows wanted to seize the chance and use the tools given to them to attempt an armed breakout, but Sean had managed to cool those hot-blooded individuals. It was suicide, he had told them. They were under guard for the most part by armed sailors, and even if they managed to jump into the harbour, where could they go? They were in Sorian; wherever they swam to would likely end with them in shackles or worse.

No, Sean knew they needed to play the long game. These foreigners likely needed them to not only fix up the ship, but also to navigate these waters. They wouldn’t have put prisoners to work, otherwise. As long as Sean and his fellows could prove their worth, they would be kept alive. That was the first step in the right direction. The next would be to curry some favour with their captors, at least until they were given a greater degree of freedom and assigned more tasks. After that, it would simply be a matter of waiting until the right time to simply either sail away with the Celestine or make a run for it and disappear into the dark streets of Sorian’s poorer quarters.

The squeak of rusted metal pulled Sean from his thoughts. Dented and pitted bars rattled as the cell door was pulled open by an armed and armoured guard. “On your feet, boys,” Sean said with a grunt as he pushed himself up from the floor. “Looks like they’ve got more work for us. Let’s give them no trouble now, aye?” A scattering of muttered acknowledgements – some more disgruntled than others – was his fellows’ response.

He knew it was a hard thing for them to do, to bite their tongue and hold their anger, and so he waited until everyone else had left before stepping out of the cell himself. That they weren’t shackled or restrained in any way, shape, or form was a great boon for his plans, and the last thing he needed was for a hot-head to start something and get them all clapped in irons.

They trudged in a single file up the steep steps leading up to the main deck, escorted by a pair of heavily armed guards. One led the way, and the other marched close to Sean’s heels. Judging by the position of the sun, Sean surmised that not much time had passed since they had been corralled back to their cell. A deep frown came over his face. Why then, had they been ordered to go below decks? Surely it would’ve been more efficient to simply let them carry on with their work.

“Ah, Hai-shuun dahnshi. Saidahkehn tiaka jai?” Sean recognised that voice. It was one he had learned to both fear and revile in equal measure. Leaning over and looking past the shoulders of the men in front of him, he caught sight of the last man he wanted to see. Youthful, dark-eyed, and always with that damnable smile on his face, it was the captain of the ship that had so utterly devastated Celestine during that fateful morning in the mist. Sean had watched him cut a swathe through his ship’s crew with his twin blades with nary any effort, and sentence three men to death with as much gravity as one might have when discussing the weather.

Suffice to say, Sean felt his stomach sink. That man’s presence couldn’t mean anything good for Sean and his fellow prisoners. Still, he forced himself to remain optimistic. As long as they were allowed to continue working on the ship and retain what little freedom they had, his plans could remain as they were.

“Akah, maksashi.” The voice that replied to the captain was a more welcome one. Sean knew him only as the engineer or carpenter of their captors’ ship, but he was a decent enough man to work under. True, he worked them hard, but not any harder than his own men, and he was less liberal with the lash than what Sean had expected. Even so, he wasn’t a man to be crossed. From what Sean had heard from those who had witnessed him fight during the boarding action, this carpenter was just as vicious and lethal a fighter as his captain.

As was the rest of the foreign crew, for that matter. Sean doubted any of them had yet to see their fourth or even third decades, but they fought like veterans of countless battles. Even if the Celestine had twice the crew she had during the fight, Sean doubted they would’ve been able to come out victorious.

The guard behind him gave Sean a hard shove with his musket, almost sending him sprawling to the deck and pulling a surprised yelp from his lips. “Alright, no need for that,” Sean grumbled beneath his breath as he found his footing and, taking that sudden push as a sign, started moving forward with the rest of his fellow prisoners. Just what was going on here? This all felt strange, almost foreboding. What was going on that needed that other captain’s presence? Surely it wasn’t something serious; the man didn’t seem to be in much of a bother.

Then, Sean caught sight of the Caesonians waiting for him, and his heart crashed through the bottom of his stomach and into the depths of his bowels. His mouth went dry, and his mind raced even as his body continued moving on its own. Whatever plans he had, whatever prospects he had of escape, disappeared in an instant. He had no illusions as to where they would be going, and what would happen to them. If they were lucky, a quick death at the end of a noose awaited them. If not…Well, Sean had heard stories. He just wished that he never had to find out first-hand if they were true or not. Regardless, whatever hopes they had of escaping vanished in that one instant.

One last prize, his captain had said. If Sean had the mind to, he would’ve laughed. If only someone had told them that they were the prize in question.

–

Sjan-dehk stood to one side as the prisoners filed past him. Though unshackled, none of them made a bid for freedom as he had expected. Perhaps the last few days of backbreaking work had thoroughly broken their will, or perhaps they were still unaware of their fates. Either way, it didn’t matter. It made things that little bit easier for him, and that was all Sjan-dehk cared about. Besides, it wouldn’t look good on him or his crew if a troublemaker decided to cause a scene in front of their Caesonian guests.

“Damn, I forgot to tell the guards to shackle them.” Standing beside him, Hai-shuun clicked his tongue and folded his arms.

A grin flashed across Sjan-dehk’s lips. “Too late for that, now. Next time, eh?” As far as he was concerned, it didn’t matter whether the prisoners were restrained or not. Where could they go? They were practically surrounded on all sides by armed men, and the only routes open to them were the harbour or the pier. Any attempt to escape now would be tantamount to suicide.

The last man to pass Sjan-dehk was a grey-bearded elder with a vacant look in his eyes. His mouth hung open, as if trying to say something but unable to form the words in his throat. Be it fear or trepidation, something or other caused his hands to tremble uncontrollably. Sjan-dehk arched his brow as he watched the man. Whatever these Caesonians did to their prisoners must be quite something. He couldn’t recall any prisoner reacting in such a manner even after he had two of their own keelhauled to death and the third sentenced to a slow death on the open seas.

“Do not be sad,” he called out after the elderly man. “We send you home. Good, no?”

The man didn’t turn back to look at him.

Sjan-dehk’s crew lined the prisoners up in front of the two Caesonians and stepped a fair distance back with hands on muskets, axe handles, or sword hilts. If the prisoners so much as twitched in a suspicious manner, Sjan-dehk had no doubts that they would be cut down in mere moments. Perhaps they were being overly-cautious, but it was always better to be safe than sorry. He nodded his thanks to his men and walked around the prisoners towards the man who had asked about the prisoners.

“They are here.” He stepped to one side and gestured to the line men. Dishevelled and filthy, they looked as if they were one day away from being outright diseased. Yet, they still looked robust, strong, and more than capable of hard labour. Sjan-dehk knew that last one for a fact. “They are your…People, yes? So we give back to you.” He paused for a moment. To call them a gift wouldn’t be accurate; as he had said, they were simply being returned to Caesonia to be tried under Caesonian law. Most of them, at least. At the same time, Sjan-dehk wasn’t quite sure how best to put that into words the two men could understand.

And so, he just nodded and said, “Yes, gifts.”

🗡 Roses and Daggers 🎕

Interactions: Oswald@princess
Time: 1 pm

Sjan-dehk kept a respectable distance as he followed Oswald about the Celestine. The Caesonian laid his eyes on many things with a scrutinising gaze, but said nothing. Neither did his impassive face give away much of what he felt. The odd narrowing of the eyes here, an occasional twitch of the lip there, but nothing concrete. Nothing that told Sjan-dehk about the confirmed fate of the ship.

Beside him, Hai-shuun harrumphed and crossed his arms. “I’m not trying to be rude, captain,” he began, and Sjan-dehk immediately prepared himself to give the man a muted admonishment. “But do you think he knows what he’s even looking at?”

“I’m sure the king would’ve sent an expert,” Sjan-dehk replied in a murmur. He kept his tone and words as neutral as possible, but even was beginning to question Oswald’s knowledge of naval affairs. Surely, he would’ve by now noticed the many flaws and absolutely dismal state of the Celestine, and should’ve said something about it. She was in no state to be presented to a pauper, let alone royalty or even anyone only just tangentially related to the court, and Sjan-dehk knew it. She needed more time, more work.

Hai-shuun followed Oswald’s gaze up to the sails and the ratty lines that lashed them somewhat securely to their yardarms. From a distance, they looked presentable enough. Up close however, it was clear that everything – from sailcloth to hemp rope – was in dire need of replacement. “Well, I hope he’ll get this over and done with quickly. If we’re keeping this ship, I want us to start work on her before the sun goes down.”

As if on cue, the Caesonian turned to them and spoke. "Forgive my inquiry, but I was curious to know if the presentation of this vessel is intended as a gift for His Majesty, or if it is only available for acquisition at a stated cost."

And there it was. Hai-shuun needn’t worry about fixing up the Celestine. Even with a rough understanding of the local tongue, Sjan-dehk could tell that the ship wasn’t going to be his for much longer. It was not an outcome he hadn’t expected, but it was a disappointing one nonetheless. Though it likely wasn’t as bad as it could’ve been; if Aislin’s words were to be believed, the waters further out were teeming with small-time pirates and other nautical never-do-wells. There would be more chances for his crew to catch themselves a prize decent enough to add to their little flotilla.

“Master Hai-shuun, where did you put the prisoners?” Sjan-dehk asked his carpenter quietly.

“In the hold, captain. I have them tarring minor leaks.”

“Well, have them brought up,” the captain said and tilted his head towards Oswald. “I think we’re just about done with business here.”

Hai-shuun nodded. “Aye, captain.” With that, he snapped to a quick salute and left.

Sjan-dehk shifted his attention to the Caesonian. “Is a gift.” He said those words as if they were the most obvious thing in the world. Edin owned this city and, presumably, the waters around it. What sort of captain would he be if he demanded payment for this first prize? If anyone was paying anything, it would be him paying the king for the right to keep the Celestine, but Sjan-dehk wasn’t about to do that. She was a good ship, but not that good. “No payment. Your king can ah…Have it. If it is good enough for him.”