She moved like a shadow through the narrow corridor of the airship, her steps synchronized with the creak and sway of the vessel as it cut through the clouds. The ambient hum of arcane engines filled the silence, a soft thrum beneath her feet that made every sharp sound all the more noticeable. Talis’ retreating steps echoed ahead—light, frantic, and almost guilty.

Meiyu’s lips curled into a smile, slow and serpentine. Run, little sparrow. I’ll be right behind you.

She followed at a measured pace, soundless as mist, the soft rustle of her silks lost in the groan of shifting metal and the occasional hiss of steam. She was close, close enough to taste the tension hanging off the girl like perfume.

And then…

thump thump thump thumpTHUMPTHUMP—

Meiyu froze. Her head cocked like a predator catching scent.

What in the nine hells…?

It sounded like a panicked creature barreling up the hallway behind her. Without hesitation, Meiyu slipped through the nearest open doorway which seemed to be a dimly lit storage room lined with items for the bathroom. She pressed her back against the wall, obscured by shadow, her breath held in practiced stillness.

It was the odd pink haired elf girl that was at the bar with the shifter man. Meiyu resisted the urge to sigh, her expression remaining composed, save for the faintest twitch of amusement at the corner of her mouth.

Of course.

She waited, listening as the strange pair continued on, Talis practically vibrating with anxiety, and Phia fluttering behind her like chaos in pink. Once the soft creak of the lavatory door reached her ears, Meiyu stepped out from the storage room without a sound, her expression smoothing into something blank and unreadable.

Curious, she thought. Two critters. One little mystery.

She approached the lavatory door with unhurried grace and, without knocking, slipped inside.

The door closed behind her with a whispering click, louder than it should’ve been in that cramped space. She stood there, just inside the entrance, her back now against it. Blocking it.

“...Oh, good,” she said softly, her voice smooth as silk and just as cold. “I was beginning to feel left out.”

Her gaze slid over Phia only briefly, like a cat acknowledging a fly, before her eyes—dark, gleaming, unblinking—locked on Talis.

Predator to prey.

She smiled, the expression gentle and empty all at once. “So. What did I miss?”

Come on, little sparrow. Show me what you're hiding.

And if the pink haired squirrel got in the way?

Well… accidents did happen aboard airships.

Location: The Place of Biological Release
Interaction: @Tae Meiyu @princess Phia

---

Talis paused mid-splash, blinking water from her lashes as Phia stepped closer.

“You’re washing away the sweat of your terror. I hope you are not afraid of me.”

She froze, water still dripping from her fingertips, then let out a laugh that sounded more like a cough and a hiccup colliding.

“No no, not at all, I’m just… you know, terrified of everything else. Entirely unrelated. You’re lovely. It’s fine.”

She grabbed a towel and started dabbing at her face with frantic little pats, as if she could press the fear right out of her pores. Her reflection in the mirror was wild-eyed and red-faced, hair still frizzing from stress and sink humidity. She gave it a tight little smile that said, we’re trying our best.

As she looked over to Phia…for a brief, shining moment, it felt like she could actually breathe again. Phia was odd, yes, but kind. Gentle in a strange, floaty way. Maybe she wasn’t alone in this strange nightmare of an airship. Maybe she could even relax a little.

The click of the door behind them echoed like a thunderclap.

Talis turned, shoulders lifting like they were trying to cover her ears. Her eyes went wide. Her stomach dropped.

The snake woman.

Standing in the doorway like a shadow given purpose. Smiling like the kind of person who complimented your necklace while imagining how to use it as a garrote.

“...Oh, good. I was beginning to feel left out.”

Talis made a sound. Not a word. Just a faint squeak that may or may not have originated in her soul.

“So. What did I miss?”

Talis opened her mouth and something came out, something not entirely chosen by her brain.

“THE BEANS!!!” she blurted, eyes wild. “From this morning. They are… staging a full-scale revolt. It’s a siege situation. Intestinally. I must go. I’m so sorry.”

She turned on her heel and practically dove into the nearest stall, slamming the door behind her with enough force to rattle the coat hook. The lock clicked into place a moment later, followed by the rustle of cloth and a quiet, whispered gasp of pure panic.

She sat on the closed lid, knees tucked up, arms wrapped tight around her satchel as if it might float her away from all of this.

Please go away please go away please go away. Her thoughts spun like a wheel on ice. I cannot die in a bathroom. Not today. Not like this.

She shut her eyes and tightened her grip on the bag.

Maybe if I’m quiet enough they’ll just forget I was ever here.

“Please, I’m made of sterner stuff than that. Unlike some people who claim they’re four-fifty but complain like they’re ancient.”

Dry words, controlled voice; defiant eyes, flushed cheeks. A miniscule, almost imperceptible, smirk tugged on Scaerthrynne’s lips. Callendra had quite the reaction to his remark. Had he touched a nerve? Perhaps trodden upon something she’d rather keep hidden? Regardless, it was interesting, and he scribbled a note in his mind to investigate further should he have the time, or opportunity, in future.

But for now, he had work to do.

“I could just be two-fifty, and I’d still be ancient compared to most of you,” he replied with a wry laugh. “And I’ve heard humans talk about watching their health at the youthful age of fifty, or even forty. I’d like to think that I’ve earned the right to complain about some things.”

Leaving the exchange at that, he gave Vallena a slight nod. The girl nodded back with an eager smile. The two of them then followed Callendra away from the bar, and deeper into the bowels of the airship.

Scaerthrynne stayed about a half-dozen steps behind the Chief Deck Officer, mainly so that he could keep an eye on Vallena. The girl skipped and bounded her way between the two adults, her large eyes taking in everything around her, even though she’d likely seen everything at least a thousand times before. The few passengers she twirled around and slipped past, and the many who had to get out of her way, could easily be forgiven for believing her to be a child on their first passage by airship.

“Careful, Val,” the dark elf called out, more half-heartedly than not, as she almost ran into a lady. A chuckle breathed through his lips, and he shook his head. Vallena was still just a child; she could be allowed some degree of good-hearted wildness outside of her work.

And he had to admit, her childish wonder, and her seemingly inexhaustible pool of energy was…

Well, it was quite a thing. Sometimes a bad thing, but in this case, it was a refreshing thing.

The deeper they ventured into the Stormrider, however, and the farther they left gleaming fixtures and idle chatter behind, in favour of tarnished brass and mechanical humming, the more cautious and timid Vallena became. She clutched her bandaged arm close to her chest, her eyes gazing at the hissing pipes snaking along the ceiling and running down the walls, as she kept herself close to Scaerthrynne. “There’s really hot steam in them.” Her whispered words were loud within such close confines.

“That, they do,” Scaerthrynne replied and patted her on the head. “That’s why I keep telling you to be very, very careful when you’re here, not that you listen.”

Vallena scratched her wound over her sleeve and bandages. “I’ll be careful from now on, Scratch.”

“We’ll see about that,” the dark elf replied with a smirk. “I wonder what it’ll be next time. A leg? Your face?”

“It’ll be nothing!” Vallena protested with a whine. “Then I’ll prove to you that I do listen! And you’ll be so, so proud of me, just you wait, Scratch!”

Scaerthrynne chuckled. “You know what, Val? I just might, if that ever happens.”

He swept his gaze over the walls, ceilings, fixtures, just about everything as they walked. Not a single rune or stretch of arcane circuitry, no matter how small or short, passed his notice. All seemed to be in order, as they should be. The air was getting cooler, and the airship’s hum sounded just right. Every runic array was arranged correctly, their individual runes glowing and pulsing healthily. None of the arcane circuits seemed to be broken, or close to breaking. That was satisfactory. Scaerthrynne could never be too careful with this airship – state-of-the-art and brand-new, to him, also came with state-of-the-art and brand-new problems.

Before long, the three of them reached the entrance to the cargo hold. “Here we are.” Was that unease on Calldnera’s face, when she turned to face him? Or just general discomfort? Vallena didn’t seem to notice a thing, but Scaerthrynne certainly did. “The cargo hold – whatever triggered the ping should be just beyond this door.”

Well, whatever it was that he thought he saw, it could wait.

“Let’s get this over with then,” Scaerthrynne said and approached the door. He did, however, pause to give Callendra a pat on the shoulder, similar to what he did to Vallena whenever the girl felt nervous. “I wouldn’t worry, Venn. It’s nothing we can’t handle. Probably. I’ll go first, then Val, and then you just follow behind us and make sure the girl doesn’t touch anything she shouldn’t.”

“I promise I’ll try not to!” Vallena piped up, perhaps a little unhelpfully.

Scaerthrynne sighed and shook his head. He said nothing else as he quickly manipulated the runes in just the right way to momentarily dispel the wards, and unlocked the heavy latch. Metal ground loudly against metal, ending with a sonorous thud. Putting his weight into it, and grunting, Scaerthrynne pushed the door open. Its hinges squealed, and its bottom edge scraped against the grated flooring. “Venn, close it behind us,” he said as he stepped into the cargo hold.

This part of the ship was dimly-lit at the best of times – all of its lights far overhead, and had been set flush into the walls and ceilings to maximise space – but when it was fully loaded with crates, barrels, and other odds-and-ends, it was practically a shadowed forest of wood and brass. Voices, distant and muffled, came around corners and floated above stacked goods. More like than not, they were from workers checking on items that needed a little more care, or crew members hiding away for a quick break.

“Oh, I think I know the way!” Vallena’s cheery voice seemed out-of-place here.

“Right,” Scaerthrynne said dryly. “You did come down here without permission, didn’t you?”

Vallena giggled nervously, but still confidently stepped in front of him. “W-Well, yes, but hey! It’s great that I did, now that we’re here, right?” She looked at Scaerthrynne with an expectant look. He couldn’t deny that, and so he nodded. Vallena smiled brightly. “It’s really, really confusing down here, but I explored around a lot! Just follow me. I think I probably can find our way around!”

“Make sure you don’t get too far ahead of us, Val,” was all Scaerthrynne managed to say before she sped off down a narrow corridor defined by stacks of crates on either side.

The darkness didn’t seem to bother her at all, and neither did the claustrophobic nature of this place. She led Scaerthrynne and Callendra through the maze of cargo, the pitter-patter of her footsteps, and her calls sometimes all that told the two adults where she was. Scaerthrynne wasn’t too concerned, however. If she could handle herself down here, on her own, when nobody even knew she was here, then surely she was capable of looking after herself now. All the same, however, Scaerthrynne kept a close eye on everything he passed, and everything ahead of her, whenever she was within sight.

A frown came over his face. Nothing seemed out-of-place, nothing seemed abnormal. The climate control system was in proper working order, if the cooling air on his face was anything to go by, and that would be the first to go had anyone messed with the runic arrays or arcane circuitry down here. The lights would be the next to fail, but a quick glance at the walls and ceiling told him that they were all working. Neither were there any strange sounds – aside from echoing murmurs of crew, and ambient hums of engines, he heard nothing else. No strange whispers, no odd–

“Oh, hello again, mister Eyepatch!” Vallena’s voice came around the corner. “What’re you–”

Then, she screamed. “Scratch? Scratch!”

Scaerthrynne reacted in an instant. He dashed forward, skidding around the corner with one pistol already half-drawn. “Val, get back!” He shouted, but didn’t wait for her to reply before grabbing her by the shoulder and pulling her behind him. A surge of energy raced through his blood; his head throbbed with the beating of his heart. All he could feel was Vallena’s grip on his trousers, and her shivers against him.

There, in front of him, and standing over a pair of visibly tortured people, chained together, was the man in white from earlier. The very same one who’d been so eager to help the boy with the broken arm.

Scaerthrynne clicked his tongue. He should have known. It was always the ones who appeared the nicest who were into the weirdest, strangest things.

“What’re you doing, Eyepatch?” Vallena cried. “What happened to them? What’s going–”

“Val, quiet,” Scaerthrynne said sternly, not a hint of levity in his voice. The girl whimpered, pressing herself closer to him. He reached for her shoulder, but his eyes remained fixed on the floating object between the bound people, the array of runes inscribed all over it, and the shadowy wisps that curled from it, that linked with the chains and coiled around them. The dark elf hissed through his teeth. He’d seen something like it before. Not the exact same set-up, but close enough to know it for what it was.

“You, the one Val calls Eyepatch,” he said to the white-clad man. “Listen very, very closely. I honestly don’t know what you’re doing, or what’s going on, but unless you really, really want to meet whichever Gods you believe in today, don’t touch anything. Touch those chains, or just make them twitch, and we’re all going to have a very, very bad time.”

He swallowed, then turned to look at Callendra. “And Venn,” he continued. “I need you to stay calm. Go up to the bridge, find the Captain. Tell him not to worry, but we have a bomb aboard.”

“THE BEANS!!!”

Really? That’s what she went with? Meiyu blinked once. Slowly.

The stall door quivered slightly in its frame, still vibrating from Talis’ dramatic retreat. For a long, poised moment, she simply stood there, lips slightly parted in the vague shape of a smirk, as though trying to decide whether the girl had just lied to her, suffered a complete psychological collapse, or both. Her attention then shifted towards the pink haired elf.

She watched Phia with interest now—closer, sharper. The smile hadn’t faltered, but the stillness behind her eyes had shifted.

Not a squirrel.

There was something in the stance. In the grip on that staff. In the way she’d placed herself between Meiyu and the woman.

No, not a squirrel at all.

A mongoose.

Meiyu had seen that look before. In jungle ruins and desert tombs. Wide eyes, soft hands, and teeth beneath the sweetness. The kind that played at fluttering just long enough to lull the serpent close.

So the serpent… adjusted.

The change was subtle. Her shoulders softened, the tilt of her head took on something gentler, more open. Her arms fell loosely to her sides, and when she spoke, her voice had changed too. Warmer. With a smile that touched the corners of her eyes. “I didn’t mean to frighten anyone. I saw her earlier, that woman, and I asked about her satchel. It looked… unusual.” A small laugh, soft and breezy. “I was just curious. But she ran off like I’d pulled a knife on her.”

Meiyu tilted her head slightly, gaze sliding toward the closed stall. Her voice, though still gentle, grew quieter, intimate. “Which, of course, made me wonder what was in the bag.” She kept her tone light, conversational, like a friend spinning gossip over tea.

“You see,” she continued, “on an airship, unusual things tucked into clutched satchels held by incredibly nervous and terrified people have a way of becoming everyone’s problem. And I’m rather attached to my continued survival.”

She didn’t move toward the stall, but the weight of her presence in the doorway made the tiny room feel tighter. “If you’re just nervous, I understand. But if there’s something in that bag that could hurt anyone aboard this vessel…” she gave a casual shrug, “well, you can see how that might interest me.”

Her smile returned. Kind. Patient.

But her eyes didn’t blink.

“You can come out. No tricks, no harm. Just a conversation. You don’t know me, and I don’t know you. But I do know when someone’s clutching a secret like it might explode.”

A pause. Then, brightly—

“Or would you prefer I call someone with more official interest in mysterious cargo?”

A beat passed before she added, with velvet sweetness, “I’d really rather not.”

She glanced again at Phia, playful and sincere all at once. “You see, I’m a big believer in second chances. Especially when someone’s first impression is… dramatic.”

She waited, still and smiling.

The mask was firmly in place. But the snake beneath it was watching.

Race: Aasimar
Class: Paladin
Location: Stormrider; Cargo Hold
Interactions: Liana @Oso, Scratch & Val @Apex Sunburn
Equipment: His longsword; Retribution and a healing amulet. A backpack with supplies and his lute.
Attire: Clothing and gloves
Gold Balance: 71
Injuries: Old injuries include a missing eye, numerous iridescent scars, and a knee that aches when it rains.

---

“I’m about to admit something to you that’s never happened to me before. Not once, in all my years of doing this, have I ever felt bad for being good at my job.”

Ezekiel sighed. A soft and tired sound as he simply accepted that his day was only about to get more complicated. The light from the portal faded and vanished.

“Not until today. Not until you.”

His focus shifted to Liana. Watchful, silent, and heavy with disappointment, he kept his gaze locked on her. It would’ve been nice to simply help a woman with sad eyes save her family. To lift a curse and watch three people find the hope they’d thought they’d lost.

But fate had other plans, and he was here, in this spot, with someone who had led him astray because he was meant to be here.

“I’m sorry.”

Her remorse sounded genuine, but then again, so had the story she’d told him.

He said nothing as she pulled away a blanket and revealed the two beaten people who were certainly not her sickly parents. A pair bound by chains who struggled to keep up their shallow breathing. A bomb hovered between them, and dark magic pulsed between the device and the chains.

“You can probably save one of them. If you’re lucky.”

“Is that what you want?” He asked, voice barely audible and not expecting an answer. Was this merely a game of test the Aasimar for her? Force him to choose between two lives, who to save and who should perish?

“But try to free them both, and all three of you die.”

Did she expect him to believe her? She’d certainly lost all credibility now. There likely was a way to save both people chained to that bomb, but Ezekiel was not the man to solve that dilemma. He knew little about bombs, even less about the type of magic, one far different from his own, that powered the device, and one wrong move would likely end the lives of everyone on the airship.

Preventing the bomb from detonating had to be the top priority. And that thought hurt worse than the betrayal of a stranger ever could.

“I’m sorry it had to be a good man. You truly are a dying breed. But this is about something more important than good or evil. Goodbye, Ezekiel.”

“There is nothing more important. Until we meet again, Liara.” He answered as dark smoke engulfed her. There was no doubt in his statement, nor was it a threat; just a fact that he knew to be true. Ezekiel knew their paths would cross again, just as he knew there was a reason he was in the cargo hold facing a situation he had no idea how to handle. He simply felt the hands of fate directing him, and he accepted that this all meant something.

Liana vanished and left him to deal with the problem she had created.

Ezekiel reached out his hand, hovering near the device but never making contact. His eye closed as he tried to focus and get a read on the magic that powered it.

He asked the Silver Flame to protect the airship, to keep safe the lives aboard the vessel.

He asked for clarity, to better understand why he was here, what he could do.

He asked for the strength to make the right choice.

He asked for mercy, for the remorse he thought he saw in Liana to be genuine, and for her to find a better path to walk.

“Oh, hello again, mister Eyepatch!”

A familiar voice rang out, Val, the young assistant to the surgeon from earlier.

…Mister Eyepatch?

His jaw tightened, and his focus broke. His prayer was left unfinished.

The child screamed for Scratch, and perhaps the dark elf was a partial answer to his prayer. Someone who could help the situation at the very least.

“What’re you doing, Eyepatch? What happened to them? What’s going–”

The very understandable string of questions was interrupted by the man quieting the frightened child. Ezekiel realized exactly how the situation must look and slowly lowered his hand.

“You, the one Val calls Eyepatch. Listen very, very closely. I honestly don’t know what you’re doing, or what’s going on, but unless you really, really want to meet whichever Gods you believe in today, don’t touch anything. Touch those chains, or just make them twitch, and we’re all going to have a very, very bad time.”

“I am trying to determine what sort of magic powers this bomb. And praying it does not go off.” He answered while slowly turning around to face them.

“I need you to stay calm. Go up to the bridge, find the Captain. Tell him not to worry, but we have a bomb aboard.”

“I think the Captain has reason to worry.” Ezekiel added to the crew member with the pair.

“A woman asked me for help. She told me her parents were hidden here and needed a deadly curse lifted, so I followed her down her. She led me to this: a pair who certainly do not appear to be her parents, chained to a bomb. Before she vanished, she said if I were lucky, I might be able to save one of them. But that could be another lie.” He looked Scratch in the eye as he explained the situation, and admittedly, it sounded less convincing than the tale Liana had constructed.

“Not easy to say no to a pretty face with a sad story.” He admitted.

Race: Tiefling
Class: Ranger
Location: The Bar
Interactions: ⋆ @FunnyGuy Wendel ⋆ [@PapaOso] Bastion
Equipment:

Equipment List [+]

⋆ Traveler’s cloak
⋆ Hidden daggers in boots
⋆ Longbow with etched star markings and quiver

Attire:
⋆ Outfit ⋆ Hair
Gold Balance: 23
Injuries: Scars on body, old chain marks on wrists, ankles and neck, tattoo on wrist with number

Arya felt her breath catch slightly, her gaze flicking nervously up to meet Bastion’s gentle, curious eyes. She shifted slightly, fingertips absently brushing the feathers of her companion as if drawing reassurance from the bird’s familiar presence.

“Oh… yes… she's—she’s very fun. She's… comforting. Like having a little piece of the sky with me all the time.”

She paused, feeling her cheeks warm, and shyly lowered her eyes.

“I think you'd like having a bird too… They're wonderful company when you… don’t know what to say.”

She paused, feeling her cheeks warm, then softly added,

“But… even without a bird, you’re not alone, Bastion. You’ve got us now.”

The moment the black mist curled through the room, Meiyu’s expression flickered, not with fear, but recognition of a shift in the room’s balance. Danger didn’t come with trumpets. It came with silence, and cold air, and the scent of old fire.

She watched the woman form—elegant, theatrical, deliberate—and rage stirred low in her stomach.

How dare she.

Upstaged. Interrupted. Dismissed.

This wasn’t just intrusion, it was a theft of narrative. Meiyu had orchestrated this encounter with precision. And now here stood some hooded apparition hijacking her stage, commanding attention with smoke and blade and prophecy of bombs.

Her fury was ice-cold, the kind that sharpened clarity rather than dulled it.

She didn’t move. Not yet. She watched.

Analyze. Assess. Control.

First: The woman could be telling the truth. The signs were there—the confidence, the timing, the complete lack of urgency in her tone. A bluff wouldn’t need such detail. But if it was true, and she still stopped to monologue? Then it wasn’t quite imminent, was it?

Second: The redhead woman. Meiyu’s gaze slid briefly to the stall. A bomb-hunting phantom with a personal interest in the redhead? Curious. Very curious. Whatever Talis was hiding, Meiyu had been right, it was more than nerves. Something worth potentially killing for. She wanted to know what.

And third: Her own life. The intruder hadn’t attacked yet. Hadn’t turned on her. That meant she wasn’t the target. Not yet. Which meant she had time. A sliver of it.

She could still use this.

Phia stepped in front of the stall. And Meiyu, who seconds before had nearly brushed the girl off entirely, suddenly reconsidered her value.

Hm. Useful.

When Phia made her bean comment, Meiyu blinked once. And then she laughed. It was a sharp, incredulous sound, like she couldn’t quite believe the audacity of the moment.

But her expression never lost that simmering calculation.

She took a step—not toward the hooded woman, but at a curve, careful not to trigger aggression. One hand lifted lightly, palm out, as if calming a volatile beast.

“You must forgive her,” she said silkily, voice smoothing into something polished and unbothered. “She’s not in the habit of letting terrified young women get carved open by strangers with a flair for drama, I've gathered."

She let her gaze sweep the newcomer from head to toe now, unabashedly appraising.

“And you, darling...you’ve certainly made an entrance.” A small tilt of her head. “Theatrics aside, if you truly meant to kill her, you would have done it the moment you appeared. Instead, you decided to take the time to warn us. Which makes me wonder...”

Her smile curved, sharp as a blade dressed for a gala.

“…what’re you really after?”

Meiyu’s tone shifted then to something subtle, but unmistakable. A shade more serious. Less mocking.

“You came for her. That makes her interesting. That makes her mine—at least for now.”

She tapped her chin, watching the woman closely for any sign of reaction.

“And as much as I love a good bloodbath, I prefer to know why before the painting begins.”

But despite her words, Meiyu did not move to stop the woman. She made no overt threat. No suicidal challenge. Her stance was open, her posture relaxed, but behind her eyes burned ruthless calculation.

If the woman moved to strike, Meiyu would absolutely retreat. She wasn’t about to get herself killed over pride or theatrics.

But if she could stall her long enough to learn why, to figure out what made Talis a target, then the risk was worth the edge.

Just not too much of a risk.

And if Phia died buying her that information?

Well.

That wasn't her problem.

Pain.

That was the first thing Scaerthrynne felt. That was the only thing he felt. Every part of him throbbed with a dull ache, as if he’d been torn apart and put back together by a terrible dollmaker. A sharp sting stabbed through his ribs when he sucked in a deep breath, a breath that felt like his first in years. Something heavy was pressing down on him. Whatever it was, it prevented his chest from rising fully, forcing him to breathe in short, shallow gasps.

Then, he remembered the explosion. The man-in-white. The bomb. The blast. Vallena jumping away.

Vallena!

“Val,” he tried to cry out, but he couldn’t get enough air for anything beyond a strained croak. Groaning, he pulled his arms free – nothing was broken; that was good – and gave the debris sitting on his chest a good shove. They didn’t budge, and so he pushed with even more force.

Only then did he realise that his fingers weren’t pressing into wood or metal. This debris wasn’t cold, like a broken piece of hull. It wasn’t hard, like a metal girder. No, it was soft. It had warmth to it. His fingers could sink into it; could feel the stiffness of well-starched fabric, the smoothness of polished buttons.

Polished buttons. Callandra.

And now Scaerthrynne remembered everything. She had thrown herself over him; had used her own body to shield him from the worst of the blast. “Fuck,” he breathed, his own discomfort momentarily forgotten as he quickly, but carefully, rolled her off of him and sprang up to a crouch. The griffon’s frenzied, maddening screams didn’t go unnoticed, but he ignored them for now. He couldn’t do anything about it for now, and it was an animal that wanted to be free. Hunting was likely the least of its concerns.

“Val!” He hazarded raising his voice a touch.

Still no response. A pit started to open in his stomach, and he could feel his heart starting to slide into it.

“Vallena!”

“S-Scratch?”

At last, a response. Weak, terrified, and frail, but a response, nonetheless. Scaerthrynne let out a relieved sigh as he laid Callandra out on a small patch of flooring that was free of debris. He looked up, through the dim light, the mangled remains of various cargo, and fallen girders, and saw Vallena stumble her way over to him. She had a hand clutching her side, over a dark, crimson patch on her shirt. Blood seeped through her fingers in trickles. Tears cut clean channels through the dirt and grime staining her face.

“Carefully, Val.” Scaerthrynne took two big steps, all the while keeping low, to close the distance. She took his hand in a limp, listless grip, and neither said nor did anything as he sat her down on an intact crate just beside Callandra’s feet. “Val, I need to take a look at your wounds,” Scaerthrynne said slowly. Vallena kept staring ahead, her little body trembling and her breaths shaky. “Can you lift your shirt up for me, Val?”

The girl didn’t respond. She was in shock, most likely.

“Guess it’s up to me,” he murmured with a shake of his head, and gingerly peeled her hand away from her wound. She didn’t react, but he winced. The fabric was soaked through. It felt sticky beneath his fingertips, and it squelched when he pushed the shirt up just enough to expose the cut. Long and fresh, it looked like a slender, slitted eye staring angrily at him.

The griffon screeched.

Vallena’s head twitched up. “G-Griffon…”

“It’s just angry the Captain had it caged down here,” Scaerthrynne replied quickly. “Don’t worry, Val. Give it enough time and it’ll break open the main cargo doors on its own and fly away. It just wants to be free.”

Or, it could rampage towards them, or it could be in a murderous rage.

“I-I’m scared,” Vallena whimpered.

“It’ll be alright.”

He didn’t know that.

“W-What if…Scratch, what if I…” He could feel her tears falling onto his hand like rain. “I-I don’t want to–”

“Shush,” Scaerthrynne said and straightened his back to look at her. “We’ll be fine, Val. I promise.”

She looked back at him, her eyes wet and puffy. “R-Really, Scratch? You promise?”

“Yes.”

Now he just had to make it happen.

He went back to examining her wound. On a second glance, it wasn’t that bad. It certainly looked and bled far worse than what it actually was, a shallow cut just under her ribs. “You’re alright, Val,” he said in a calm voice. Or as calm as he could manage for the situation. With a gentle touch, he pressed his fingers up and down her sides. No softness, no swelling. No broken ribs. She would be sore for a while, but nothing more than that. “Just a scratch. And what do we do with scratches, Val?”

She looked down at him and blinked. “S-Scratch? Isn’t t-that you?”

Scaerthrynne gave her a smile. A rare, genuine, smile meant for the eyes of only a few. “There’s the smart mouth I know.” Relief, barely hidden, laced his words. He reached out and brushed loose strands of brown hair away from her face. “But I meant the sort of scratches that bleed. How do you treat them, Val?”

“S-Sagerose spirit to clean, first,” she said and gulped. In a steadier voice, she continued. “T-Then wrap in a clean bandage?”

“Clever girl,” Scaerthrynne said. “I need to go take a look at Venn now, alright? That means I’ll need you to take care of your own wound for me. Can you do that, Val?”

Vallena gulped again. Then, she nodded hesitantly. Once, then twice.

“Good girl.” Scaerthrynne stood up and ruffled her hair. For a brief moment, he simply looked at her. Never had he ever seen her this frightened before, now that he thought about it. She’d always been a happy girl, a confident – maybe overly-so – and oftentimes cheeky girl. Of course, they’d run into danger before, and of course, they’d frightened her in their own ways. But this, this was something else entirely.

He sighed, leaned over, and clumsily pulled her into an awkward hug. She gasped in surprise, but quickly looped her arms around his neck and pressed her face into his shoulder. “Don’t get used to it, Val.”

She sniffed. “Okay.” Then, she let him go. “W-Will Venny be okay?”

Scaerthrynne looked away. “I’ll do what I can for her, Val. Look after yourself, first.”

But when he returned to Callandra, he wasn’t sure if there was even anything he could do for her. Had he a proper surgery, he might be able to pull off the miracle he needed, but he didn’t have that. He didn’t have even half of that – the airship’s medical amenities were enough to treat your typical infections, sicknesses, and broken bones at the best of times, and now certainly wasn’t such a time. Logic dictated that the best, if not only course of action was to leave her. By the looks of things, he needed to get to the engine core as soon as possible, if he wanted to have a chance of keeping the airship afloat.

But Callandra had saved him.

“You idiot,” he muttered beneath his breath as he looked at her broken, battered body. “You massive, total idiot.” Taking off his medical pack, he set it on the floor and hurriedly pulled out a series of syringes. These were his last resorts. The things he’d use only when nothing else worked. With Callandra's plethora of broken bones – and those were just the ones he felt while moving her – and the high possibility of severe damage to her organs, Scaerthrynne had a feeling that he might need them.

But for now, he still had one option.

“You!” He called to the man-in-white in a hushed shout. “Man-in-white, Eyepatch, whatever your name is, I need you over here, now.” He beckoned him over, and used as much authority as he could in his voice, as strange as it felt to him. He’d never had to do such a thing before, but with Callandra down, and the airship in distress, he had to take charge. “What can you do for her?” He asked flatly. “We need to get out of here as quickly as possible, and get to the engine core, so tell me right now. Can you heal her, or not?”

Race: Aasimar
Class: Paladin
Location: Stormrider; Cargo Hold
Interactions:Scratch & Val @Apex Sunburn
Equipment: His longsword; Retribution and a healing amulet. A backpack with supplies and his lute.
Attire: Clothing and gloves
Gold Balance: 76
Injuries: New injuries; concussion, fractured ribs, giant splinter in his leg, injured shoulder, all bruised up. Old injuries include a missing eye, numerous iridescent scars, and a knee that aches when it rains.

---

Dread rose the second the device started beeping. He hadn’t touched it, hadn’t made any physical contact with the bomb, the chains, or the two lives fixed to it. The countdown started anyway, far too quickly to do anything to stop it.

They were all just seconds away from the inevitable.

And Ezekiel knew it. Once that thing started beeping, hope was lost. It would detonate.

But he hesitated. Resisted the urge to take cover as Liana’s words hung over him. Was there a way to save one of them?

Precious seconds slipped away. If there was a way he couldn’t see it. He scrambled for cover too late. The beeping stopped. Had Liana left him with that cruel sliver of hope just to mess with his head?

The world went white. Ezekiel was flung through the air by an unseeable force, as if his prayer had been deemed, not just unworthy, but outright offensive, and a God saw fit to fling him aside. A wall of wooden barrels shattered as he crashed into them. It knocked not just the air from him but any sense of awareness.

His ears rang. Pulsed with a high-pitched sound, persistent and piercing, as every other sound was left muffled and drowned out.

What happened? His mind was even fuzzier than the dampened noise around him. The shrieking ring in his ears refused to let up. He struggled to get back up and with each movement, discovered a new pain.

An attempted deep inhale proved an impossible feat. A twist to the side, as his hands moved through splintered wood, caused even more pain. He kept his breathing shallow, it hurt less. Ribs…fractured. Maybe broken. Manageable.

He continued to try and stand. A stabbing pain in his non-dominant shoulder forced him to fall back onto the pile of shattered splinters. His fingers felt useless and numb. Dislocated. Fixable. He contorted his limb, shifting it until it popped back into place. The action forced a deep breath. His ribs cried out. His head throbbed.

He tried again. Forced himself to stand on shaky footing. Ezekiel felt it in his leg; the slow trickle of blood from a jagged piece of wood embedded near his calf. Slow bleeding. Not urgent. Leave it alone. He reminded himself, despite the urge to remove what did not belong. It wasn’t the only splinter he’d caught, simply the biggest, most intrusive one.

What did concern him was the dizziness. The instant nausea he felt as he stood. The sheer difficulty to even form a thought as he tried to asses the damage.

The fact that he’d forgotten what caused it. A concussion was not a good time.

Thick smoke obscured the scene. Ezekiel was unsure of where exactly he was, but he couldn’t hear over the ringing in his ears, and he could barely see through the thick smoke that hung in the air.

He tasted blood, sharp and metallic, in his mouth. Smelled the smoke, caught hints of magic, electric and buzzing in the air. He felt the burn of destructive magic against his skin, it mingled with the rest of the pain; a background sound not quite loud enough to be fully noticed above the louder notes but adding to a song of agony nonetheless.

Then he saw one of them.

Black armor. Red Hood. Moving in the shadows.

Black and red.

Karrnath. The enemy.

His hand drew his sword in one swift motion. The pain became a whisper as righteous devotion kicked in. Nothing else mattered but the fight and the enemy in front of him. Every part of his mind focused on that one tangible goal: cutting down the enemy. Holy Bulwark came to mind, to set his sword aglow with holy light to both protect himself and give him better visibility in the smoke.

Then he noted the griffon. A savage beast, attracted to that which shimmered and shone like gold. Carefully, he used his other trembling hand to pull the cloth over both his eyes; he could see through it, but it covered the glow of his eye from the gold-hungry beast. Avenger’s strike it was, time to test his righteous fury against the evil of Karrnath. A war that had ended years ago raged fresh in his mind. Its end, momentarily forgotten.

His heart pounded, his blood pumped, and the anticipation of battle coursed through him. This was where he belonged, in the midst of violence, a fight that never ended. It gripped him, that hunger to fight that ran so deep it could not be separated from who he was. With unbalanced footing, he took a few shaky steps towards a red hooded figure, his wrist turning and his sword moving in a flourish that beckoned the enemy to engage.

“You!”

A voice cut through the ringing. Strong and commanding.

“Man-in-white, Eyepatch, whatever your name is, I need you over here, now.”

The voice spoke with an unquestionable authority. His commander. The 'now’ left no room for questioning, and Ezekiel was obedient. He turned too quickly toward the voice and spotted another red hood in a different corner. He stumbled, nearly toppled over from the abrupt movements, and headed toward the voice.

“What can you do for her?”

He looked from the dark elf to the injured woman, his mouth half opened as a confused question failed to leave his mouth. He didn’t see Venn, he saw someone he vaguely remembered dying once before. Against his own desires and better judgment, he sheathed his sword. In another too quick motion, he dropped to a knee, and a sharp pain shot through his leg. His fingers found a faint pulse on the woman’s neck. He could’ve sworn…

It didn’t matter. He found a sign of life. They couldn’t let that life go out. Not with these Karrns around, they’d turn corpses into cannon fodder the second they could. “She lives…for now.” But likely not for long without help. Her pulse grew weaker.

“We need to get out of here as quickly as possible, and get to the engine core, so tell me right now. Can you heal her, or not?”

“No, sir. Not here. They’re closing in…” He lifted the cloth above his eye, head swiveling to the red hooded figures that moved through the smoke and then to the raging griffon whose fury sent metal and wooden shrapnel through the air.

Engine core? Why was there an engine core in a battlefield?

Gods, his head hurt. Even kneeling, he felt like he was going to topple over. He spotted the child, terror painted across her face as she clung to the elf.

Smoke. Thick and gray lingered in the air.

He remembered how Cyre fell. What the mist had done.

The bomb. On the airship.

Recognition washed over him. Even as his confidence faltered and a shadow of sorrow fell back across his features, the air around him sparked with a protective aura. Something Scratch, Val, and hopefully even Venn, would feel, boosting their confidence and resolve. Maybe enough to keep Venn clinging to life, but surely enough to ward off fear and doubt so that the Scratch could continue to lead and Val would have the clarity the situation demanded.

His eye closed in a pained wince as he scooped Venn up off the floor. The struggle to rise to his feet began again, and he gritted his teeth. His ribs, his shoulder, his leg, his skin, his head; they all screamed for attention, and he did his best to deny them that.

He failed to save the two chained to the bomb. He would not fail to save this life.

He paused just long enough to let the worst of the dizziness pass. He cradled Venn in his arms and nodded to Scratch. “I’ve got her, you worry about Val and leading us out of here.” He said, and continued to watch and follow the dark elf's lead as if Scratch were his commander.