“Risa! Git yer lazy arse movin’ an’ do sumthin’ fer once!”

The woman glanced down past her feet to the deck as she swayed precariously above in the rigging, one foot hooked around the thick ropes the only thing keeping her from what she could only assume would be an unpleasant fall, and gave the pock-faced firstmate below a toothy grin. “[color=6ecff6]I’ll remember those words the next time three Venatrian galleons come bearing down on us. Then we’ll see what me doing nothing is[/color],” she threatened lightly, but started scampering farther up the netting towards the topsails anyway. 

[i]The Snap Deceit[/i] was abuzz in what could only be described as controlled chaos as everyone rushed about furling sails and preparing the ship to dock. The vast majority of the forty-four man crew were Saryian, so to say the deck and rigging were awash in a truly spectacular and dizzying display of colorful clothing and sparkling gems and gold dripping off bodies may just have been an understatement. Risa might as well have been a sparrow in a tree full of parrots in her bright lavender and orange, bare of any traditional desert jewelry. 

The port of Apulum loomed before them as the ship sliced its way through the waves the rest of the way to dock with only the slightest guidance from the helmsman and those manning the oars. The energy from the crew was almost palpable; they had lots of money to spend and only a few days to do it. [i]The Snap[/i] had actually already been been at anchor for several days a few miles from the farthest reaches of the coastal town, but not the actual port. There was a lovely, inconspicuous cove there where the ship was unburdened with its more… sensitive goods, before coming into Apulum proper. Parisa always found port officials to be an exceptionally boorish bunch when it came to what may or may not be coming into their cities without documentation.  

There were more than a few curious gazes as [i]The Snap Deceit[/i] came to rest from the dockworkers there. They recognized the ship, what with the notorious smuggling ship’s name emblazoned in bold and bloody red on the her hull. But why not? Nobody could pace her at sea, not with Parisa wheeling the winds into a fervent pitch at any sign of real trouble. And nobody could pin them down at port as all contraband items were always conveniently absent. So why not add a bit to the legend by throwing it in peoples’ faces? Her captain knew how to walk the thin line between lucrative dangers and deadly idiocy. 

[i]Speak of the Death God,[/i] Risa thought as she spied the impressively curly mustached Saryian making his way towards the newly lowered gangplank, doling out duties and supervising as men began hauling crates off the ship. Hopefully he’d spare her tonight as the first night aground was always the best party and she remembered the local little fisherman’s tavern near the docks served a decent grog: The Cracked Mast. She could use a drink…


____________________________________


...Risa never wanted to see another drop of alcohol again. She hadn’t even drank that much, but she couldn’t say the same for the rest of [i]The Snap[/i]’s crew. There was so much piss and vomit in the crew quarters that she woke up gagging this afternoon and had to go above deck to cleanse herself from it. She closed her eyes and took another long drag of the sea air, letting the cool tanginess settle in her throat instead.

After awhile the woman cracked an eye open at the sound of booted steps walking towards her. A curly mustache greeted her as her burly captain settled down next to her on the deck. “Still considering going to the Valens girl about the tournament?” He asked casually, though she knew he had a lot at stake every time she had any ideations of leaving his crew.

She smirked and quirked a brow. “[color=6ecff6]Worried, Boss?[/color]” The mage hadn’t realized he’d been within earshot when after hearing some fishermen talking about the noble’s search for fresh bodies she’d drunkenly boasted that she could toss any competition around like leaves in the wind. She’d been joking at first, but then couldn’t stop thinking that after seven years being aboard [i]The Snap Deceit[/i] it was starting to get too ordinary. There couldn’t be too much more of the sea that she could experience at this point, but there were still thrills to be had inland.

“Nah,” he lied, “You might go a wandering, lass, but you won’t be gone long. Storm mages belong with the sea. Besides,” he added wryly, “I know how you and nobles get on.”

Risa snorted a laugh in a very unladylike fashion, “[color=6ecff6]I think I can deal with one if I can get paid and famous to kill others.[/color]” She looked back out towards the water and fell silence for a few moments, a rare occurrence to be certain, until she came to a conclusion in her mind. “[color=6ecff6]Fuck it[/color],” the woman pushed herself to her feet. [i]The Snap[/i] wasn’t even planning on leaving Apulum until the tournament was over anyway. Parisa could compete and at the end of it all she wanted to go back to ocean, she’d just leave. “[color=6ecff6]I’m going to do it.[/color]”


___________________________


After telling the rest of the crew her plan (and fielding so much shit for it that she could have planted acres of crops), Risa decided that the tavern filthy clothes she had been wearing since the night before were probably not the best thing to wear to meet a noblewoman. Now normally she wouldn’t have given two licks about what was appropriate but her plan kind of hinged on the other woman letting her fight. So she cleaned herself up as best she could and changed into a loosely collared shirt the color of the sky overhead, her leather jerkin and vambraces secured tightly overtop, and cream colored leggings that were the easiest thing to move in besides not wearing pants at all. 

Her glaive was the last thing she grabbed, slinging it across her back via the looping metal chain around it, before saying goodbyes to her mates. They assured her that they’d come see her at the tournament, if only to laugh at her when she died a horrible, non permanent death and slinked home. The assholes. She went on her way after throwing them some lewd hand gestures.

Apulum wasn’t too large of a city, but because of the influx of people arriving to watch and participate in the games it took Risa a good bit more time than she originally anticipated to make it to House Valens. Of course, she never moved at anything faster than a saunter the whole way and she may have detoured at a merchant cart that was selling sweets. She might have also have had to give herself a mental kick in the ass to continue forward once House Valens actually came into view.  It took her most of her life to grow the metaphorical balls big enough to slip Jabir’s leash and now here she was offering herself up on a silver platter to another noble; she must really be as insane as they say.

But she still gave the two guards manning the main gates her slyest smile as she hooked her thumbs casually onto her belt. “[color=6ecff6]I heard your lady was desperate enough to send out an open call for fighters,[/color]” Risa said sweetly. She spoke the Venatrian tongue with a surprising fluidity, her accent rolling the words like a ship on the wind tossed sea. 

“You want to fight in the tournament?” One asked incredulously.

“[color=6ecff6]Well, I do have this[/color],” she said indicating the glaive poking over her shoulder with a turn of her head, “[color=6ecff6]the pointy end is pretty sharp… Or so it seemed the last time I ran a Venatrian through with it.[/color]” Rise shrugged as both guards’ eyes narrowed, one from anger and the other skeptically, but they still let her inside. The Lady Valens [i]must[/i] be desperate, she thought letting her smile settle into its normal crookedness as she meandered through the well groomed grounds behind her escorts.

It appeared Risa was hardly the first to arrive, though the group made her amend her previous thought to very desperate. The first thing she noticed was that there was the beast; a mongrel. She’d never actually seen one before, but knew it by the stories she’d heard. The thing looked wicked like a creature from the depth of Akzum’s nightmares to torture those he finds unfit. All molted fur and gnarly features. She gave no outward reaction, but her insides revolted and she gave the thing wide berth even as she stepped brassily into the courtyard fully.

Next were a handful of giant, ham-fisted northerners that could probably just use those meaty hands instead of the huge bludgeoning weapons they had to beat people to death with. A smaller, female one seemed to have the same type of killing in mind, though the book on her side and air about her gave off a tinge of magic. 

After there were two other men and a woman a bit darker complexed: Venatrian or Markothi. The younger of the two men… if his equal parts hard muscle and soft skin were any indication, he had noble blood in him. The other had a roguish quality somewhat similar to her own and she couldn’t be sure whether that was a good thing or not. And the woman, the woman was three sheets to the wind and halfway to the next. [i]Akzum put her out of her misery now,[/i] she thought chuckling even as the noblewoman ate shit at the refreshment table. The tournament started in [i]hours[/i]. What in all the hells was she thinking?

Lastly Risa’s attention turned to her own countrymen standing off to the side, the boy and the man he stood demurely besides. A slave, clearly. Anger sparked in her eyes and they snapped to the man draped head to toe in darkness. She cocked her head and the anger gave way to sneaking suspicion. So she approached the pair with a smile despite the other going-ons and bent at the knee to be at an even height with the boy as she reached them. She pulled a few of her previously procured sweets out of her pocket. 

“[color=6ecff6]Hello, I’m Risa[/color],” she greeted in commoner Sariyan and held out the candy to him. “[color=6ecff6]Would you like a sweet, Jun?[/color]” she asked, calling him their language’s equivalent to ‘dear.’ Then she looked up towards his master with eyes somehow wide with innocent inquiry even as her lips pulled into a smirk. “[color=6ecff6]That is, of course, if your master says it’s alright.[/color]” He may be well very well disguised to foreigners, but Parisa was Saryian and would be damned if she couldn’t tell an undead when she saw one; especially one covered head-to-toe in the Death God’s color.