🌸 A finely crafted katana 🌸 A concealed dagger laced with paralytic venom 🌸 Throwing needles coated with different poisons 🌸 Black silk combat outfit reinforced with hidden Mithril chainmail 🌸 Soft-soled boots that allow for near-silent movement 🌸 Smoke bombs and illusion charms for quick escapes 🌸 A set of forged documents under multiple aliases 🌸 A tea set and an assortment of teas 🌸 Incense
Attire: Gold Balance: 93 Injuries: None currently, but has numerous faded scars on her body
The moment her fingers touched the crystal, Meiyu felt the world stutter.
The pulse of light wasn't just seen–it was felt, like a scream in her blood, like silk being torn through her bones. For a heartbeat, she was no longer kneeling in a broken, blood-drenched bathroom. She was everywhere. A million stars blinked behind her eyes and a great weightless silence stretched on for what felt like a breath and a lifetime.
Then came the shatter.
The sound was not a sound at all, but the memory of thunder. Of something ancient and echoing, vibrating through marrow. The fragments spiraled, luminous, seeking. Choosing.
She did not brace. She did not flinch.
One found her.
It moved like it had always known her shape, always known where to go.
The shard struck her just beneath the line of her sternum, embedding itself just where breath met power–center mass, where a blade might strike for death, or divinity. Her body bowed with the impact, lips parting soundlessly as ancient light spilled into her veins like liquid judgment.
It did not burn.
It thrummed. It was a resonance like a serpent's call, a war drum played underwater, and something... older. Her limbs trembled, spine arching faintly as the crystal melted through muscle and bone, then pulsed once beneath the skin like a heartbeat she hadn’t known she was missing.
When it ended, she exhaled a slow hiss through her teeth.
Meiyu's hands moved to her waist, unfastening the front of her robe with slow, practiced grace. She peeled the silk aside until pale skin was exposed to the air, and there, nestled in the dip beneath her ribs, the crystal shimmered: jagged, half-sunken, glowing with a quiet blue-green light. A shard of something ancient, pulsing where breath and purpose met.
She studied it in the fractured reflection of a broken mirror, tilting her head.
Then she smiled faintly.
”Cheeky little thing.”
Footsteps echoed behind her.
Meiyu didn’t look away as Bastion stepped into the wreckage. She could hear his footsteps hesitate, feel the way his presence filled the broken air. She didn’t move when he approached Phia. Only when he bent to take the girl into his arms did she finally speak.
“That girl's heart nearly shattered with her ribs,” she said, cool and even. “Mind how you carry what's left.”
A breath passed.
Her eyes flicked toward the place where Talis had fallen, her voice softening just slightly. “The girl was clever. She hid this crystal before the assassin could take it… said it should choose for itself. And apparently it did.”
She rose then, slow and composed, as she glanced to Bastion and gestured to her crystal and then his.
“There was nothing more we could’ve done. We tried. That girl fought like a storm. And the redhead… she was braver than I expected.” Her voice dropped just slightly, but never lost its precision. “They both paid dearly for it.”
Then her gaze lifted again to Bastion, her eyes sharp as ever despite the crystal now burning softly at her core.
🐾 Special Magic Item: A magically enchanted Haori garb of snow🐾white fabric made of a mix of various creature materials and what few rare magic crystals scrounged. It enables the haori’s internal temperature to be adjusted to keep the user at the optimal temperature within feasible degree and minor elemental resistance of the basic 4 elements imbued. 🐾Oruna tribal moon bracelet: a charm bracelet made in pairs, sharing a deep bond. Those of the tribe share them with a close friend, cherished family member, or lifemate who holds a fanged tooth, one for each of those most trusted and loved. 🐾Small pouch holding emergency dried meat and any fresh fruit picked 🐾Small pouch of freshwater 🐾Sewing kit 🐾Small tool kit 🐾Small gold pouch 🐾A partially started personal journal 🐾A personal dear drawing hidden on his person
Attire: Gold Balance: 22 Injuries: Stabbed in left shoulder, minor stab on middle left side of body, minor cut on right shoulder, blood loss, possible internal hemarraging
As consciousness left him, the world around him went black; his body lay in empty darkness as the inky substance beneath spilled and rippled. A deathly coldness gradually seeped in as the wounds bled, the wolf's minor attempts at aid served in giving him whatever little time left him.
And he could do little else but lie there, useless, the bitter thought garnered a low, raspy chuckle, as if a feral beast attempting to laugh in mockery. A chilling sound that came from deep within his mind, buried within a cage of inky black chains, lurked a massive, shadowy figure, obscured in darkness. A pair of vicious eyes hummed softly with pure feral fury within the pitch blackness. Mismatched in colors, the left shone like freshly spilled crimson, glimmering wickedly as the right a pale ocean blue that thrummed with fading flickers, appearing as if the sea itself was becoming washed out. The stench of blood exhaled from its hidden maw in a vicious plume of shadowy huff, while vicious tar, thick red fluid, dripped down the gleaming fangs.
A curling scowl of displeasure; a rumbling guttural growl rasped from its bubbling maw as it appeared to spew words of rage and dissatisfaction, but most were lost to the wolf's muted senses, save for snippets able to blurble through.* Weak…pathetic whelp! Think..over? More..hunger still..mere..crumbs!* The voice burbled with rankled hate that grumbled with an unending appetite, the two meager prey had barely wet their teeth.
They muttered like an unpleasant whisper on a breeze, though no wind blew in this darkening void; air growing cold and foggy as the lone sound of a beating drum pumped like a ticking tock, gradually fading in tempo, weaker, though a stubbornness that kept it from ceasing.
As the beating fought on, his body lay there upon the inky blackness which rippled gently beneath his motionless form. Unable to do little else but feel pain coarsing through him numbly ceaselessly, the world around him cut off as the physical and inner damages momentarily left him deaf and cut off from his senses, save for touch, with every nerve fluctating with flaring intensities as a suffocating coldness filled him down to his bones, eventually choking his lungs making it difficult to breathe.
“You did well. You protected them, and once this battle concludes, we will do the same for you.”
An inky bubbling near his ears; bubbles of various sizes grew until a few popped, and from them a voice spoke in fragmented words. Soft and comforting unlike the harsh bestial rasp, something about it sounded off, almost robotic but too difficult to discern much through muffled ears…what little he could hear offered little understanding, and yet strangely helped put his stressed heart in fretting pounding somewhat at ease making the effort to breathe more palpable once more.
Voices and movement whirled about him, then came an unexpected shuffling like fabric shifting, followed by sudden flaring pain that burned like magma coming from his recently made wounds, signaling that he was being touched.
For a moment, his breath hitched in alertness as panic nearly set in as he could feel foreign hands touching him, had it not been for the tightening pressure that brought a cooling relief to the aching wounds.
As Wendel peeled back the blood-heavy fabric of the haori, he would find his skin deathly, snow-pale slick with sweat. Undearneath the fabric, there would be a fluctuating bout of heat and cold; the magical temperamental effect worked in full force to maintain Menzai’s weakening body temperature. And were he to look past the blood, hints of various scars marred the flesh, other battle wounds, or others?
“Stay with me, Menzai. I know you want to be the one to explain this to Phia. I’m sure the young lass would be much too worried about you for your liking.”
Again, a voice burbled through; snippets popping through, this one more gruff and somewhat familiar. Their words sounded motivating..pleading almost, though upon mentioning Phia’s name did the wolf came to understand the person helping and not an enemy.
“I need more to really secure this, so I’m going to sit you up. Please help me if y-”
His body, which had been partially tensely alert went slack just as the dwarf began attempting to lift him up into a seated position; the motion caused a grimaced grunt and a quick fluttering of the eyes.
In that instance, his eyes fluttered, catching glimpses of sunlight, a crackling ring..then multiple purple glints shining brilliantly as if flying towards them when…
Like a shooting star, it shot into his briefly opened left eye, where his head then slacked forward limply. For a few seconds his breathing appeared to have stopped, then abruptly his body jolted up with a heaving panting gasp, his mouth opened wide grasping to suck in as much oxygen as his freezing lungs could manage.
Menzai struggled to make sense of where he was and how much time had passed, surprised even to find himself conscious, his right eye buzzing around in vain attempt to scan the surrounding, but the blood loss left his vision too blurry to the point of blindness and the faint ringing of his ears still lingered. This left the wolf confused and forced to endure fresh spasms and waves of pain that jolted through him with every slight motion or touch, even breathing proved a taxing effort.
What he found most concerning was the strange warm tingling centered on his left eye, which had remained shut as if it were stuck with some light glue. Perhaps some bits of caked blood, he mused. Whatever it was, it was foreign, an intruder, and most of all, it felt magical, that he could sense.
Gingerly opening the eye expecting to feel some form of discomfort, bumps..anything but the eyelid slid open without any disturbance and yet he could feel something resting within the eye as if it had melted..no, melded into his eye?
(image credited to Oso!)
The jagged shard, unknown to the wolf rested at the center of the pupil, appearing as if floating adrift across the rippling deep blue ocean, glittering like a fragmented fallen star, the crimson glint seemingly trapped within the center’s crystal, a faint crackling thrum that glinted shrink and soften in shade as if it was slowly being drained or eaten by the gem.
The strange tingling of his left eye had Menzai feeling a mixture of great unease and immense curiosity towards the foreign intrusion. He had many thoughts and questions, were that he was not in the midst of bleeding out exhausted, that he may have pursued inquiry into whether it was a beneficial or malicious entity.
With his dwindling health too important, the wolf forced himself to brush aside any thoughts that didn’t aid towards his survival, which was all that mattered now. Closing the left eye as he thought this, the effort was too taxing.
With a begrudging sigh of acceptance, he chose to instead turn his attention to the figure behind him, attempting to give him aid. Through his blurry gaze, he was able to make out the stocky build that told of a dwarf’s size; recognition came with the realization that it was Wendel, and from the intense spasms and still wet puddling blood beneath, and from it surmised that he had only been passed out for a minute, two at the most.
A part of him cursed the strange object for having chosen this most apt moment to wake him during the peak of spasmic pain though the wolf through his disciplined training and slow meditative breathing made maintaining his composure simple enough, His deathly pale face slicked with sweat kept a calm and resolute expression that showed no hint of what he felt other than slight grimaces wrought from Wendel’s hands that hinted of inexperience as a healer.
He sat there, focusing on slowing his pulse through breathing as the severe blood loss was well felt, his head heavily woozy and lightheaded, and his stomach roiled sickly. Anything he could do to ensure his survival and keep himself calm was his best chance until one better equipped could get to him.
Thoughts of Phia helped him hold firm with conviction, enabling him to endure the increasingly exhausting lull to sleep. His right eye trembled with the effort, fighting to keep hold of reality, fearing this time he may not get back up.
A tired gulp followed by a tired wheezing gasp as his lips moved, straining to speak, his cracked lips moving, but his cotton parched throat made pushing out the words take immense effort.” Dwarf…*cough* -llants…left?...an-...civ- *cough* safe? Hngh…nee…wuther.” Menzai coughed in panted frustration at his inability to get the words out.
Wanting to find out what was happening, were the attacks still going on? Were the people and Arya safe? These and more he sought answers to, but could do little else but scrabble to manage his breathing and wait.
A low, bitter growl rumbled in his dry, parched throat.
Race: Changeling Class: Part-Time Fighter Location: Near the Bar, Airship to Khorvaire Interactions: Menzai @samreaperMentions: Phia, Gears; @princess, @Oso
Equipment:
⋆ Lots of Clothes ⋆ Arming sword ⋆ Battle-axe ⋆ Mace ⋆ Daggers ⋆ Bow & Arrows ⋆ Shortsword ⋆ Leather Armor ⋆ Half-plate Armor ⋆ Hide Armor ⋆ Toolkit ⋆ Camping Equipment ⋆ Locked chest filled with old trinkets that ARE NOT FOR SALE ⋆ Magnifying glass ⋆ Diary ⋆ Sketchbook ⋆ Pencils ⋆ Dried and Cured Meats ⋆ Nuts ⋆ Second Locked Chest with self-care products ⋆ Bag of holding
Attire: beige trousers, brown tunic, and worn brown boots Gold Balance: 3 (on hand) Injuries: None currently Current Persona: Wendel
“N-no!” Wendel reached for the streak of light that targeted Menzai’s eye. It was a desperate move by the dwarf, believing he could catch light when he could hardly catch an arrow from a telegraphed release. His mouth hung open as Menzai briefly stopped moving entirely. No grunts, no winces, no breaths…
“Men-” And just like that, the shifter’s body spasmed as if his soul returned to his flesh. Menzai's left eye, the one Wendel failed to save from the light streak, opened to reveal something both startling and beautiful.
Father always professed, ‘Dwarves shouldn’t fly’ and I’m starting to agree with him. What is going on this airship?
Grimacing, Wendel stared at the eye, assuming what he felt on his nape to be a shared experience between himself and the shifter. Whatever it was, he'd have to curb his curiosity for the moment and focus on addressing Menzai’s injuries. For now, the mysterious crystalline anomaly seemed harmless, and he only hoped it would remain that way.
“Water… Water!” Wendel gave Menzai a firm nod. “Gears, I need water over here! The man’s throat is dryer than the Valenar dunes. Hurry, please!” Wendel leaned into Menzai before lifting Menzai’s torso so he could properly sit up. Once Menzai was sitting upright, the dwarf repositioned himself, so his back was firmly against Menzai’s, making his body a support beam. “She’s bringing the water, but you need to save your strength. The enemy is gone, and Phia was lucky enough to be in the restroom during the attack. Everything is fine, my friend. We just have to lick our wounds and press on.”
✦ Antler Headdress – Elegant branching antlers wrapped in vines and blooming wild roses and other flowers, dangling with purple crystal teardrops. ✦ Thick Magenta Hair – Flowing in long, heavy waves with many braids, tiny beads and blossoms braided throughout. ✦ Forest Bralette – A natural fabric top adorned with layered leaves, hide, flowers, and shimmering gem accents across the bust. ✦ Arm Jewelry – Vine-wrapped armlets and bracelets studded with glistening stones in violet and turquoise hues. ✦ Green Cloaklet – A light green cloak clasped with a gem like amber—crafted from flora and fauna ✦ Layered Skirt – Flowing petal-draped skirt with high side slits, woven from cloth and flower petals ✦ Waist Adornments – A golden vine belt holding a satchels, feathers, and a charm pouch of herbs and trinkets. ✦ Leg Jewelry – Beaded anklets and thigh cords with gemstone charms ✦ Nature Tattoos & Paint – Faint tribal markings or nature-inspired body paint peek beneath her outfit
🪞 Gold Balance: 46 🪞 🌸 Injuries:
🗡 Deep Stab Wound – Inner Forearm: Took a dagger meant for her chest directly into her forearm. Blade embedded deep, slicing muscle and likely grazing bone.
💥 Dagger Hilt Nerve Strike – Same Arm: Liana delivered a blunt-force strike to the same wounded arm, targeting the nerve center.
Effect: Caused violent spasms, a surge of white-hot pain, and temporary loss of staff control.
👢 Abdominal Kick #1: Delivered early in the fight, knocking the wind from her lungs and sending her back into a fall.
Injury: Minor bruising and impact trauma; no time to recover before escalation.
💥 Blunt-Force Trauma – Abdomen (Round Two): After wounding Liana with her claws, Phia was struck again by a full-force kick, this time with devastating intent.
Result: Cracked ribs upon impact, severe internal pain, and possible bruised organs.
💔 Mirror Slam – Back & Head Trauma: Her body was hurled into a mirror, causing glass to shatter around her.
Likely Effects: Lacerations, mild to moderate concussion, whiplash, and shock.
💣 Face Slam x3 – Wood Frame: Liana repeatedly smashed Phia’s head into the shattered wood behind her.
Injuries: Scalp bleeding, split lip, bruising across face and brow, potential concussion symptoms worsened.
💀 General Condition: Phia was left semi-conscious, bleeding from multiple points, her breath labored, body trembling, and suffering from a mix of nerve trauma, internal bruising, broken ribs, and likely concussion.
🌸
Something shattered out of her sleep.
It wasn't the mirrors again, nor a dagger.
Phia’s eyes snapped open with a sudden, gasping breath as agony bloomed sharply in the cradle between her collarbones. The world around her was a blur, tears spilling over as her body arched involuntarily, the sensation so intense it stole her voice. Her wounded arm twitched weakly against the tile, sending jolts of nerve pain radiating up to her shoulder; her cracked ribs throbbed beneath every breath she desperately pulled in.
Yet, despite the pain, the sensation wasn't cruel. It wasn’t poison; it wasn’t rot.
It was warmth.
The touch of something piercing through her suffering, embedding itself into her soul.
She lay trembling, trying to comprehend the feeling. The cold tiles were solid beneath her, but only for a moment. Soon Phia felt strangely suspended, caught between the floor and sky, between life and death.
Slowly, with fingers that shook uncontrollably from exhaustion and trauma, she reached up and traced the spot just above her heart. She found no blood, no fresh wound—only the outline of something hard, unfamiliar, and embedded into her skin.
Phia turned her head weakly, blinking tears and blood from her eyes, and then the room began to come back into focus. Her split lip trembled slightly with the effort. She saw Meiyu standing with them still, composed despite all that had happened. Then, just beyond, her gaze fell upon Talis, the girl who lay heartbreakingly still, a silence about her too complete, too painful to accept. The memories flooded back in a wave of grief so fresh it threatened to drown her again, and her chest tightened painfully.
She felt herself slipping, dizziness tugging at the edges of her mind once more, but she forced herself to look upward. Her expression was frightened at first, but the fear vanished instantly when she recognized Bastion’s face above her. Her vision was still swimming and blurry, yet she recognized the face of the metal man she had seen earlier. Relief surged through her battered frame, easing some of the tightness in her chest. She felt safe with him, for whatever reason.
"Hello…" she whispered feebly with a gentle smile.
Race: Warforged Class: Warrior Location: Airship; What's left of the bar side women's bathroom. Interactions/Mentions: Phia @princess, Meiyu @Tae Equipment:
☼ Tower Shield ☼ Greatsword made of Glacium (A material as hard as steel, yet formed from eternally frozen ice.) ☼ Titan Chain – A reinforced tow chain housed in his left palm, functioning as a powerful grappling hook. ☼ Aged Leather Satchel ☼ Worn but cherished scarf ☼ Maintenance Kit . ☼ Heavy-duty rations (for companions, not himself). ☼ A delicate glass figurine of a bird—an old keepsake. ☼ A locked, timeworn journal—contents unknown.
Attire: ☼ Etched and weathered plating with bronze accents. ☼ Fitted harness for carrying supplies. ☼ Worn scarf Gold Balance: 49 gold Injuries: ☼ Left shoulder was injured in the battle and is still leaking fluid.
The light had faded now. What remained was silence, save for the low hum that still lingered in the air like the echo of the artifact’s shattering. The crystalline fragment had buried itself into his chest… becoming one with the sun painted there by an old friend.
Bastion stood still for a long moment, one hand resting lightly over the glowing mark where the fragment now lived, bonded with his plating. His optics adjusted slowly to the wreckage. Blood soaked the grout and the smell of smoke and scorched porcelain hung sharp and bitter in the air.
He turned his gaze toward Meiyu.
She was still standing, thankfully composed. The crystal pulsed just beneath her chest like a second soul, gleaming faintly within the silk she had pulled aside.
Her words were calm, but they carried more than weight… They carried purpose.
“That girl's heart nearly shattered with her ribs. Mind how you carry what's left.”
Bastion bowed his head slightly in quiet acknowledgment, his voice as gentle as could be.
“I will.”
Before he could tend to Phia, his tone shifted, and with it came the truth. Talis was dead. He looked to the girl’s body, who only minutes ago had stood before him, wide eyed and anxious as an organic being could be. He had told her to drink water and had tried to be kind, and now she was gone. There were no words for that kind of failure.
He stepped toward her slowly… Not to touch or disturb her final rest, but to see her one last time. Just to remember.
“Was I too slow? Could I have stopped this?”
He asked it softly, almost to himself.
But then…He heard the smallest voice coming from the girl that thankfully still lived.
“Hello…”
It was barely a whisper, and it pulled him like a tether.
Phia’s body was battered but she was alive, and now she was awake. She looked up at him through swollen, tear-soaked eyes, her smile faint but real. Something about it struck him in a place deeper than his arcane core.
He knelt beside her carefully, his metal fingers brushed the floor to steady himself, and then slowly, reverently, he slid one arm beneath her knees and the other behind her shoulders. She was so light in his arms, barely registering to his Warforged strength, and so fragile at that moment. He lifted the sweet, injured girl from the blood-soaked floor beneath her, the warmth of his core could be felt against her even through his armored, ivory plating.
“Hello, brave one.” Bastion responded oh so gently.
His voice, for all its mechanical origin, was so quiet it felt human. He held her close, adjusting gently so her wounded arm would not jostle. Every step he took would be careful. Every breath she took would be guarded there in his arms. And within him, a thought surfaced...one he had never spoken aloud, not even to himself before now.
This is what I was made for. Not war. Not orders. This.
Bastion turned to Meiyu one last time.
“I’ll get her somewhere safe. See to the others if you can. There are injured among them as well.”
Then, with Phia in his arms, he carried her from the broken place where the crystal chose them and back out into the light of whatever might come next.
Location: Cargo Hold Race: Dark Elf & Human Class: Artificer & Rogue Interactions:@Helo Ezekiel; @Princess Callandra Mentions: Equipment:
Scratch Medical bag Tinkerer's kit Arcane spindlelock (shortened) musket Spindlelock pistols x2 Hand axes x2 Val First-aid bag Tinkerer's kit Spindlelock pistols x2 Steel daggers x2
Attire:
Scratch Dark brown, knee-length coat Black waistbelt Grey button-up shirt Dark brown trousers Heavy leather boots Val Off-white shirt Red ribbon tied around left arm Brown hooded coat Brown trousers Leather boots Goggles on her head
Gold: 101 Injuries:
Scratch NA Val Shallow cut on her right side, just below the ribs
Focus.
He had to focus.
That was what Scaerthrynne silently told himself, over and over again, as he navigated a path back to the engine control room through the Stormrider’s labyrinthine warren of maintenance corridors and emergency access walkways. The airship itself seemed to be telling him the exact same thing as well, albeit in a much more audible manner with the tortured groans of its hull, the crackle of flames unseen, and the serpentine, almost ethereal, hiss of energy leaking from broken power lines.
But despite those foreboding sounds, and despite what he’d only just told moments ago told Vallena about concentrating on one problem at a time, Scaerthrynne couldn’t quite bring himself to completely ignore the mysterious shard embedded in his forearm. He’d pulled his sleeves down over it, but still he found himself glancing at that arm, at the exact spot where it’d decided to make its home, every so often.
Just what was that thing?
It’d clearly once been part of a larger whole, so what then, was that whole? How had it shattered? Why did it shatter, and by what means? It had to have been a magical object—Scaerthrynne could scarcely think of any other explanation for how the shards could just phase through the hull of an airship, with what seemed to be a mind of its own, to find him and Ezekiel.
And to find Vallena.
That was perhaps the most confusing thing about this entire affair. A curse, a boon, or some other magical form of nonsense finding him, that he could understand. After all, his four-and-a-half centuries of existence couldn’t be said to have been wholly virtuous. He could think of an extensive list of people, creatures, and other beings who’d want to imprecate him.
But Vallena? She wasn’t anything more than a twelve year-old girl. A clever one, an irrepressible one, and one that could sometimes be a little too mischievous, a little too curious for her own good, granted, but she wasn’t one who’d ever done anything to earn herself such an enemy. Scaerthrynne couldn’t even imagine her having a childish rivalry with anyone, let alone aggravating someone to the point where they’d take the time, effort, and resources to place a magical hex on her.
It was all very, very confusing. A refreshingly new puzzle and a welcome break from the daily monotony, to be sure, but Scaerthrynne would’ve preferred it to have not involved Vallena.
And she was of the same mind, more likely than not, as when he glanced over his shoulder, he caught her with her sleeve rolled up, an anxious look clouding her visage, and her fingers busy scratching and picking at where her shard had implanted itself into her arm.
“Stop that,” Scaerthrynne said curtly, stopping at the entrance to a narrow, dark corridor. The pungent tang of engine oil and grease was thick in the stale air beyond the threshold, and the only lights that illuminated the long passageway came from a handful of arcane lamps set into the walls. They burned a dull red from behind caged shades, bathing everything in dim, sinister glows. “Whatever these shards are, they’re stuck under our skin. You’re only going to make yourself bleed by doing that. And didn’t I tell you, and didn’t you agree to not think about them until we’re done saving this ship?”
“But you keep looking at yours,” Vallena countered, but she nevertheless stopped scratching herself. “Like, like when you hold onto something like this,” she said and braced her hand against a wall, leaning forward slightly, and striking an exaggerated pose of a person losing, and then regaining their balance, as the dark elf had a few times earlier, when the airship had lurched a little too stiffly and abruptly. “Or, or, or when you pull on your sleeves, or when you look down while walking, sometimes.”
She had him there. Despite all the years they’d spent together, her perceptiveness could still, on occasion, catch him by surprise. A faint smile flickered across his lips, so quickly that it looked as if the corners of his mouth had merely twitched.
“Just do as I say, Val. We’ll have all the time in the world to think about these shards later.” His voice came out gruff, and his tone sharp. His words, however, didn’t have much of a bite to them. That detail didn’t slip Vallena’s notice. She nodded with a quiet giggle as she waited by the corridor’s entrance, her anxiety from before, for the moment, forgotten.
Scaerthrynne turned his attention to Ezekiel and Callandra. “Engine control room’s on the other side of this deck. We’ll take a shortcut through this maintenance accessway. It–”
“Oh, I know!” Vallena interrupted without warning. “It cuts across the, the…The aft-ventral Auxiliary Power Generator room?” She glanced at Scaerthrynne. He responded with a simple nod, but that was enough to make her beam with pride. “It makes getting to the stairs that go down to the cargo hold really, really, really easy! And quick. I use it all the…All the…Time…”
A look of realisation came over her face, a flush washed over her cheeks, and her words trailed away into quiet, unintelligible mumbles when Vallena finally remembered that Callandra, the Stormrider’s Chief Deck Officer, was not only very much present, but also now very much conscious. “I, I d-don’t, I-I mean,” the girl stammered, then laughed nervously. “I mean, I-I’ve heard that it’s a quick way of getting to the cargo hold, but it, it’s not like I-I’ve ever used it for that! I’ve never used it at all, honest!”
Scaerthrynne shook his head and sighed. “Well, that answers one question, I suppose,” he remarked drily, and gave Vallena a pointed look. She pretended not to notice it. “But Val’s right,” he continued. “This is the fastest and most direct way to get to the engine control room. It’s pretty cramped in there, however, so…”
He pointed to Ezekiel. “You need to be careful with Venn, especially with her head. Last thing she needs is a skull fracture on top of everything that’s already wrong with her. But don’t be slow. Stormrider’s not going to wait for us. It doesn’t have that sort of time, I think.”
He pointed to Callandra. “And you…” He trailed off, chewed on his lip, then shrugged. “Well, you try to be as careful as you can from where you are, I guess. I suppose you can pull your head in a little more, if you can, so you don’t go crashing it into something or other.”
Then, just before he turned to enter the corridor, he shifted his gaze—clinical, impassive, and with a subtle hint of puzzlement, as if he were examining an experiment—back to Ezekiel’s face; specifically, back to his eponymous eyepatch. The image of a glowing crystal lodged into the empty socket covered by that strip of fabric was still fresh in Scaerthrynne’s mind, and while it hardly ranked amongst the worst things he’d seen done to that part of a head, it was certainly something new. Something unknown.
Was it significant that Ezekiel’s shard had decided to take the place of his eye? Did it make any difference where the shards implanted themselves? Did they choose where they went, or was it simply a question of blind chance?
The questions rushed into the dark elf’s head, and he promptly pushed them all aside. He didn’t have time for them, now. He had to focus.
“Eyepatch,” he called over his shoulder as he carefully stepped into the corridor. It took a few blinks for his eyes to adapt to the low light, and for his darkvision to take effect, but soon enough, he had a clear view of the path ahead of them. “Let us know if that shard in your eye socket starts feeling strange.”
He felt like an idiot for even saying those words. How exactly was an arcane object of unknown nature and origin supposed to even feel?
“If it starts to hurt, or if you feel any discomfort,” Scaerthrynne quickly added. He didn’t really know how he would even begin to treat it, but neither did he have any intention to. As things stood, those shards were a complete mystery. An enigma shrouded in shadows. Anything they did to a person, or made a person feel, could be a clue as to what they were. And if those things happened to someone that wasn’t Scaerthrynne or Vallena, all the better. “Even I felt uncomfortable when I saw it.”
A few steps passed in silence before Vallena piped up. “I think it looks cool,” she said, but then very swiftly added, “U-Unless it hurts, Eyepatch, then it’s not that cool anymore.”
Scaerthrynne couldn’t help but chuckle quietly.
Then, he shook his head. He had to focus.
The droning hum of machinery; the whispers of energies pulsing through circuits, and the creaking groans of twisted metal—all hidden from sight—reverberated through the musty air, seemingly coming from every direction, all at once. Shudders rippled through the floor, walls, and ceiling. Hanging cables swayed. Loose fittings rattled. It was as if the Stormrider was a gravely wounded beast, shivering from its death throes, its pained, gasping breaths weak and laboured.
A sound that was somewhere between a squeak and a gasp leapt from Vallena’s lips each time the airship shook, lurched, or tilted. She drew her hands close to her chest, her eyes nervously flitting here and there, as if trying to look at everything simultaneously. Unease and disquiet radiated from her, and they only grew stronger the further they ventured down the corridor.
“Be calm, Val,” Scaerthrynne whispered. “It’s just a short walk. Nothing you’ve never done before.”
No sooner had those words left his mouth than another shiver fluttered through the floor, this one stronger than the ones before it. A muffled screech, metallic and shrill, rang out from somewhere above, behind the ceiling. The already-dim lamps darkened further, flickering several times before finally steadying to a pale, scarlet glow.
Vallena yelped. She grabbed onto Scaerthrynne’s jacket, her grip tight and trembling with fright, and pulled herself closer until she was flush against his side. “No, no, no,” she whimpered. “This has never happened before! This has never happened before!”
“Be calm, Val,” Scaerthrynne repeated, placing a hand on her shoulder. “Be calm.”
She shook her head. “That, that didn’t sound good, Scratch! It didn’t!”
“It’s not as bad as it sounds,” Scaerthrynne replied and tried to, very gently, pull himself free. She didn’t let him. If anything, the more he pushed, the harder she held onto him. “Val, come on.” He tried his best to not sound too exasperated, despite his thinning patience. They couldn’t afford to waste anymore time. “I need you to calm down, Val. Our situation isn’t really that bad, all things considered. If it was, don’t you think I’d be panicking as well?”
“That’s a trick question! You never panic.”
“Fine. Worrying, then. Do I look worried to you?”
Vallena thought about it for a very brief moment, then said a quiet, “No.”
“We just have to get to our stations, do what we’re supposed to do, and we’ll be fine.” Scaerthrynne pulled away from her again. This time, she relented, albeit reluctantly. She still lingered close to him, and pinched a corner of his sleeve between her thumb and index finger. Fear, nervousness, and worry were all painted clear on her visage. With a sigh, Scaerthrynne reached out and patted her head. “Trust me, Val. We’re not in as much trouble as it seems. We’ll be fine.”
“How’re you so sure, Scratch?”
“Because I am,” he replied with a cheeky grin. That earned him a huff and a light slap on the forearm from her. He left things at that—he’d managed to, even if only for the moment, make her feel a little better, or at least distract her from her concerns. That was all that mattered. “So, should we keep going? Or would you prefer to keep questioning me, instead?”
“Stop it, Scratch,” Vallena said with a pout, but kept holding onto his sleeve as he set off at a brisk pace.
It didn’t take long after that for them to reach the end of the corridor. The Stormrider gave Vallena a couple or so more unpleasant surprises with its sudden movements, worrying noises, and flickering lights, but she managed to stay calm, even if only just. As soon as Scaerthrynne opened the door a crack, she squeezed herself past him, through the meagre gap, and with a loud gasp—as if she’d been holding her breath since entering the corridor—she tumbled out into the airship’s lower engineering deck.
Scaerthrynne sighed and shook his head. “If you’re going to rush, Val, then the least you can do is to let us know if it’s safe to follow you.”
“It’s safe!” She called back.
“Thank you,” Scaerthrynne replied, grunting as he pushed the door as far back as it could, until it locked in place. He’d already known that it was safe, of course; he would’ve tried to stop her from dashing off ahead on her own, otherwise. Had this part of the airship—close as it was to the elemental core—suffered even a fraction of the damage done to the cargo hold, the Stormrider and its occupants would be experiencing far, far worse than just a rough flight and some uncomfortable sounds.
He stepped over the threshold and looked both ways along the hallway. It was wider and better lit than the maintenance accessway, but that wasn’t saying much. The bare, brassy walls were still much too close for more than two people, walking shoulder-to-shoulder, to pass. And while the lights here shone with warmer, yellow glows, their glows were still soft and dull.
“This way.” He threw those words quickly over his shoulder at Ezekiel before hurrying over to another door just a few steps further up the hallway, in the opposite wall. As he turned the wheel to unlock it, and pulled it open, he said, “A few rules while you’re in my engine control room–”
Vallena groaned. “Aw, I already know, Scratch. You don’t–”
“It’s not for you this time, Val.”
“Oh! Oops.” The girl giggled sheepishly. “Sorry. I’m just really used to hearing ‘Val’ whenever you mention rules and stuff like that.”
Scaerthrynne paid her no heed. “One, don’t touch anything without my permission. If you’re not sure about anything, ask me. If I’m busy, ask Val. Two, in there, I’ve the final word. If I tell you to stop, you stop. If I tell you to do something, you do it. If I tell you to run, you run. That goes for you as well, Venn. The rest of this ship’s yours, but this part of it is mine. Just want to make sure that’s clear. Three, and most importantly, it’s cramped in there, so watch where you put yourself. I don’t want any buttons pressed, or levers pushed, or switches flipped by accident.”
Having said everything he needed to say, he passed through the door without another word.
The entry hall to the engine control room split into three paths. Open arches on his left and right, with thick curtains for doors, led to Val’s and his living quarters. Directly ahead laid the familiar, cluttered walkway he had as a workplace, with his table, the wall of dials and gauges, and the assortment of controls with which he could manipulate most of the Stormrider’s subsystems. A strange, ethereal energy, warm against flesh, yet cutting to the bone with a chill, wafted through the air. The ceiling light’s pale glow wavered in its wake, and papers rustled, as if caught by an updraft coming through the floor.
It didn’t take long for Scaerthrynne to identify the source of this energy—the heavy, reinforced hatch at the other end of the walkway, the one which led to the elemental core. He grimaced. The fire elemental wasn’t going to hold it together for much longer. He had to work fast.
He had to focus.
Time to get to work.
“Val,” he called out sharply. “Go to the breaker board, now, as we’ve practiced. Eyepatch, take Venn to my quarters–” he pointed to the curtain-veiled arch to his right “–and do what you can for her wounds. You can place her on my bunk, and use whatever you find. I’ve some medical supplies in there. They’re not hard to find, just rummage around. It’s already a mess, so don’t worry about making it a bigger one.”
Then, he pulled out an arcane battery from his pack, handing it to Callandra but looking at Ezekiel. “I don’t know if you can pull power from one of these, but if you can, use it. I don’t need you passing out as well. If you can’t though…” He shrugged. “Keep it anyway. It might come in handy, some time, and I’m already up to my eyeballs in arcane batteries as it is.”
Scaerthrynne went straight for his table. The Stormrider’s violent movements had done an excellent job of clearing it for him—almost everything he’d left on it was now on the floor—but he swept his hand across it, anyway, just to remove the last few odds-and-ends still loitering by its edges. Then, he reached for a long, cylindrical case, stashed in a basket lodged so tightly between the table and the wall that it may as well be bolted in place. The dark elf placed it against the right edge of the tabletop, turning it until his fingers found a thin slot cut along its entire length. Fishing out a leather tab, he pulled hard on it, and unravelled a large, canvas sheet from the case.
He squatted to pick up a few of the heavier items he’d only just swept onto the floor and used them to hold down the free corners of the sheet. Drawn upon it in stark, black ink, were two views of the Stormrider—its top, and its side. Geometric lines cut across the airship’s form, each denoting where an arcane line started and ended; where they split and where they converged, and where their safety valves were. Even with the size of the diagram, every letter and number had to be written in font so small that it could bring great pain to one’s eyes. Scaerthrynne, however, had pored over it so many times that he’d already gotten used to it.
Chewing on his lip, he turned and looked at the gauges behind him, particularly the ones that reflected the status of the engines. As he’d expected, the forward ones were all running fine, albeit at faster speeds and higher temperatures than they should. Given the circumstances, however, Scaerthrynne could ignore such relatively minor issues.
The rear engines, however, were a different story. He reached across and slapped his hand on the big, red button of the intercom box. “Engine control to bridge, engine control to bridge,” he said loudly. “Engines six and…No, engines five and six are dead. No temps, no revs, but showing excessive energy consumption. I suspect a severe leak in the arcane lines within their vicinity. Engines seven and eight are still operational, but damaged. They are at half efficiency. I will shut them down to equalise thrust. That should return some control to the helm. Engine control out.”
He flipped a few switches beside the gauges for engines seven and eight, waited a second that felt like an eternity, and held his finger down on two buttons under the switches, one after the other. Only when every gauge showed him that engines seven and eight were no longer running did he remove his finger.
“Scratch!” Vallena’s voice echoed from somewhere behind the wall of gauges. “All breaker switches are in the up position! No downs!”
“Good,” Scaerthrynne called back. He turned to the circuit diagram on the table, his eyes squinted, and his brow furrowed as he followed the lines leading connecting the core to engines five and six. “Val! From now on you will repeat everything I say before doing anything! Flip these breakers: one-one-eight, one-one-six, one-one-seven, one-one-nine, and one-two-two!”
“Flip breakers one-one-six to one-one-nine, and one-one-two! Got it, Scratch!”
While Vallena went about doing that, Scaerthrynne returned his attention to the gauges. Specifically, a row of four arranged vertically down one side of the wall. These showed how much power remained in each of the airship’s Auxiliary Power Generators. It was a misnomer, as far as Scaerthrynne was concerned—they didn’t generate power as much as they simply stored it, akin to a larger version of an arcane battery.
One Generator, according to its gauge, was completely empty, while the rest were at either half, or a touch below half capacity. Once again, he’d expected this. The supposedly-empty generator had been stationed directly above the cargo hold. The explosions, terrible as they’d been, must have destroyed enough power lines to sever it entirely from the Stormrider, which would in turn explain why the other three were draining so quickly—they had to provide emergency power to their own sectors, on top of the ones supposed to be covered by the fourth.
That was good. His plan might just work, after all.
Scaerthrynne hadn’t been lying when he’d said that their situation wasn’t as bad as it seemed. He couldn’t deny that the Stormrider had been wounded grievously, but the crux of its problems, however severe they were, was ultimately a straightforward one. The explosions were a thing of the past—that the airship could survive this long with such major structural damage meant that Scaerthrynne could, for the moment, think of its hull injuries as a non-fact.
That also meant that the main issue was, more likely than not, the elemental losing its mind in the core.
“I flipped them, Scratch! What next!”
“Flip breakers two-two-seven, two-two-eight, two-two-nine, two-three-zero, and two-four-eight!” That would isolate the cargo hold completely, and stop elemental energy from flowing into the damaged lines there.
“Flip breakers two-two-seven to two-three-zero, and two-four-eight! Got it!”
Scaerthrynne looked over the diagram again.
Based on what he knew of elementals, their energy was akin to a living being’s blood. Continuing from that analogy, that made the Stormrider’s arcane circuitry its elemental’s blood vessels. A rupture would thus be similar to a bleed, but that was where the differences began. For a creature of flesh and blood, given time, an open wound would scab, and eventually heal itself. An elemental, however, couldn’t do that. Since they could simply generate more energy—more of themselves—to plug gaps, any sort of bleed would in theory last until the elemental simply generated too much, and underwent a catastrophic implosion.
In this case, the Stormrider had enough holes in its circuits that its elemental was now trying to push itself into components that were either disconnected, or no longer existed. If it was lucky, it was pumping energy to broken parts. A waste, but at least those parts were still finite containers. Scaerthrynne was more than certain, however, that most of the leaks led to the open air. And to an elemental, there were no differences between open, empty space, and an arcane container of infinite capacity.
That was why the elemental was in such distress—it was trying to produce more energy than it could, and much faster than it should, in an attempt to fill something that could never be filled. If the leaks were filled, and the elemental fed enough energy to keep it stable, the bulk of the Stormrider’s issues should resolve themselves in due time.
Scaerthrynne turned to the controls and flipped a row of switches. These would deploy the excess-energy bleed valves. They wouldn’t be of any use for now, but once power started flowing back into the core, they would be needed to allow any excess a safe exit in order to prevent any sudden power surges, the inverse of their current problem.
“Okay Scratch, what’s next!”
“Wait one!” The dark elf called back and studied the diagram. “Breakers…Three-two-zero, three-two-three, three-two-four, and three-two…No, belay that, four-two-seven, four-two-eight, and four-two-nine!”
“That’s…Three-two-zero, three-two-three and four, and four-two-seven to four-two-nine?”
“Yes, correct.”
There was a pause, then Vallena said with uncertainty in her voice, “But…Wouldn’t that drain power to the generators? I thought we’re running out of power, Scratch.”
“It’s not a supply issue, it’s a distribution issue,” Scaerthrynne replied. “And with how many switches we’re pulling, we’ll need more than just bleed valves to deal with excess energy in the core.”
“Okay, Scratch! If you’re sure!”
“Of course I am,” he said. He bit on his lip, looked closely at the diagram, and then nodded, not to anyone, but himself. The entire aft section was probably riddled with so many holes that it would take Vallena more time than they had to hit every switch. There was only one solution left.
They had to shut the main arterial line linking the core to the rear half of the ship.
“Once you’re done,” he called out. “Flip breakers three, five, and seven!”
🐾 Special Magic Item: A magically enchanted Haori garb of snow🐾white fabric made of a mix of various creature materials and what few rare magic crystals scrounged. It enables the haori’s internal temperature to be adjusted to keep the user at the optimal temperature within feasible degree and minor elemental resistance of the basic 4 elements imbued. 🐾Oruna tribal moon bracelet: a charm bracelet made in pairs, sharing a deep bond. Those of the tribe share them with a close friend, cherished family member, or lifemate who holds a fanged tooth, one for each of those most trusted and loved. 🐾Small pouch holding emergency dried meat and any fresh fruit picked 🐾Small pouch of freshwater 🐾Sewing kit 🐾Small tool kit 🐾Small gold pouch 🐾A partially started personal journal 🐾A personal dear drawing hidden on his person Magical Purple Shard-Left Eye
Attire: Gold Balance: 22 Injuries: Stabbed in left shoulder, minor stab on middle left side of body, minor cut on right shoulder, blood loss, possible internal hemarraging
“Water… Water!” Wendel gave Menzai a firm nod. “Gears, I need water over here! The man’s throat is dryer than the Valenar dunes. Hurry, please!”
Confirming that Wendel understood what he needed at the time and allowed himself to relax, albeit partially, as the repositioning of his body had been left unfinished. The unexpected interruption, which was a result of the intrusion, was a matter to be thanked for, whether a good thing or not, and was a question only possible to answer in due time.
The dwarf’s callused hands were gentle as feasible, and he offered no resistance; brief spurts of spasmic pain burned through him, then ebbed away along with the discomfort upon having his posture adjusted into a proper seating position.
With it came ease of breathing, no longer feeling the pressure on his chest. Though inexperienced, Wendel’s aid had been swift and managed to stop the bleeding, removing the immediate danger, with his breathing stabilized.
A slight intake of surprise upon feeling something hard and firm against his back, as if a sturdy wall or beam was placed against him.
“She’s bringing the water, but you need to save your strength. The enemy is gone, and Phia was lucky enough to be in the restroom during the attack. Everything is fine, my friend. We just have to lick our wounds and press on.”
The strange warmth of the sturdy wall and Wendel’s assuring words had it dawn on him what the dwarf had done. He had already done more than enough to help him; doing such a thing like this was wholly unexpected, certainly so from one met only minutes prior.
Even more so to the wolf, who recalled how he had allowed his ‘bestial’ half out, much to his shame. A shame Wendel surely witnessed firsthand..how he..those that witnessed it might think.
The dark thoughts might have spread in this vulnerable, tense state, were it not for his companion’s sturdy compassion despite the fact of his lapse.
There was much Menzai wished to say, to tell Wendel how much he owed and appreciated him for helping in such a manner. Not many would risk helping an injured shifter; the fear of feral defensiveness being construed wasn't too uncommon.” T-thank…y..you.” Was all he could manage, the words came out strained and tired...shaky with a somber softness seldom shown by the wolf.
And learning that the assailants were gone or no more flushed him with relief, while the lingering scent of blood in the air reminded him that lives were lost. A bitter taste of blood on the tongue with a sadness to the ache in his chest.* Such lives needlessly lost. I’m thankful the threats are gone…* He thought solemnly, his clawed fingers twitched against the creaking floorboards beneath him, feeling it rumble and groan in a way not too dissimilar to an injured beast.
Listening to the ships rumbling cries as his right eye lifted skyward, blurry vision taking in the thin blazing streak’s crackling buzz, his brows knitting in concern.* But, it seems danger is still present…the damages to the ship may not be too severe, but if the immense blast disrupted or damaged the elemental….*
Peering at the buzzing ring with furrowed brows before eventually shaking his head with a small sigh, seeing no need in fretting over the matter. This was something up to the staff, though he could only hope the elemental received some aid and repair, and quickly, if the ring and pained cries of the ship were any indicator.
Not wanting to dwell on the dark possibility of the ship going down, the wolf turned his mind to Phia, aiming to put his mind at ease, that she had been safe in the bathroom, as Wendel pointed out. And there was Bastion, the warforged had seemingly gone to retrieve her from the snippets he had managed to catch, as well as the lack of his huge presence.
Soon. Any minute now, he would hear the warforge with the half-elf skipping and giggling along; all well and some silly story to explain the long trip. Yet, the dull throbbing ache he had felt at the back of his head still throbbed dully; a harrowing reminder of the dread that had followed in its wake.
Closing his remaining eye, the wolf forced himself to focus on his breathing and on the thought that Phia was safe; anything else, he knew, threatened to have the building panic and unease nestling within to overtake him with unpleasant, possible scenarios.
Race: Changeling Class: Part-Time Fighter Location: Near the Bar, Airship to Khorvaire Interactions: Menzai @samreaperMentions: Bastion, Gears, Phia; @Oso, @princess
Equipment:
⋆ Lots of Clothes ⋆ Arming sword ⋆ Battle-axe ⋆ Mace ⋆ Daggers ⋆ Bow & Arrows ⋆ Shortsword ⋆ Leather Armor ⋆ Half-plate Armor ⋆ Hide Armor ⋆ Toolkit ⋆ Camping Equipment ⋆ Locked chest filled with old trinkets that ARE NOT FOR SALE ⋆ Magnifying glass ⋆ Diary ⋆ Sketchbook ⋆ Pencils ⋆ Dried and Cured Meats ⋆ Nuts ⋆ Second Locked Chest with self-care products ⋆ Bag of holding
Attire: beige trousers, brown tunic, and worn brown boots Gold Balance: 3 (on hand) Injuries: None currently Current Persona: Wendel
“We all assisted each other, friend.” Wendel assured as he wiped his bloodied hands onto his pants and tunic. Taking advantage of this time of general calm, he reached for Malik’s sword while also reaching into his satchel. From the bag, he retrieved the sword’s sheathe.
Thank you, Malik. Your blade protected many, including myself today. Wendel sheathed the sword before placing it into the satchel and trading it out for the journal. With the crisis concluded, now was a good time for a needed update for “The Crew.” With care, Wendel turned to the last page he had written on marked by two X’s.
Safe travels, For all of us
Those were the last intelligible words he wrote. Words that made him grimace upon reading them again.
There was an attack on the airship this morning while I was still enjoying my company at the bar. The assailants were masked, hooded, and wearing Karnathi colors, targeting all passengers aboard.
I know we promised not to fight, but I had no other choice. People were dying. I had to do something. I used Malik’s sword to fight and one of Eleanor's dresses to patch up a wounded shifter by the name of Menzai. He is noble and vicious in combat if you could believe such a sort isn't a contradiction.
With some casualties, we beat the assailants back, but I am still unsure about the state of the airship. No one on the crew has informed us of anything just yet, so I await this information as I sit here writing.
And something else. Something struck the back of my neck. It was after the battle. I haven't taken a look or touched it just yet but I think we should find a mystic who may be able to discern the meaning of it. If I uncover any answers, I shall write down every detail into the journal when I am able.
Soon. Any minute now, he would hear the warforge with the half-elf skipping and giggling along; all well and telling some silly story to explain the long trip. Yet, the dull throbbing ache he had felt at the back of his head still throbbed dully; a harrowing reminder of the dread that had followed in its wake.
Closing his remaining eye, the wolf forced himself to focus on his breathing and on the thought that Phia was safe; anything else, he knew, threatened to have the building panic and unease nestling within to overtake him with unpleasant, possible scenarios.
Yet, when Wendel slightly turned his head toward the restrooms, what he witnessed was far from what he had assured. He knew Menzai had not noticed the pair exiting the women's restroom because Gears was currently set upon him with the water he requested for him. The dwarf wondered if she could see them as he did. If she had also failed to bring attention to the undesired sight of that battered and bruised Phia being carried onto the deck by ever-level-headed Bastion.
Phia. She was not skipping and giggling along; she was beaten and broken, with no positive disposition to her visage. He didn't want to watch Bastion carry her forth, he didn't want to believe he had assured Menzai of something that was horribly wrong. A lie. Though not intentional, it was a lie all the same. Wendel had deceived Menzai’s expectations–his hope. That optimism… where did it land him? What did it bring?
A girl who had not been safe and who might have been in more peril than anyone he sat around. He knew it wasn't his doing but who was he to declare that she was fine? Who was he to assure something he did not to the face of one who was most invested in it? He wanted to look away, but this was his penance, and it hurt him deeply. The dwarf would have taken dozens of kicks to his face if it meant he could undo this. He should have invoked a change so he could escape this. He could have! How could he face Menzai once he saw her? What could the dwarf say?
Wendel's lips quivered slightly as he fought against himself. His brow furrowed as he fought against his eyes that yearned for his tears. Her weakened state only bore weakness in himself. Not strong enough to look away. Not strong enough to speak. With the weakest of sighs, he cupped his face in his hands, hiding his shame along with the inevitable tears.
“I- Menzai… I-” He didn't get the chance to say it as a sob escaped him and then…
Wendel changed. Limbs lengthened and thinned in an interesting way. Gone were his wrinkles, creaking bones, and hair of gray. Replaced with spots, flexibility, and mirth. Brown mane, sharp nails, and a jubilant rebirth. Aged eyes of experience replaced with wonder. Who is it that the cupped hands now uncover?
“Oooooooooooh!” Wendel’s sob was replaced by an excitable moan. The hands covering the woman’s face who replaced Wendel shot up toward the sky, revealing a face of excitement that barely hid the gleam of mischievousness from her slitted eyes. Yet, just as quickly as she expressed joy, she scrunched her face uncomfortably, retracting her arms back down. “Ugh!” She nearly hissed while wiggling and squirming her torso, her back still against Menzai's. “This all fits weird. Damn it Wendel and your stiff clothes!” She complained before looking at her exposed ankles and block-shaped boots that looked like they were thieved from a statue. There was not a second thought when she decided to kick the boots off her feet and decided she’d just wear Wendel’s pants as capris for the time being.
“Hmm… Who’s on my back? Feels kind of nice if I’m being honest. Do you do back scratches, too, or is it just this? Not complaining…” She began to finally take in her surroundings but sitting on the floor made it hard to discern where she was. The journal was right there on her lap but she always waited to look at the thing. Who has time to read when you can just see for yourself, she’d say. “… My name's Minerva by the way. How's your day been, my potential back scratcher?”
Attire: ⋆ Outfit ⋆ Hair Gold Balance: 23 Injuries: Scars on body, old chain marks on wrists, ankles and neck, tattoo on wrist with number
After becoming wounded and watching her new acquaintances fall to the same fate, Arya had stiffened. Her mind raced with memories she’d longed to forget. The pain in her side caused her vision to blur. As panic rose, so did her breathing. There was a puddle of blood around Menzai, and the sight of it caused her stomach to churn. Stella spoke to her but it was drowned out. The room spun around her and she covered her mouth. She watched as the assailants disappeared as quickly as they had come. The sight before her began shifting, and Arya moved out of view and fell to her knees. Her bow was clenched tightly in her hands.
”Arya! No, please! Help me. Don’t go!” …The sound of banging on metal filled the room, drowning out the tiefling’s consciousness… ”Arya - you have the keys! Don’t let them scare you!” …Pounding footsteps, metal clanging, a bow firing weekly, and then a scream ripping through the room, joined by cries of despair and grief… ”She’s dead! Her blood is on your hands, coward!” …Hideous laughter, mockery included, and a wail…. ”You deserve wrath!”
The pecking at her head should’ve broken through her skull. However, she’d become accustomed to it. Stella’s voice rang out, loud and clear: ”Arrrryaaa listening to me?” The tiefling flinched and looked at her with blurry vision. ”Your comrades have been talking to you. Did you hear them?” There was a brief pause and Arya looked down as guilt filled her. ”Whatever you’re thinking about, is long gone in the past. Focus on the present, and make the future better.”
Arya nodded and looked down at her hands. There was wetness on them. As her hand reached up to her eyes, she discovered tears. Stella reached her left wing out and dried them with her feathers. This coaxed a laugh out of her and it was filled with amusement and dread. ”T-T-Thank.. Thank you.”
As she stood up, a mysterious blue crystal appeared in front of her. Stella squawked and Arya began trying to back up, but the thing didn’t relent. Arya watched as it moved towards her and cemented itself into her wrist. She stiffened up with terror and forgot how to breathe. Did this happen to the others? What was going on? Arya clambered to her feet clumsily, and hustled back over to the bar. The sight before her was not what she’d expected.
Bastion stood nearby and carried a battered and broken Phia in his arms. Wendel was gone, and a new woman stood there now with Menzai against her back. The snake woman had returned. The sight of blood caused her to tremble, but she looked away from it. Upon scrutinizing her acquaintances, she noticed they all had the same blue crystal on them.
There was a pause, and then: ”What the heck are these crystals and where is Wendel? What happened…?” Her gaze moved to Phia and she came over to her side. Stella peered down at her and gently climbed down her shoulder to stand closer to Phia. ”...I don’t have any healing or medicine on me. Perhaps we can tourniquet her grave injuries until we find a healer?”
She moved away, and glanced at Menzai and the new woman. ”Do you have anything on you to help Phia?” She glanced around for a solution, and clenched her fists with fury. Why did this happen? Arya glanced around and addressed the room filled with others. ”D…Do we have… Do we have a healer?”
🐾 Special Magic Item: A magically enchanted Haori garb of snow🐾white fabric made of a mix of various creature materials and what few rare magic crystals scrounged. It enables the haori’s internal temperature to be adjusted to keep the user at the optimal temperature within feasible degree and minor elemental resistance of the basic 4 elements imbued. 🐾Oruna tribal moon bracelet: a charm bracelet made in pairs, sharing a deep bond. Those of the tribe share them with a close friend, cherished family member, or lifemate who holds a fanged tooth, one for each of those most trusted and loved. 🐾Small pouch holding emergency dried meat and any fresh fruit picked 🐾Small pouch of freshwater 🐾Sewing kit 🐾Small tool kit 🐾Small gold pouch 🐾A partially started personal journal 🐾A personal dear drawing hidden on his person
Attire: Gold Balance: 22 Injuries: Stabbed in left shoulder, minor stab on middle left side of body, minor cut on right shoulder, blood loss
A controlled and timed huff and a timely flick of snow-white fluffed ears with a set of satisfying pops. A relieved sag of the shoulders, now rid of the ringing in his ears.
“-sisted each other, friend.”
Wendel’s words initially started muffled before coming through clearly, followed shortly by the faint scritching of pencil to paper; familiar and comforting in its right that the wolf yearning for his journal, lost by the bar last he left it. Lacking the strength to speak yet, he settled for nodding his head, agreeing. They, and everyone who fought the intruding threat, did so valiantly as the ship's state, while unsure, carried on despite its injuries.
His ears soon flicked to the sound of footsteps and mechanical shifting, alerting him to Madam Gears' approach, offering kind words and the life-saving miracle elixir that was water. His attempt to reach up and take the offered glass was prevented due to his body feeling numb and weighed down as if his limbs were lead, the damp blood-soaked haori further pressed him down. Pain flared from his shoulders as he attempted to do so, leaving him little other choice than to have Gears help him drink. He paused when the cup was brought to his bloodied lips, reluctant as the proud wolf thought back to the small woman, the warforged, Bastion had nearly drowned in offering her water.
Had she been in a similar situation of great need for water? A part of him worried about a similar treatment, but Madam Gears, being a bartender, understood drinking, though it did little to ease the embarrassment. Menzai felt that he shared in that woman’s sentiment as he drank deeply, then quenching his cotton-dry throat, droplets spilling down his chin from his greedy gulps.
While taking his first big gulp, did the heavy steps of Bastion signal his exit from the bathroom, where he had been too distracted with assuaging his thirst to notice much else.
Yet, He only managed half the cup before sensing and feeling unease from the dwarf behind him, a light shifting and rubbing along his back, the sound of writing having ceased, with the faintest quivering of his back only felt due to their close proximity.
“I- Menzai… I-” He didn't get the chance to say it as a sob escaped him and then…
The dwarf's words were barely said through a choked sob; a signal that something was wrong..horribly wrong, but just as the possible realization etched the wolf’s horror-stricken face, water spilling down his chin no longer noticed.* Had something to Phia?!*
As Menzai turned his head with almost desperate haste to call out Wendel’s name and inquire what he saw for the positions left him with his back to the bathroom and his vision still too blurry, when-
Wendel changed. Limbs lengthened and thinned in an interesting way. Gone were his wrinkles, creaking bones, and hair of gray. Replaced with spots, flexibility, and mirth. Brown mane, sharp nails, and a jubilant rebirth. Aged eyes of experience replaced with wonder. Who is it that the cupped hands now uncover?
A strange sensation would be felt as the dwarf shifted in unexpected ways and the wolf, unable to get a proper look without craning his neck, and could do little else but feel where once was the shorter stocky built wall replaced by a taller piller closer to his height which indirectly made his sitting posture somewhat more comfortable.
“Oooooooooooh!”
A wholly new voice suddenly shouted out in an enthused and bubbly manner that was unmistakably not Wendel's. And further confusing questions would follow in its wake, for not only had the person sitting behind him changed, but the fact Wendel’s scent had completely…vanished?!
Save for the remnant on the journal, he couldn’t smell Wendel, nor had he sensed any semblance of him being pulled or dragged away, and yet the swap had occurred, and the way he had been wheeling as if in pain? His mind whirled, trying to make sense of what happened; had Wendel been teleported? He felt no sign of magical discharge, taking that out as an option, perhaps the magic shard? Menzai recalled catching multiple glints. Had one struck him, too? If so, had it done something to him? Yet he felt nothing from his still closed left eye, though there could also be delayed reactions, so a possibility he could not rule out.
“Hmm… Who’s on my back? Feels kind of nice if I’m being honest. Do you do back scratches, too, or is it just this? Not complaining…”
The unknown person spoke up after muttering some complaints missed in his musings; a female by the sound of their voice and her words only further confusing Menzai.” What..back scratches? I-” The question came out in a slightly strained hoarse, the unexpected nature of her statement on top of this situation left him at a loss.
Turning his head to try to glimpse the figure, but it was too blurry to make out, and doing so had him glean another peculiar note. This person was a shifter. Yet, her scent belonged to no recognizable tribe, having the wolf perplexed that some unknown shifter appeared out of the blue.
“… My name's Minerva by the way. How's your day been, my potential back scratcher?”
A slight pondering tilt of the head, unsure of what to make of this Minerva, but her bubbly and friendly nature seemed to incline her to be one in decent control of themselves with a more sunny disposition. Sensing no danger or malice from the woman as well helped put the worst assumed possibilities to rest, yet Wendel was missing something that still warranted cause for concern.
And, while not pleased having a stranger sitting against him out of the blue, he begrudingly still needed the support to maintain his sitting.” …Menzai…unpleasant.” He replied. Short and with a hint of pained irritation in his semi-heavy breathing, wishing he could manage to say more, the effort too strenuous, though out of caution, as he could not say if Minerva were easily temperamental or not.Either way, it was safer to not risk antatognizing the woman and play along for the time being.
Shaking his head to clear the remaining thoughts from his mind, he turned to face where Gears had been briefly stunned as well. Curious if she had witnessed the ordeal directly; something to ask later after recovering his strength.
”What the heck are these crystals and where is Wendel? What happened…?”
His ears twitched, catching Arya’s voice, bringing with it a sigh of relief upon discerning that she was well after all. When she had disappeared, he feared something had happened to her as well, confirming for him that there were indeed multiple shards, as well as her pointing out that Wendel had indeed vanished.
”...I don’t have any healing or medicine on me. Perhaps we can tourniquet her grave injuries until we find a healer?” His right eye widened and body tensed listening to Arya speak about medicine and needing a healer, disbelief nashed against his clenched teeth as he tried to reason her referring to another person, though as the dull ache at the back of his mind throbbed, he knew with a gut-sinking huff.
The world went mute around him as he grappled to maintain his breathing.* W-what happened? How? It should have been naught more than a simple bathroom trip.* Menzai gulped, strained, and struggled fervently to get to his feet, wanting nothing more than to rush to her side.
But his body refused to listen, much to his furious dismay. Still, Menzai refused to relent, to leave Phia without any support when he knew how terrified she must be.
Through stubborn refusal, the wolf forced his right hand resting against the wooden floorboards to slide and shift, using the last of his energy to barely rip the small pouch of medicine from his waist, where it tumbled from the collapsed hand onto the floor beside him.
Panting without lifting his head.” Gears, the pouch…please…I know..not much…give to…sweet Phia..please?” He coughed out with a pleading rippling blue eye shining with welled-up tears.
Said through gritted teeth, exhausted, he then let his head lower, forcing himself to try and meditate, needing some way to distract himself; awakened only to find the sweet half-elf charged to protect, badly hurt…were that he could shoulder it all in her stead.
🌸 A finely crafted katana 🌸 A concealed dagger laced with paralytic venom 🌸 Throwing needles coated with different poisons 🌸 Black silk combat outfit reinforced with hidden Mithril chainmail 🌸 Soft-soled boots that allow for near-silent movement 🌸 Smoke bombs and illusion charms for quick escapes 🌸 A set of forged documents under multiple aliases 🌸 A tea set and an assortment of teas 🌸 Incense
Attire: Gold Balance: 93 Injuries: None currently, but has numerous faded scars on her body
Meiyu stepped through the remnants of the ruined bathroom, the echo of the crystal still humming faintly behind her ribs. Her boots moved silently across the cracked tile and soot-streaked hallway, the chaos of battle trailing behind her like smoke clinging to silk.
She did not follow Bastion. She did not call after him, or ask after the girl he carried. She had done what she could. The rest would unravel as it would. Instead, Meiyu moved through the ship with purpose born not of concern, but calculation.
The deck would give her vantage. Perspective. A better view of what damage had truly been done. If they were going to crash, if worse came to worst, she wanted to know her exits.
Her steps were graceful but deliberate, sharp golden eyes scanning every detail as she emerged back into the corridor. A few battered passengers littered the space like discarded pieces on a game board. The scent of blood was thick in the air, mingling with smoke and sweat and adrenaline.
She didn’t speak as she walked past a collapsed figure or two, noting wounds, gauging severity. Some would live. Others? She was less sure. She had no real attachment to any of them. Not yet. But knowledge was power. And she never let power slip through her fingers.
When she reached the deck, her gaze swept the sky first, then the horizon, then the airship itself. She clocked structural damage, listening with half an ear to the murmuring voices nearby. Menzai’s breath was ragged somewhere behind her. Arya’s voice drifted over the hum of failing engines. Someone else–an unfamiliar woman with a bubbly lilt–chattered nearby.
Meiyu stood not far from them, but separate. Always a step removed.
She leaned against the railing, one arm folded across her midsection, the other resting lightly against the metal. A breeze caught the edges of her robe, but she adjusted it with a subtle flick, drawing the silk closed once more over her chest. The ever so faint blue-green glow of the crystal vanished beneath layers of fabric and precision.
No one else needed to see it. Not unless they had to.
Knowledge was power. And the less anyone knew about her, the less power they could ever wield.
Bastion had seen it, yes. But Bastion had also felt it. He'd been present as it happened. The moment the artifact shattered, they had all been struck–Meiyu, Phia, and Bastion himself. There had been no hiding that truth from him. In that sliver of time, they had shared something strange, ancient, and irrevocable.
She had let him see where it struck her. That was not trust. That was practicality. Because he'd seen too much already. And because he had one, too.
But for the rest of them?
Let them wonder.
Her golden eyes scanned the clouds ahead as though searching for answers the others hadn’t even thought to ask yet.
She didn’t speak.
But she waited.
If someone wanted to speak to her, they would.
And if not?
She would know exactly what to do when this ship began to fall.
Race: Aasimar Class: Paladin Location: Stormrider; Engine Control Room/Scratch’s Quarters 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: 97 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.
“You need to be careful with Venn, especially with her head. Last thing she needs is a skull fracture on top of everything that’s already wrong with her. But don’t be slow. Stormrider’s not going to wait for us. It doesn’t have that sort of time, I think.”
“Of course.” Ezekiel replied to Scratch as he once again lifted Venn’s fragile form and kept her head resting against his shoulder. He wondered if perhaps Scratch spent little time conversing with other adults or if the elf thought Ezekiel was planning to use Venn’s head to check for weak points in the walls. He guessed it was the former.
Scratch then followed up his statement with a question about the shard of crystal and before Ezekiel could answer, Val spoke up.
“I think it looks cool,” Ezekiel’s eyebrow lifted just slightly in surprise. He’d figured he had long since aged out of the years where he could still be considered “cool” by the youths of the next generation. Even though he had nothing to do with the piece of crystal that had lodged itself in his socket, he was taking the complement for the rare boon that it was nonetheless. He offered a solemn nod of thanks in return.
“U-Unless it hurts, Eyepatch, then it’s not that cool anymore.”
“It does not hurt.” Or if it did, it wasn’t bad enough to be noticed amongst his other injuries. Based on how Scratch and Val both acted, he assumed their shards had not inflicted any notable pain either. “I imagine it feels like yours, and Scratch’s; strange and difficult not to notice, but not painful.” A sharp contrast to the jagged wooden shrapnel still lodged in his leg which was entirely unpleasant but not a problem that needed mentioning to the child. Even if she was a surgeon’s assistant.
He kept up with Scratch’s pace and the conversation between the elf and his young assistant faded into background noise. His attention shifted back to the crystal and its unfamiliar magic but his attempts to focus in on magic’s intents proved fruitless. It was deeply concerning that the shards' appearance had coincided with the attack by the red hooded figures; the connection between the two events inspired an ominous feeling. Ezekiel was simply left to worry that they had been infected by something malevolent and corrupting.
“One, don’t touch anything without my permission. If you’re not sure about anything, ask me. If I’m busy, ask Val. Two, in there, I’ve the final word. If I tell you to stop, you stop. If I tell you to do something, you do it. If I tell you to run, you run. That goes for you as well, Venn. The rest of this ship’s yours, but this part of it is mine. Just want to make sure that’s clear. Three, and most importantly, it’s cramped in there, so watch where you put yourself. I don’t want any buttons pressed, or levers pushed, or switches flipped by accident.”
“Touch nothing and follow your lead.” Ezekiel repeated back the instructions to indicate he understood. Then he followed the other two into the engine control room and ducked his head beneath the shallow doorway. He sincerely doubted he’d be tempted to push random buttons or mess with any of the ships control without any knowledge of how the airship ran, such an impulse seemed a recipe for disaster anyhow. He did however wonder what good running would do in the event that the airship was either about to crash or explode, not that he particularly felt up to anything more than a brisk walk at the moment.
“Eyepatch, take Venn to my quarters–” Ezekiel’s eye followed to the curtain veiled archway Scratch pointed out.
“–and do what you can for her wounds. You can place her on my bunk, and use whatever you find. I’ve some medical supplies in there. They’re not hard to find, just rummage around. It’s already a mess, so don’t worry about making it a bigger one.”
Scratch then handed Venn a faintly glowing battery and the injured crew member kept hold of it. “I don’t know if you can pull power from one of these, but if you can, use it. I don’t need you passing out as well. If you can’t though…Keep it anyway. It might come in handy, some time, and I’m already up to my eyeballs in arcane batteries as it is.”
“I’ll do what I can. May the Flame light your path and the Gods guide your hands.” He said, wishing Scratch and Val luck as they went to work attempting to correct the disturbance with the airship. Ezekiel then disappeared behind the curtain into Scratch’s quarters.
He laid Venn down on the bunk and briefly rested his fingers on her neck, checking her pulse as he glanced around the room. Scratch was neither kidding nor exaggerating about the mess and the paladin could only wonder how the other man ever managed to find anything in this room. As he looked around for various medical supplies he often had to stop himself from organizing the abundance of clutter that littered the elf’s quarters.
Ezekiel set to work cleaning and dressing Venn’s injuries and filling the silence with open-ended questions meant to keep Venn focused on talking. Keeping her awake and as alert as possible as he worked. Once he had done all he could for Venn he cleaned and bandaged as many of his own injuries as he could while continuing to converse with Venn. He debated on the risk of removing the jagged chunk of wood from his leg, but without knowing what other challenges they might also have to face next, now seemed as good a time as any.
He thanked the holy flame that he did not begin to bleed out as he pulled the largest bit of shrapnel from his flesh. If the ship didn’t explode, or fall out of the skies, he’d have one of the doctors at medbay take a look at it, but for now he fixed it up as best he could and then focused on trying to tap into the arcane battery Scratch had handed Venn. He could vaguely hear Scratch and Val shouting out strings of numbers back and forth.
Pipes rattle, a copper plate peels free from the wall and clangs to the floor, the scent of scorched oil hangs heavy in the air, mingling with the reality of an injured elemental barely leashed within.
Inside this crucible of wires, runes, and pressure valves, Scratch’s hands move fast. There is no time for hesitation. Each lever flip and sigil realignment sends a jolt of risk through the ship’s heart. Vallena shadows him closely, steady her shaky hands as he rattles off coordinates and breaker numbers, those same hands darting to comply.
Together, they go to war against the equation of collapse.
The arcane battery whines and pressure flares in the containment valves, then drops. Sparks rise, but no rupture follows. The elemental…glowing, pulsating, and furious…quiets slightly within its housing. The air stops shuddering, and for a moment, it seems they’ve done it.
But nothing this broken is ever truly fixed that easily.
Somewhere in the manifold, a hiss escapes…a hairline fracture. Red warning glyphs blink along the ceiling. What was saved is not sustainable. The elemental remains bound, but the bindings are frayed. The containment circle pulses with strain, its light uneven.
The Stormrider IS stable... but just for now.
The damage is too deep. You’ll need to set this ship down before long or risk total system failure. The core is currently a candle burning low….Let it burn too long, and the flame will consume everything around it.
Behind the curtain, Ezekiel works in silence. His fingers move with reverence, tending to Callandra’s wounds with care that borders on devotion. She remains unconscious, but alive. Each bandage, each whispered word, pushes against the chaos encroaching from beyond the door.
When his duty to her is done, Ezekiel turns his care inward. The splinter comes free from his leg with a sickening pull, but the bleeding holds. The pain sharpens him as he breathes…and he endures. The paladin does not falter.
Now, in the quiet after bombs, assassins, and the possibility of ruination…the crew faces a new truth. You survived, but it’s not yet time to rest. You’ve earned this moment of calm, but the issues at hand will not wait forever.
The Stormrider needs a landing. Captain Sindralis must be notified. You’re sure he’s been fighting for his life behind that helm doing what he could to protect the lives of all onboard.
✦ Antler Headdress – Elegant branching antlers wrapped in vines and blooming wild roses and other flowers, dangling with purple crystal teardrops. ✦ Thick Magenta Hair – Flowing in long, heavy waves with many braids, tiny beads and blossoms braided throughout. ✦ Forest Bralette – A natural fabric top adorned with layered leaves, hide, flowers, and shimmering gem accents across the bust. ✦ Arm Jewelry – Vine-wrapped armlets and bracelets studded with glistening stones in violet and turquoise hues. ✦ Green Cloaklet – A light green cloak clasped with a gem like amber—crafted from flora and fauna ✦ Layered Skirt – Flowing petal-draped skirt with high side slits, woven from cloth and flower petals ✦ Waist Adornments – A golden vine belt holding a satchels, feathers, and a charm pouch of herbs and trinkets. ✦ Leg Jewelry – Beaded anklets and thigh cords with gemstone charms ✦ Nature Tattoos & Paint – Faint tribal markings or nature-inspired body paint peek beneath her outfit
🪞 Gold Balance: 55 🪞 🌸 Injuries:
🗡 Deep Stab Wound – Inner Forearm: Took a dagger meant for her chest directly into her forearm. Blade embedded deep, slicing muscle and likely grazing bone.
💥 Dagger Hilt Nerve Strike – Same Arm: Liana delivered a blunt-force strike to the same wounded arm, targeting the nerve center.
Effect: Caused violent spasms, a surge of white-hot pain, and temporary loss of staff control.
👢 Abdominal Kick #1: Delivered early in the fight, knocking the wind from her lungs and sending her back into a fall.
Injury: Minor bruising and impact trauma; no time to recover before escalation.
💥 Blunt-Force Trauma – Abdomen (Round Two): After wounding Liana with her claws, Phia was struck again by a full-force kick, this time with devastating intent.
Result: Cracked ribs upon impact, severe internal pain, and possible bruised organs.
💔 Mirror Slam – Back & Head Trauma: Her body was hurled into a mirror, causing glass to shatter around her.
Likely Effects: Lacerations, mild to moderate concussion, whiplash, and shock.
💣 Face Slam x3 – Wood Frame: Liana repeatedly smashed Phia’s head into the shattered wood behind her.
Injuries: Scalp bleeding, split lip, bruising across face and brow, potential concussion symptoms worsened.
💀 General Condition: Phia was left semi-conscious, bleeding from multiple points, her breath labored, body trembling, and suffering from a mix of nerve trauma, internal bruising, broken ribs, and likely concussion.
🌸
Phia had managed a smile as the gentle giant had bestowed her with a greeting. The warmth in his voice had given her a brief respite from the pain. But that fleeting comfort dissolved rapidly as he carried her back into the brilliance of the sun. The sky stretched vast above her, making her feel small and exposed beneath its gaze. Her smile slowly faded as Menzai’s face and name burst into her mind. Panic gripped her heart like a fist, crushing the breath from her lungs as a desperate urgency surged within her broken body.
Her eyes widened, frantic and wild, searching the deck until finally, painfully, they found him. Menzai lay motionless, bloodied, his strong form reduced to a mere shadow of the protector she knew. The sight tore through her heart.
”Menzai!” she cried out, her voice cracking with agony and fear. Her good arm strained toward him, trembling, fingers clawing the empty air as though she could somehow bridge the distance through sheer will alone. “No–... Please no!” He had always been so strong, she hadn’t ever even dreamed of seeing him this way.
He lay broken, and she couldn’t even crawl to him.
”...I don’t have any healing or medicine on me. Perhaps we can tourniquet her grave injuries until we find a healer?”
Phia's gaze snapped toward Arya, a woman she once regarded as a deity. The words twisted painfully inside her chest, but she couldn't afford to be the one who needed saving. Not when Menzai was slipping away right in front of her. She shook her head violently, each movement igniting a new fire in her cracked ribs and sending waves of nausea through her battered frame. Yet, no physical agony compared to the terror of losing her dearest friend.
”Do you have anything on you to help Phia? D…Do we have… Do we have a healer?”
“I’m fine!” she shouted in voice raw with her desperation, “Don’t look at me—don’t waste anything on me!”
Her golden eyes locked on Menzai’s still form, and a fresh wave of terror choked her.
“Menzai!” she screamed, louder now. Her arm reached again, fingers clawing at the air like she could drag him toward her through sheer will.
Her gaze flew back to Arya, a sob rising in her throat. “Give it to him! Give it to Menzai.” Her vision swam, darkness creeping at its edges, yet she fought fiercely against the oblivion.
Tears streamed down her bloodied cheeks as she strained in Bastion’s gentle hold. “I’m—I’m okay! He—he needs help, not me!” she sobbed, her words weakening but still fiercely determined. “Save him…please… don’t let him go. ”
He was always strong—he had to get up. He had to.
He had to rise… not to protect her, but so she could stand beside him again.
Location: Engine Control Room Race: Dark Elf & Human Class: Artificer & Rogue Interactions:@Helo Ezekiel; @Princess Callandra Mentions: Equipment:
Scratch Medical bag Tinkerer's kit Arcane spindlelock (shortened) musket Spindlelock pistols x2 Hand axes x2 Val First-aid bag Tinkerer's kit Spindlelock pistols x2 Steel daggers x2
Attire:
Scratch Dark brown, knee-length coat Black waistbelt Grey button-up shirt Dark brown trousers Heavy leather boots Val Off-white shirt Red ribbon tied around left arm Brown hooded coat Brown trousers Leather boots Goggles on her head
Gold: 101 Injuries:
Scratch NA Val Shallow cut on her right side, just below the ribs
It was a gradual process, and certainly not a simple one, but step-by-step; flipped switch-by-flipped switch; activated breaker-by-activated breaker; rotated dial-by-rotated dial, and pressed button-by-pressed button, calm returned to the Stormrider.
Or at least, as much calm as the vessel’s dire condition would allow.
Erratic vibrations, some strong enough to rattle loose even the most securely-fastened fixtures, still rippled through the engine control room’s floor, ceiling, and walls. The savaged airframe, torn and more likely than not only just holding itself together, still made itself known every so often—almost as if it were worried that it would be forgotten—with strident cacophonies of tortured metal and struggling machinery. Echoing dully from afar and ringing clearly from anear, such sounds, along with the airship’s irregular, jerky movements, were hardly a comforting experience for most aboard.
Scaerthrynne thought otherwise, however. As far as he was concerned, things were…
Well, they weren’t well, not by any stretch of the imagination, but they were definitely less-than-disastrous, and that was good enough for him, for now. The fire elemental had stabilised—the wild energy that’d filled the control room was gone, having since receded like an ebbing tide back through the hatch leading to the core chamber. With a bit of creative engineering, Vallena and he had even managed to reopen the arterial line powering the Stormrider’s aft. That likely gave the helm the additional control it needed to level out the airship, and pull it out of its uncontrollable dive.
And so, Scaerthrynne allowed himself one extended sigh of relief.
But only one.
The airship was, for the moment, safe, but it wasn’t saved. It couldn’t be saved—Scaerthrynne had known that from the very start. Buying time was the best he could manage, and he’d done just that. With only four engines operational, the Stormrider would be able to stay aloft for a while longer, but it wouldn’t be able to fly far. Certainly not to its intended destination. A quick check of the gauges told him that the engines were already close to their breaking points, just trying to keep the Stormrider controllable.
And it wasn’t as if there was that much control left. Scaerthrynne had hoped to return power to, at the very least, the aft flight control surfaces, but the power lines were too damaged to even manage that. A rudder, four ailerons, and two elevators—a mere fraction of the aft control surfaces—was as much as Vallena and he could revive without forcing the elemental into yet another frenzy.
But of course, those were small problems compared to the main issue: the hull itself.
As damaged as it was, Scaerthrynne couldn’t imagine it holding together for much longer. That it’d stayed more-or-less in one piece for as long as it had was already a miracle, and he’d never been one to rely too much on such things. The airship had to land immediately.
“Well done, Val,” he called out. “But that’s about as much as we can do with the breaker board. Go to your quarters and start packing in case we’ve to make a quick exit!”
“Okay, Scratch! Is my book–”
Scaerthrynne didn’t let her finish. “I’ve got it! Just hurry up! And Eyepatch, if Venn can walk, get her on her feet. If she can’t, you’ll have to carry her again. The two of you can head back up to the main deck first.”
Then, he hurried over to the intercom. “Engine control to bridge, engine control to bridge,” he shouted into the transceiver. “You have to land the airship as soon as possible. I say again, you have to land the airship as soon as possible! Either get us to the nearest safe harbour, or find a flat piece of land. The engines we have left aren’t going to last much longer, and the hull’s on its last legs as it is. Elemental core is stable for now, but we can’t power anymore flight control surfaces without risking another meltdown.”
The bridge of the Stormrider was in chaos. The wounded groaned. Broken panels sparked and hissed. The air hung thick with the iron stench of blood and the aroma of ozone…and the pulsing hum of the elemental ring was beating faint and irregular, like a heart too tired to keep pace. Somewhere aft, a control panel crackled as arcane script unraveled into static. One of the steering servos gave out with a shriek and a burst of blue-white light.
But Captain Jovik Cindralis didn’t hear any of it.
He stood motionless near the shattered forward console, framed in the ruined light of his once-proud helm. Blood ran a thin line down his temple, curling along the edge of his cheekbone before dripping quietly onto the worn decking below. His coat hung heavy, torn and darkened where it had caught the worst of the blast. In one hand, he still clutched his Brelish war saber; old steel, nicked and blackened from the fight. In the other, a custom elemental pistol, its barrel still trailing smoke.
At his feet lay the bodies. Masked assassins, cut down where they’d tried to seize the bridge. Crewmen who died defending it. And Duren…his first mate, his friend, the only bastard in the sky he trusted more than himself, was dead among them. The man had died a hero.
Jovik’s eyes stared through the bodies like they weren’t even there. His jaw was slack, his breath shallow. All the noise in the world had collapsed into a dull, endless ringing in his ears.
Something in him had broken loose during the fight. Not shattered, but... unmoored.
He didn’t know how long he stood there.
It might’ve been seconds. Might’ve been minutes. Time stretched thin in moments like this, suspended between grief and duty. Then a sound filtered through.
A voice…faint and crackling, just beneath the buzz of the broken comms.
“Engine control to bridge… you have to land the airship as soon as possible…”
At first it didn’t register.
“…I say again, you have to land the airship as soon as possible…”
His fingers twitched. The saber in his hand scraped faintly against the floor. He blinked.
“…engines we have left aren’t going to last much longer… hull’s on its last legs…”
Jovik sucked in a sharp breath through his teeth. The ringing in his ears dulled just enough for the weight of the message to settle.
“…elemental core is stable for now… but we can’t power any more flight control surfaces without risking another meltdown.”
The world slammed back into motion.
Jovik turned, eyes sharpening back to form. He dropped to a knee beside Duren’s body…just for a second. Just long enough to press a hand to the man’s shoulder and mutter something the rest of the bridge couldn’t hear.
Then he stood.
He holstered the pistol, slammed a fist into the override rune on the wall, and barked into the damaged comm line with steady fury.
“Scratch, this is Captain Cindralis. Message received. We’ll find a place to land. Just buy us as much time as you can, I’ll buy you a bottle for every minute. Bridge out.”
He turned toward the shattered console, hands already flying across the controls. Fire spat from exposed lines, but he didn’t flinch. Sparks hissed across his knuckles, but he didn’t stop. He whispered in Draconic, cajoled the elemental ring with every ounce of experience he had left, and set to work rerouting what power they could spare to navigation.
His war wasn’t over. Not yet. The ship was bleeding, the skies were burning, and his first mate was gone.
But the Stormrider was still flying. And so was her captain.
Race: Warforged Class: Warrior Location: Airship; What's left of the bar side women's bathroom. Interactions/Mentions: Phia @princess, Menzai @samreaper, Arya @potter, Minerva/Wendel @funnyguy, Gears, The Necromancer Equipment:
☼ Tower Shield ☼ Greatsword made of Glacium (A material as hard as steel, yet formed from eternally frozen ice.) ☼ Titan Chain – A reinforced tow chain housed in his left palm, functioning as a powerful grappling hook. ☼ Aged Leather Satchel ☼ Worn but cherished scarf ☼ Maintenance Kit . ☼ Heavy-duty rations (for companions, not himself). ☼ A delicate glass figurine of a bird—an old keepsake. ☼ A locked, timeworn journal—contents unknown.
Attire: ☼ Etched and weathered plating with bronze accents. ☼ Fitted harness for carrying supplies. ☼ Worn scarf Gold Balance: 49 gold Injuries: ☼ Left shoulder was injured in the battle and is still leaking fluid.
Phia’s cries rang out across the broken deck, louder than the chaos or the mournful moan of a damaged ship with strained elemental rings.
“Menzai!” she screamed, her voice cutting through the noise around them harshly. “No... Please no!”
Bastion’s eyes turned immediately, following her gaze to where the warrior lay slumped against a strange woman’s back. One he did not recognize. Blood pooled beneath Menzai, and his arm hung limp at his side.
“Give it to him! Give it to Menzai!”
She clawed toward him, her movements thrumming with desperation. Bastion’s grip on her shifted gently, adjusting her weight as she strained. He could sense how much pain she was in, yet she still wanted to give what little hope she had to someone else.
“Do not worry,” he said softly, stepping toward the others. “We will not lose either of you. We will find help for you both.”
Arya’s voice met his next.
“Do we have a healer?”
That question seemed to hang in the air.
And then… a voice answered.
It came from behind them, calm but cold, and with a dash of reluctant disdain.
“You do.”
The man who stepped forward wore a sleek, deep black longcoat with sharp shoulders and a dramatic, high collar that flares outward like bat wings. Beneath which is a striking plum-purple waistcoat accented by a bon white cravat. His presence is understated but somehow immense all at the same time. This is the gentleman who appeared from the quarters above on the balcony and joined the fight with quite the show of power.
Gears, who had been frozen for a moment too long, jolted into motion as if yanked from some far-off place. Her eyes widened when she saw Phia in Bastion’s arms, then darted to Menzai nearby, still slumped.
“Everyone! Clear the bar! Right now!” she barked. “Big guy, set her down gentle. That surface is clean enough and stable enough for what she needs.”
Bastion nodded without question. He moved to the bar and lowered Phia with care, placing her on her uninjured side. His hands were impossibly gentle, adjusting her hair away from her eyes and making sure her weight did not rest on her wounds.
He turned to find the strange man already striding forward.
The necromancer stood tall, yet still somehow sunken. He didn’t glance down at Phia, not yet…Instead, he spoke as he looked across them all.
“Lie the other one beside her.”
His words referenced Menzai, though there was no warmth in the command, only confidence.
“I can save them both.”
His hand raised slowly, fingers curling. A faint chill touched the air.
Bastion’s optics narrowed. This was not divine energy. No warm glow, no golden light. What flowed from the man’s hand was something else entirely. The shadows around him quivered as threads of darkness extended like ribbons, wrapping through the air and down toward Phia’s broken body.
It was not cold, exactly… but it was wrong. Like watching a wound heal in reverse.
Phia’s breathing slowed, then stabilized. The bruises on her ribs began to fade, the torn muscle and broken skin threading themselves back together with sinew shaped by shadow. The light in her crystal pulsed once, in rhythm with whatever the man had done, and then stilled.
Menzai would be next.
“Someone place him beside her. I will not ask again.”
Bastion moved without hesitation, his damaged shoulder leaking faintly as he crossed the space between the bar and where Menzai slumped. He gave Minerva a quiet glance, then knelt beside the fallen wolf.
“You’ve done enough,” he said gently to the woman now supporting the man. “Let me take him now.”
He reached beneath Menzai with care, avoiding his bleeding shoulder and stabilizing his back as he lifted the shifter into his arms. The wolf’s body was heavier than Phia’s, but Bastion carried him just the same…like something precious, not a burden. His limbs were slack, but faint breaths still came.
He laid Menzai down beside Phia on the bar, mirroring the same gentleness, adjusting both of them so they faced one another in hopes that it would bring them comfort.
He then stepped back, allowing the dark healer to begin his work.
The necromancer extended both hands now, standing tall behind the bar as his fingers traced runes in the air...runes that shimmered with an unnatural violet light. Whispers followed them, soft and distant, like the echo of chanting voices speaking from a forgotten crypt. The light from the sun dimmed slightly, not by shadow, but as if the world itself leaned away from what was happening.
Phia’s wounds glowed faintly beneath her skin. So did Menzai’s.
The shadows seeped into flesh like water into soil, wrapping nerves and fusing broken bones from the inside out. The bruises faded…wounds closed….and now both of them breathed easier, though their bodies still bore the exhaustion, the damage had been reversed, at least enough to ensure they would be okay.
The necromancer lowered his hands.
His expression had not changed once.
“They will live,” he said simply. He turned then, walking away from the bar like a man who had simply completed a transaction.
Bastion stepped forward again, looking down at Phia and Menzai with his optics dimmed.
“They will need rest. All of us will. But first... thank you.”
His voice reached Arya, Minerva, Gears, and even the necromancer’s retreating back.
“For fighting back, and for helping those in need.”
He looked down at Phia once more, and this time he allowed himself the smallest smile.
Race: Changeling Class: Part-Time Fighter Location: Near the Bar, Airship to Khorvaire Interactions: Arya, Bastion, Meiyu @potter@Oso@TaeMentions: Menzai, Phia
Equipment:
⋆ Lots of Clothes ⋆ Arming sword ⋆ Battle-axe ⋆ Mace ⋆ Daggers ⋆ Bow & Arrows ⋆ Shortsword ⋆ Leather Armor ⋆ Half-plate Armor ⋆ Hide Armor ⋆ Toolkit ⋆ Camping Equipment ⋆ Locked chest filled with old trinkets that ARE NOT FOR SALE ⋆ Magnifying glass ⋆ Diary ⋆ Sketchbook ⋆ Pencils ⋆ Dried and Cured Meats ⋆ Nuts ⋆ Second Locked Chest with self-care products ⋆ Bag of holding
Attire: beige trousers, brown tunic, and worn brown boots Gold Balance: 3 (on hand) Injuries: None currently Current Persona: Minerva
The environment, and the people within it, were still strangers to the wandering eyes and perked ears of Minerva. The current scene, from what she could make of it, marked that something violent had occurred. The sight of tears and blood was unmistakable, yet, as Minerva bore witness to the somber aftermath, her eyes never committed to a particular sight.
“Menzai,” She said his name smoothly while turning to peer over her shoulder, but the man’s dark violet hair prevented her from catching a glimpse of his face. However, she did catch the faint whiff of his scent, despite Miris’ dull senses. She never did comment on his mention of his day being unpleasant, as it was merely a confirmation to what she had taken in within her short time here, on the airship.
Facing front, she silently dug into the bag of holding, fishing for something to tie or pin up her hair. While her hand sifted through the bag at her side, the other half of her attention was on Wendel's last entry in the journal resting comfortably in her lap.
Wendel… he was first? He was first on the airship?! Her eyebrows rose, realizing she had been lucky enough to make it onto the vessel this time around. A short-lived smile spread across her face as the setting made a bit more sense, minus the aftermath of something tragic.
Aaaaaand I only have two coins to play with… With that piece of news, she grimaced and continued to skim Wendel’s entry in disorganized fashion. She simply searched for keywords of interest. Gold, coin, Minerva, good, bad, fight, names, and swearing were words that would not escape her.
“Got something,” She commented aloud before pulling a dark blue hair ribbon from her bag. Tilting her head down and forward, she let her eyes become intimate with the last piece of Wendel's entry while she tied her hair.
”What the heck are these crystals and where is Wendel? What happened…?”
“He’s… somewhere. I’m sure he’s around.” Minerva answered with the aloofness of someone too busy to continue speaking on the matter. The double Xs on the page, a marker used among the personas to signal a stressful situation, was not something to ignore even if the battle appeared to be over.
”Menzai!”
“Menzai.” She practiced the name quietly, as if the young elf wasn't wailing it in distress. After doing up her messy ponytail, Minerva grabbed the pen tucked into the crease between the pages of the journal. She had reached up to the mention of the something striking Wendel’s neck, but her attention had worn thin, especially with the flowing chatter and screaming for Menzai’s wellbeing. With a swift hand, Minerva put ink to page, simply writing.
Minerva’s here! Wendel is a fucking hero! First Four still better than Worst Four.
With that, she shut the book and placed it into the satchel just in time for the towering Warforged she could only assume was “Bastion” to free her from her potential future back-scratcher, Menzai.
“You’ve done enough,” he said gently to the woman now supporting the man. “Let me take him now.”
“Really?! Ooh, this is wonderful! Thank you, Warforged!” She happily exclaimed as Bastion carried Menzai. “Much better! Oh, and…” She sprung to her feet and pointed at his back as he made his way toward the bar. “I owe you nothing, Warforged, and even if I did, I am very poor at the moment!” She declared, so anyone who could hear would know that there was no debt to be paid.
Very poor. She thought as she bent down to pick up Wendel’s boots to place into the satchel. Eleanor the spoiled bitch, struck again, but my favorite old dwarf, Wendel may have given me a solid lead to get me some coin. Minerva glanced toward the bar, her curiosity forcing her to see the face of the wounded man who had been sitting back-to-back with her.
“Menzai. Noble and fierce.” She whispered Wendel's last description of him before walking across the deck, her eyes searching for the dwarf’s prize.
I met her at the bar. She’s picturesque in appearance. Black hair, amber eyes, and patches of scales here and there. I heard someone mention her being a Yuan Ti just now. She's very beautiful. Anyway, I made a wager with her, which may potentially yield some coin.
Minerva could have wandered around the deck, trying to pick out black-haired women from the crowd or from the bodies lying in pools of blood, but she was not going to waste her limited “play time” on subtlety.
“Oh, Meiyuuu! A friend of Wendel is looking to speak with youuu!” She wore a toothy grin with her head on a swivel for anyone fitting the Yuan Ti’s description to answer the call.
The Stormrider groans beneath your feet. You feel it...deep in the bones of the ship, in the pulse of the air around you. A slow, sick roll of arcane energy seeping through every pipe and seam, as if the elemental bound within can sense what's coming. As if it resents it.
Your Captain addresses you all over the comms system. His voice, typically steady and clipped, now carries the taut edge of calculation pressed against desperation.
"This is Captain Cindralis. The situation is… less than ideal. Most systems are compromised, and the harsh truth is that there’s no riding this out, not this far from Breland."
There’s a pause...barely more than a heartbeat, but the silence hums louder than any engine. Then:
"I’m initiating emergency descent protocol. Closest survivable option is the Lhazaar Principalities. Not a choice I make lightly. But it’s that or drift until we burn out."
Even without seeing his face, you can hear the distaste in his tone. Lhazaar. Something in his voice suggests he knows exactly what kind of welcome you’re in for...and why it worries him so deeply. Those of you that recognize these islands by name understand his concern, given their reputation. Those that no nothing about any of this still pick up the unease loud and clear.
The message ends… and the waiting begins. A slow kind of panic sinks in, not with screaming or sprinting...but in the quiet shuffle of boots, the white-knuckled grips on railings, the murmured prayers to gods from all over the world.
You hear it in the mechanical locking of cabin doors. In the soft click of blades being sheathed with reverence. In the way even the crew stops pretending to have everything under control.
There’s time. Not much, but enough for it to hurt.
Maybe you find a seat and strap in. Maybe you pace. Maybe you don’t sit at all, because sitting means accepting what’s coming. Around you, the Stormrider shudders like a wounded beast. The once-harmonic drone of its elemental engine becomes a rasping cough. Sparks blink from the walls like dying stars.
You feel altitude drop.
And drop again.
Then the descent begins in earnest.
"All hands, brace for descent. The Stormrider is coming in hard...find a seat or a rail and hold tight. Medical attention will be standing by once we’re grounded. Stay clear of the cargo hold and let the crew do their job. This isn’t over yet."
Wind howls past the hull like a scream too long held back. Lightning flashes...not from stormclouds, but from inside the Stormrider, flaring against warding runes that shatter with each surge.
The vessel jerks violently left. You’re thrown against your seat, your harness, the nearest wall...wherever you are, wood and metal groaning around you, strained to breaking.
From the portholes or the deck itself, you see it: jagged islands below, framed by charcoal clouds and seething ocean.
The ship dives...hard...then banks up at the last second, the elemental core screeching in protest. A flash of flame bursts from the starboard engine as a support wing rips free and tumbles into the sea.
The Stormrider slams into the shore.
You hear a sound like a god being stabbed...a metal-on-stone shriek as hull scrapes cliffside. A chunk of railing vanishes into the void. The impact hammers through your ribs like a war drum.
And then eventually… stillness.
Ash and salt choke the air. The world tilts unevenly, as if gravity itself hasn’t made up its mind. The deck beneath you is scorched, scattered with debris. Fires flicker. Somewhere, water hisses against burning steel.
You cough, you move, you check yourself for wounds. Somehow, you’re alive, and not as worse for ware as you might have feared.
Captain Cindralis’s voice returns, hoarse but controlled.
"This is Cindralis. We made it. All passengers, report to the main deck. Watch your step...we’re in one piece, but only barely. We’ll assess the damage once we’re sure no one’s dying. Stormrider out."
You rise.
Smoke drifts from the ruined engine. Ahead, the jagged coastline of the Principalities waits… and somewhere beyond the haze, movement. Watching.
🌸 A finely crafted katana 🌸 A concealed dagger laced with paralytic venom 🌸 Throwing needles coated with different poisons 🌸 Black silk combat outfit reinforced with hidden Mithril chainmail 🌸 Soft-soled boots that allow for near-silent movement 🌸 Smoke bombs and illusion charms for quick escapes 🌸 A set of forged documents under multiple aliases 🌸 A tea set and an assortment of teas 🌸 Incense
Attire: Gold Balance: 93 Injuries: None currently, but has numerous faded scars on her body
Meiyu turned at the sound of her name, amber eyes narrowing as they sought the source of the unfamiliar voice. The singsong lilt grated against the tense quiet she had been cultivating within her own mind, and for a heartbeat, irritation coiled tight in her gut like a striking serpent. She didn’t recognize the woman’s tone, and her gaze flicked across the deck, searching for the fool who thought it wise to call out to her so loudly in the middle of chaos.
Before she could snap a reply, the Captain’s voice crackled over the comms, taut with barely-contained control. Emergency descent. Lhazaar Principalities. Not ideal. The words fell into Meiyu’s mind like stones into a calm pool, each one sending out ripples of calculation.
She ignored Minerva’s call for now, her attention shifting skyward. The clouds churned above like ink bleeding through silk, and the elemental ring sparked and flared, leaking arcane light as the airship groaned beneath their feet. Meiyu watched the way the clouds seemed to swallow the horizon, watched the flickering glow of failing warding runes sputter and die. The scent of scorched metal and ozone filled her senses, sharp and bitter.
“So this is how it ends,” she murmured under her breath, one hand resting lightly against the hilt of her katana as though to remind herself of its presence. She had faced death a thousand times before, but it was never quite the same twice. And she had no intention of meeting it here, on a falling ship surrounded by strangers.
When the Captain warned them to brace, Meiyu gripped the railing with white-knuckled hands, her slender fingers tightening like claws against the edge. Her jaw set, teeth bared faintly in something that wasn’t quite a snarl, but wasn’t far off either. As the ship shuddered and lurched violently to one side, she hissed softly, coiling her body low to absorb the impact.
The screech of tearing metal and splintering wood was like a scream through her skull. A section of railing to her left exploded free as the Stormrider tilted hard, splintering with a high-pitched whine. Shards of wood and metal caught her along her hip and thigh as she was thrown sideways, pain flaring hot and immediate beneath her robes. She landed hard against the deck, shoulder first, the breath knocked from her lungs in a single, sharp exhale.
For a moment, stars burst behind her eyes. Her vision tunneled, a wash of red blooming across her sight. But she forced her body to move, rolling with feline grace despite the jolt of agony that raced along her side. She pressed a hand against the wound instinctively, feeling warm blood seep between her fingers. Shallow. Manageable. Later.
She could hear voices shouting around her, the panic of crew and passengers mixing with the sickening screech of the ship’s hull scraping rock. Her scales glimmered faintly in the pulsing light of broken arcane wards, her serpentine pupils dilated as she scanned the horizon.
The impact rattled through her bones as the Stormrider struck land at last, grinding across stone and sand in a cacophony of metal shrieks and crackling flame. The jolt threw Meiyu against the deck again, another sharp burst of pain radiating up her spine. But she endured, breathing shallow, her expression calm save for the tightening at the corners of her mouth.
When the world finally stilled, Meiyu dragged herself to her knees, her hair falling in a dark curtain around her face. She brushed it back with one bloodied hand, golden amber eyes glittering as they surveyed the wreckage. Fires burned along the deck, casting shadows that flickered and danced like hungry ghosts.
She stood, testing her injured side, and then glanced back over her shoulder at the woman who had called for her before the descent. Her expression was cool, her voice a low hiss edged with wry amusement.
“You have a terrible sense of timing,” she drawled, one brow lifting faintly.
And with that, she moved away from the railing, every step measured and controlled despite the sting of her wound, her mind already shifting to the next problem. Survival. Opportunity. The game never ended, after all. Her mind also oddly went to the dark elf and the young girl from earlier as well as the white haired man with an eyepatch, wondering how they were faring in this situation. Strange.
