---

Race: Tiefling
Class: Ranger
Location: The Kraken's Wake ⋆ Seadragons Throne Room
Interactions: @samreaper Menzai ⋆ @princess Phia ⋆ @FunnyGuy Malik ⋆ @Tae Meiyu ⋆ @Lava Alckon Corin ⋆ @Oso Bastion/Pirate King
Equipment:

Equipment List [+]

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

Attire:
⋆ Outfit
⋆ Hair
Gold Balance: 53
Injuries: Scars on body, old chain marks on wrists, ankles and neck, tattoo on wrist with number

Arya had been upset throughout the night.

When Bastion had fallen, she had wanted so badly to speak up against those laughing at his misfortune. But she had simply stood there with trembling legs and watched. Even though she and Menzai had eventually gone over, and she had been able to leave Bastion with comforting words, the thought that she hadn’t stood up for him lingered nonetheless. She spent much of the remainder of her time with Bastion, Menzai, Phia and then Stella before bed.

Minerva had perplexed her on multiple occasions, especially with her decision to roam nude through the bedroom. Thus, Arya kept some distance from the girl. She took a top bunk and set Stella down on the side beside her to perch and rest. Stella stretched her wings out and wrapped them around her multiple times comfortingly. Arya remained awake late at night, her eyes glued to the constellations and wondering how her family was fairing–had the captors caught up to them yet? Her stomach churned. Eventually, her racing thoughts drifted off and she fell asleep beside Stella. Her dreams were not peaceful either.

The next morning, Stella awoke early. As she sat up in bed, she looked over at Minerva. At first, nothing seemed wrong. Then, she watched with wide eyes as Minerva’s skin began losing color which caused Arya to panic. What was wrong? Had they been poisoned? Stellie stirred alongside her and chirped with confusion. Minerva morphed into an elven male, who was bigger, had darker skin tone, longer hair and was no longer a catlike woman. Arya and Stella didn’t take their eyes off him–not even when the man eventually woke up and caught them staring. It made sense then–Minerva was a changeling. Arya blinked with surprise. Then, she realized he was naked and quickly turned away to stare at her eagle.

“He’s a changeling,” she whispered to Stella. “It.. it fits.”

Stella chirped back in reply and ruffled her wings. ”As long as they don’t hurt you or the others, I won’t peck his eyes out.” Arya bit back a laugh so as to not wake the others.

“Let’s hope it doesn’t come to that, Stellie, but if it does I won’t hold you back.” Stella nipped her affectionately and went back to bed, though the eagle remained vigilant for noise and would occasionally glare at everyone else, as best as an eagle could.

It wasn’t long before the pirates from the day prior came to collect them. The walk was tense, and it reminded Arya too much of when she had been captive, but Stella chirped softly in her ear the whole time, keeping her as steady as she could.

When they reached the pirate cove, Arya was surprised by how young the prince looked, though the sight did little to ease her discomfort. The moment he mentioned property, her hand moved instinctively to her right wrist, rubbing at it before moving to the other.

Malik, Phia, and Corin all introduced themselves, the latter two more boldly than Arya had expected. Trembling, she took a half-step forward, then hesitated. She wanted to speak up this time, to make up for the moment she hadn’t stood up for Bastion, but instead she remained silent, her body rigid and her eyes unfocused.

Arya knew the game they were playing–she had done this song and dance for over ten years, and she was unwilling to risk herself or Stella again. She kept her hood up and her hands closer to her bow if necessary, though it was unlikely they’d escape if they fired a shot. She did her best to blend into the background. Names and tieflings were precious, and so she remained quiet. Her gaze flickered to everyone. Much to her surprise, Stella managed to hide in her hood, quiet and perched on her shoulder. She remained the silent guardian Arya needed, and for that, Arya would not draw attention to her, or the bow she was ignoring.

---

Bastion

Race: Warforged
Class: Guardian
Location: The Kraken's Wake  Seadragon Keep
Mentions: Phia @princess, Arya @potter, Corin @Lava Alckon, Minerva / Malik@FunnyGuy, Meiyu @Tae
Equipment:

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 ivory metal plating with bronze accents.
☼ Fitted harness for carrying supplies.
☼ Worn scarf
Gold Balance: 37 gold
Injuries:
☼ Left shoulder was injured in the battle and is still leaking fluid.

---

Bastion did not sleep.

This was not a matter of discipline, nor pride, nor some noble thing like heroism. Sleep simply did not come for him the way it did for others. Their bodies surrendered to it, each in their own fashion whether it be uneasy or welcomed. Their minds and bodies required rest. His did too, but just not in the same ways.

For Bastion, there was only the rest of stillness. Hours and hours of quiet and still that was only interrupted by the occasional patron coming or going from their room, in which they had to awkwardly step over Bastion’s massive legs as he waved up to them from his place on the ground, and of course the sounds that boomed from below as even though many were sleeping by this hour… The Kraken’s Wake, much like him, itself never slept.

Morning crept in without ceremony, gray and pale through the warped windows, sunlight spilling across the hallway in thin pieces that slowly touched his legs, his hands, the old plates and seams of his body. Doors began to open and voices emerged, some quiet, some strained, some still intoxicated from the evening’s libations.

Bastion rose when the others did, and he was excited when he felt the door from Phia’s room open behind his back. As he stood it was obvious that there was always a weight to him when he moved, a carefulness, as if every step required calculation before committing to it. The last thing he needed was another incident like with the chair the night before… Though it did seem to make everyone happy. Well, everyone except for Minerva.

He gave Phia space when she came out, his gaze touching her briefly, checking for injury, distress, anything immediate or requiring action. Then that same curious gaze passed to Menzai, then Corin, then Arya, then Meiyu.

Then to a stranger.

There was not a Minerva in sight. This form was different. Height, face, frame, hair, posture, clothing, all different from her. Yet how could it be that this man was in the room and Minerva was not, when Bastion had taken vigil outside of the door all night. No one had gotten in or out without him knowing. His head tilted like that of a confused dog as he pondered, but no one else acted as though there was a problem, which only confused him even more.

Thankfully it wasn’t long until he was introduced to Malik, and though the interaction did not answer all of his questions, it did alleviate some of his concern. At the very least, he did not have long to react at all since by the time the group arrived downstairs, Beckett and the other pirates came to collect them.

A brief time later, they were in the depths of Seadragon Keep receiving introductions by a blue prince that looked more like a child to Bastion. The child prince called them property… He did not appreciate that. The child prince insinuated that their survival was now dependent on their submission to him… He did not appreciate that either.

Bastion watched as, one by one, the group began to introduce themselves. Malik started things off as though he Was their leader. The Warforged’s head tilted once more with curiosity towards the Elf. Not only because of the obvious confusion, but also because in some ways the man reminded him of someone. He pulled memories of a Valenar champion of the Tairnadal with which he once served. Painful memories… And thus he pushed them from his mind almost as quickly as they came.

Next was Phia, and the way she carried herself made him feel proud to know her, despite it only being for a brief time. When she struck her staff against the floor, Bastion could feel the vibration of its echo through the soles of his metal plated feet. She made her stance known, made it clear that she was not property, and she carried a presence with her that he had not seen from the kind girl before.

Corin stepped up to make introductions next. The man, in all of his honor, was defiant in his own way. His competence was put on full display, as was his confidence in his abilities. He gave only his title; The Gem Knight. Bastion wondered why, but something in his own depths understood the choice even if his mind had not fully processed it as of yet.

It was then that Arya moved to step forward, but she did not make it far. Her body trembled, slight enough that perhaps others missed it, but Bastion did not. Her hand remained near her bow. Her hood hid much, but not all of her face. Stella was tucked away close, quiet as a secret. Even now, he admired the creatures majesty and beauty. Arya’s gaze did not settle. It flickered, retreated, returned, then vanished somewhere inward.

Bastion did not know everything. He did not know the shape of the chains that had left their memory around her wrists. He did not know why some silences were chosen and others were endured. But for all he did not know, he did in fact know fear.

But a shield did not need to understand the entire battlefield to know when to interpose, so Bastion stepped forward without even thinking.

As he took his place where the others had stood, Bastion gazed upon Prince Dane the way he once gazed upwards at the very Queen of Cyre. Even Warforged could experience nostalgia.

“The designation that was given to me upon my creation is Bastion.” He divulged. “I was once a guardian of Cyre, but now my shield has been sworn to these people here. I am their defender. I have vowed to protect them. If you wish to harm them, I fear I will be forced to add more bones to the collection in this room. For almost 100 years I lived a life consumed by war. I wish for something different, but I will not be your property, child, and you will not bring harm to my companions… Or war it shall be again.”

Bastion did not wait for a response, turning an about face like he once did in formation as a soldier, and taking his place between Phia and Arya once more.

Meiyu spent the evening in silence, a shadow in the corner. While Minerva bathed and chattered with Phia, Meiyu sipped her tea, letting the chaos of the room slide past her like water over stone. She read, unmoved, the steam from her cup curling in thin, serpentine ribbons—mirroring the unblinking focus of her golden eyes.

She watched the Kitten with clinical interest. The shifter’s boisterousness was a gaudy cloak, but Meiyu had already begun to peel back the layers. Minerva’s frantic energy and Wendel’s grounded calm—two faces, same coin. The presence of a changeling was no surprise. One vanished, another appeared, both scribbling in the same journal. She might not have pieced it together if she hadn’t read over Minerva’s shoulder. But she kept the secret. A hidden blade is only useful when no one else knows where the hilt lies.

Night deepened. The others claimed their bunks. Meiyu took the lower bunk across from Minerva, watching the firelight flicker over restless limbs and stiff shoulders. Arya tense, Phia fidgeting, Minerva unashamed. None of it fazed her. Every sigh, every shift—a data point. While they slept, Meiyu sat in stillness, mind tracing the invisible web binding them. Eight gems. Eight tethers. She pressed her fingers to the hidden mark beneath her robes, feeling its cold, proprietary thrum. They were all pieces in someone else’s game.

Her thoughts flickered to the Little Fox. Why tail them? Maybe a ninth gem, maybe just another stray drawn by the same thread. She would find out soon enough. For now, his secret was hers alone. There was no profit in sharing. Sleep came lightly.

---

Morning crept in, gray and salt-laced through warped glass. Meiyu woke as someone slipped into the bathroom. She moved in silence, a shadow dressing for war. When the door opened, the Kitten was gone. In her place: a stoic Valenar elf, darker-skinned, presence heavy and severe.

Meiyu didn’t flinch. She didn’t reach for steel. She stood by the table, posture loose, and offered Malik a slow, knowing smirk. She knew. She was neither surprised nor impressed. She watched him, silent, as he adjusted to the new skin—so different from the Minerva’s naked bravado the night before.

She said nothing. There was no need. She smoothed black silk, checked the hidden needles at her belt. Phia’s questions and Arya’s silence washed over her. Meiyu’s eyes stayed on the door. The pirates would come soon. The game, at last, was moving.

---

Meiyu moved through the winding streets of Port Verge with a silent grace that made her seem more like a ripple in the air than a woman walking on stone. While the others bristled under the gazes of the locals or looked toward the looming silhouette of Seadragon Keep with trepidation, Meiyu’s attention was fragmented with lethal precision.

She sensed the Little Fox before she saw him. Clever, nimble, but to her—just another pulse of heat at the edge of awareness. Predator’s intuition. As they turned past splintered driftwood, she kept her gaze forward, but her shadow reached for him.

“Hello again, Little Fox,” she sent the magical whisper, her voice a ghost in his ear. She felt a flicker of amusement as they approached the reinforced gates of the keep, the ship-hull walls rising like the ribcage of a leviathan. Just before the heavy iron-bound doors swallowed the group whole, she cast one more thought back toward the shadows. “Are you going to be my guardian angel today? Or are you just waiting for the leftovers?”

Inside, the throne room fractured light across old bones. Meiyu ignored the guards. She studied the beams, the patchwork scars in the wood, the way shadows pooled. She measured which rib would break first, which darkness would swallow a body whole.

Then, she looked at him.

Prince Ravic Dane. The Little Shark.

Her gaze didn’t just rest on the Prince; it dissected him. She cataloged every rhythmic shift of his translucent blue skin and the deliberate weight behind the tapping of his fingers. He appeared young, but Meiyu was no fool—she had lived long enough to know that eternal youth was often the most expensive mask of the ancient and the monstrous. Her eyes flickered from the frayed gold of his coat to the tension in the hand gripping his blade, searching for the invisible fractures that existed in every man. She looked past him, too, scanning the gargantuan rib bones of the ceiling for structural rot and noting anywhere someone could be hidden watching them. Every fortress had a soft underbelly, and every master had a throat. She was merely deciding which one to open first.

Then he spoke of property with the casual arrogance of a man who had never truly tasted his own blood. Internally, Meiyu’s thoughts turned a shade of black that would have made even Phia’s vibrant flowers wilt. She belonged to no one. Not to whatever divine or otherwise being that had marked her, not to the masters she had buried in her past, and certainly not to a blue-skinned boy on a chair of junk. The idea was almost erotic in its danger—a misunderstanding she intended to correct with blood, eventually. But that would come in time. Beware the patient woman.

She watched the others bare their teeth. Malik’s blood, Phia’s pride, Corin’s steel, Bastion’s oath. All noise. All weight.

When silence found her, Meiyu stepped forward. No stomp, no shout. Just a slow, predatory glide that shrank the room to a breath. She stopped, head tilted, golden eyes unblinking—studying Ravic like a jeweled insect she meant to pin and keep.

“Meiyu,” she exhaled, her voice a low, sultry vibration that seemed to crawl up the bones of the throne as she gave the smallest of bows. “And if I am property, I hope you are a careful owner. I have a habit of outlasting my masters, and I’ve noticed that even the sturdiest thrones are built from the bones of things that thought they were invincible.”

She let her gaze linger on the scars on his chest, her eyes widening with a dark, appreciative hunger—not for the man, but for the ruin he represented. She stepped back to the group, but her eyes never left his, her smirk sharpening into something truly malevolent.

“Tethers and leashes are such intriguing things, aren't they?” she murmured, a soft, chilling giggle escaping her lips. “They go both ways, Prince. If you hold me too tight, you might find I’m the one leading you to the bottom of the sea…deep, cold, and breathless.”

She settled into a watchful stance, the golden glow in her eyes promising that if he truly wanted to own her, he would have to survive her first. And no one ever did.

Thomas wakes as the horizon shifts from speckled night to creeping grey. The darkness wanes ever so slightly as he frees his face and eyes of dirt and dust deposits gifted by the night's winds. Despite the stirring of the tavern below long into the night, he found the cool ocean air soothing enough to drift for a few hours.

Rather than dreams of distant lands or exciting adventure which a younger Thomas once came to expect when he gave into the embrace of a soft bed. The dark of night brought memories forth in place of whimsy and fantasy. His mind bounced between the family he once cherished and the friend that left only a note in his place, anything sweet to dull the sting of knowing that chapter has concluded. At least long enough to stave off remembering months of hiding out in the jungles of Xen'drik evading a foe that laid claim to everything he had left.

But on this night his mind did not seem intent on assaulting him with unpleasant recollections, despite being stranded in hostile territory Thomas was surprisingly at ease. Neither Saxton or his hounds were here, that much he was sure of. Without allies a meeting with him would spell a swift end; the thought dredged up the last meeting of Thomas and Count Saxton, his final words both promise and threat.

”You’re free to go, as long as neither I nor my guards ever lay eyes on you again. But, that’s if you survive the fall.”

Thomas shakes himself awake unsure if the cool breeze or the words ringing his ears sent the shiver up his spine. The tavern below sat still in stark contrast from the night before. The once loud and jovial sounds have fallen silent as the night's patrons either found their way to beds or remain seated having well exceeded their constitution before last call. Rather than wait for the group to rise, the patchwork shirt that found itself a place as a makeshift pillow needed to be returned to its owner. It does not take Thomas long to retrace his steps and return to the clothes line where the shirt was found, a relief to see that it is returned. Gently he dusts off the stolen goods and hangs it back where it was found the day before.



The alleys of Port Verge remain quiet in the early hours, some dwellings have begun to stir but nothing of concern to Thomas as he saunters his way back to the tavern. Despite the shanty not providing many opportunities for needs to be filled on a budget, it does have its moments. Before Thomas lay a disheveled pirate slumped up against a crate, an empty bottle grasped firmly despite having been out cold for what must have been several hours. A deck of cards is scattered around and dice sit still next to a half eaten dinner and enough bottles for a small gathering. Thomas glanced over the plate and bottles relieved he would not have to go without sustenance for the morning. While he salivated at the chance to line his stomach a protrusion in the pirate's coat caught his eye. Lifting the coat reveals a moderately sized leather pouch that jingles when touched.





Thomas braced the pouch slithering his tiny halfling hand into the opening, in one swift silent motion it yielded twelve gold pieces. Despite knowing he could relieve this man of all his coin, he did not elect to take the whole pouch. Although, in his condition this man would not know he's been robbed for at least a few more hours.

Thomas turned his attention to the plate of food, despite being left to the elements it retained the aroma of a delicious tavern seafood meal. Rather than risk the sound of utensils rousing the pirate, he quickly scooped food into his hand. A few mouthfuls deep the rice and fish dried by the open air wore against his throat sticking to the walls as if to scorn his theft. The array of half empty bottles offered some respite, but the contents presented another issue. Whether it be human, elvish, or dwarven brew; even small amounts of alcohol would hinder Thomas for several hours. Gerson's personal brew was strong enough to remove a barbarian from the general population; it alone was responsible for enough trouble in the past.

Thomas scanned the bottles hoping at least one of last night's participants had left something that wasn’t also effective in sterilizing a wound. The first two bottles both stung as he brought the lip of each to his nose. The third however contained a wine so weak it was likely the cheapest available. Regardless, even just a few sips washed the food down as desired. With the plate mostly stripped clean and a belly full he figured it best to make himself scarce lest the pirate awaken prematurely. With a swift turn and face Thomas treks back down the alley turning a corner to return to his post.

A few seconds pass before he turns back, returning to the scene, a hand thrusts into the pirate's coat with surgical precision, returning with the now liberated coin pouch.



Thomas mused to himself, staring at the now coinless drunkard. Doubling back he stands before the patchwork shirt now heavier with the coin pouch weighing down its pocket. With moral compass satisfied the halfling thief returns down the slowly brightening alleys to await the rousing of the others.

The sheet metal of the tavern roof digs into Thomas as he perches near an opening in the roof allowing him to peer down into the still quiet dining area. Obscured from anyone entering the tavern he sat patiently until either the group came into view or the pirates captain came to collect his prey, which by the end of day may include himself as well. The wait was not long, before the sun had even fully risen the faint but familiar sound of Beckett can be heard from the main street. Before long Thomas can see him flanked by the same woman and Orc from the day prior. Beckett does not make it hard to spot him, he enters the tavern and starts audibly flirting with the barkeep in a single stride.

A hard thunk of Bastions foot diverts his attention to the stairs, one by one the group of gem holders descend the stairs. Beckett did not give them time to collect themselves or even the decency of allowing them a bite to eat.



He spoke calm but clear, this was an order not a request or statement. Leaving no room for negotiation or protest, Beckett leads everyone out of the Tavern and down the street. The port rises with the sun, the quiet of early dawn dies and gives way to the humdrum of daily life in the shanty. Fortunately for Thomas the group seems to have all the passerbys fixated on them, he tails the group from behind roughly ten paces. Despite being in the open the port dwellers do not notice the group's shadow, but one outlier stands out. The snake is an observant one, a subtle cocking of the head is enough for him to know he's been made once again. She waited until they were about to breach the gates leading to the Prince's domicile.



”Hello again, Little Fox.” Meiyu’s whisper occupying the back of his mind, not that he needed the confirmation but it was somewhat reassuring that she was observing her surroundings. The keep was massive for a ramshackle construction, it looked even less sturdy than the shanty town as if the word “moderation” is absent from the pirates vocabulary.



Thomas smirked at the comment, while he knew what she meant, the events of his morning made the statement unintentionally ironic. He was not proud of how he got his meal, but between the two of them one actually had breakfast. The iron doors began to shut threatening to cut Thomas off from the group and prince. He knew there was no particular need to lay eyes on the Prince but a need to know what the prince would say. However in the event everything started to go to shit, the gem that hummed behind his ear might be his only ticket to some security.

The iron doors while the main thoroughfare for the keep were not the only option if you had the skills and an eye for infiltration. The make do design of the keep had holes and gaps which were exploitable. The guards at the doors and walls kept their eyes on the passing group which presented ample opportunity for covert ingress. Thomas watched how the guards around the walls patrolled but the early morning sun cascaded over the walls and towers of mismatched metal, stone, and ship parts leaving shadows to dance in. It did not take long for him to identify an opening, several guards stood facing the gate whispering between each other, it was child's play to slip over the wall and past them. The inner yard was not much better, while guards did patrol on the ground as well, refuse of unused building scraps littered the ground and sat in piles giving ample opportunities for cover. An upper floor stained glass window shimmers off the rising sun, the walls part stone but a ship hull makes up the roof like it has capsized mid air. As likely a place as any for the master to perch themselves.

By the time Thomas had found his way up the walls he could barely make out the conversation that was already well underway. An open balcony was available to get eyes into the room but offered little in terms of concealment from the patrolling guards. The warforged Bastion spoke asThomas finally got to listen into the room through a loose stone he found in the wall.





The tone of the room was rancid, Bastion was making a stand. Thomas had not considered the possibility that this meeting could turn hostile so fast.



A familiar voice spoke up next, odd to Thomas as up until now he had only heard this voice appear in his head.



Thomas was taken aback by her words and tone, after hearing her speak for a third time he settled on the notion that anything she says can be taken as a joke, threat, and seduction simultaneously. Although he was not sure if she had the capacity for joking, at least he should not assume so if he wanted to live long.

Various voices of the group spoke in turn, some mediating while others stood defiant.
The prince let out a laugh, a genuine expression that his audience had amused him. As the conversation continued Thomas got a fairly complete idea of the situation, the prince had been testing the group's resolve, for reward he had provided his in kind. Complete the task to return his missing cargo and the ship will be repaired. Or refuse and face the wrath of the prince and his men. An ultimatum masquerading as a choice, more or less what he expected of pirate society.

If that was all this situation had to offer this might be considered a simple endeavor, but the longer the discussion went on a new problem was making itself known. “Malik” they kept saying the name, one that did not arise during Tommy's eavesdropping from the tavern's roof. Running through the roster in his head and listening to the voices all male members should be accounted for, but this one was new. Thomas pondered between listening to the prince and the group, escalations growing as each voice poured into the fray. With one notable exception, the feline Minerva was not speaking. Every encounter he had with her yesterday suggested she should have been the first to speak and likely to voice herself often, and yet not a word of any volume could be heard. A noticeable anxiety set in as he recalled the group traveling from the tavern to the keep, he had not seen her at all, she was not with them! This revelation, while peculiar, would have to be addressed later, for now he just had to wait for the meeting to end.

The prince had set his price for our escape, it seems an exit from the Principalities will remain out of reach for quite some time. At the very least Thomas feels relieved the prince has at least offered the means to repair the ship. Hearing the prospect of getting everyone out of this awful place he noticed over the last day he had spared no thoughts for the passengers also stranded on the shore. Despite his reservations about risking his own neck for those whose minds are only concerned with amassing wealth, the crew and innocent children stranded began to weigh on Thomas. In the midst of his contemplation the prince brought him back with a loud command.



Thomas hears the prince followed by the opening of doors inside indicating the meeting was over, quickly he scouts the grounds around the keep, isolating a path and timing to execute an exodus. If there was a better time he could not think of it, no more vetting would bring him any peace. It was time to introduce himself to the others and start figuring out what the hell these gem shards are doing stuck to them. He did not assume they had much to offer in way of information but together they might in time be able to uncover the nature and meaning of the gems.

Even with the group being in the keep the outer guards were sloppy in their coverage, some opting to stare off into the middle distance over scanning their surroundings. Thomas mused that despite the continent difference, some things seem to be consistent when it comes to people and their duties as he slips back over the keeps wall unnoticed. Outside the keep Thomas retraced the path he and the group were led through by Beckett, out of sight of the iron gates that would soon release his new potential allies he takes up post in a quiet spot to watch for the group to cross his path.

There was no escaping the Yuan-ti woman. Meiyu was already well aware of his antics, at least so far she has not taken any overt action against Thomas. Although he has no way of knowing if she had alerted the others to an interloper, figuring that they might be more at ease if they met someone less suspicious. With a deep sigh to calm himself.

The place was a dump.

It wasn’t the most polite way for Scaerthrynne to describe the ship’s cabin, but he honestly couldn’t think of any other way to put it. Not when the room was so cramped, so dark, and stank so heavily of damp rot. He swore he could sniff out hints of actual, festering decay as well—likely from some poor animal that’d snuck in and hadn’t the decency to sneak back out before dying.

Just about every scrap of wood—from the beams supporting the deck above, to the planks that formed the bench he sat upon, to the table upon which he’d laid out his equipment—had more green tendrils creeping along their surfaces than they had grains and knots. The metalwork wasn’t in much better shape. So pitted and rusted were the brackets and clamps and nails holding everything together that Scaerthrynne wouldn’t have been surprised if they started spontaneously dissolving into dust.

Clearly, nobody had entered this cabin—or stepped aboard this ship, in fact—in a very long time. And had Scaerthrynne the choice, he wouldn’t have, either.

“What’re you doing?” a gruff voice asked from behind him. The dark elf let out an exasperated sigh, set his tools down, and turned around. Even in the dim light, the voice’s owner’s bald head shone, and the tattoos decorating his bare arms—of ships, sea creatures, and other nautical imagery—made his pirate allegiance clear for all to see.

“Maintenance,” Scaerthrynne replied drily, sweeping a hand over the partially-disassembled pistol, and the open medical bag on the table. “Since you’re keeping me here for who-knows-what reasons, I may as well do something productive.”

The pirate’s eyes narrowed. “You’ve been doing that for a while.”

“Maintenance takes time,” Scaerthrynne said, unfazed. “You’d know that, if you’d actually bothered to take care of this floating wreck from time to time.”

The pirate glared at him. Then, he harrumped and said nothing more.

Scaerthrynne wasn’t too concerned about antagonising him—the pirates needed him. For what reason, he didn’t know, but he could—for now, at least—be certain that Vallena and he wouldn’t be hurt. Still, this was far from an acceptable state of affairs. He’d been content enough with repairing the Stormrider when these pirates had shown up in force, and had essentially kidnapped Vallena and him. That they’d wanted to take the girl aroused his suspicions. He could understand why these pirates might have issue with him—maybe he’d made enemies with them some time in the distant past. But the girl? That was very, very strange.

The pirates had also allowed the two of them to bring their weapons along. That suggested two things. For one, it meant that the pirates were confident enough that they could keep Vallena and him in line. And two, whatever they wanted with him, likely involved work that called for use of force.

Scaerthrynne didn’t like the sound of either.

“I didn’t find anything.” Vallena returned at that moment, her voice small as she turned the corner around a stack of shelves. Her eyes, large and nervous, flitted over to the pirate before settling on Scaerthrynne. He glanced at her, then reached out with a hand to tug her coatsleeves down over her arms.

“Are you trying to cut youself on something?”

Vallena whined. “But it’s hot!”

“So’s a fever,” Scaerthrynne replied firmly, fixing her with a stern glare. “Which is what you’ll get from some strange disease after cutting yourself on some rotten splinter or rusted nail.”

“That won’t happen if I just stay here and wait with you,” she countered.

“One of us has to go looking for something useful,” Scaerthrynne said. “And seeing as how I’m working on your pistol, again, it’s not going to be me. Go dig around a little more. See if you’ve missed anything.”

He glanced furtively at the pirate. Vallena’s eyes followed his gaze. Then, she nodded and quickly slipped away, disappearing into the shadows as she made her way to another corner of the cabin. Hopefully, she’d find something that could help them escape. A weak spot in the decking, perhaps, that Scaerthrynne could punch through and allow them to get away from their captors. That’d be ideal, but he’d be happy enough if she could just find something that could be used as a distraction. Or something that could magically knock out a dozen or so pirates at once.

Well, if he had to be honest, he could very easily cobble together that exact ‘something’. Unfortunately, it’d also likely be explosive, or destructive in some other way. He didn’t have any problem with that, really. Had he been alone, he would’ve been more than willing to sink the entire ship—with everyone in it—with some sort of arcane device, and find a way to crawl out of the wreckage.

With Vallena here with him, however, he’d have to resort to more covert, and more gentle, methods.

“What do you want her to find?” the pirate asked, his face scrunching up in discomfort as he scratched his crotch over his trousers.

Scaerthrynne shrugged. “Just anything useful.”

Then, he grabbed a vial from the medical bag and held it out to the pirate. “Here,” he said, not bothering to look up from the table. “This will help with your crotch rot. Smear it on the sores and they’ll heal in a day or two. I’ll mix up something for you to drink to help with the itch for now. Your scratching is driving me crazy.”

The pirate’s face flushed. “W-What? I–”

“Don’t even try to deny it,” Scaerthrynne cut in, turning to look at him, his expression unamused. “I’ve seen you do that at least a dozen times, now, and there’s only one reason a man would keep scratching himself down there even after it starts to hurt.”

“You’re not trying to poison me, are you?”

Scaerthrynne rolled his eyes. “If I really wanted to, I’d have much, much better ways of doing that. Relax. I can’t get out of here even if I poison you, anyway. Your friends outside would stop me, wouldn’t they?”

The pirate furrowed his brow. Then, he hesitantly took the vial. “I guess that makes sense. And thank you, I guess.”

No sooner had he pocketed the vial did a shrill scream—Vallena’s—cut through the stale air. Scaerthrynne immediately turned, and was just about to jump to his feet when the girl shouted, “Ew, ew, ew! Scratch! I–I stepped on a d-d-dead rat!” Her words quickly turned into a wail. “T-There’s more of them! S-Scratch!”

Well, at least now he knew where that festering scent was coming from. “Mind helping her clean it up?” he asked the pirate, his shoulders relaxing.

“What? You do it. I’m supposed to be guarding you.”

Scaerthrynne held up his hands and nodded to the medical bag. “Right. I’ll go handle a rotting carcass and come back to touch medicines that you’ll be drinking, will I? How many more varieties of rot do you want in your body? You can just tell me now and I’ll mix them all up for you.”

The pirate met his gaze, his lips curled in a frown. Then, he grunted. “Alright, alright. Fine. But you’d better not try anything funny.”

“Do I look like I ever do anything funny?” Scaerthrynne asked drily.

Truth be told, however, he was sorely tempted to stab the pirate in the leg with a syringe as he passed. All it’d take would be a simple prick with a powerful anaesthetic, and he’d be out cold for at least the next few hours. Or perhaps even forever, if the dosage was off. But taking care of one pirate meant little when there were many more spread out across the ship’s decks. Even if he were on his own, it’d be a tall order to ask him to deal with that many people. With Vallena, it’d almost be impossible.

He returned to his work with a huff, fishing out an empty vial from his bag. No, for now, he’d wait. Once the opportune moment came, he’d take his chances to get Vallena and himself out of here.

“You idiot, don’t grab it like—!”

“I-It’s on me! G-Get it off! Get it off!”

Scaerthrynne sighed, reached into the bag again, and took out a roll of clean bandages, as well as a bottle of cleansing solution. For now, he supposed, he’d be happy enough surviving a very irate Vallena.

@princess@FunnyGuy@samreaper@Apex Sunburn@Potter@Tae@Lava Alckon@DWGJay

The sun grew higher while his new companions treated him to a hot bath and warm meal. The air outside grew heavy as the summer heat took hold of the humid port town. Tommy’s sleeves stuck to him as he moved along with the others venturing to the docks. Momentary reprieves came as clouds blocked out the sun as they passed over, the clear sky from the morning was being eaten away by building clouds.

The eyes never stopped, moving so openly allowed him to be beset upon from all sides by gazes that screamed curious or calculating. Rarer to catch a look of concern or consideration, a pirate's den through and through. Tommy looked to Bastion, a tower of metal and might; now more than before he hoped that sword wasn’t just for show if they ended up needing it.

There it was again, a feeling nagging in the back of his head. Something was missing.

Phia, Arya, and Menzai had been so gracious and considerate, even after they saw the marks. Tommy looked at them in wonder still, this group as odd as they may be took him in with no hesitation. For that he would have to find ways to thank them, repaying this kindness would take more than words.



The others joined them shortly after leaving the tavern, by their demeanor it could be assumed they had found what they were looking for. Meiyu spared him a glance as they met up but she seemed far less interested in him than he thought she would be. Tommy pouted with disappointment realizing her prior interest was just a fickle display. He pondered how to get payback for the slight, what's the worst she would do, break his arm?

They talked among themselves, their chatter was nothing Tommy had interest in. He tried to stick close to Phia but Menzai was stuck to her side, Bastion as gentle as he intended was a hazard for Tommy to walk beside, instead he took to Arya’s side holding onto her cloak as they made their way to the docks. His mind still nagged.

What was missing? The feeling persisted neither growing nor dissipating.

The smell took Tommy by surprise, breaking his train of thought. A cacophony of foul stench wreaked havoc on his nose. Fish guts rot along old paint and an overwhelming wave of salt and iron, a blind man might confuse this place for a sailors graveyard.

Then there was Beckett, and his cronies as well. A man who both seemed perpetually relaxed and radiating cruelty. As if malice was a flavor of ice cream. The other two presented no better, they flanked him daring anyone to step out of line. Sat at at the end of the pier, Beckett grinning like he was waiting to deliver deliciously terrible news. Tommy moved behind Arya, preferring not to be the center of their attention.

Tommy listened to him speak, up until the man made a strange noise and the tearing of nails forced its way into his ears. Before Tommy could react a green ball covered with torn cloth rolled past almost stopping before tumbling over the pier. A goblin?



As Beckett introduced Trin Tommy couldn't help but look down to the poor thing after he landed, everything about him radiated fear. An isolated creature that was stuck here unprotected, he felt solidarity with the Trin. This is what the prince meant when he said there was someone willing to accompany us, someone disposable, someone that could not refuse. The delight Beckett took in this exchange was grading, this man's only joy was in making others miserable.

Peeking out towards Beckett Tommy spotted The Mercy moored just behind him, the paint used on the name clearly still fresh. Tommy felt his shoulders drop, finally accepting these pirates, despite wanting their help, would not be doing them any more favors for it.

He buried his head into Arya’s cloak wanting to disappear inside it. His frustration was compounded by that same nagging feeling from before.

What was missing? The thought itching in his mind.