Force and Fury

The Hourglass Order

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T H E M Y S T E R I O U S G E N T L E M A N

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Morning in Belleville__ ____ ___ __ __ _ _

It was early morning in Belleville. The ragged shadows of rooftops stretched like a serrated edge across the city below the city. Many were still sleeping at this hour, but enough were up and already moving about. The lucky few lined up at the gates of the White Walled City, presenting their identification papers to the century and being - mostly - ushered through. Even fewer were those who went the other way. Yet, among them, was a yasoi gentleman. Was he a bloodchild? It was difficult to tell…

The first step on his journey was the Pelova neighborhood, formerly referred to as Moli’s Emporium. Although for the most part, it had been utilized as an alternative to the student dormitories, there were some wealthier individuals who had the fortune to live here. Some of those very people who had been involved in an altercation with the rampaging students from the City of the Bells found a knock at their door in the hours of Shiin. Many regarded the gentleman warily, given recent events, but none turned him away, nor did they refuse the words he bore. With those words, came reassurance, stipends and gifts. For every home he entered, he made sure to leave an apple behind. `

It was not so very long before he made his way to the next destination, his pack lighter thanks to his generosity and goodwill. The next stop was a quaint one, a buudvuud shoppe that had just started to fire up the ovens, and the smell was a delectable one. A rather large order was placed and, as the delicacies were hand crafted, the Gentleman spread word and arrived at his gathering point. A great yew tree stood there, its branches ancient and gnarled. It had been there and been ancient for as long as any alive could remember.

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Sermon Under the Tree__ ____ ___ __ __ _ _

More and more people arrived as cloth and table were arranged and set up beneath it, and what began as a small gathering soon became a crowd of people that threatened to spill out onto the road. So many had gathered in an impromptu manner that it could not help but evoke some great mette’stiroi of years past. They supped, and drank, and danced, and laughed, and the painful memories of yesterday were replaced with a most pleasant warning, as the mysterious gentleman spoke to all. Most of all, he drew the attention of the freshly-arrived youngsters who knew little Avincean but much hunger.

“Seth’sil joith wes elai luum ciin laz’yii?” the man asked the gathering. For a brief moment, the general chatter stopped as they thought and considered the question. An older yasoi lady who’d brought her two grandchildren to the gathering chirped up first, giving a lighthearted remark “Ap’ya liin doam’elar, luuca?” she asked, and it elicited a small chuckle from most. The next response was different, and somber. A young lady, maybe 7 or 8 spoke next: “Tuulet soam pa haxé duul hal’oft…” and a similar silence to when the question was first asked hung over everyone for a moment. One of the grandchildren turned to the elder that had spoken first, and said something that resonated with many of the crowd.

“Alac soam hal’oft.” and the gathering was silenced once again, until the Gentleman presented the young lad with a crisp apple he pulled from his satchel, and spoke once more. “Pa yax oft,” came the reply, which once again started the murmurs.

“Sen’oft?” questioned one wondering child.

“Sac’eleiz lulus’oft,” snorted a man who might’ve been his father.

But then an elder spoke. She was easily a hundred years old - born before the bad times - and her gravelly voice somehow cut through the din. “Dii.” She shook her wizened head. “Hal’oft.” Her eyes rose to meet the Gentleman’s. Were they evaluative? Expectant? Hopeful? It was hard to tell.

He nodded at the elder, and began to speak once more. Some had forgotten who they were, the history of these lands and the people that once inhabited them, but some still remembered. They had left signs, after all, such as the ancient yew tree that they sat and conversed beneath. A gift from Ashilai’zenet’stiran, the first of a venerable institution that had been stolen and appropriated by those who lay claim to all within the white walls. The very same walls that held a name that was familiar to all who sat and ate, for the name of the city was written in the very tongue they spoke this day.

It was a story that they all should’ve known. Yet, it had been pointedly buried by the huusoi. For all of the Gentleman’s charm and knowledgeability, he might’ve sounded like a charlatan were it not for that tenuous thread of a few elders who’d been around before the Southern yasoi had become a broken people: who’d been around to learn these histories. Now, however, this piece of yasoi identity was restored. Now, however, these people left the gathering with a sense of purpose and belonging that they had been without when they entered. Each also left with an apple, for one must nourish the body as well as the heart and mind.

There was a rumbling disquiet, however, that his words had prompted amongst those gathered. From beyond the white walls of the city that had once been theirs had violence descended on the people of Mudville, in what seemed like an inevitable, continuous occasion. Moli’s Emporium had not sated the appetite for blood that yanii seemed to hold, and they’d struck again. A homegrown criminal association of yasoi named the Cola Brothers had been annihilated last night, and more than just them had been affected. Students of the school swung the hammer of Damy around as easily as breathing and with as little thought. Yanii or yasoi, it was once again left to the people of Mudville to pick up the pieces, but they tired of being nothing more than victims. How they tired of it! It was in this context that a handful came to him at the end. It was in this spirit that they entreated him to visit the new scar wrought upon their home.

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The Last Drop of Cola__ ____ ___ __ __ _ _

It might’ve been an hour hence, when he stood there beneath a light drizzle, taking in the ruins. This was something that was clear. This was something that they should feel anger towards. “Why are you here?” a voice came from behind him, and he turned. He recognized a young woman from the gathering. A man, perhaps a few years her senior, stood beside her and one could guess that they were brother and sister.

“It’s a shame, luuca?” The Gentleman spoke with an incongruous calm, not the strong emotions that the sight should have elicited. He shook his head

“Plenty is,” grunted the man, crossing his arms as he surveyed the wreckage.

A silence sat over them for a minute or two, before he spoke again. Whether it was contemplation or empathy was difficult to distinguish.“Heavy is the hand that has never sown a field. We are killed simply for the crime of being small.” He spoke almost as if he was reciting poetry.

“We were big,” replied the woman. “Least people thought we were.” She shook her head. “Put a target on us, so we tried to make a buck off it. Better than nothin’.” She looked out over the wreckage, a tightness taking hold of her face. If she’d cried any tears, she’d cried them already.

“Big in the pond of Mudville. Small in the ocean of the White Walls.” he gestured toward the city that loomed large over Mudville with a tinge of disdain. “Every time we play house with them, they knock it down. They didn’t care if you took the boy, they saw a chance to practice a trade they know all too well: violence.”

The man with the sword seemed a bit less inclined than his sister to simply go along with the crafted narrative. “As did we.” He scowled, and his face felt unreadable. “Just messed with a bigger fish. There’s always a bigger fish.”

The Gentleman once again shook his head and smiled sympathetically at the man, procuring two apples from his bag “The difference is…” he paused for a moment, tossing the fruit to the siblings. “You did it for profit. They did it for fun.”

The siblings looked at each other. “Maybe,” the man allowed. “But does it really fucking matter?” asked the woman. “They killed us. I don't care who's right or wrong at this point, but they killed my brothers, my friends, and my…” her face tightened up. “My sister,” she managed to choke out. “They slaughtered us like goddamned animals.”

The man rested a hand on the hill of his sword. “They were working with the resistance,” he spat, “like you…luuca?”

The Gentleman paused. Conviction and confidence took his face as they spoke. “It does matter, because there is still good in this world. There are still those who care about justice, of righting wrongs done, no matter how recent.” he paused, turning to Arsii next. “Jaadas. For the souls of your kin who were wrongfully condemned.”

Cherii narrowed her eyes. “Juuras, for their deaths.”

“Upon those who committed the act,” intoned Arsii.

“Tan’daxii. For the people we can still save from this fate.”

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The Best Revenge__ ____ ___ __ __ _ _

“You're one of them, then.” Arsii pursed his lips.

“I'll expand on my original question,” his sister continued, “that you haven't answered yet. Why are you here and what do you want?”

The Gentleman smiled at the pair, earnestly this time. They were sharp, even in the throes of grief. “The answer… is hopefully the same as you. The end of the resistance, and the cowards who support them from behind the walls that should rightfully be ours.”

“You’re brave to operate here,” Cherii observed.

“I wasn’t always. You have to be, around these people.”

Arsii made a sour face and spat. “So they are working together.”

The Gentleman nodded. “Two birds, one stone. Support the ‘right’ side, and keep us out of their city.” he paused for a moment, before shaking his head at the last words he spoke “Our city.”

Arsii nodded, glancing at his sister. “Sounds just like ‘em,” Cherii agreed. “So what do you want from us?”
“I’m fucking tired of it, moila,” Arsii admitted. “I’ll be honest. I’m no revolutionary. I wasn’t even a crook until they made me one.”

Cherii’s eyes went to his and her hand rested gently on his arm. “But we’ve done things you might not believe,” he continued. “The road to Damy’s hell and all of it.” He shook his head tightly. “Fuck.”

“I won’t sign up for a suicide mission,” Cherii declared, “and I won’t let him do it.” She crossed her arms. “The best revenge we could have is living.”

The Gentleman strode forward calmly and placed a hand on the young man’s shoulder, giving it a soft squeeze of reassurance. “It’s never too late to change course, moila. Damy has given us the will to choose our path.” before turning to Cherii and offering a hand to shake. “I would never ask that of you or anyone else, especially after all you’ve been through.” he looked down; whether in shame or empathy for their loss, it was hard to say. “But I cannot do this alone, else I would. ”

“We’ve less than no chance against them in combat, and if they’re with the Resistance, you can double that.”

Cherii shook her head. “No. It’s something else.” She regarded the gentleman steadily. “Luuca?”

He nodded and smiled, meeting her gaze. She’d been blessed by Shiin and Ypti, even if Exiran spited her oh so recently. “Ta. Even if we could do to them what they’ve done to you, it’s not the way. A complete victory takes time, as does true justice.”

Arsii crossed his arms as well, mirroring his sister. “I’m listening.”

“I know where they meet. A comrade passed the information along, but she looked too similar to dear Fortuna, so further infiltration wasn’t possible.” he spoke, gesturing to one of his legs.

“And why not you?” the bandit prodded. Cherii shrugged and inclined her head towards her brother in agreement.

“If I could have, I would have. Unfortunately, I’m known to some of them.” he shook his head in annoyance at this fact.

“And you’d rather not blow your cover,” the redhead observed. It was Arsii’s turn to nod.

He raised a hand in agreement with the statement, “I have a plan, if you’ll trust me. But it’s better we don’t discuss it here.” he looked around warily for a moment, but snapped his focus back to them. “I have friends behind the walls of our city. Let’s walk and talk.” he patted his knees, before gesturing for them to follow. “Oh, and don’t forget to have some refreshment.” He smiled, taking a bite of the last of the apples.

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Translations

1. “Do any of you know why we’re here?”
2. “It’s the good shade, isn’t it?”
3. “I miss the trees back home…”
4. “I miss home.”
5. “This is home.”
6. “Current home?
7. “More like future home”
8. “No.”
9. “Original home.”
10. “It’s a shame, isn’t it?”

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The Hourglass Order

C O M M U N I C A T I O N B R E A K D O W N

The family that Abdel, Niallus, Oksana, and Johann had so roughly questioned finally caved before the latter's empathetic display. It all came pouring out and matters began to piece themselves together. Johann was quick to fill the others in and a group decision was made to pursue the Cola Brothers, to whom most arrows seemed to point. If there were intriguing questions and some moral imperatives surrounding the Resistance, and the mystery of the one-legged woman and her involvement still to solve, the infamous gang of hoodlums still seemed the surest bet. After a few goodbyes and apologies to the family they had 'accidentally' terrorized, the quartet set off for a warehouse they'd been directed to, hoping to meet up with their peers.

Meanwhile, Ashon, Seviin, Xiuyang, Dory, and Lunara had put paid to the bandits who'd tried to rob them and, while two had escaped, the remainder were held at knifepoint or something like it. These were smalltime crooks and not the sort of people to risk their necks being defiant or threatening. They qucikly recognized that the people who they were currently tangled up with were rich and powerful and appeared to possibly have support from Ersand'Enise. Much as they might've resented those who dwelt behind the white walls, they craved their acceptance, wanted to join them, and feared them all at once. If the yasoi hoodlum currently before Ashon had thought to mock Lunara or rally support, he'd lost that notion at Seviin's casual display of power, Ashon's offer of generous monetary support, and Lunara's and Dory's apparent willingness to kill.

Meanwhile, the eeaiko who Xiuyang and the priestess had cornered shrugged at an offer Xiuyang had given to join her at his own risk. "Eye doon't see thet Eye heve mauch choice," he admitted, "Baut yoo aur sentenceeng yoorselves end praubebly mee too deth oor saumtheng lyke eet." he pursed his lips. "Eye waus paurt oof te Broosers. Wee cauntroolled thees paurt auf tauwn oonteel te Colas mooved een aun aus." He shook his head. "Yoo send mee elone too taulk too yoor peepel, Eye praubebly die aun te wey." His eyes flicked Seviin's way momentarily. Yet, there was no support to be offered or compromise to be had and, while he offered a few scraps of information, he was adamant that he would not turn on his masters without some reasonable guarantee of safety. When this was not forthcoming, he walked or, rather, stumbled away, desperate to find a binder for his inner ears.

At least his yasoi counterpart appeared to have fewer reservations. If he did not buy, for even a second, that the twenty-ish year old hyparishman was Jaxan's father, the bandit understood that he was powerful and had money, and that spoke louder than anything else. "Oh, you're either looking for the Colas or the resistance," he replied to a slightly threatening query. "The one is connected to the crusade against the Tarlonese land-grabbers, but they're rough and mean - almost criminals themselves. If you don't give them every spare bit of change you have, you're in bed with the land grabbers and an enemy of the yasoi." He shook his head. "Some of the local guys and I put together our own outfit to protect the people around here, but..." He scowled and clenched his fists. "Fucking Colas moved in on us and they're professional crooks if I ever seen any. They're the only alternative to the resistance and we've been forced out." He sighed. "That's why we robbed you kids." There was a note of apology in his voice. "Wasn't anything personal. Things are drying up and we're trying to fight the good fight here." He shook his head. "Even for the yaniis here. These assholes and their street wars are turning them against us yasoi, moila." It was not long before Ashon, as well, had learned about the warehouse and imbibed a warning not to go there unprepared, for the Cola Brothers were not to be trusted. With that, the group of five set off on the short remaining journey.

It was not long before the two parties were in contact through Abdel, using his tethered range, even if the others remained effectively apart. It was a frustrating matter of slow and imprecise communication funnelled through a single overworked mage, and as they both drew close to their destination from different angles, it soon became evident that, while figures matching the descriptions they'd expected were inside, the doors also appeared to be booby trapped. Communication began to break down. Decisions needed to be made quickly. The Cola Brothers - at least some of them - waited inside. A boy's life - and possibly their own - hung in the balance!

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The Hourglass Order

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A G R I M D I S C O V E R Y

With little else to do and, once again treated like a kid, Rikard decided to investigate the cluster of... something that lay in the middle of the long narrow bay that Zengali nestled around. Skimming a few feet above the water on currents of magnetism, he made his way closer and the strange construction resolved itself into... some sort of houseboat colony partially made up of heavily-augmented floatmelons. They were gaily-painted and appeared actively inhabited. There were - he stretched out his senses - somewhere between eight and twelve energy signatures around the complex and voices rising in conversation and laughter. He caught sight of an eeaiko woman clambering aboard, carrying a net full of fish but, as he as he prepared to land himself, most of the energy signatures winked out suddenly and conversation died with them.

Rikard paused there, danger sense on high alert. It was, in truth, an idyllic place. Long ropes covered in seaweed and mollusks stretched far down into blue waters. Tropical fish clustered in the shade and artificial environment the houses had made, and seagulls bleated and circled overhead. Yet, it was deathly quiet, save for the bubbling of some sort of cauldron. He suddenly found himself feeling like an intruder and, just in case, gathered his energy to create a temporal anchor. It took him at least a couple of tries.

Quietly, he alighted on the central houseboat, abashed at the lack of a door and his invasiveness. From beyond a beaded curtain appeared five people, all eeaiko: the woman from earlier, standing by a hole with muddy - or bloody? - red residue, an old man channeling heat into a crucible, and a pair of children seated at a table. There was a fifth he had sensed but couldn't yet see. He cleared his throat, having drawn, senses on high alert. "H-hi, excuse me?" he began tentatively. "I don't mean to intrude, but I saw this place and was curious..."

The people seemed more surprise that someone came in so haphazardly, save the woman cleaning fish that spotted Rikard earlier. The old man, permanently hunched over but surprisingly wide, turned to the incautious young man, "You come in here, in the middle of our meal." He steps forward with his ladle, an old woman was sitting behind him with a cleaver, "and don't even take off your shoes before coming into my house." He began to raise his ladle to smack the young man.

Rikard stammered. "I-I... I didn't know you had a rule about that. Sorry!" He wasn't even fully inside yet! "Where I come from, we put our shoes on!" He boosted himself backwards, hurtling out of the door. "No offense, really!"

His swing was strong and practiced, he has beaten entire crews with this attack. But he was old and frail now, not even given extra energy from his family. How the patriarch has fallen. The swing cleanly missed and he yelled out "What?!" He was utterly gobsmacked at the dirtiness of this human, "I knew you humans were dirty but this is an offense to Yptee," He was righteously irate at this point, ready to chase him out of the port.

Then a tired voice rang over the old mans, "Oh quiet! You'll ruin the stew!" The old woman cracked a mussel open with her hands, "If the boy is uneducated, than teach him how to enter a house."

The man would argue is the sound of the shell breaking didn't frighten him, he yelled out to the boy, "Wash your face, hands, and feet before you even come in here. Don't want your sick rubbing off on us. AND NO SHOES."

Rikard's eyes darted about alarmedly. My sick!? In truth, he found it all a bit hypocritical, given that this place wasn't exactly sparkling, and he was tempted to leave, but curiosity got the better of him once more. It always seemed to and it rarely ended well. He rolled his eyes, sat down, and took off his shoes outside of the door. "Uh... not to sound rude, but where should I wash them?"

The eaiko woman Rikard saw earlier came out of the beaded door, peering up at him with with curiosity, "I'll show you the way." The woman started to guide Rikard to a blue melon, where their seemed to be a small station with an ever luxurious soap a bucket of water. She washed her hands and face quite normally and then more or less kicked her feet in the ocean, "I take it you know what to do from here?" she teased coy smile though she stood ready to answer if what the boy said earlier was true.

Rikard cleared his throat. "Uh... shoes off and scrub-a-dub-dub before entering?" She was... pretty hot, and he was somewhat distracted, but this person was also making herself available as a resource. He blinked. "Oh yeah, uh... why are you guys so strict with that? I'm just curious. Never seen it before."

The woman rolled her eyes at Rikard though her smile didn't break, finding his flustering almost endearing. "Pretty much!" she responded and stepped out of the way for him. His question was met with a momentary thought of her own, "Well, we are going to eat the our hands so they have to be clean. That's at least the way the people here tell us to eat the food." she answered before taking a look over his shoulder to make sure he was washing correctly, "That and the plague is going around." she nodded her head like the 2nd reason was much more important than the first.

Rikard's eyes widened. "The... plague?" He reached out to sense for any unusual fluctuations in body temperature or chemical imbalances, but the latter was not his best magic. He left his questioning at that, whatever her response might have been and, after washing up, was ready to enter the dwelling... properly, this time.

"Yep," she said with a matter of fact tone. "First it is a cough, then you go green, and then you die." She shrugged it off nonchalantly as she took a big step down into the house, "Be a shame if you caught it too."

Entering the dwelling was less chaotic, they now expected the young man and sat a bowl in between the kids. for him. The old lady from before cheerfully waved her cleaver at him before beheading a fish, "Isn't it so much nicer to be clean? Go on an take a seat and the little ones will teach you how to eat."

Teach me how to eat!? Rikard mused in quasi-alarm. Nonetheless, he remembered his manners. "Uh... yes, and I suppose one can't be too careful if there's a plague going around." He took his seat, cross-legged, between the rambunctious little eeaiko, and regarded the bowl of... food before. "Right, well, I'm all ears." In truth, he was. A plague, but people turning green? It didn't sound like anything he'd ever heard of and, given the thresher's unusual behaviour the immediate question popped into his head: I wonder if you're connected...

The little boy was excited for Rikard, especially because he had been put in charge of teaching the boy. The power he felt was exquisite. The girl on the other side of Rikard was more reserved but only in comparison to the boy. "Alright then-" the boy tried to think of something witty to call Rikard but stumbled. "friend? Yes, a people that can share a meal are friends!" he rebounded. "first you take your right hand, this is the only hand you are allowed to touch food with, if you don't..." A loud bang was produced by the old man to help with the theatrics. The boy and old man start to laugh and the girl takes over.

"Don't mind them they always liked to play jokes," she apologetically waved off her family's embarrassing quarks. "We eat with only our right that way one hand stays clean in case we need to do something," She reached to the mound of food in the center, grabbing a handful, "You take the..." She seemed to be having a hard time finding the words. Her avincian was relatively good but you could tell that she thought of what she said ahead of time and now had to wing it. "Bread? and you spread it in your hand to scoop of the stew." The little girl showed Rikard her doing it carefully and showed that not even an single drop of stew got on her. "Now you try," she encouraged Rikard.

"Yeah, sharing food." Rikard refrained, having little idea what was in there or how it would taste, but morbidly curious at the very least. He took the unfamiliar... bread and opened it into something like a bowl. Reaching out to scoop, he managed to keep his hand more or less out of the slop and, through some form of miracle, not spill a bit. A glob perched perilously on the rim but resisted the tug of gravity with a bit of help from the Gift. Somewhat proud of himself, he raised it as if in toast and lifted it to his lips. Then, he paused. "So, uh... wait. How do you eat this? Is it like... a stew?"

"Like this," the girl placed it on her the bread on her bottom lip, letting it go and eating it. The 'bread' releases very easily from the fingers, leaving only a little bit of oil on the fingers.

When eaten the stew is immediately meaty and well spiced. the bread is slightly sweet, nutty, and potato like. Fish comes in pretty strongly but it is no more offensive than a fish stew. It was an oily stew but not greasy in the slightest. What isn't balanced is the growing burn on the tongue. Not even the spiciest Retanese food he had tried wasn't of any comparison. It was growing by the minute, could the young man handle the heat?

Rikard managed to eat the stew easily enough. It sort of half-melted into the bread and it was... good: really good! The spice built up quickly, however, until his mouth was on fire. Now, normally, he liked spicy food. he could handle it better than most, but this was extreme. He got through the bowl - people appeared to back for seconds and third with their little loaves - and that was when he more or less broke. "Whew," he puffed. "It's good - really good - but it's..." He forced himself to breathe evenly. Someone had lit off fireworks in his mouth. He sucked air in and out. "Spicy," he managed. "You don't have any milk or anything, do you?" His face was as red as a radish.

The entire family had enjoyed the meal but even for some it was too spicy specifically the woman he met who went to pass him some fruit, "Swimming with a pail of milk is a little hard but this should help." The energetic kids were in charge of washing the bowls and left the central room.

"You do well under the heat kid. That was real spicy dear," the old man spoke up, holding his belly like he ate too much. He tried to laugh at Rikard's face but felt a belly ache from the first chuckle. Some peculiar things and oddities stuck out to Rikard in the high of the heat. Everyone ate a lot, it was deliscious after all, but their was still a lot of stew left. The same could be said about the 'bread' that was taken by the kids. They obviously made too much food for a family of 5.

Rikard grinned. "Well, I am adept in arcane magic," he joked, "though even that only helped so much." He took a moment to wheeze. The food was painful. That's all there was to it. He eagerly awaited whatever the kids were soon to return with. he looked about, trying to create a mental map of the place.

Then, it came back to him! He'd sensed more people, briefly, on his way in! He cast about. "Say," he chanced, "When will the others be back?" He looked at the cauldron meaningfully and indicated the extra bread. "Unless these are just leftovers to be restewed..."

"They are to be restewed," the old man shrugged off, not willing to give further reasoning. The old woman gave a playful smack to him, "Oh answer more sincerely, you'll only make him more curious."

The old man sighed, "Fine," he muttered, "We were going to deliver some eaiko that got washed up here because of the thresher." The children had just about made their way back into the room but they stopped upon hearing the conversation.

The woman sighed, "The Marquis hasn't been too kind to us and our people. We can't just watch our kin go hungry like that." She answered truthfully but Rikard could detect their was something else. Differences in their accents were starting to show, even if it was slight.

The youth paused and furrowed his brow. "Not to... pry," he began, "but did some of you arrive that way too?" They seemed to be a bit of a mixed bunch, to be honest, fromt he way that they dressed to the way that they looked and the way that they spoke.

The boy just gave Rikard a weird look, "What? we were born and raised here," he said proudly. his sister chimed in a yeah but her eyes were unsteady, darting to the woman then back to Rikard. She was not the performer her brother and grandpa were.

A silence took the room with the obvious giveaway from the little girl. The woman sat in it until she accepted she had been found out. "Mind taking this outside?" her accent, cadence, or even tone didn't change but it felt vaguely threatening.

Rikard drew energy only very slowly and subtly, just in case, but he didn't expect to have to use it. These didn't seem like bad people, but he recognized that he had stumbled into a secret. With a nod, he politely excused himself and followed the woman outside.

The woman headed up first, past the beaded entryway, past the main ship and all the way to the red floatmelon. She stayed silent for a little, looking at her feat as tossing ideas on what to stay. But eventually she broke the silence.

"So you're Rikard Ambrus," she started, "My name is Laura, I was tailing the Sant'Agata della Compagnia Rossa before the thresher attacked." She watched how Rikard responded, not drawing an ounce of energy in front of the young mage.

Rikard stiffened. "You... know my name," the youth remarked flatly, but then a bit of wonder - and respect - crept into his voice. "How?" He decided to tackle the small question first before reaching the larger one. He had his theories, however, and they were trying to burn their way out of his mind.

"Your name has been in a lot of people's mouth since you came in the top 3 of this year's trials," she answered somewhat straightforwardly but their was a small eyeroll at the boy not realizing his growing status. "The 'How' I want to know is how'd you end up in Zengali now of all times," she crossed her arms and looked at Rikard.

Rikard paused to consider. "Well, never thought I'd be famous," he remarked. Then he grinned. "But I won't complain." When she continued, he shrugged. "I thought it might be a good idea to blow up a beast like that and I happen to have some experience in the field." He crossed his arms, trying to look like a real professional. "A notice was put out and I took up the offer."

"So they let 14 year old mages come and fight a beast that has killed hundreds," her expression tightened in some disbelieve, though not enough to outright question him. She looked from the red floatmelon across the water to the port, "So which side did you come in on?" still crossing her arms but now she looked more at the humans working tirelessly on the port.

Rikard shrugged. "If those fourteen year olds are better than the adults, I don't see why not," he challenged, but then came the real question, and he was keen enough to place a Perrench accent. The boy shrugged easily. He could tell the truth here, which was good, because he was a liar of questionable efficacy at best. "The Perrench side. Rewards were better and I don't like pasta."

She looked at him with a smile then a laugh, "So sided that you don't even like pasta, now that's a lie," she wiped a singular tear from her eye before it could fall. "That's good, I could never hide this forsaken accent." She seem to think about what to say to him past that, he was on the same side but she was still hesitant to speak openly to him.

Instead, she started with the basics, "I imagine you have some questions then?" her arms opening up a little as she dropped the last of her fake accent.

"Well... yeah," he admitted, uncrossing his arms. "Like, for starters, why follow the ship? Are you in the navy or something? Like... a spy?" He glanced about furtively and dropped a sonic bubble over them. "I swear I won't say anything."

Her eyes grow narrow, staring so intensely at Rikard. The bubble came down and then she weighed her thoughts. Rikard could feel a very small use of kinetic energy inside of his bubble. She nodded to herself, "I'll have to believe you for now," she nodded to herself again still followed up with a small bit of kinetic energy used in the bubble. "Yes I'm a spy," she gave a wink at Rikard, only because it still felt cool to herself that she was a spy.

Rikard was about to respond enthusiastically - I guess we're on the same side, then! - but then he felt the kinetic magic and he froze. His eyes narrowed and he reached out with his senses. They were alone, but not. "I guess we can talk about when we're alone, then," he said innocently, shooting her a meaningful look.

She payed attention to the same kinetic signals again and then turned to him, "I mean, you already knew their was more of us, they are just doing their communication." Laure could tell that he wasn't a fan of the not visible thing but what could she do? "Want to continue or come back later tonight?"

He blinked. "You... trust them?" he prodded. "If you do, then I do." He shrugged.

"I know who it is so, yeah," she waved away the concern. This was basic communication they used. Shy comrades were the worst for correspondence. "I serve the Royal Crown of Perrence, and we were tailing the Sant'Agata della Compagnia Rossa because of a lead that came in and now we are stuck here as well." Laure offered.

"What was the lead?" Rikard prodded, suddenly alarmed. "What was it carrying!?" He kept his voice low, but the alarm was clear. Already, the wheels were turning in his head.

She leaned back against a rickety post, only to straighten up when she could feel it spelling her doom, "No need to get that excited. Normal, high value war chest stuff. though some of it seems to be from Callanast. though now we know that wasn't exactly everything." Laure gestured to the encampment.

The boy glanced there involuntarily, and his face shifted. "Holy shit...they're carrying weapons of...of..." Flustered, he struggled to find the correct word. "Biological warfare." His face became grave and serious, the enormity of the situation and the clear moral imperative settling upon his young shoulders like some great weight. Still, Rikard considered, in the way that he often did. "Well - wait a second - if the thresher ate some of the stuff in there..." He trailed off fora moment, regarding her expression for any insight.

Laure just shook her head, "It ate most of the ship and even from that it's worrisome. There is no telling what is happening inside of it." Her voice was leveled but a bit of genuine worry escaped at the end.

"Eshiran willing, it'll turn belly-up before we need to kill it." He let out a bark of nervous laughter and ended it with a shaky sigh. "Damn, that's a messed up situation. Makes me wanna figure it out even more." He shook his head. "Fuck. I need a stiff drink."

Her mind still seem to think on what fighting the beast would be like, her worry was almost palpable. But she shook it off quickly, snorting at Rikard. "A stiff drink?" she was going to laugh it off but went with it instead, "Maybe, but that will have to wait for the festival."

The sun was hanging low in the sky and it wa slooking like he'd have to head over soon. "You're headed there, then?" He furrowed his brow for a moment. "Say, is everyone in there part of your group?" he asked skeptically.

She shook her head no, "No to both, we aren't officially here so showing up at the festival would only cause issues. And they are just a nice family, if not a bit odd."

Rikard considered. "So, then... how many of you are there? Are you gonna be helping us fight the beast?"

"And get in the water with a Bluewater Behemoth with a taste for blood?" she waved off the unpleasant idea, "Only if the royal family themselves demanded that of me."

Rikard laughed nervously. "Yeah, for real. What are the chances of that." he scratched at the back of his head and looked elsewhere for a moment: anywhere else.

"I mean sending a boy here, sure. Sending even a high noble, maybe. But a royal family member on a life or death mission? That be a tale for the ages," she wiped away a tear from the thought. But somewhere, the boys mannerisms had her stomach turn. What if there was one?

Rikard shrugged. "From my experience, a lot of the royals are mavericks." He sighed. "You go to Ersand'Enise, you meet all of these high nobles and stuff you never thought you'd meet and you learn they're all kinda crazy."

The more Rikard spoke, the more Laure grew sure their might be a fucking Royal of Perrence here. It was absurd and flew in the faces of the 5 gods that they would be here. But he was such a bad liar, he couldn't be acting right?

"I couldn't tell you, never met someone above middling nobility and even then it was just to receive orders. Though I would have to say I don't believe any of the royal family of Perrence would be so unwise to come here. Right?" she asked, seeing if he really did know something.

"Penelope, Princess de Perrence, is here," he admitted. "She's rebelling against her family somewhat. There's a Perrench military guy here to protect her, but I think he's in over his head."

Laure strained her eyes, racking her brain for a Princess Penelope but nothing came up at all. Seems like this was either a case of false impersonation or a fib. She could understand, fourteen year old's do that all the time and this one especially. She decided to make a joke of it, believing this to just be a fib but swore to investigate this later. "Don't you mean a Perrench Guy?" she said with a thick Perrench accent.

He blinked. "Haha, yeah. That's actually his name, for what it's worth: Guy Attard." the boy paused and tapped his chin with a finger pensively. "I think he's half Djamantese and like... a sixteenth eeaiko. He was some sort of navy diver."

Many things just clicked for Laure. Many of them she wished didn't. Last she heard he was selling Eshiran's gold in Thalakos. Now he was here in Zengali. He had to come from the same way Rikard did then or else they would have met earlier. Which meant Penelope, Princess du Perrence, was a real person.

She covered up the surprise of the revelation the best she could with her built acting skills but they weren't her strong suit. "Seems my joke was a bit to close to the truth, apologies." she waved off the retrospectively bad joke, hoping the boy would fall for her act.

Rikard shrugged, and then there was a breeze and the sun setting and they were just standing there. "No biggie," he responded, "and, uh... thanks for the food and the hospitality and... all that." Had he understood? Had he not? It might've been hard for her to tell. Maybe he wasn't certain either, but what was certain was that things were winding down and he needed to get back to where he was going, but not without having learned something extremely valuable.

---

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The Hourglass Order

In short order, the thugs were dispatched, falling to the ground in various states of injury and unconsciousness. One, in particular, was on death's doorstep, and Seviin rushed over to his side, scowling at the 'concerned citizen' who'd intervened. Another was held at knifepoint by a second 'concerned citizen'. How brazen it was, how obvious! Seviin groaned inwardly. She had not only to save a life here, but also to allay suspicion. How young their rescuers were, how noble-seeming in the quality of their instruments and attitudes. If Ashon had played his role beautifully, and the fox-masked woman well enough, the other two were walking exemplars of the stereotype that huusoi did not know subtlety.

Two of the thugs were yasoi, one was a human woman, and the remainder, surprisingly, was eeaiko. While the woman and one of the yasoi shook their heads to clear them and took off at a run, the other two weren't going anywhere. "Stay still," the priestess commanded, her grip firm and gentle. "And you may yet avoid passing from mother Oirase to father Exiran." He was weak and gushing blood from the massive chunk taken out of his neck. "You may yet avoid judgement for your many sins," she murmured, trying to focus on the wound. She had never healed an eeaiko before. In theory, they were like huusoi, but their joints were different, and she could not tell if the pallor of the man's skin was natural or due to blood loss. She could smell perfume on him: the cheap sort used by prostitutes, but it was no matter. The world faded into the background and she simply worked.

It hadn't stopped, however. "I said your cat is mangy, and I'm here for steal from these rich... suulest!" hollered the yasoi who she had by the neck. "What you will do, Ersandenise? Kill me? With people watch? Indeed, while many had retreated, they were present: at the mouths of alleys and sidestreets, sheltering beneath awnings, and peering out from windows. A good few eyes were on Dorothea as well: both human and yasoi. His darted about, trying to catch some of these, before returning to Lunara challengingly.

Dory found herself and her brilliant rifle objects of intense scrutiny. "You didn't have to kill him!" shouted one woman. "Lecoam'op!" came a yasoi voice. "Lecoam'op!"

"Cuul'op!"

"Cere'soi!" one spat.

Then, the wounded eeaiko was up, at least somewhat. "Yoo... seve mee," he breathed. "Why? Eye try too hoort yoo."

"You had your reasons. I have mine." She shook her head. "Your crimes were not worthy of death." He scrabbled back, rubbing at his freshly-healed neck tenderly, and she could see that he was not as young as she'd thought: at least a few years north of thirty. For a moment, their eyes met. "Yoo're... aulmoost steell e chaild," he murmured. He made a religious gesture. "Foorgeeve mee."

"That is not my purview," Seviin replied. "Truly, only the Gods can." An idea occurred to her, then, as Ashon dashed off after one of the runners. "Might you earn some goodwill, perhaps, with... one small service?"

His eyes darted around, looking for Dorothea's position, before he nodded reluctantly. "Why did you attack us?" Seviin put to him, and he scrunched up his face at that. She blinked, waiting. "Beecause yoo heve mauney end Eye needed eet." He said it as if it were self-evident and that pained the young priestess more than anything else. "Can you not work?"

"Tell mee goorl," he remarked bitterly, "whoo weell haire te hemvooreek faur eny jaub hee ectuelly waunt?" He shook his head. Hemvoorik. She knew it: an exile or unclean designation among most eeaiko of the twin continents, for having stolen the labour of another or the fruits of his mind. It was inheritable.

"I..." She trailed off for a moment, brow furrowed. "wonder which of your ancestors was responsible for this pitiful state of yours." Seviin regarded him evenly and, when he hesitated, she did not. "None, I see," she cut him off and her expression hardened. "And so you are a penitent before Shiin who now sins against Oirase so that you might abuse the love of Ypti and buy off your debts to Vyshta." She scowled in disdain. "When I said that you were not worthy of death, sir, I did not mean that you had done anything to deserve the life given you either." She shook her head. "A worm draws breath and so does a rat, and neither has given so much harm to the world as you."

"Fauck you!" he shouted. "Whaut kaind auf heeler -"

"Myself, sir." Fast as a cobra striking, she backhanded him across the face, snapping his head around. "You shall mind your tongue in my presence, sinner."

"Eye doon't even shere yoor relegyoon!" he protested, halfway between shock and anger.

"Father Damy has blessed you with the right to be wrong."

"Auwfool fu-" He paused and tried again. "queeck too jaudge mee, baut hauw ebaut yoor frend whoo shoot mee soo heppely?"

Seviin twisted to regard Dory and, for a moment, their eyes met. Then, she turned crisply back to the eeaiko. "Someday, mother Oirase shall judge her too, but her soul is not yours to command. Your own is, and you have done a foul job of it."

"Whaut doo yoo waunt?"

"Everything," Seviin replied simply. "All that you know." She shook her head. "You will hold nothing back and, this day, you will take the first step towards rescuing your eternal soul from damnation."

All at once, the thief tried to surge to his feet, but his legs failed him and he stumbled. Seviin caught him in a kinetic grasp. "Just because I am young, sir, does not mean I am naive." She took him by the ear. "I have altered your inner ear so that you may not balance until it is restored. Now -" She took no pleasure in this. There was no smile. "Shall we begin?"

He glared at her but seemed to go slack after a moment. "Okay," he sighed through clenched teeth.

---

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The Hourglass Order

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Elsewhere, Ciro Volta had listened instead of spoken, for the most part, but he hadn't withheld his letter from the others. "I do think that either Lady Arslan, Signore Solaire, or myself should speak with the Marchese. I am indifferent as to whom. All will make a sound impression, I trust." He turned his eyes idly to a gull that seemed to be watching the group of interlopers, hoping for a snack. "Otherwise, I shall go down to the port proper. My company has one of its ships stranded here due to this incident. I should like to reassure Captain..." He struggled to recall the name for a moment. "Di Biase and check on the crew in between canvassing and earning some goodwill."

He had some idea of what the lost treasure ship had held, if not the particulars. It would not be in Revidia's best interests for any more than a tease of that end up in Perrench hands, not at all. Then again, Revidia's best interests weren't necessarily his.

---

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Ciro, having turned to head out, twisted back at the last moment. "Ah!" he exclaimed, "I thought I could feel someone burning a hole in the back of my shirt with their gaze." He pivoted fully. "How fitting that it should be the Sun himself." His smile was easy enough, but his words gave away a degree of annoyance. Leon could have just asked outright, after all. It was not as if Ciro hadn't offered. "So perhaps it is this that you look for?" He strode back over and extracted the letter carefully from his satchel. "I should expect that you are not one of those to whom this refers. Dare I say our dear count is a touch paranoid." After briefly taking the measure of Leon, he handed it over. "I do wonder what yours holds as well."

Ayla, standing nearby, nudged Leon in the side, as he hadn't offered to share his letter's contents with her. She looked toward him expectantly, offering to share hers. "Oh, yes, my bad." Leon replied with a chuckle. He could've been addressing either of the two. "I do think its best we all share our letters. How thoughtless of me."

Leon didn't hesitate to hand Ciro his letter with an easy smile. The merchant was not the one he distrusted after all. "Of course."

Duly, the exchange was concluded, Roslyn joining in as well. If Ciro had hoped for anything particularly interesting, he would have been disappointed. There was precious little to actually glean much from any of these letters except for the notion that the count was definitely writing them specifically to appeal to each member of the team. He furrowed his brow, thanked his peers, and handed the missives back before continuing along his original course.

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The docks were a place that Ciro was familiar with. Perhaps the languages and complexions of most of the sailors might change from place to place. You might find more of one sort of ship than another. Provisions might look a little different, but there was an undeniable feel and energy to places like this, and they were - in all honesty - where he felt most at home, least on guard.

He had not made it more than a hundred yards before he spotted Penny. She did not seem to have noticed him and it was just as well, for that could serve to make matters complicated, and quickly. He slowed up, meandering a bit, straightening a precarious stack of barrels with the Gift, adding some oomph to a hoist that was loading a large Xebec. Penny scurried on ahead in her odd, one-legged manner, dressed like a trollop, and he breathed out deeply.

That was when he noted Roslyn trailing behind him like a duckling. Right! She'd mentioned accompanying him before rushing off to freshen up. He nearly scowled but... she was... sort of cute running along with her skirts hitched up, he had to admit. "Hey!" he shouted, twisting jauntily on the spot. "Fancy seeing you here, lady Rosy!" He bowed playfully. "Come to keep tabs on me, have you?" There was a grin as he straightened. "I admit I may have been trying to ditch my chaperone."

Roslyn would've caught up to Ciro sooner, but she had become distracted along the way. There was so much that needed doing and so few people to do it. Naturally, she tried to help best she could. Among the work, she caught bits about the beast lurking in the waters.

In the Perrench's eyes, the creature was white as marble and about thirty four alds and wide as a galleon ship. A mouth large enough to swallow a battalion. The Revidians' description matched up almost the same, but in a far more painful tone. She shivered at the image forming in her head. When she spotted Ciro, she moved quickly to join him. Catching his tone, it reminded her of her brother's teasing whenever she shadowed him.

Returning the smirk, she replied. "Now you sound like my brother. I'm not that horrible to be around."

Ciro winked. "Anzi, you are one of the ones I don't just pretend to like." His expression straddled the divide between smile and grimace perfectly. He sighed, taking in the port with his eyes and then a gesture. "This place, you know, it's both a beauty and a tragedy: the sights and the sounds and the smells..." He trailed off and made the universal gesture for 'perfection' with his fingers. He paired it with a smile, but that quickly fell away. "So many people working together," he decided, nodding. "But so many dead and so many more about to join them."

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---

He shook his head momentarily and drew in a breath before expelling it. "Even those pirates, suddenly redeemed in living or death, unless they run, of course." He gestured at the distant Nar Sant Iermu, berthed a good deal away from the other ships, out of an abundance of caution. He wrinkled his nose only slightly. "What do you think about working with them?"

Roslyn tilted her head slightly before taking in where he'd gestured. She understood what he meant as he laid down the cold, hard truth. A bitterness settled in her core over knowing it took a tragedy to force cooperation despite politics. Yet, she recalled it still lingered underneath it all. When the question about pirates was aired, Roslyn bit her lip. She recalled the incident with Revan of Skull and Crossbones that had revealed her ship's 'infamous' past.

"After the incident with a member from Skull and Crossbones, I'm rather wary of pirates. I'm not sure what to think of them. Even considering what I'm supposed to do has me nervous."

She paused for a moment before looking closely at him. "I do have a question for you. Did you know the Nuvole Rosse's history before you sold her to me?"

"Oh, there are many reasons one might become a pirata," Ciro allowed, his body language loose and easy. "Impressed into the navy, lack of opportunity, some misplaced notion of a noble struggle against authority..." His face and bearing turned to stone. "But at the end of the day, nobody held a gun to their heads and forced them to do violence to their fellow man. Pirates are scum." His face hardened. "It is one thing to mount a caper. It is one thing to break the law." He waved a hand. "I am less worried about that than one might think." He shook his head. "But the moment that you threaten death and violence against another person is the moment that you, yourself, leave the twin protections of mercy and decency."

He paused for a moment, and shot her a look that graduated from warning to chagrined, to apologetic. "Sorry," he added. "I've lost friends to them: family Didn't mean to get personal." They walked in silence for an extended moment, and there were sights and sounds as Ciro had said earlier: most of the people at work who weren't locals were Revidian or Joruban, but there were Belzaggics too. In particular, a red-robed priest - perhaps a Rezaindian - seemed to be marshalling them. "The people here are playing us off against each other, you know - Pact and Alliance - hoping for a better deal." He sniffed and smiled tightly. "Clever bastards: they'll deny it, of course."

Roslyn listened intently. She wasn't nearly as experienced with the shipyard as Ciro, but she was familiar with manual labor. Her eyes spotted one of the workers lean too far right. Her hand flicked out with the Gift and she gently righted his balanced back to the middle. She doubted anyone wanted to take a swim today. Inwardly, she reflected on Ciro's words and empathizing with the loss of loved ones.

"No need to apologize. Losing family or friends is hard especially when it feels unfair. I can only imagine it to be worse because of pirates.." She recalled her grief over the loss of her mother and the emotions that followed. Even to this day, she hated her birthday whenever it came around.

---

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He could only distract himself for so long from Roslyn's second question, however. He nodded, and paired it with a shrug. "I knew enough: The Fantasma is a famous ship - or, rather, a rumour of a ship to most. She's a brig, purpose-built for smuggling, by my own great-uncle." He offered a sour look as a couple of seagulls fought at the foot of a nearby bollard. "Cost a fortune, made a fortune, changed hands a half-dozen times." He paused to tighten some ropes that moored a small ketch to the dock. They'd been poorly secured. Squinting into the sun, he regarded the Hendlishwoman. "She ran plenty of dirty cargoes and, at one point, was a pirate herself." He shrugged. "At another, ran them for the Doge."

He straightened, turning in profile so as not to have the sun in his eyes. Nearby, the one gull had overcome its rival. "You're a decent person." He stated it matter-of-factly. "and I sensed that your finances were... less than ideal. A ship is a boon. A ship is an opportunity. A ship is..." He trailed off for a moment. "Freedom, of sorts." He smiled at her. "And I wanted her out of the hands of pirates, once and for all, not used for killing, not used for war: used right. She's a beautiful one and she deserves it."

She let the silence settle. There was no rush for answers yet despite her growing curiosity. Again she listened before giving a thoughtful response in return. "I try to be, but I do question it some times. The larger the world, the harder it seems to be to know what's right or wrong." Roslyn inhaled the sea air as they continued on.

"I will admit, when I first saw her... It wasn't hard to see the care and love put into her. I am going to try and restore her best I can. What happens after that, I don't know yet." She grew quiet for a moment before deciding to share a bit of unfortunate news. "I wish you weren't right about the finance issues, but..." She sighed in defeat, "it's not easy to hide. Sadly, I'm afraid my actions at the trials might've made it worse. I'm not sure how much longer I'll be to stay at the academy when my family finds out."

Ciro nodded slowly. "Few things are black and white, but we act as we must and, as long as we take the gods as our example..." He trailed off and shrugged, sauntering in the direction of a large warehouse not so very far from his company's own Coure Volante. Something of note was taking place there. There were men bickering over some sort of elixir or medicine. Well, not quite 'bickering', but it was close. His interest was, admittedly, piqued.

"Roslyn." He turned to her suddenly. "I would like to have your ship at my disposal, but not under my company's flag, given her... history and the questions that might raise." He pursed his lips for a moment. "It will take some time for you to clear her name, but I have faith that you will." He stood on his tiptoes to see over the sea of heads. With a start, he recognized a woman wearing a large hat as Penny Pellerin.

He twisted back to face his current conversational partner, however. "I believe that we can help ourselves." He tapped his chin with his index finger pensively. "I hire your ship on a contract basis, for time-sensitive runs. I forward you some of the cost and you pay it back - no interest as a percentage from your profit. I'll not take much." He shook his head. "You have a steady source of income and I have a resource at my disposal." After one last, seemingly futile, glance at the crowd, he offered Roslyn a smile and a hand.

Roslyn also noticed the commotion near the warehouse, but she was notably shorter than Ciro. Any chance to spot it over the gathering bodies would require a bit of a magic aid. However, hearing her name, she found herself pulled back to the conversation. It took her a moment to weight the offer. Part of her wondered if this deal might turn slightly sour like Trypano's.

A moment passed before her body relaxed. He hadn't given her a reason to distrust him and there didn't seem to be any hidden strings. "It sounds better than any option I have come up with so far." She smiled and shook his hand, sealing the deal.

"It's a deal. That just leaves me to figure out how to deal with the pirates now."

Ciro paused, seeming to consider deeply. "Gunpowder." He nodded. "Or something else of the like." He smiled in half-mirth. "We shall finalize things at some other juncture, perhaps. For now, we've - "

It was at about that moment that Penny emerged from the crowd, dressed like either a tramp or a pirate, and chatting with a middle-aged man who'd been involved in the earlier debate. He was carrying a large jar of some dark liquid: the elixir to which the others had referred. "Both got our own angles to take care of?" He concluded, voice rising questioningly as he adjusted on the fly. He motioned towards the crowd with his chin while pointing at himself. Then his eyes flicked towards the quickly retreating Penny and Roslyn in turn.

Roslyn caught Ciro's attention sway. She glanced in the same direction from her peripheral vision. Her jawline tightened with visible concern and she seemed taken aback. Penny!?!? What are you doing here? Roslyn blinked, hoping she'd hallucinated it. No, it was definitely her friend dressed in less than modest fashion.

"I will keep that in mind while practicing my shooting." She was already starting to move. "I'll catch up with you later and... thanks."

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Ciro was not averse to work and, most especially, the appearance of having done that work as well. He was conspicuous everywhere on the docks, handling the ropes himself with his bare calloused hands, moving crates with the Gift, careening ships, organizing shifts, donating to those who had lost loved ones or limbs to the beast, and encouraging people to pull together. He was everywhere. He was a marvel. He was every bit the equal of Brother Hodari. Just as it should be.

When he took a break from his tireless effort to eat, he had pasta catered for another nineteen workers, 'randomly' selected. There was nothing random, of course. This was Ciro Volta. He never acted without forethought and intention. They were the most likely to play well with the locals, to have some influence, to matter to the Marquis. By the time that the sun hung low in the sky and its light sparkled across the city, golden, they practically threw the potions, tonics, and serums they'd been clamouring over at him. Just as it should be.

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The water's surface rippled pink and orange as Ciro Volta disappeared into the hold of the Coure Volante. People were winding down the day's work and heading for the city's plazas and squares. Palms rustled in the brisk sea breeze. He was well out of the sensing range of anyone who mattered and it was just as well. "Captain Garibaldi."

"Padrone."

"Our men: have they returned?"

"Most of them, sir." His bearing was almost military. Ciro's toothy lopsided grin was not. "And have they learned anything?"

"I should say so, milord." He paused, brow furrowed. "Though perhaps more 'alarming' than interesting."

They spoke for a handful of minutes on those developments before moving on. "And the Somia girl?" He'd spotted her, looking even less human than usual, by the docks a couple of times. "She hasn't stopped by, has she?"

"No, Padrone."

"If she does, kill her and arrange for it to look like the Pact."

"Sir." He nodded.

"Same for the Arslan." Ciro thought for a moment, but none of the others were important enough to warrant such consideration. "Now, moving on. How bad is the situation with the beast?" He leaned against a stack of barrels, arms crossed.

"We are trapped here truly." The captain did not look happy about it.

Ciro pushed off from the barrel and his eyes narrowed as his hands fell to his sides. "Then I shall need my chest. You have it, correct?"

Garibaldi bowed his head and gestured. "This way, Padrone."

Ciro followed.

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♫

The sun had set and, already, the sound of drums echoed across the fjord's walls in the distance. They could not be heard over the howling of the wind or pounding of the surf out here on the unprotected coast. The water surged. The moons shone. The shore was utterly deserted...

Save for a singular figure in a hooded black cloak. It stood there, its voice rising above the sounds of nature in fervent incantation. From the sea rose first two, and then a third, a fourth, a fifth! Soon, there were nearly two dozen, in various states of decay. Some might have looked human at a glance, but they were no such thing any longer. A small army of corpses and body parts gathered above the ocean and began to swirl. The figure continued to focus and chant and the surge of energy would have been magnificent... if only were there anybody within range to witness it. A black miasma took shape where the body parts collided. Still they swirled. Still they churned!

From within the maelstrom's depths came a light, then: a single deathly pale blue light. It pulsed at the heart of the abomination. Then, a second winked into existence, followed by a third. Lashing tentacles, a dozen eyes, slashing hooked claws. "I call thee forth, Ataxhaman!" bellowed the robed figure, "from thy abode in darkness! I summon thee, bale baron of the sea, under mine command in utmost fealty!" And then it was done and his great servant towered before him, awaiting its orders and utterly loyal. Just as it should be.

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Ciro Volta arrived at the square well-dressed, slightly late, and slightly out of breath. He had a peculiar-looking club - or was it a horn - in one hand, and apologies on his lips. He had spent some time trying to acquire a quality example of one of these and gotten terribly lost!

The Hourglass Order

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_{with Roslyn Wicke @Fallenreaper}

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N O P L A C E F O R A P R I N C E S S

O N E

The lower decks were no place for a princess, but Penny had hardly lived as one of late. She'd spoken as much as she dared with Yvain, shot Guy a distrustful glare or two at opportune moments, and made a bit of smalltalk with Zarina, with whom her relationship remained nothing if not ambiguous. She'd tried, a few times, to surreptitiously find out what the others had been apprised of in their missives, but she'd gotten the sense that she held considerably more information than most and had kept it close to her chest. Then, blessedly, they'd come into port and the waiting was finished. How Penny hated aimlessness!

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T H E B A D G U Y S

T W O

The Perrenchwoman was hardly paying attention to Zarina as she marshalled her players like they were an orchestra and she its conductor. It wasn't out of rudeness or disregard, however. Penny had noticed the brig in the harbour and recognized it immediately as the Nar Sant Iermu - the infamous St. Elmo's Fyre of Captain Xavier Falzon. Dimly, she registered that they were not alone. Ayla... Leon... Her eyes searched a small square nearby. Trypano... Ciro... All of these, she was either indifferent or ill-disposed towards. Then, she sighted Roslyn. Dammit, Rose. Why'd you have to sign on with the badguys?

That was a brief distraction, however. "That ship," she announced, pointing in its direction. "She's the St. Elmo's Fyre, out of Djamant." Penny shook her head tightly, eyes fixed upon it. "I know her captain: an absolute slimeball." Slipping free of her crutches and propping them under her stump, she unslung her knapsack from her shoulder. "Let me handle that angle," she declared, businesslike. Already, she was extricating a particular outfit from the bag. Had she gained substantial weight since the start of her pregnancy? She certainly didn't feel quite as light on her foot, but she wasn't visibly showing yet.

Penny glanced about to take in the reactions of others, looking for any objections or offers, as she closed up the pack, slung it over her shoulder, and palmed her crutches. "I'm onboard with Zarina taking the animal angle. Maybe Yvain to meet with the Marquis?" She glanced at her cousin before shrugging indifferently, almost as if to say 'figure it out, peasants'. Presently, Taleja, the Kressian, did exactly that, volunteering to tend to the sick and wounded. It was what the Perrenchwoman would've done had not she sighted the pyrates and had not she been with child. That one seemed utterly inoffensive, but she was still indelibly Kressian and, from Penny's experience, there was no such thing as one without a nationalistic streak. Penny inclined her head politely in return, but she still did not trust Taleja an inch further than she might throw the girl.

She took a moment to evaluate the others. While she rather liked Rikard, he was still half a child and might make childish decisions. Zarina was not as smart as she thought herself, but she was a fundamentally decent and competent person. Yvain had been having something of a crisis recently after figuring out that he was not, in fact, the strongest, smartest, and generally best person about, but he was capable and this might be an opportunity for him to recover some of his swagger. Guy was weak magically but skilled; utterly untrustworthy on a personal level but could be counted on to be absolutely loyal to the crown and its objectives.

Penny realized that she was standing quite aimlessly in the midst of her evaluations. She shrugged and shook her head to clear it. "Right, well I suppose I should follow her lead," she concluded. "It's rather a walk out to that ship." With a polite nod and a smile, she took her leave. "I shall reconnoitre with you all in a handful of hours, by the large disturbingly phallic statue in the square, no?" With that, she was off.

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M E T H O D A C T I N G

T H R E E

The docks were an alien place to Penny Pellerin, and so she decided that it was time to method act. There had been precious little shame as she'd dipped into a tavern, disappeared into a booth, and changed into clothes that didn't mark her as the sort of girl one might either bow before or try to rob, depending on one's inclination. Instead, they now will wonder how a painfully plain girl with one leg makes a living in the world's oldest profession. She had paid the innkeeper to hold her valuables and her forearm crutches in storage and was back on axillaries. Why did I make war on my armpits for so long? she wondered, eyes flicking about her surroundings, but she could bear it. She'd managed that way for nearly seventeen years before switching over, and the muscle memory quickly returned. What she could not get used to, however, was the cut of this skirt. It was so short as to be drafty. It was downright indecent. She was a woman engaged and with child! and also one who needs to be welcomed onto a pirate ship. She resolved not to hesitate if any of the criminals got... handsy.

She walked along, falling into a particular strut, dodging around the moving crates and bustling sailors as if this was everyday business, trying not to gawk or rubberneck at the exotic sights, sounds, and scents. She wrinkled her nose. Jorubans and Revidians were everywhere, along with a smattering of Torragonese. Of friendlier peoples, she noted precious little, with the exception of a well-oiled contingent being led by Brother Hodari. In truth, though Penny knew what a hostile Mezegol might mean for Belzagg, she was tired of politics. Perhaps that was why, upon noting the presence of a Ciro Volta who seemed almost comically eager to avoid her, she simply let him think that he had. It had occurred to her to make an annoyance of herself, but... she sighed. She could make his life miserable later.

The St. Elmo's Fyre hove into view and she was every bit the majestically ramshackle thing Penny remembered from Isla d'Amato, but for the great gashes in her stern, hastily repaired. Sixty meters? Seventy!? Penny wondered, slowing unintentionally as her gaze scanned the brig from one end to the other. She shook her head. There were many monsters that lay in the deeps but, surely, none were quite so monstrous. Get there first, she reminded herself, picking up her pace once more. It was - much in contrast to the brimming anxiety and peril of this place - a rather nice day. Gulls circled overhead. The port was busy and bustling. There wafted the aromas of street food to her nose: authentic and exotic cuisines of East Severa. Unbidden, Penny found herself smiling and even whistling a little sea shanty she had learned specifically to feel more in-character. Method acting: now you're doing it!

For a moment, her attention was drawn by someone who appeared to be wearing the robes of an official. He was handing out these big glass jars to a cluster of people who'd gathered around. Penny came to a stop. She nibbled her lower lip. Just a small detour. She made her way over, standing on her tip-toes to see over some of the shorter heads once she was close. Belzaggic. She spoke it a bit: like a foreigner, but she spoke it. Most people here will know it.

"Sorry Captain Xavier," she mouthed under her breath. "I'll see you soon enough." Then, she scanned the crowd, chose her quarry - a friendly-looking man who had taken one of the jars - and contrived to be bumped by him. She stumbled and began to fall. Surely, knocking a cripple over would warrant an apology and, hence, an opportunity for conversation, at least!

The one-legged woman was only saved from an ignominious tumble by a strong dark hand that reached out and grabbed her by the arm. Her hair flew about and one of her crutches clattered free, but she remained on her solitary foot. "I- I'm so sorry!" she blurted, in heavily-accented Belzaggic, a common second tongue around here. Her eyes were wide. "Ugh! I'm clumsy. Are you okay?"

"Oh no no no!" came the quick reply. "I'm okay. I'm sorry. Are you okay?"

Penny smiled bravely, trying not to lay it on too thick. She wasn't herself: a woman with royal blood in her veins, who'd faced death a dozen times, who'd slain sanguinaires and blood mages and grand demons. She was some sailor's daughter who made a living by getting men to pay for her. "Just fine, and maybe we agree to split the blame, yes?" She crouched on the spot to reach for her fallen crutch, but her saviour scrambled to retrieve it first. "Oh no. It was me." He offered a nervous laugh. "We have so much to move, you know, in so little time. We're rushing about like madmen here."

"Thank you," Penny chirped, accepting the crutch from him with a shy smile. "It's amazing to see so many people working together." She gazed up, doe-eyed and innocent, at one of the large ships being loaded. "I do hope we can do it." She twisted to regard him more directly. His Belzaggic was flawless. He was likely from there. "I hope we all come back safe."

"A girl like you isn't going..." the man offered with some concern, and Penny shook her head. "I have some of the Gift," she countered, face determined, "and I've done little with it. I would like to sign up, sir!"

He looked her up and down, evaluatively, and Penny's conscience began to prickle at her own deception. He was of an age with her father. "It's Kofi." He held out a hand. "Penny!" she replied, taking it eagerly in hers. With her free hand, she brushed some of the hair from her eyes. "I'll be honest: I haven't been here for very long and I don't know where to get started, but I came here to do more than just..." she trailed off, looking guilty at the ground. "Well, y'know." She coaxed some blush into her cheeks and shrugged in shame. "Hmm. Well, you'll need a crew to take you and -" He glanced at the empty side of her skirt and she snorted. "Oh, I'm absolutely no use on a ship."

"You don't have to do this, Penny." He looked at her with such... fatherly concern and lack of judgement that she resolved right then and there to ensure that he survived. This man was more than a tool. He was a person, and a good one. "I know," she admitted, "but I want to. Things don't get better unless people who have some power act."

He smiled and clapped her on the shoulder. "Well, you have some of the Gift, right?"

"I mean... I'm no Hugo Hunghorasz."

"Hah!" Kofi laughed. "If only we had him, or brave Jobanzaggah." He shook his head. "Alas, it is not so, but if you are even one hundredth of him as a wizard, then you will be a great boon to our effort. Come with me." He hefted the large jar again and motioned with his chin. Penny nodded and smiled hopefully, surprised to find that it was genuine. "I do have one question, however," she interjected, as they began moving, "That jar you're carrying: what's in it?"

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F R E N E M Y

F O U R

Penny had emerged from the ship, tucking both a pamphlet and a few vials of an unknown liquid into the pouches on her belt. She stood there for a moment, fastening the clasp and... there was Roslyn: "Penny? I didn't expect to see you here!"

She hadn't seen anything, had she!? "Uh... Rosy!?" Penny blinked, a surprised smile finding its way onto her features. "Ipté's bottom! Fancy that." She shook her head in disbelief. Method acting, baybay. She paused, halfway to embrace, and canted her head slightly. "You're not..." Her voice sunk a bit and she glanced about surreptitiously. "With them, are you?"

Roslyn's eyes made a quiet glance at where Penny had come from and back to her friend. She didn't know what to think at this point. It was clear on her face through her eyes and the lack of a smile. That dark, unsettling feeling started to bloom in her chest again. Taking a deep breath, she let it clear her head for a moment. She lowered her voice.

"If you mean Ciro and the others, yes. He invited me after finding me spending a bit too long at the bounty boards." Her eyes remained on Penny. "That doesn't explain why you're here."

Penny shrugged. "To kill the beast on behalf of my country and its allies," she replied. "I get the sense that we've got the same goal, but we're kind of on different sides." She began moving again, forcing Roslyn to either follow or be left behind. "I'm headed for the St. Elmo's Fyre there." She gestured with her chin. "I've... encountered those pirates before and they're not to be trusted, but the Marquis has them on a leash and they're the last ship to see the White Thresher."

The answer satisfied Roslyn as she walked next to Penny, listening to her friend continue. Her eyes glanced at the ship that drew closer with each step. At the mention of having met those pirates, her head snapped back to Penny.

"From the sounds of it, your experience with pirates was a little worse than mine." She continued, her own information lined up with Penny's. "I will admit, it is hard to believe someone has a strong enough leash to keep pirates loyal." Roslyn had left out the bit about the Count's request while she continued. She had primarily signed on to kill the beast, not play politics.

Penny did not act upon the invitation to share further. She liked Roslyn well enough, but they were on opposite sides here, and it vexed her. "Oh, they're not loyal," she offered, "just desperate, beaten. The moment they can slip the leash, rest assured they will."

Roslyn glanced down briefly, but her step never stumbled. "That makes sense." She let the silence fall in between them. Her heart rushed back to pound into her ears the closer they came to the dock where the Elmo's gangplank rested.

Then, they were there. A quartet of local guards stood before them and a pair of rough-looking pirates lounged against a stack of barrels closer to the vessel. From its decks could be heard the sounds of chatter and laughter, particularly those of a certain sort of woman. Penny took a moment to plump her lips with a flash of magic, enhance the colour of her eyes, and remove the dirt from under her nails. Sensing the draw of mana, Roslyn glanced her way and her eyes narrowed in confusion. What are you doing? The Perrenchwoman decided against tightening her corset, but compensated by lowering her neckline and hitching her already-short skirt up a bit more. In the young amputee's mind, Roslyn was a much better looking woman than her but, when the former drew any male attention, there was almost always a sense of curiosity about what she looked like beneath the empty side of her skirts. Time to stoke that.

For a moment, she glanced at her friend-turned-opponent and was about to offer the advice to doll up. That was almost certainly their way onboard. She caught herself, however. She would never go so far as to directly sabotage Roslyn, but what happened here could have significant consequences in the future. Whichever side was of greater assistance to Mezegol in this crisis might very well gain their allegiance. Sorry little duckling. It's either sink or swim for you, on your own merits. "You sure you wanna be here, Rosie? It's... dangerous."

"And being tasked with killing a White Thresher isn't?" She cast about for another option, but it seemed there wasn't one. "Besides, I'm not the one carrying children in my belly."

Penny was about to respond, but then they were close to the guards. Swallowing her distaste for the lewd display, she broke into her strut again - the one where her hips swayed back and forth like a cobra. Penny came to a stop in front of the four of them. "Hello boys," she cooed, twirling some hair, "I've received an offer to go have some fun on that ship." She made a show of looking up at it in wonder, leaning forward and twisting until her tits were practically hanging out of her blouse. "Of course, only with your permission, good sirs." She drew back coyly and did her one-legged estimation of a curtsy.

All that time, the Elmo's wounds glared at her: impossibly huge - impossible to have survived without exceptional luck or... something else she could not, at present, determine. She caved momentarily and her eyes flicked Roslyn's way.

The Hendlishwoman had fallen just slightly behind Penny. Still, she followed as she swallowed down the fear. No turning back now... Roslyn realized. She reached back and snapped her hair tie easily. Her long brown hair cascaded down her shoulders, as she shook her head to loosen it a bit. A pretty face could at least avoid some trouble, or so she hoped.

The response was immediate. Roslyn let down her hair and batted her lashes and was a dozen times more effective than Penny could've ever hoped to have been. They were ushered through. I am completely outmatched. She knew it for a certainty. She was not attractive. She had never been and never would be. Ashon, for all of his kind words to the contrary, loved her not because, but in spite of it. What man looks at two women and thinks, 'I want the one with one leg'? The duckling had caught on and Penny was finished.

They made their way to the gangplank and there were two pirates. The roguish, vaguely handsome one gravitated towards Roslyn and the fat drunk settled for Penny. A way on is a way on, she counseled herself. You have Ashon. You love him and he loves you. The pirate's eyes flicked between her chest and the loose, flapping fabric of the left side of her skirt. Fuck you. Fuck you. Fuck you! It was all she could do not to twist on the spot and glare daggers at Roslyn. Fuck your pretty, stupid face! You've never taken even the slightest bit of initiative your entire fucking life! Why now!? You knew exactly what you were doing, too. This was my lead - mine - and you just ran up and stole it! The worst part was not that Roslyn had done so, it was that Penny was utterly helpless to stop her - helpless, just as she had been before Ersand'Enise.

She swallowed and tried to calm herself. Roslyn was not her enemy. Roslyn was her friend, even if they found themselves on opposite sides right now. How could she have doubted that? How could she have begrudged her an honest, non-intrusive attempt to get ahead? How could she have thought such bitter, nasty things!? What need had Penny for male attention anyhow? She was engaged and with child! She found herself wishing that Ashon was here. He'd have known what to do. He'd have come up with some brilliant outside-of-the-box solution and they would've succeeded together.

She met the pirate's eyes for a moment and flipped a switch, an upbringing within the royal family of Perrence equipping her with the ability to do so. "Pick one, hmm?" She smiled challengingly, starting to ascend. "I'm a lil' greedy," the man slurred. "Well no shit," Penny replied, slipping for a moment, "You're a pirate." For a second, his smile fell slack, but then he laughed. "Oh, you gotta wicked sense o' humour!"

Inwardly she grimaced as the line came to her. "Well, I wanted to get off on the right foot. Permission to come aboard?" She batted her eyelashes sweetly and, for a second, she could see the cogs turning behind his eyes. Then he let out another bark of laughter. "Sure! Hop on!"

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F I G H T I N G S H A P E

F I V E

Whatever Roslyn did next was none of Penny's business. There were a half-dozen local girls aboard the St. Elmo's Fyre. A couple had the look of professionals. The others were either out of curiosity or to make a quick buck. A couple of glares were splashed her way, along with a couple of inquisitive looks. More than one evaluated her top to bottom with their eyes. She had her way on, though, and it was enough. Now, to get to the captain or quartermaster without having to do anything more than some harmless flirting and maybe a quick kiss. She set to work.

"So, what's your name, big guy?"

"Oh my gods! That sounds so scary!

"Would you believe me if I told you it was a shark?"

"Well that just means there's more of you to love, right? Hee hee!"

She dragged him about the ship, feeling like the worst sort of fraud the entire time, waiting for him to sober up and lose interest. A couple of pirates snickered. One or two made kissy faces in her direction. Method acting, Penelope. Method acting. You are a strumpet. Be the strumpet. She managed a little twinkle-fingered wave and a blown kiss and continued her tour. If the repairs were ugly, they were effective, and the Fyre appeared to be back in fighting shape, but a quick scan revealed a lack of gunpowder down below and a general shortness of provisions. They were subsisting mostly on hardtack and even alcohol was scarce. Her 'host' must've had a personal stash. It soon became clear that Quincy - yes, that was his name - was trying to lure her towards a more private area of the ship and she was trying to politely resist without making it clear that was what she was doing.

Then, all at once, Penny felt someone's breath on the back of her neck. She started to whirl but was caught around the shoulder by one strong arm. "Well look at you, Easy Access." The intruder's free hand brushed through her skirt and squeezed her legless hip. Fire and ice raced through her veins. She drew energy instinctively and, only a last moment reminder of what she was supposed to be prevented her from blasting him to shreds. "Handsy handsy," she scolded, using a tiny bit of magic to push herself partially free. She turned to face him, and he was a big fellow - at least six-four and built like an ox. "Didn't mama teach you to wait your turn?"

"Hey!" shouted Qunicy, "Yeah, she's mine!"

"Oh, and who would you rather be with?"

Not a rapey pig who just walks up behind girls and reaches under their skirts!

"This little porker?" the big man scoffed.

You are a prostitute. What would you do?

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U L T E R I O R M O T I V E S

S I X

Then, there came the sound of loud, purposeful footsteps and her unwanted admirer's hands fell away. Penny twisted on the spot. "How about neither of you?" declared a commanding voice. It was Captain Falzon. "Fancy seeing you here again, Penny Pellerin."

Of course he would recognize her. "I didn't get enough last time, captain."

The big man began to stammer a protest, but the captain silenced him with a glare. "Don't you have provisions to be moving, Salcedo?" he snapped, before turning his ire on the other. "Quincy, shouldn't you be on station?" Both hurried off presently and the remaining two watched them leave. The captain turned to face her. "Why are you here?"

She regarded him, thinking of the best approach to take, and decided on more-or-less honesty. "Same reason you probably are: to kill the thing that carved up your ship."

"Hah! Ah-haha!" He shook his head. "Still fulla shit a year later, Hopper."

"You can choose to believe it or not, but that's what I'm here to do." By mutual agreement, they began walking.

"Oh, I don't doubt you are, with ulterior motives, but we sure as hell aren't." He shook his head. "Thing already tore us up once and that was enough for one lifetime."

"I don't doubt it," Penny agreed, coming to a stop by a recently repaired gunwale, spare planks and hammer still to be found nearby. "I'm not blind to the wounds on your ship." Presently, she began moving again. "And yet here you are."

"Not of our own free will." He shook his head.

"How unfortunate."

"You just ooze empathy, Pellerin."

"Why thank you!" she chirped in reply, but her face quickly became serious. "Why are you here, then? Arraigned finally?"

The pirate scowled. "Isn't it obvious? We dumped everything, mages pushed themselves to exhaustion creating more wind, and made for the nearest port. Was the only escape."

Penny furrowed her brow. "The white thresher's a bluewater, though, right?"

He nodded, but also shook his head. "Heh. Yeah. Not like any bluewater I've ever seen before, though."

"Why didn't you just go into the shallows somewhere instead of coming into port? You had to have known you were wanted."

He stopped abruptly and leaned against the gunwale. "Why don't you gimme a little credit, kid, huh?" He shook his head, gazing out over the port. "We were taking on water and it's all cliffs around here. Zengali's the only place to land."

"Well, you're alive, at least."

"Aye, and prisoners." He spat over the edge, both he and Penny idly watching the wad sail into the water and land with a small ripple below. "Barely provisioned. They're stringing us along, gonna try to force us to fight."

"And how much of their trade have you disrupted?" she countered. "They don't owe you anything but the gibbet."

"Dami, you're a vicious little thing." He scowled. "It's just another sort of death sentence. We escape the noose and get thrown out in the vanguard against a beast we've no shot of killing." He snorted. "You think the marquis is gonna risk his own people?" He regarded her evaluatively for a moment. "Why do you think you're here?"

"We're from Ersand'Enise. He'd never be stupid enough to view us as disposable."

For a moment, the captain just looked at her. Then, he snorted. "No, I guess not." He shook his head. "Your zenos sent you, then?"

Penny paused before answering. He was trying to bait out a lie, she realized. "We sent ourselves out," she admitted, "two groups, representing Perrence and her allies and Revidia and hers."

"Ah, there's the real play. Anything for the flag, princess."

For a moment, she froze, but it was only a moment. Of course he'd have known. Of course Amelea would've told him. "You wanted honesty. You got it." She shrugged, watching the silhouette of a large fish meander by in the water. "Mezegol is going to be important strategically in the war that we all know is coming. We need to make a good impression to skew them either neutral or over to our side."

"You people and your politics," Captain Falzon spat, "Willing to kill and die for something that isn't even real."

"Maybe not to you, Captain, but I never really had a choice, did I? And the 'unreal' idea of Perrence has moved millions since the time of the Avincians and their feather-duster helmets, one way or another. I'd call that plenty real."

He sighed and waved her off dismissively. "Sure. Whatever." His gaze was starting to become a tired one. "Now, do we have any more to discuss?"

Penny shrugged. "I think we can beat the creature. You survived it before as a single ship. We'll have an entire armada at our disposal, and some of the best young mages in the twin continents. I've seen things you can't imagine, Captain, and I believe the reverse is likely true as well. I've no intention of dying at the claws of an overgrown lobster and I can't bring myself to believe that you've packed it in so easily."

He regarded her evenly. "Mhm?"

"But I don't think waiting until they provision you and then running is your best option."

"Oh isn't it?" he grunted. "Not sure where you got such a daft idea."

She regarded him implacably and he snorted and shrugged. "They'll either blow you out of the water or the beast will get you. Less of us fighting it also means we might not win."

"Some things aren't meant to be overcome by the works of men."

"And yet you said it was like no other bluewater you'd ever seen. Something unnatural about it? Perhaps a Revidian experiment gone wrong?

"Unlikely, but it was fucked up," he admitted, "Bigger than any I've ever seen, moved in a jerky, erratic way, bluish-green gaps in its scales."

Bluish-green, Penny thought, Bluish-green. Then it came to her: that was the colour of threshers' blood! She realized that she'd been silent for a good few seconds, however. "Listen: I'm only asking you to take the lower-risk option that benefits us both. I abided by you in good faith last time, didn't I?" He'd have known very well that he hadn't. Another extended pause ensued, and she could practically feel the captain thinking. "It's about pride, too. They've kept us chained like beasts here, slowly starving us. The men don't wanna work for 'em and I can't blame 'em."

Penny didn't miss a beat. "Little bit of provisions would go a long way, huh?"

"Would," Captain Falzon agreed, "if they weren't ruthless cheap bastards. Exi knows these aren't even our hunting grounds. We never hurt 'em."

"Captain," said Penny, turning to face him in earnest, "I'm going to secure you some things you need - nothing too spicy like weapons - and we're gonna work together."

He scowled and studied her. "'ll think about it," he grunted.

"And I'll get to work." Best to stroke his ego a bit, she thought. Let him think I'm working for him. Toss in a sprinkling of shame. She was already thinking of finding Guy and asking him for something that might tickle a Djamantese.

'We'll see what you can bring."

She didn't try to shake on it. That was not the way here. "Likewise."

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The Hourglass Order

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O N E : T H E P L A N

There was altogether too much talk. If the group's earlier information gathering had borne fruit, then it was a bounty they now struggled to solidify into an actual plan. There had been sightings of Jaxan, up until just before his disappearance, the last of these in the company of a rather posh-looking yasoi woman with one leg. Could it have been Tyrel'yrash? Could he have been taken by the Tarlonese!? Yet, there was one name that kept coming up again and again as they went to gather information: the Cola Brothers. Hence, it was finally decided to cut to the chase. The two leads most likely to bear immediate fruit were the two simplest ones: going in with the ransom and ambushing the kidnappers, and having Abdel's skuggvars follow the scent trail of the severed finger back to the kidnappers' base.

Ashon took point on the first, disguising himself and Seviin as a couple who might pass as Jaxan's wealthy middle-aged parents. Xiuyang travelled with them openly as a security detail, with Lunara and Dory incognito, following at a discrete distance. If their fine clothing didn't provoke an attempt at robbery from Belleville's criminal elements - most likely the Colas - then they would secure Jaxan and ambush his kidnappers at the exchange.

In theory, the second group would meet up with the first, with Qadira and Dayanara following the scent trail from the severed finger. If it was, indeed, Jaxan's, then they would end up at the same place, Abdel using his tethered range to keep track on the others and ensure a timely arrival. He was accompanied by Johann, Niallus, and Oksana, with absolutely zero consideration given to stealth. It would've been futile, after all, with a pair of skuggvars about.

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T W O : T H E S C E N T

The animals were eager to go, and Abdel was hard-pressed to keep them under control. Johann, Oksana, and Niallus provided an escort and, ironically, the Bellvillians appeared warier of them than they did the beasts. It was just as well, for the skuggvars proved eager to investigate a myriad of scents and veer off-course. They stopped by a buudvuud restaurant, they went down to the water to drink, they poked around an empty warehouse and then, finally, they seemed to gain some direction.

Johann found himself hard-pressed to keep up. The skuggvars' tails whipped back and forth, their heads lowered to the ground, and they were suddenly fast. Locals scrambled to get out of their way, perhaps not terrified, but at least somewhat unnerved. A steady diet of treats kept Dayanara and Qadira motivated and, before long, they led their master and his escorts to destination... of sorts. It was all so very easy except that this was not at all what any of them had expected.

A row of townhouses stood before them, lawns neatly manicured, bushes trimmed, and smoke trickling from brick chimneys. The skuggvars circled in on one, in particular, somewhat shabbier than the others, but not remarkably so. Abdel reached out with his energetic senses and sensed four people inside: likely yasoi, of varying ages, including a child. This appeared to be... a family dwelling, nothing more and nothing less, and here he stood with two enormous and intimidating beasts at its doorstep. Dayanara began gurgling and whining, straining gently upon her leash. Qadira joined in, sniffing aggressively in the identified house's direction. Whatever there was to be found, it was here without a doubt.

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T H R E E : T H E A M B U S H

Meanwhile, while Seviin had been somewhat incessant in her misgivings about her and Ashon's ability to pass themselves off without strong illusory magics, these seemed to have proven unfounded as the second group made its way through Belleville. Certainly, some of the locals - human and yasoi alike - glanced their way, but there wasn't any real sense of danger or threat. Children darted and dodged through the milling crowds, stealing glances at the interlopers and dashing off. A dozen languages wafted through the air, along with the familiar scents of cooking, manure, and sawdust. The dorrad sun beat down and the rasping buzz of cicadas could be heard from every spot where there might be tall grass or trees. It might've even been idyllic, in truth, were it not for the very real knowledge that they could be heading into an ambush: either one of their own design or else sprung on them by the unsavoury elements of a place that had been known as 'Mudville' until a scant few months before.

They had their destination. They managed to take a few wrong turns but, eventually, Seviin had them pointed in the right direction. They were walking along, discussing what would come next in hushed tones when all at once, it happened. To be fair, Ashon, his latent timewalker abilities making themselves known, had sensed it moments before. Xiuyang had spotted what appeared to be figures shadowing them. In short, the trio was ready when four figures came barrelling out of an alleyway to hit Seviin with a kinetic slam and gaze of sloth. The priestess was blown backwards but remained on her feet, and Ashon moved to counterattack. Xiuyang took action as well, denying an arcane lance that might've sliced her in two had it landed. There was only one problem: the small coin chest with the ransom sprung loose and clattered to the ground, somehow landing intact and not popping open.

People screamed and swirled back. Such attacks were not rare, but nor were they common either and they were dangerous. The third and fourth members of the attacking quartet reached out with kinetic magic to pull the chest in towards them. It was all on the line right now: call in Dory and Lunara, defeat these assailants, and hope that they were the right ones, or leave this fight - four on three - to Ashon, Seviin, and Xiuyang?

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The Hourglass Order

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The first thing that Kaureerah saw was a cannonball heading straight for her. The eeaiko's eyes widened, her pulse quickened, and she drew aggressively from its kinetic energy, throwing herself to the side in desperation. Then, the cannonball simply stopped, and not by her hand. She let herself fall into the water, tucking in and sliding gracefully beneath the surface.

The same eyes that had widened quickly adjusted to the lessened light. In the near distance, just under a hundred yards away, she could sense a Martello tower and, barely beyond it, an island and an immense slab of... something that had to be the wreck. She wasn't sure who was fighting, but the safest place to be was away from the fight and the wreck was too close to the hot zone. Sighting a larger island to the West, she started to swim, easily outpacing the humans, before pausing and casting about for any in need of help. Maura was managing, but she had a lot to manage. As for the others, she waited, as the pirate ship opened fire and clouds of gunsmoke drifted across the water.

She reached out with her senses and could feel them: dozens of threshers, and there were more out in the rest of the lagoon. An apprehension seized her. Any blood in the water and they'd frenzy. With nobody taking her up on her offer of assistance, Kaureerah reluctantly turned, nerves on fire with fear, and made rapidly for shore, gently punting the laggard of Maura's three crates along with kinetic magic. The water churned with torpedo threshers and she could sense a giant Sandbar moving in the lee of the wreck. Then, she was moving in a different direction and it wasn't her concern.

She came ashore on a sandy beach, plopping down beneath a coconut tree before stopping to take stock of the others. "Ewey!" she shouted, waving the lauboos aggressively onto shore. "Te wauter's fooll auf treshers!" She reached out again and, for a second, thought she had sensed something more, but it was just her paranoia. Clearly, it had to be. In the background loomed the immense bulk of the derelict, impressive even from this range. The ships began to fire a second volley, and there was a small explosion on the deck of the big Virangish one. She began a headcount. Maura, Marz, Mahal, Tku... That was it. She vaguely remembered Zast, Fiske, and Raffie breaking off in different directions, and it occurred to her that the latter was Virangish, along with Ren. Had the other two gone for the pirate ship or the tiny islet with the wreck? From what she knew of them, they might be the type to do either.

Having retreated further up onto shore, Kaureerah seated herself on a large rock. "Well, she added shakily, "Thees ees te sefest wee'll get, baut Eye doon't theenk wee're eloone."

The Hourglass Order

^{_{~ 🙡}} 𝄋 ^{_{🙣 ∽}}

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"Sing me a song, you're a singer. Do me a wrong, you're a bringer of evil..." Who could say what the angel's name was, and his song could scarcely be heard above the rattle of the chains. It carried all of the way up the great vaulted marble halls. "While the thrashing does add something of an aesthetic, mister Kavanaugh, I'll have you know that it shall work against you come judgement time." They had taken Tommy's voice and bound him in chains. The only resistance he could offer was to thrash, and it came naturally to him as it might a fish hauled up into the unfamiliar environment of a boat from its watery home. After a moment, the cherub began dragging him along again. At least the accursed singing had stopped. He had opted for humming instead.

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"Good morning, your honour. The tall, beautiful angel of Ipté bowed deeply. Was it morning here? Who could say where the light came from... "This court will plainly show that the accused who now stands before you is guilty of the following fifty-seven crimes:" She cleared her throat and each one of Tommy's crimes against love, kinship, and beauty flashed before the court in every agonizing detail. "And yet, in his latter days, he learned to love. He held some care for his friends." A much shorter show played itself out before the five hooded figures who perched atop the dais in the distance. Still, he was muted. Still, he could not speak. There was an extended pause where only his actions could speak for him, and they were sorely wanting.

The figure on the left stood, and she was Edyta. She gazed upon him with hard eyes and, still, he could not speak. "We find the accused guilty on thirty-nine counts minus eight. We sentence him to a hell without love or beauty. May Shune have mercy on his soul." There was no an ounce of mercy to it.

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"You were closer than we thought you'd be," the cherub allowed, dragging Tommy to the next of the Hourglass Courts. "Thirty one out of fifty-seven counts. Only three away from heaven." He grunted, the chains rattling again. Had the thrashing stopped? That was entirely up to the condemned. "Shune next. You're in with a shot, you know."

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"Good morning, your honour." The lanky angel of Shune cleared his throat. "This court will plainly show that the accused who now stands before you is guilty of the following thirty-four crimes." Tommy's lies, moments of idiocy, and refusals to learn displayed themselves in no less depth and detail than his crimes against Ipté earlier. "However," the angel allowed, "He has shown some curiosity. He has asked questions and explored for information. He has learned how to learn." Some of his better moments played themselves out within the grand hall and the cowled figure at the right end of the five revealed himself to be Johann. He frowned and pondered before speaking. "We find the accused guilty on twenty-six counts minus ten. We grant him entrance to the heaven of learning."

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"Told you you were in with a chance, boy. Didn't I?" Perhaps Tommy was no longer being dragged. "You need three out of the five, you know. Everything here works on simple majority." He jangled the chains. "Well, come on. We haven't got all day."

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The second figure on the left stepped forward. It was still fresh in Tommy's head - all of it: the other kids shanked in a back alley, the fingers and jaws broken, the killing. Lady Avis' face had not left his mind's eye and there she was, the hooded figure. She was as impassive as any of the others and, yet, not so. "We declare the accused guilty of forty crimes against life, minus nothing." She regarded him unflinchingly. "We sentence him to burn for all eternity in hellfyre and death." Imperious, she concluded. "May Eshiran have mercy on his soul."

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"I knew you were rough," the cherub remarked, "but I didn't think you were such a rotten one." He shook his head and, still, Tommy could not speak. Did he squirm a bit now? Did he thrash? "One more, and it's hell for you," the angel said evenly. "Both and there's no escaping." Eshiran was not long in coming.

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It all came down to Eshiran. "Good afternoon, your honour." The tall, muscled pentangel bowed rigidly. "This day, we shall weigh the actions of the accused and determine if he is worthy or if he is a miserable coward and senseless killer." He twisted to regard the youth evaluatively before returning his gaze to the five hooded figures. "He stands accused of twelve counts of cowardice and senseless slaughter." They played themselves out as if they were true life, but there was nothing Tommy could say in his defense. "But he has been brave, as well, repeatedly. Often, he has shed blood for reasons that made sense in his situation." Tommy had to hope that those were enough. From the shadowed cowl emerged Desmond and he, too, was dispassionate. "We find him worthy of a warrior's heaven." He nodded, and there was - finally - a hint of a smile.

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"All down to Dami, isn't it, kid?" The cherub interrupted his humming and, after a few moments, began singing again. "The devil is never a maker. The less that you give, you're a taker..." Tommy could hear every echo of his voice, every footstep, and every rattle of the chains against the towering marble pillars, those impassive floors and pillars, that ceiling so far above his reach. He had seen not a single other soul his entire time here.

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There was no angel of Dami to stand beside Tommy and present his greatest failures and accomplishments. Even the cherub had backed off after prostrating himself, disappearing... the youth wasn't quite sure where. Instead, the central of the five shadowy figures rose. He rose and... continued to do so, spilling over the edge like a thin, oily waterfall of blackness, rising up towards the ceiling until he towered over everything else in the room. "You have been measured," declared a great, booming voice. "Your choices. Your justice. You judgement." He seemed to be leaning forward, over and above Tommy, and still, strangely, his face could not be seen. There was no reenactment this time. "You have been weighed in all measures of your being," he thundered, "and found wanting."

The ceiling began to black and swirl. A fiery glow began to emanate from it. "I consign thee to hell, Thomas Kavanaugh, where thou shalt burn until such time as thou art cleansed of the stench of sin from the disappointing life thou hath led." The hood fell back to reveal Tommy's own face, regarding him with unnerving disdain. His voice was returned to him in that moment, but it made no difference. Dami's judgement was final and absolute. The swirling vortex of the ceiling pulled him in. That was the last that he saw. That was the last thing that happened to him.

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They had gotten it wrong! That had to be it! Instead of a burning hell or empty void of madness, Tommy had awoken on a field of soft green grass and dandelions. There was a faint smell of Stresia in the air, and birds chittering among the trees. He might've pinched himself to make sure that it wasn't some accursed hallucination, but he'd felt pain: real pain - just a little flash of it. For how long he was unsure, he simply wandered about, across endless green fields, through copses of trees, and across babbling brooks and streams. The sun warmed his skin. The wind ruffled his hair. If there was one thing missing, it was other people. He had seen not a single soul and, for a moment, there was some apprehension. He had been sentenced to hell, hadn't he? Was this it? The perfection was empty without companionship? Was this Ipté's Hell?

The sun began to dip, growing fat and golden, and it struck Tommy that he was rather thirsty. He would have to eat as well. Hunting was something that he could do. If he hadn't been trained in it like some of those noble kids, it couldn't have been that hard, could it? In the distance, as the sun's golden rays filtered through the tall grass, he caught sight of a creek winding its way through a small valley. Managing a light jog, he made it there in what he assumed was a couple of minutes. Surely it wasn't poisoned or full of parasites. Tommy was no master of chemical magic, but he couldn't sense anything wrong with the water and he was dead anyhow. He crouched on a rock, reached down, and cupped his hands, filling them with water. He lifted it to his lips and drank. Without thinking, he drank again, and some more.

His lips were still dry. His tongue remained sticky and his throat rough. A growing alarm rising inside of him, he took a slow, cautious sip. The water... felt like water, but it was only superficial. Beyond a feeling and a taste, it seemed to do... nothing. It gave him nothing. It was nothing. He sat back on the grass, only then beginning to realize the true nature of this hell.

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^{_{~ 🙡}} 𝄋 ^{_{🙣 ∽}}

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Edyta Laska did not remember closing her eyes. She did not remember anything after biting the apple. She looked around and... well, she certainly wasn't in Ersand'Enise anymore. An idyllic wilderness stretched out before her eyes: hills and mountains, seas of trees and great green valleys. Throughout wound sparkling rivers, while opulent lodges perched on the hillsides. In the distance lay a great coliseum. She craned her neck to get a better look at it, and that was when she realized that she was a direstork.

She let out an alarmed squawk and flapped her wings. This had to be some sort of dream or... No, it wasn't! This was the back door into the heaven of Lord Eshiran. She could still think as if she were a woman and not a beast. This was the eternal hunt! She and... she twisted in her unfamiliar body to regard the honey badger relaxing in some nearby brambles - Desmond!? If she had been reformed as an animal in order to slip into this heaven, then... that had to be him, right? Oddly, she did not feel as awkward in this form as she should have. She hopped back a few steps and found it easy to cover ground. Direstorks were enormous birds, after all. Experimentally, she flapped her wings a couple of times and Honey Badger Desmond twisted to regard her. He snuffled around a bit, scratching at something with his paws, and rose.

Then, just as she was wondering how in Eshiran's green heaven they might communicate, there came a familiar sound echoing across the grassy hills: a gunshot, and then another. This was the hunt, and they were the beasts! Desmond's stubby little ears had perked up and he let out a long hissing growl. If only you'd been reformed here as a gun. Would've been oddly appropriate, Direstork Edyta thought to herself, and useful. she swallowed. What to do? Where to even begin!?

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The Hourglass Order

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It was a most unlikely sight: more than a half-dozen students of the school jumping into the water. Anyone who had seen fit to watch them might've been alarmed, for they leapt into Hedda's Lake from a rock on the island and they did not resurface. Fortunately, there were few about the Arboretum at this early hour, when the sun was only just beginning to reach its glowing rays across the landscape of Ersand'Enise. Crate after crate went in after the students: was it junk or something more? None but the eight - or were there nine? - who'd leapt in knew. Whatever they may have contained, the crates, too, disappeared beneath the surface of the glorified pond in the Arboretum.

High Zeno Giancarlo Silvestri, head of the Archaeology Department at the Academy of Thaumaturgy, watched for a moment longer from beneath the small gazebo there. Then he turned, hands clasped behind his back, and walked away.

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It was day ten of the standoff and the fingers of night crept across Moatu Suva. They started from Mauna Hekili and, as it cast its great shadow across Taoranga, the townspeople began to pack up for the night ahead. Next came the foothills of the main island, then those of the smaller ones, the tallest trees and buildings, then humbler things. Before those, however, came the the vast shadow that the moku make nui - the great hulk that lay off half-grounded on Mehameha - cast across this place. Before those, however, came the dark, skeletal shapes of the foreign ships' masts that had taken up residence in the lagoon, right beside the giant wreck.

The private contractors of Virang's Royal Asper Salvage Co., the soldiers of the Tarlonese empire, and the levies of the Diamyo of Toishima all clutched their guns, peered through their spyglasses, and paced anxiously. Threateningly close to each lurked the other and, finally, the Pyrates. The infamous Blue Adam of Mycormii unabashedly flew its flag, and there were more, anchored in the outer reaches of the island chain: waiting. The great bounty of threshers, uncaring as to the activities of their terrestrial neighbours, churned up the waters in their month-long mating orgy as the sun set and the winds began to pick up.

And then, unassumingly, it happened. They'd been so used to being 'on edge' that they were not truly on edge anymore. It took them a moment to notice but, when they did, shouts erupted on the decks of all three of the Asper ships. The Blue Adam, with no notice or warning, had unfurled its great black sails and caught the brisk evening wind. It was, that very moment, closing the gap at an alarming rate.

Bells rang and torches were lit. "She's underway!"

"Pyrates! East' Nor'east! Closin' fast!"

The bells were desperate. "All hands! All hands! People rushed up from below decks, groggy, dishevelled, and half-dressed.

Still, the Blue Adam closed. "Reports!" shouted a tall bearded man in an impeccable uniform and a feathered hat, still doing up the top handful of his buttons. "Where are my sails?" he shouted. "Helm!?" He scowled as sailors climbed into the rigging to give answer to his first question. "Gunnery!"

"We'll be underway in moments, Captain, sir!"

Metin Çelik, Captain of the Altın Oğul, finished with his buttons and held out a hand for his spyglass. "Damned knife-ears," he muttered. "What're they playing at?"

He looked over his shoulder, spotting the great hulk in the near distance. The three Asper ships had taken up positions closest to it, cutting off any others from reaching the wreck but, when they'd tried to board, the pirates and locals both had fired warning shots and the Tarlonese had moved in closer, to the edge of gunnery range. Now, the Nikanese had arrived as well. If the Royal Asper Salvage Company could outgun any single other party, they could not outgun them all. He shifted his lookout to the Güçlü Adam. There was movement on deck, but they were not even close to getting underway. "Anything from the Dalgıç and Güçlü?"

"Nothing yet, sir!"

"Flags, Balık! Tell them to get underway! Head her off!" Metin did not like being caught off-guard like this. He liked not knowing what the Blue Adam was up to even less. They couldn't possibly be considering an attack. They might outgun any one of the Virangish ships, but all three would massacre them. "Guns!" he ordered. "All guns! Signal the Dalgıç and Güçlü! We need everything!"

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His people moved through the rigging with a grace, speed, and silence that their human counterparts could never have hoped to. It was because of their excellence that the Bish'Audam had caught its rivals cold. Now, the famed Mycormish pyrates, half a world away from their home, surged forward at a breakneck pace, cutting through the dusky waters on their way to the score of - potentially - a lifetime.

Anthal'dyros'tormiiyei, boatswain and son of the captain, perched on the bowsprit, eyes alight in anticipation. Holstered across his chest and at his hip were six pistols and a dagger. At his back lay the two hundred tons of the vessel known to yanii as the 'Blue Adam'. Smoke ribboned away rapidly from the pipe clenched between his teeth and the young pyrate grinned wickedly. This was when he could feel her - the ship: her every dip and rise, the tremble of her timbers, the thump of the ocean waves beneath her hull. His hair billowed in the wind and Ocean spray wet his cheeks. The grin became content and he rose.

Nimbly, the young pyrate raced down the bowsprit, dodging the jib, and sprung onto the deck. Beneath his feet, the deck was rumbling as cannons were loaded and shifted in preparation. The dash'teloi gunports creaked open and, not so far away from where he stood, the anchor was being readied. "Aye, yeh lazy sea rats! Tighten up the t'gallant! She's flappin' about like Enoxii in Amato!"

A chorus of affirmations, laughs, and jeers rained back his way and he strode on towards the quarterdeck, where he could see his father. "Cap'n."

"Junior." They exchanged nods. Meanwhile, the three Aspers were getting underway, the big one - the Altın Oğul - hanging back a bit and arraying its guns against them in broadside while its smaller peers moved to cut off the Audam's approach. "Yeh see that, boy-o? They wanna play chicken with us! Hah! Haha!" He shook his head.

"Others running on clock?"

"Clocked as ol' Roger last I checked."

"Hey Sanette!" Anthal called out to a figure sitting cross-legged and close-eyed near the stern. When there was no reply, he raised his voice. "Your ears crippled too, now?"

The eyes - an eerie periwinkle - flashed open. "I am concentrating, hyco'moila. It isn't easy to speak to people over miles of water and all your Ypti-cursed noise."

"Ah, it's just your social skills!" He bounded over. "Where are the others right now?"

She smiled devilishly. "Why don't you take out daddy's spyglass and look for yourself?"

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The Adam was heading straight for the Dalgıç and Güçlü but, even if they somehow breached the Aspers' perimeter, what could they hope to do? They'd be surrounded. All three ships were underway now, but the Adam was hardly more than a couple hundred yards out and closing. Did it mean to ram one of the xebecs!?

Then, it came to him. "Crowsnest!" the captain shouted. "Get me eyes on both ends of Pelolia!" His order was relayed swiftly. "Guns ready!" For this, he used the Gift to amplify his voice.

"They can't truly mean for a pitched battle, sir," murmured Balık. "Pyrates never..."

"Likely not, but if they breach our perimeter, we don't hesitate. Are we clear?"

She swallowed and nodded, pretty young daughter of some Emir that she was. "Crystal, sir."

"Warning shot, Solak!" the captain ordered and, within the next few seconds, it was threading its way mere feet past the Dalgıç and splashing into the water short of the Adam's bow. Then, Aksoy rushed up, breathless. "Lookouts report more pyrates, sir! Nor an' South o' Pelolia!"

"Öjeran-damned cowards!" Captain Çelik hissed. "Balık!"

"Sir!"

"Signal the Dalgıç and Güçlü: part for the Adam and then close. We'll trap her 'tween our flanks and she'll have only her chasers." (see here)

The first officer nodded and rushed off to carry out the order. Flags were raised. Still, the Adam closed and, now, Metin could see individual figures on the decks. All about him, the Altın Oğul was a hive of activity: sails being adjusted, guns being loaded - even the deck carronades - and mages pulling in all the energy they could from their surroundings.

Still the Adam closed. The Güçlü began to draw back.

There was no missing the sheer power of the casters aboard that Mycormishman and they would surely enhance their shot. For a moment, the captain wondered if it was truly worth risking death here, in some colonial backwater, subcontracted out to a crown corporation, for the sake of this wreck. the thought passed quickly, though Even if this was not a navy ship, he was a navy man and had been since his eleventh birthday.

The Adam was mere meters and seconds from impact. Desperately, the Dalgıç started to turn. The sheer balls on these fucking knife-ears! The captain shook his head. Brave, foolish, or something else, they were about to pay for it. "Men, steady!" he bellowed, as the Adam and its crew of shouting, mocking pirates squirted through the gap, plowing straight towards the Altın Oğul.

Immediately, the thiis'elaaz slewed sharply, her bow nearly static and stern swinging hard to port. "On my mark!" He raised an arm, eyes wide in fear, fury, and the sheer desire to make these cocky bastards eat lead. "She's comin' about!" rose the shouts. "How in the six hells!?"

"Öjeran spare us."

"Öjeran spare them!!"

"Vaşdal akbar!"

"Vaşdal akbar!!" It rose as a war cry.

"Fire!!!"

All twenty-eight cannon aboard the Altın Oğul unleashed a withering broadside. The cannonballs hurtled towards the Bish'Audam. It was at this precise moment, in between the two ships, that a rip in space and time opened. It was at this precise moment that eight - or perhaps nine - biros of Ersand'Enise appeared.

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R E S O U R C E S

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Moatu Suva

Mission Particulars

D E T A I L S

1. On this mission: Maura, Fiske, Tku, Marz, Raffie, Kaureerah, Zast, Mahal, Ren
2. Chapter Deadline: Wednesday, April 10, 2024, 6:00 PM EST
3. The Rolls: All characters rolled high enough to avoid being hit, though Rem and Kaureerah will have to actively dodge.

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