Apex Sunburn

Avalia

The Wandering (or Mad) Artisan

Scathael

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Scathael Arash ⋆ 267 ⋆ Male ⋆ Dark Elf

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Appearance

Height:
1.85 m (6'0")
Build:
Fit
Hair Color:
Greyish white
Hair Length:
Short
Eye Color:
Hazel brown, bordering on amber
Skin Tone:
Dark grey
Distinguishing Features:
His hands and arms are speckled with burns and healed scars.

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Psychology

Likes:
⋆ Solitude
⋆ Seeing new sights
⋆ Finding new materials to work with
⋆ Making / repairing things

Dislikes:
⋆ Overly-elaborate designs
⋆ Inefficiency
⋆ Surprises

Fears:
⋆ To be unable to wander anymore
⋆ To be trapped in one place
⋆ To lose those he cares about
⋆ To be revealed in-RP

Habits/Quirks
⋆ Whenever possible, he whittles wood into arrow shafts when idle
⋆ He scribbles into a notebook every now-and-then, especially after visiting somewhere visually impressive or new to him

Sexuality:
Straight

Personality:
⋆ Behavior towards others is: extroverted or introverted.
Scathael will only interact with people as much as he needs to. No more, no less. It’s not the interaction he minds, you see. It’s that it’s – to him – a needless distraction from more pressing work.
⋆ Where on the spectrum of selfish to selfless
If he has something you need, and he himself doesn’t need it, then it’s yours if you ask. Just don’t expect him to give it on his own volition, and be prepared to have a very convincing argument if the thing you need happens to be raw materials. He can be quite the hoarder with such things.
⋆ Where on the spectrum of kind to mean.
He wouldn’t go out of his way to be mean, but neither would he make much effort in cushioning a heavy blow.
⋆ Is your character affectionate? Do they enjoy hugs and being touchy?
No. He has it in him, but he has no reason to show it.
⋆ Is it hard to gain your character’s trust?
Scathael doesn’t trust people easily. It can happen, but it’ll take plenty of time and effort. Perhaps more than what most can be expected to give.

⋆ Easy to anger or does your character usually remain calm? What about irritation?
Anger requires care, and Scathael honestly cares little for anything beyond his work to be easily roused to anger. He can, however, be easily irritated.
⋆ Patient or impatient. Is your character impulsive?
On a day-to-day basis, he’s rather patient. He doesn’t quite mind waiting days or even weeks to acquire the materials he needs for a project. That said, when it comes to finding said materials, he can be easily spurred to action by mere rumours of something rare or just difficult to acquire.
⋆ Brave or Cowardly? Are they brave to the point of recklessness?
He’s as brave as he needs to be. Risks are calculated, and he sees no shame in running from a hopeless fight or declining an overly-dangerous task.
⋆ Anxiety hold you back? Do you get nervous?
Not much; he’s sure enough of his abilities to do most things confidently. However, he does get antsy if he’s working with something which he knows he can’t easily get a replacement for.
⋆ Reaction speeds to situations.
Travelling alone has given him decent instincts. He might not be the fastest around, but he certainly knows when danger's near and how to react accordingly.

⋆ Intelligence level: Are you a cunning mastermind?
Scathael has a quick mind. He picks things up easily, but there’s a catch. It has to be something he’s very much interested in. Anything less than that and he switches off so quickly that barely anything gets into his head. So if it comes to a topic that he's knowledgeable in, he'll likely be able to think or outsmart his way out of trouble. Outside of that, he'll have problems.
⋆ Charisma level: How well can you manipulate people? Do you make friends easily? Are you persuasive?
He has all of the charisma of a boulder.
⋆ Sense of humor or no sense of humor?
It’s sardonic, caustic, and can often be dark at times, but he does have one. Knowing when he’s joking and when he’s serious is the real challenge.
⋆ Sanity level of character/do they struggle with any mental illness/disorders?
According to Scathael himself, he’s very sane. A very stable individual. According to those with whom he interacts, his single-mindedness when it comes to creating things, and his obsession with finding new and better materials, traipses on the border of insanity.

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Background

Occupation
Itinerant General Craftsman

Living Immediate Family Members:
None

Dead Immediate Family Members:
Maisil Arash (Father)
Vannea Arash (Mother)

Current Companions:
None

Current and Past Lover(s):
Rezirael Illimac

Current Equipment:
Weapons:
Horn/Maple composite bow
Shortened musket
Pistol
Two Hatchets

Tools:
Whittling knife
Smithing hammer
Tongs
Forge Gloves
Needle and Thread
Whetstone block
Bowstrings
Pestle and Mortar

History:

It would’ve seemed that Scathael was destined for an average life.

He wasn’t born to anyone of note – his parents were magically gifted, for sure, but they weren’t exceptionally powerful by any stretch of the imagination – and the village in which he grew up was one so small that most cartographers simply glossed over it on their maps. Really, it was more of a hamlet, and a small one at that. The nearest town was at least a day’s ride away, and there was nothing that attracted even the most curious of wayfarers. Life was quiet, solitary, and peaceful.

Throughout his childhood, Scathael’s parents did their best to pass on their knowledge to their son, but it was evident as he grew up that magic wasn’t where his talents lay. Rather, it was the forge, the anvil, the carpenter’s bench, the tanner’s rack, anything related to making things, with which he had an affinity. His parents, rather than forcing him to be something he wasn’t, instead encouraged him to nurture and build upon his innate talent. Though he still had to practise magic, it was more to maintain what skills he had rather than to develop them any further.

It didn’t take long for him to learn all he could in his little hamlet. If he wanted to go any further, he’d have to venture out to the bigger towns and cities. His parents were naturally reluctant to let their only son leave on his own, but Scathael eased their worries by showing that he could adequately take care of himself with the bow. Neither did he have any intention of leaving home for good; he’d journey in search of teachers and masters to learn from, but his path would always lead him back to the little cottage on the outskirts of the nameless hamlet. In due time, he even became something of a general tradesman for the rest of the villagers. To spend the rest of his life in such a way didn’t seem unappealing in the least to Scathael. It was more than what he could’ve wished for.

Fate, however, had other plans for him.

Scathael no longer talks about that day, but memories of it still linger vividly in his mind. He had only just returned from a hunt when he found his parents killed. Not murdered. He’d never use that word to describe what happened. Murder implies that someone had planned for his parents to die. Murder implied that there was a reason for their death. But that wasn’t the case. He simply found them both cold on the autumn grass, the arrows which took their lives still lodged in their bodies. A dozen bodies surrounding them told him that they at least didn’t go easily, but it was little consolation.

He never did find out the exact reason for his parents’ deaths. Their neighbours – all of whom lived a fair distance away – told him that it all stemmed from a heated argument between his father and a roving band of hunters. Or outlaws, or mercenaries, or any other type of group, depending on whom he asked. But regardless, one thing remained constant. It had just been a misunderstanding gone horribly, and violently, wrong. Nothing more.

It was that randomness that devastated Scathael the most. A targeted killing, he could perhaps rationalise it away. He could maybe even plan revenge to soothe his heart, but something like this? There was nothing for him to do but mourn and try to continue living. He resolved to stay in the hamlet his parents had so resolutely refused to leave in an attempt to honour their memory, but that proved to be far too difficult. Every sweet memory he had in the old cottage slowly became daggers pricking his heart, and soon he grew to despise the place.

And so he left. He had no choice.

Barely an adult, he struck out on a path to places unknown. First, he wandered about Daka Island, using his skills to earn some coin wherever he found himself. Then, when he ran out of places to explore, he took ship to lands further out. It wasn’t easy – he didn’t exactly grow up with much exposure to the world beyond his isolated cocoon – but he adapted quickly enough. As it turned out, cultures varied across peoples, but the need for a skilled hammer or deft chisel didn’t, especially in the smaller villages he often found himself. Being able to put his skills to good use, and being able to use them to pay his way to so many new and exciting places, and along the way discover new methods of crafting and materials, did plenty to soothe the pain that had been plaguing his heart.

Then one day, he met a certain Rezirael Illimac.

She’d been a wanderer like him, though her business lay more towards exploring old ruins and delving into caves in search of treasure rather than wanderlust. Their relationship had been strictly professional at the beginning. She needed her tools and weapons maintained in places that could be days away from any settlement, and he needed the coin she earned to fund his need for progressively rarer and more expensive materials. It was a mutually-beneficial relationship that suited the both of them just fine. It didn’t hurt that their personalities complemented each other, too; her fiery passion melted his restrictive caution, and his calm logic tempered her reckless eagerness.

What was supposed to be a temporary partnership turned into something semi-permanent, and then it became strange for either to be away from the other for long. As the time they spent together grew, so too did their relationship deepend. They became fast friends, then close confidants. Neither kept any secret from the other, and their nights were often spent in quiet places swapping stories about their pasts. It was thus only natural that romance would bloom between the two. Scathael still remembers the exact moment it happened. They’d been simply talking as usual after a long day. He’d been going on and on about something – likely related to crafting or materials – when Rezirael kissed him. It’d been a surprise, but one he quickly and eagerly reciprocated. And once they confirmed their love for each other, their bond only grew all the stronger as the days passed.

They still adventured, and explored, and delved together, but between their travels, talk of settling down began to bubble. It started as just a flight of fancy to be laughed over a campfire. Just a nice thought and nothing more. Then, as they added more and more details to that fantasy, it stopped being a mere dream and became more of a goal to be achieved. Between the two of them, they had more than enough coin to sustain them if they stopped their adventures, and in the right place, Scathael’s skills would likely be more than enough to support the both of them and perhaps even a family. Soon enough, it became something that he hungered for; a life he couldn’t wait to start.

And that was when his old friend, fate, paid him another visit.

Scathael hadn’t been there. Rezirael had decided to scout a cave on her own while he remained at camp to repair damaged tools. As night fell, and she didn’t return, Scathael’s worry finally managed to push him to search for her. He found her in the cave she’d been exploring, half-buried and crushed beneath a mound of rocks and dirt. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t dig her out of it, but his efforts would’ve been all for naught even if he’d succeeded. Scathael buried her where she laid, left only with a diary she’d left with him listing the sights and places she wanted to see before they could settle down.

That diary now sits with the rest of his meagre belongings in his travelling knapsack. Every place and every sight, he went and he saw, and he made sure to write down every last detail. But he didn’t stop there. He couldn’t stop there. Fate had made its message clear, and the price Scathael paid for his ignorance had been steep. Too steep. If the death of his parents had cracked his spirit, then Rezirael’s passing shattered it entirely, and he patched it back together with flax thread and leather hide; with hewn oak and forged steel. Settling down was not meant for him. To wander, to discover, and to create better and better things was his lot in life, and he’d been a fool to fight it. All he could do was move. And move. And move some more.

And maybe one day, he’d move far enough to escape this unwanted fate.

---

Combat and Magic Stat Creation

Fitness Level:
⋆ Scathael is very active. He has to be. As a survivalist-of-sorts, he hunts his own food when living in the wild (and sometimes when living in a settlement, even), chops his own wood for fire and shelter, and digs his own little holes when the terrain allows.

What are your character’s physical strengths?
⋆ Good endurance; Scathael endeavours to spend his nights in settlements as much as possible, and that means trekking long distances with whatever he owns on his person.
⋆ Stealth; Scathael dislikes direct confrontations, and so has learned how to either skulk away from confrontations, or end them from the safety of the shadows as much as possible.
⋆ Accuracy; related to the above, Scathael has good aim with both bow and musket. Not only does that help to end a fight quickly, it also saves him labour. Bullets and arrows are tedious things to make.

What are your character’s physical weaknesses?
⋆ Poor offensive magic; Scathael has always been a middling sorcerer, and his years of refusing to use his abilities haven’t done him any favours. He only ever uses magic to shroud himself in darkness to make a quick exit.
⋆ Close combat; while he could maybe handle himself against the average street tough or outlaw, don’t expect much from him against tougher foes. Or against multiple foes, for that matter.
⋆ Over-caution; Scathael will always err on the side of caution in a fight, sometimes to what can be perceived as a craven degree. He sees himself as a craftsman first, and adventurer second.

Years of Experience:
Weapon(s):
⋆ Bow: 257 years. His parents taught him how to use from young, and intensified said training once it became clear that he was neither interested nor did he possess the aptitude to be anything beyond a middling sorcerer.
⋆ Firearms: 150 years. He picked up his first firearm a little while after leaving home for good, and immediately found it useful to have as part of his arsenal. Whatever skills he has with them were learned whilst travelling and typically on the fly.

Hand-to-Hand Combat:
He has no formal training in hand-to-hand combat. He knows enough to handle himself in a brawl, but that's about it.

Dark Elves
⋆ Offensive Erebokinesis:
Completely out-of-practice. His parents did teach him how to use his magics, but he hasn't touched anything offensive ever since their deaths.
⋆ Shrouding:
160 years. This is his most-used ability, even if he only started seriously honing it after he started wandering the land. Aside from the basics taught by his parents back when he was a youth, most of what he knows comes from trial-and-error.
⋆ Shielding:
110 years. He uses this ability to protect himself from cave-ins and rock-slides whilst exploring.

🗡 Roses and Daggers 🎕

Interactions:
Mentions: Kalliope @Tae

Date: Sola 23rd
Time: ~0700

“Tsaan-teik…”

That call came as it always did: from the inky black, and in a croaking whisper on the verge of death. And yet, it echoed through the darkness and rang in Sjan-dehk’s head. Over and over again, the call repeated its plea. Always in that same whisper. Always in that same tone. Always from everything and nowhere at the same time.

Who was it? Sjan-dehk tried to focus, but his mind felt leaden. His legs moved on their own, slowly wading through dark, icy water as if it were honey. Where was he going? He didn’t know. He didn’t care. No matter how far he ventured into the darkness, the call never got any closer. Still he pushed forward.

Cold, inky black surrounded him. The humming rush of water filled his ears.

“Tsaan-teik…”

Jafin. They had to be Jafin. Only someone of his ilk would call his name in their dialect. But he knew many Jafins. Who was this one? Why were they calling to him? He pressed forward. Collapsed wooden beams and broken planks melted out of the darkness. Water dripped from an oppressive ceiling. The droning hum grew into a gushing roar. Floorboards creaked and rolled beneath his feet.

A ship. He was on a ship. A badly damaged one, at that. But he didn’t know her name. He’d served on far too many ships to remember. Yet he felt as if he should remember this one.

“Tsaan-teik!”

The voice was clear now. It belonged to a boy. Not just any boy, but one he knew well. One who had been a close friend, and one whose name now escaped him. Memories surged into Sjan-dehk’s head. Sore and heavy arms passing buckets of powderbags between the decks. The shouts of men and boys. Cracks of muskets and roars of cannons. Then, the shattering of wood. Jagged splinters cutting through his clothes and his flesh. Chilling, otherworldly screams. Warm blood and cool tears tracking down his cheeks. Water surging through the new hole in the hull.

Inky black water. Dark and icy.

Sjan-dehk blinked.

When he opened his eyes, he saw a small figure buried beneath a mountain of broken wood. His face was naught but a swirling mass of darkness, but Sjan-dehk immediately knew that he had been the one calling for him. Churning, rising waves lashed against his body. “Tsaan-teik!” His call was desperate, and the arm he stretched towards Sjan-dehk shivering like a leaf upon the summer winds. But he was just a few steps away. Just a few, short steps through inky black water. He could rescue him easily.

Sjan-dehk moved and immediately knew something was wrong. His gait was shorter than usual, and the icy water lapped against his knees rather than his ankles. He looked down at his body. Then he looked at his arms. He was a boy again. That didn’t matter. Nothing else did. He just had to rescue his friend, and so he pushed through the surging waves. His souring limbs yelled at him. He ignored them. The water rose to his chest. He ignored the tendrils of frost curling around his heart. He had to save his friend.

His outstretched fingers almost brushed against the hand sticking out of the water. So close.

That was when he felt a strong grip clasp onto his shoulders and wrenched him back. “Sjan-dehk! It’s too late! You can’t save him!” A new voice. Or voices. A chorus of thousands shouting at him in unison. More hands pulled at him. At his arms, his legs, wrapping around his waist and chest. But still he struggled and yelled, his own unbroken voice alien to his ears. He bit at the hands, and kicked and flailed, but every one he managed to tear off his own body was replaced by several more. “It’s too late!”

The chorus morphed into a terrible, aberrant peal of thunder. Sjan-dehk struggled. He screamed his throat hoarse as the dark, icy water consumed his friend. And soon, the inky black consumed him as well.

Sjan-dehk inhaled sharply as his eyes shot open. His heart pounded like a frantic wardrum, and the sweat beading upon his forehead and matting his hair was cold. He clambered out of his hammock with the rush of a sailor called to action, almost crashing to the floor had he not found his footing in time. Chaotic eddies in his head churned every thought into a disorganised mess. He wiped a hand across his eyes repeatedly, as if he could physically remove the images he’d seen from his irises.

Bleary-eyed, he felt his way through his cabin until he reached his desk. White-knuckled hands held onto it as he drew in a deep breath. Calm. He had to be calm. The lump forming in his throat was swallowed with great difficulty, and soon his rapid pants gave way to ragged breaths. He squeezed his eyes shut until he felt his heartbeat slow to a steady rhythm. Then, he opened them.

His cabin was as he’d left it the previous night: an utter mess. Charts both old and new, books and scrolls both well-worn and fresh, covered his desk. Navigational tools sat disused on shelves and in boxes. Only his clothes and equipment were organised with any sort of care, hung as they were from rails set into the ceiling. Still in a daze, Sjan-dehk shifted items across his desk without any real thought.

As the shock of the nightmare wore off, embarrassment and annoyance quickly took its place. None of the images his mind had conjured were anything new. He’d had this nightmare before, among others; it should be something he was used to, by now. Or at least something he knew how to deal with.

He breathed in deeply through his nose and pushed himself away from his desk. It’d just been a long time since he even had the time to have nightmares, he told himself. Between fighting a war, clearing the seas of pirates, and the stress of the voyage to Sorian, every night in recent years had ended with him so tired that he fell into dreamless sleep. But now? He had no pressing matters to attend to. Nothing that called for so much attention that it would distract his mind from whatever it was that haunted him, at least.

He grunted as he threw on his clothes. Selfish as it was, he couldn’t help but miss the war. Or just combat in general. There was nothing quite like the rush of a fight to take the mind off of things.

A blue outer tunic went over a thinner, white counterpart. Sjan-dehk deftly tied the laces on his right with a single hand. “It’s all over,” he muttered to himself. Peace was a good thing, he knew. It pleased him to no end that his homeland was no longer torn apart by bloody conflict. Yet at the same time, he feared it. One day it would catch up to him, and then what could he do? All he’d ever known was sailing and fighting and the open sea.

And the water. Dark, icy water.

Sjan-dehk hissed as he squeezed his eyes shut once more. He had to stop thinking about that. It wouldn’t do him any good. He gritted his teeth and tightened his sword belt around his waist. Routine. He just had to focus on that. Sword belt, then shoulder belts. His sabres came next, sliding neatly into their frogs on either side of his body. Then his four pistols, one into each holster. He grabbed his hat on his way out of the cabin and into the bright, morning sun warming the deck of his Sada Kurau.

He breathed in the crisp air and made his way to the quarterdeck. There, he found Azwan and Avek both looking out at something towards the city. “Morning,” Sjan-dehk greeted with a nod. Whatever traces of his earlier turmoil had been wiped clean from his face and voice. Before his crew, he could be nothing but the unflappable and sometimes mischievous captain they all knew him as.

“Good morning, Captain,” the two men greeted in turn, accompanied by salutes. Sjan-dehk joined them at the guardrail.

“We’re just looking at the beach.” Azwan gestured to the sandy shores. Crowds of people were gathered by the waterside. Some had carts with them, others seemed to be carrying boats of some sort. Most were just enjoying themselves in the shallows or playing on the sand. “Looks like there’s something going on.”

Sjan-dehk nodded. “Worth a look, I suppose. Not like I’ve got anything going on today.”

Avek smirked. “Don’t you have a date later?”

A flush came over Sjan-dehk’s cheeks. “I-It’s not a date,” he stuttered, much to his dismay. He’d spent the previous day with Kalliope as she showed him around Sorian. Along the way, she managed to convince him to join her at a masquerade ball to be held later tonight. They'd even gone shopping for what they'd wear together. Sjan-dehk cleared his throat. “She’s attending a banquet or feast of some sort later. I’ll simply be her escort. That’s only polite, after all she did for me.”

“I won’t argue with that,” Avek said, his grin still pulling on his lips. “But I thought you hated those sorts of things, Captain. Strange that you agreed.”

Sjan-dehk tugged on the collar of his shirts. Mursi wasn’t wrong; Sjan-dehk did carry a special disdain for anything formal. But he didn’t quite mind Kalliope’s company, if he had to be honest. She was pleasant to be around, and he thought they got along well enough. There was no real reason for him to turn her down, and besides, he may as well get used to how Caesonian nobles did things. He’d have to mingle with them a lot more in the near future, he imagined. Might as well take the chance while he could to attend at least one such event with someone he actually liked.

“It’s…A special situation,” he replied awkwardly.

“Special, is it?” Avek quipped. “She must be quite the wo–”

“I’m sorry, Master Avek, but are you jealous that Master Mursi gets to clean the latrines?” Sjan-dehk cut in with an arched brow. “I can have you join him, if that’s the case.”

“Understood, Captain. I’ll say no more.” Avek looked back out towards the beach. “Think we could give the people a show? Sail the Sada Kurau right across their eyes while they’re having fun.”

Azwan shot him a piercing look. “What for, Master Avek? The Sada Kurau is a warship, not a showboat.”

Avek shrugged. “Fun, I suppose. Besides, haven’t you noticed the worried looks people have been giving us when they walk past? Not sure if everyone’s as at ease with our visit as we may think.” He met Azwan’s gaze and continued. “I mean, think about it. We’re armed to the teeth and we don’t speak their language at all.” He glanced at Sjan-dehk. “Not most of us, at least. We should do something to let them know that we’re friendly. Peaceful, at least.”

Sjan-dehk considered his words, then rested his arms on the guardrail. “You just want to show off, Avek. I know you too well.”

“Guilty as charged, Captain.”

Chewing on his lip, Sjan-dehk continued to mull over Avek’s suggestion. He wasn’t wrong; it would do his Sada Kurau and his crew some good to show some goodwill. Already, he’d had to punish several men for what likely stemmed from simply misunderstandings. “Don’t think we can do it even if we want to,” he said and tilted his chin towards the shoreline. “Look at the colour of the water. It’s too shallow. Chances are that we’ll run aground if we want to get close enough for any good.”

And if that happened, a hole would be torn in his Sada Kurau’s hull, and water would flood in.

Dark, icy. Sjan-dehk closed his eyes again to banish the thought, his jaw clenched. He looked down at the water. Inky black. Shouts of a desperate boy. A hand sticking out of churning waves. No, he couldn’t allow himself to go down this path. He squeezed his eyes balled his hands into loose fists. He couldn't allow a mere dream to play tricks on his mind.

“Captain?” It was Avek, the usual mirth in his voice replaced by concern.

“I’m fine. Just didn’t sleep well,” Sjan-dehk replied quickly and opened his eyes with a long sigh. “I’ll have a look at what’s going on at the beach later.” He looked down at the water again. This time, golden shimmers rippled upon gentle, cerulean waves. It was bright. Vibrant, even, and not at all dark. With a nod to the two men, Sjan-dehk turned and walked away. All was well and all was fine. He just had to keep telling himself that.

🗡 Roses and Daggers 🎕

Sjan-dehk & Kalliope

---

Part Two

The beach, as Kalliope had described it, was perfect for the ritual. What few people that were present had better things to do than to gawk at the Sudah’s crew that were disembarking their boats. Those that were already ashore had already been put to work; some were assembling a stone square with loose rocks and mud whilst others unloaded stacked wooden beams and planks within its boundaries. “It’s a beautiful night indeed,” Sjan-dehk remarked and drew in a deep breath of the crisp, night air.

“Captain Wasun,” a voice called out to him. It didn’t sound too happy. “I didn’t think you would join us.”

Sjan-dehk sighed and turned. “Well, I changed my mind, Captain Kaisahn.”

The man who commanded the Sudah was a mirror of his vessel. Large, bulky, and with all of the airs of someone important. His beady eyes looked down over his prominent nose as Sjan-dehk, who looked back with arms folded and brow arched. “Well, it’s good that you’re here. Had you done your duty-”

“Are you implying I didn’t?” Sjan-dehk interrupted and unfolded his arms. One of his hands dropped to the grip of his sword. There was barely-hidden anger in his voice when he spoke once more. “Had you done yours, Captain, none of us would need to be here. My duty was to protect your ship, and that’s what we did. Yours was to keep Sudah out of danger in the first place, which you didn’t.”

Captain Kaisahn’s eyes narrowed. “You overstep your boundaries, Captain. You may be a Lesser Marquis, but remember which ship takes precedence.”

“This is merely talk between Captains,” Sjan-dehk replied. “I warned you that our ships were too far apart and you didn’t listen. Now I’m telling you that I did what I could based on what you ordered. I’m surprised, Captain Kaisahn. Officer such as yourself, you should know how this works. It’s how we’ve always done things throughout the war.” Kaisahn bristled, and Sjan-dehk knew that he’d hit a sore point. “Oh, I meant no offence. Sometimes it slips my mind that some of us never actually fought.”

The Sudah’s Captain didn’t reply immediately. He pressed his lips into a thin line, then turned his attention towards Kalliope. “And who is this? You’re inviting strangers to our rituals now, Captain Wasun?” Kalliope smirked up at the man, wiggling her fingers as a greeting to him. She'd been silent so far through the whole exchange.

“She has her reasons to be here,” Sjan-dehk replied and placed himself between her and the mountain of a man. “Nothing that I'm in any position to say, and nothing that you need to know. She’s my guest.”

Kaishan’s eyes narrowed. “It’s my crew that we’re sending off, Captain Wasun. I have the final say.”

“And she has her reasons to be here.” Sjan-dehk knew that it would make things all the simpler if he just told Kaisahn everything that Kalliope had told him, but it didn’t feel right to do so. Something that personal, something with so much meaning to her, that wasn’t anything he had any right to decide to share on his own. All the same, he could see where Kaisahn was coming from. If Sjan-dehk was here to send off any of his Sada Kurau’s crew, he’d likely be just as prickly. “We won’t disturb anything. I’ll take responsibility for her if it makes you feel any better.”

Kaisahn grunted and waved his hand dismissively. “Do what you want,” he growled. “But if she makes a fool or a mess of anything, you will have to answer for it, Captain.”

With that, he stalked off.

Sjan-dehk turned to Kalliope and sighed. “Sorry. You’re really seeing the worst of us today,” he said with a sheepish smile on his face. “Kaisahn’s a cunt on good days, and it bloody hurts me to speak in defense of him, but he’s got good reason to be one today, at least.” He jerked his head towards the bonfire that was steadily being built. “It’s never a good feeling to lose any of your crew. It doesn’t excuse him being rude to you, but…” He trailed off and sighed. “I can understand where he’s coming from.”

"He certainly seems like quite the ass, but I understand all too well how the loss of people you care about can affect you." She said as she gave him a soft smile.

He remained silent for a moment, but then quickly recovered. “We should get ready,” he said and tilted his head towards the bonfire. To give credit where it was due, the crew of the Sudah had built it in good time, even after accounting for the number of hands they had working on it. Now, they stood in orderly rows and columns in front and on the left of the bonfire. Sjan-dehk led Kalliope to the right, where the two of them stood alone. “We arrange ourselves by ship,” he explained in a quiet whisper. “For now, just stand still.”

A robed figure stepped out of the middle block of men. Their hands were pressed to their chest, one over the other, but they slowly raised them to the sky as they approached the stone square. “To these foreign lands, so far from home, we sailed,” she intoned. Hoarse and creaky as her voice was, it still rang in the silence of the night. “For those whom we left behind, we accepted risk. For the betterment of all, we turned our prows to the unknown.”

The words were different from what Sjan-dehk remembered, but he supposed that a change to suit their current circumstances was warranted. Proper, even. “When it’s time to say anything, just repeat after me or keep quiet,” he muttered to Kalliope from the corner of his mouth.

“We, fated to live, have lived. For that, we give thanks to Sea and Sky.”

“Wind and Waves carry us,” Sjan-dehk recited in unison with everyone else.

Kalliope glanced briefly at Sjan-dehk as he began speaking, doing her best to repeat the words just as he instructed her to. Her voice was a lot more quiet, however, as she didn't wish to disturb anyone in case she messed up.

“And may they guide us home.” The robed woman turned around, her arms and eyes still directed towards the starry sky overhead. She closed her eyes, and breathed in deep. “And may we bring those no longer with us to their Gods, their Ancestors, and their Homes.”

“Their names be whispered on the wind forevermore.”

The robed woman nodded to someone else in the congregation, and a man stepped out carrying a blazing torch. He approached the bonfire reverently and stood unmoving before it. “Now may the dead gaze upon our light. May they know that their sacrifice was not in vain. May their souls rest easy.”

“And may a kinder world greet them.”

With a nod, the robed woman gave the torchbearer the signal to light the bonfire. Though weak at first, the flames and sparks quickly spread and soon the beach was illuminated by the roaring fire. Waves of heat washed over Sjan-dehk, but he stood still like a statue. “All must end someday.” The robed woman was now shouting to make herself heard over the fire. “But all will start in time. Grieve not their passing, and shed no tears, but celebrate their life, and hope to find them upon verdant shores, within hallowed halls, and upon gentle waves!”

“May we all be as fortunate!” Sjan-dehk caught his breath before turning to Kalliope. “Follow me. I’ll do this part with you,” he said as he marched himself towards the fire. Several others were doing the same, some with items in their hands which they tossed into the flame, others with nothing but words. “We burn gifts for the dead,” Sjan-dehk explained. As they approached the bonfire, the heat became more and more intense and oppressive. “Give them something to do wherever they go, you know? But words can be enough.”

He stopped a short distance away from the fire. “You should go first,” he said to Kalliope with a gentle smile. “I think you’ve got more right than I do.”

A flush came to Kalliope's cheeks as she realized she didn't have any sort of gift on her other than the necklace, but she figured Izahn would be offended if she burnt that. So words would have to do, but as she approached the fire she realized she wasn't sure what to say. What would be the most meaningful words? She stood there awkwardly for a long moment, but then she realized what she could say. Or more so, sing. She would gift him a song, something from her heart and that she'd once sung to him before.

The notes drifted from her, a siren's song full of heartache and feeling. While the song was one of something happier, the tears now falling down her cheeks spoke of her grief. The last notes left her and she stood there silent for a moment longer before turning and moving back next to Sjan-dehk. "Apologies if that wasn't appropriate, it just felt right."

“No, you did nothing wrong,” Sjan-dehk replied softly, his voice barely heard over the roaring flames. A song was the last thing he’d expected from her, and he’d be lying if he said that he didn’t feel the emotions lacing her words in his soul. He cleared his throat. “It was beautiful. You sing very well. I’m sure Izahn heard and felt it as much as I did.”

Now it was his turn, and truth be told, he didn’t know what to do. He didn’t have anything to burn for Izahn, nor did he know enough about the man to offer anything beyond bland platitudes, and those were surely not at all appropriate for the occasion. He drew in a deep breath. The scent of burning wood and thick, soupy air charred their way into his lungs. “I don’t know you, Izahn,” he began. The truth was always a good place to start. “But I know what you did. I don’t know how you lived, but I know you died well. My name is Wasun Sjan-dehk. You likely knew my father as your lord. That we could not save your life is our failure. That I will tell your people of you is my promise as Fourth Lesser Marquis. Rest easy, and may you find a kinder world.”

Kalliope listened intently as Sjan-dehk spoke, his words carrying a mix of sincerity and respect. The flickering flames danced in her eyes as she absorbed his eulogy for Izahn, feeling the weight of his promise to honor the fallen man.

He stepped back and looked at Kalliope. Her tears glistened in the firelight, as did the trails they left on her cheeks. “We can go back,” he said quietly. At the same time, he undid his sash and pulled it free before handing it to her. “For your ah…” He trailed off and gestured to his own face and eyes. “Someone somewhere probably disagrees with how I’m using this thing, but it’s really just a symbol. End of the day, it’s a piece of cloth, and it’ll do what cloth does just as well.”

She glanced at his sash and briefly hesitated before gently taking it and holding it close to her chest, grateful for the small yet meaningful offering. She softly dabbed her eyes, surprisingly not all that embarrassed for showing her emotions in front of him.

Her voice was soft, carrying a touch of melancholy as she responded to him, her gaze fixed on the burning pyre. "Thank you, Sjan-dehk," she said, her voice tinged with a mixture of sadness and gratitude. "Your words for Izahn were truly heartfelt. I'm certain his spirit felt the warmth and sincerity in your tribute."

The ceremony didn’t last too long after that. It never did, in Sjan-dehk’s experience; after saying their goodbyes and giving their offerings, nobody wanted to linger around. There was work to be done. Memories of the dead should never stagnate the living, as it’d been written, after all. After a few final words by the robed woman, the crowd started to dissipate. Men returned to the boats whilst others stayed by the water’s edge for a moment longer. Kalliope remained by Sjan-dehk's side, the faint scent of smoke lingering in the air. Her gaze followed the departing mourners, silently paying her respects to their shared loss.

“I’ve to thank you,” Sjan-dehk said to Kalliope as he watched the rest go about their business. “If you weren’t here, Izahn would’ve had to be sent-off by a stranger.” He looked back at the city for a moment. “I’ll be going back to Sada Kurau. We have an early day tomorrow and I told the men to sleep early. Have to lead by example, you know?”

She turned her attention back to Sjan-dehk then as he expressed his gratitude for her presence during the somber occasion. A gentle smile curved her lips, though sadness still lingered in her eyes. "I'm glad I could be here with you, Sjan-dehk," she replied softly. "Your kindness and generosity in including me in this is something that means more to me than I can even express."

Her gaze shifted toward the distant lights of the city, a touch of longing in her voice. "Returning to Sada Kurau sounds like the responsible choice and it honestly sounds nicer than what I have to do," she acknowledged. "Your crew are fortunate to have a captain who leads by example and cares."

A brief pause followed, the crackling of the fire filling the silence between them. Kalliope took a step closer, a gentle breeze rustling her hair as she held his sash out for him. "I suppose I should also make my way into town as I have a few things I need to do before the night ends," she said, a small smile gracing her lips. She paused for a second, considering a way to repay him for his kindness. "If you aren't too busy over the next few days, perhaps you'd allow me to show you around Sorian? I promise to make it far more enjoyable than some of the other stuffy nobles who might take up the task."

Sjan-dehk could feel his cheeks heat at the rapid succession of compliments. He left out a quiet, nervous chuckle and pulled the brim of his hat a little lower over his eyes. “You flatter me. I don’t think I did that much,” he said. He honestly didn’t; bringing Kalliope here had nothing to do with him as a person. It was simply the right thing to do – Izahn deserved to be sent off properly, and Sjan-dehk could hardly do that himself.

He looked out at the sea. “It’ll take a while before I can do anything about that promise. Still not sure how long we’re planning on staying here.” He chewed on his lip for a moment. Being stuck in harbour – as that was essentially his situation – sat poorly with him, even if it was due to no one’s fault in particular. He looked back at Kalliope. “But it has to be done. That’s the Way as all of us are taught.”

When Kalliope reached out with his sash, Sjan-dehk gently placed his hand on hers and pushed it back. “It’s alright. You can keep it for now. No one’s going to miss the bloody thing, least of all me. You can give it back some other day.” He took a step towards the city and glanced over his shoulder at her with a grin. “Or tomorrow, if you don’t mind showing me around then. I’d be more than happy to have you give me the tour than some noble who likely doesn’t want to be there and doesn’t know their way around beyond the castle walls.”

He beckoned for her to follow. “If you don’t mind, I can walk with you until we need to go our separate ways.”

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Time: 1800

Her question proved to be harder to answer than Sjan-dehk had thought. Diverse as Viserjanta was, it was impossible to give Kalliope any set of specific guidelines. Every province, every island, and every race had their own unique practices. From Izahn’s name, Sjan-dehk guessed that he belonged to the same people as Azwan. Then again, he could very well have lived amongst another culture and thus adopted their ways instead. That wasn’t exactly something unheard of. Sjan-dehk, however, didn’t want to make any silly and unnecessary assumptions, and so he gave the safest answer there was.

“Just come as you are,” he said with a smile. That wasn’t entirely wrong. He hadn’t heard of a culture that required mourners to wear specific colours. Sure, some would say that white or black were appropriate for such sad occasions – not yet, at least – but they were really just guidelines more than anything else. It was more important that a mourner showed themselves truly and without masks. “Wouldn’t want Izahn to not recognise you. Besides, this is really more of a navy tradition. Minor details aren’t important. What is, is that we pay the dead our respects and bid them a safe journey to wherever they go.”

By now, the sun had dashed beneath the horizon. Sjan-dehk swore that there was at least half-an-hour or even more of light left in the day, but the twinkling light of the first stars overhead told him just how wrong he had been. “We should move,” he said to Kalliope before gesturing to the raised lantern hooks hanging over the guardrails. “My men will soon be lighting the ship for the night. Should’ve been earlier, but I doubt anyone suspected that it’d get this dark, this fast. I’d suggest that we get out of their way.”

Sjan-dehk led her back down the ship, although much slower this time. The faint, orange glow of lanterns and lamps illuminated hatches, racks and buckets of arms, stairs, and anything else that might prove to be a hazard in the dark of night. “Anyway,” he began and stepped aside to get out of the way of a man racing towards the bow with an unlit lantern in hand. “I wouldn’t worry about anyone getting offended. Mourning is for everyone. Anyone who does is obviously a pedant and I for one take joy in their anger. Maybe one day one of their heads would actually explode as they keep saying.”

There was a touch of dry mirth in his voice towards the end. He was, of course, referring to all the people of high status aboard the Sudah. Aside from Lady Adiyan, of course. She wouldn’t care too much about the specifics of the ceremony, but the rest? They were slaves to rites and rituals. They’d likely want things to be as by the book as possible. If there wasn’t a book – as was the case with most navy traditions – they would simply take guidelines as rules.

Well, not like Sjan-dehk cared much about what they wanted or liked. They could moan and complain and whine all they liked, but as far as he was concerned, Kalliope had a good reason to be there. Whether she was a Viserjantan like them was irrelevant. And despite his misgivings, Sjan-dehk was certain that if he simply explained what was going on – and if they cared enough to listen – they might even agree, even if begrudgingly.

He led her up the steps to the quarterdeck, where his men had already placed lanterns at regular intervals along the guardrail. They bathed the wooden deck in flickering, warm light. Overhead, the canted yard of the mizzenmast swayed gently in the breeze. “The rudder’s right below us,” Sjan-dehk said and tapped his foot on the deck. “We use a more complicated system to get it turning. It’s a lot more ropes and tackles to maintain, but it shifts faster. Makes us a harder target to hit when we’re moving, and makes it easier for us to get our guns to bear. That’s saved all our lives more than once.”

Looking off in the direction of the Sudah, he could see her almost fully illuminated, with her furled sails and hull and deck bathed in light. The lanterns at the very tops of her masts were like lamps in a lighthouse amidst the darkness. She certainly was an impressive sight. It was just a shame that her crew wasn't as impressive. Now that it was truly night, it likely wouldn't be long before her captain called for her crew to start disembarking for the closest beach. Sjan-dehk hoped that there wouldn't be too many people there; to say that it would make for an awkward encounter would be an understatement. "Don't suppose we had to ask anyone's permission before using the beach?" He said in a half-joke, glancing sideways at Kalliope with a grin. Then, realising that he should probably explain, continued with, "We usually have a small ceremony on a beach whenever possible. It shouldn't take too long. It's really not that big, but it's the meaning behind it that counts."

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Time: 1800

“Did you know that most of their navy can’t swim?”

Sjan-dehk could see the humour in Kalliope’s words. Really, he could. A navy which hired – and a captain who accepted, for that matter – men who were helpless once thrown overboard? Just the very thought of it invited derisive laughter and bemusement. Had this been the Sjan-dehk of half-a-decade past hearing that piece of information, he would’ve done and felt just that. He’d been a proud sailor, then. One that could be considered a veteran of countless actions, but a complete stranger to the savagery of open war.

The Sjan-dehk of today merely kept the polite smile on his face. It faltered momentarily, but it recovered in a flash. Perhaps Kalliope caught it, perhaps not. It didn’t quite matter. His mind was already dragging him back to devastated seas of old.

Recruiting landsmen – those uninitiated by the sea – was a sad but necessary reality of war. Or any navy that reached a certain size, in fact. His Sada Kurau, considered a small ship by Viserjantan standards, had a complement of a hundred-and-fifty men. The true warships, those which could fire around thirty guns per broadside, were crewed by close to three hundred. And the numbers only got higher from there. The huge two-hundred gun flagships – vessels slightly smaller than the Sudah but built for battle – needed close to a thousand men. It was simply impossible to expect everyone from cabin boy to gunner; from marine to carpenter; from helmsman to steward, to be an able man-of-the-sea. Not every position needed such men, in any case, and so landsmen were perfect choices for work that took place on or below decks, where it was less likely that they would fall into the sea.

But as the war dragged on and ships were lost with their crews, the more desperate the navy became for manpower. By the latter half of the second year, it wasn’t at all uncommon for newly-commissioned ships to be crewed largely by landsmen. Such vessels would sail as well as any other, of course, but it was only when they sank did their deadly shortcomings become apparent. Sjan-dehk could still vividly remember the aftermaths of some battles, where the sea was filled with despairing men either clinging to flotsam or floundering as they drowned. The decks of his Sada Kurau would already be packed with survivors, and they’d be unable to rescue any more lest they founder amidst rough waves.

And so there was only one thing they could do. Between a slow death by exposure and predators, and a quick one by bullet, it was clear which was the merciful option.

Sjan-dehk breathed in deeply through his nose. That was simply the nature of war. Some would live, some would die. And for the latter, not all had the luxury of dying well. Sjan-dehk could consider himself lucky for avoiding an inglorious end.

And in any case, the war was over. There was no point dwelling on it. No point at all.

“I haven’t actually seen any ships of your navy, actually,” he said after clearing his throat. “So I’m not going to say much about them or their crews, but I can say with confidence that everyone aboard Sada Kurau is able to swim. She wouldn’t accept anything less.” The cheeky grin returned to his face. Thinking about the endearing quirks of his ship always did that. A wild and unbridled sailor, she didn’t treat those who weren’t on good terms with the sea kindly. The few landsmen that had been amongst his crew had quickly turned themselves into able seamen under her less-than-gentle tutelage.

He was about to apologise for his extended silence – if she’d noticed it – or suggest that they move on to another part of the ship when Kalliope started explaining how she’d learned his language. Although to be quite honest, he was a little lost at the start, when she spoke about the ship she once owned and the lover she once had. Whatever questions he had, however, quickly went flying from his mind when she started to disrobe. He didn’t even care about the glint of blades or the fact that she had them on her this whole time, he just held his hands out in front of him, as if ready to pull the jacket back over her shoulders.

Then, he saw the wounds, and he instantly recognised them for what they were. He’d seen more than his fair share of them. “Who-” he began, but he needn't have bothered. Kalliope soon continued with her story, and he fell back into silence as he listened with rapt attention. With each word and each recollection of the turbulent life she’d had, his natural smile faded until it disappeared into a deadly serious expression. There was nothing in what she said that was new to him. He’d seen it all before. It was the unjustness that made him irate. Yes, Viserjantan sentenced convicts to labour as well, but as far as he knew, any good justiciar worth their name would’ve revealed a framed suspect for the innocent that they way long before a case even got to a magistrate’s table.

And there was also the case of Izahn. A Viserjantan – no, a Jafin – imprisoned and executed by Alidashti hands. The Commonwealth’s approach to their people in other nations was simple; they were responsible for their own actions and were subject to the laws of their gracious hosts. But to be sentenced to what was essentially an eternal sentence for petty theft seemed unreasonable. So what if the victim was of high and noble blood? Kings and queens governed the common folk, but before the law, all were equals. Such was the Way of the Great Harmony.

By the time Kalliope was done, Sjan-dehk’s jaw was set and he could feel the indignation simmering in his heart. When he looked down and into her nervous eyes, however, it all vanished. Replacing it was naught but deep shame. Just what sort of person was he? That after she shared something so personal, all he could think of was his own feelings? That was certainly not becoming of him. His cheeks flushed from the embarrassment, and he glanced away.

For a moment, he said nothing as he tried to think of the perfect thing to say. Then, realising that no such thing existed, he settled for something that was merely suitable. “This Izahn,” he began and placed both hands on the guardrail, looking down at the gnarled wood. “I don’t know how he lived, and I won’t speak on his character, but I can say he died Jafin. He died Viserjantan.” He paused, wondering how he was going to explain that in a way that didn’t sound too dismissive or flippant of the matter. “By our ways, there is no difference between blood and adopted kin. You were, to him, as true a child as those he had with his wife, and how can a father simply sit and watch as his daughter’s abused?”

He looked up at the city for a moment, and let out a long breath. When he spoke, his words came out with a touch of exasperation despite his best efforts. “It’s small comfort, I know, and damn do I wish I could say something better, but all I’m saying is that Izahn died well.” That was definitely not at all proper. Now he had one more thing to clarify on top of what he was already trying to put across. He paused for a moment to collect his thoughts. “Sorry. What I meant to say is that we Viserjantans, especially Jafins like us, we all wish to live and die by the Way of the Great Harmony. It guides us in life. Points us towards the truth and helps us stay moral in an immoral world. When Izahn saw you beaten, the Way gave him a choice, and he chose to do what a father should, and protect his daughter despite the risks.”

Pushing himself off the guardrail, he looked at her, and bowed his head. “For what it’s worth, I think it was the bravest of choices. Can’t say I know many people who’d do the same in that situation. I don’t know if I could, myself.” Looking back up, he offered her a little smile. Not a cheeky grin or mischievous smirk, but a genuine, emotive one. “Izahn’s soul rests with the Mother of the Waves now, as will all Jafin souls. May he find calm waters and verdant shores.”

Sjan-dehk had never really been a devout person. Temples and shrines were simply places he went out of ritual and custom. But now? It just felt like the right thing to say, and he silently thanked his old court tutors for making him remember those simple words. He nodded at her pendant. “We’ll have to make sail for Jafi eventually some day. If you’re free and able, you’re more than welcome to join us when that day comes. It would be my pleasure to assist you in some way with such a virtuous quest.” It would by no means be an easy task – the march of Jafi consisted of several islands, each of them with their own cities, towns, and villages – but it was the right thing to do. The man’s family deserved answers. His name, at least, had to be returned to his familial temple.

Sjan-dehk gestured in the vague direction of the Sudah anchored off-shore. “We have a custom, that upon reaching harbour, we’ll remember those we lost along the way. The crew of that other ship's doing it tonight. I wasn’t going to attend since Sada Kurau lost no one, but now that you’ve told me about Izahn, it’s only right that I send him off properly. If you want, you're welcome to join me.” He looked out at the horizon. “He probably paid my family homage at some point, you know? Clan Wasun, protectors of Jafi and whatnot. We all have our obligations. He did his, so I must do mine.”

And he would, to the best of his abilities. If there was one Viserjantan held in Alidashti captivity, then it was reasonable to suspect that there were more. Sjan-dehk had been dreading the prospect of having to meet with more foreign dignitaries, but for those particular nobles? He couldn’t wait. He had so many questions to ask.

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Time: 1800

With a fist to his chest, Sjan-dehk returned both the bow and grin with ones of his own. This woman was turning out to be quite the interesting character. Few would consider sneaking aboard a warship only to be caught and placed on the ugly side of a dozen muskets to be a mere game, he wagered. Either she was a remarkable thespian putting on the most convincing act he’d ever seen, or she was – as he’d suspected as an aside earlier – no stranger to violent confrontations.

Both would’ve earned her respect with him; the first for the sheer amount of skill, and the second for being a kindred spirit of sorts. Besides, she had the mind to be considerate of his crew despite everything. That spoke of some goodness in her heart, and that had to count for something.

“Don’t worry about it,” he said with a wave of his hand. “There’s no need for you to apologise. They made a mistake, they have to suffer consequences. Today, they were lucky. It was just a cheeky woman looking for some fun. Next time, our visitor might not be as harmless.” That wasn’t just a hypothetical; Sjan-dehk was speaking from experience. Not every province was quick to choose sides when the war broke out. A handful tried to remain as neutral as they could, and that meant allowing vessels from both the rebels and the Crown and Court to dock at their harbours. Spies and agents stealing documents and plans from ships belonging to their enemies was the norm back in those days. Sjan-dehk had lost count of the number his crew had captured after the hundred-and-fiftieth one.

Now that he thought about it, that was all the more reason for him to punish his crew. This wasn’t anything unknown to them; they knew what they should’ve done. Cleaning the ship’s six latrines seemed like almost too light of a penalty, now. But it was too late to change anything; Sjan-dehk had already told them what to do, and he wasn’t too keen on going back on his word. Even for something like this.

“Anyway,” he continued. “Nice to meet you, Ka-” The woman’s unfamiliar name tripped on his tongue and stayed there. Sjan-dehk cleared his throat and tried again. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Ka- I mean, Lady Arden. I am Wasun Sjan-dehk, captain of Sada Kurau and the Fourth Lesser Marquis of Jafi.” Once again, he gestured to the ship around them. “We just arrived this morning, so my crew’s busy getting her fixed up and ready. I’ll show you around, but excuse the mess.”

The Sada Kurau was a lovely vessel indeed, as Kalliope had said, but there really wasn’t much of her for him to show. Or to be precise, there wasn’t much need for Sjan-dehk to actually bring Kalliope around; flat as the deck was, they could easily look up and down the entire ship’s length from where they stood. There was a raised quarterdeck at the stern, yes, but it wasn’t particularly high. “This way,” Sjan-dehk said and beckoned for her to follow him to the prow. It was as good a place as any to start.

“Fore-and-aft rigged, three masts.” Sjan-dehk pointed to the rigging as they walked along the deck. As he passed each idle crewman, he gave them a friendly greeting as well as a reminder that Mursi was the sort to fill idle hands with difficult work. “But see the horizontal yards? She can fly square sails as well when we need speed rather than agility. The rigging is complicated, as you can see, but-” He pushed aside a tangle of dangling ropes and tackles for Kalliope to pass under. “-she’s got a bloody skilled crew. The sails can be changed before our enemies even know what’s happening.”

From the prow, the two of them could see Sorian bathed in the golden light of the setting sun. Be it made of stone or wood, thatch or tile, it seemed as if every building shone in the twilight. Little pricks of flickering light marked where lanterns or candles had been lit in preparation for the night. Sjan-dehk leaned against the forward guardrail. Truly, it was a beautiful sight. Beautiful enough that he almost missed the dour, grey castle staring down at him. In the day, it seemed majestic – and it still was in a domineering way – but now in the evening? It was almost drab compared to the rest of the city.

Sjan-dehk drew in a deep breath and glanced at Kalliope with a grin. “A damn fight sight, isn’t it?” He said and patted the cannon he stood beside. “We’ve got four chasers here at the bow. They’re unlikely to finish a fight on their own, but they can slow a runner down, or give them a fair warning before we close in for a scuffle.” He pointed to a shelf fixed to the curved guardrails on either side of the guns. White bags stuffed almost to bursting sat on them, and underneath were a row of cannonballs. “Stay clear of those. We keep powderbags and shot close at hand for our guns. Always have to be ready for anything.”

He drew in a deep breath and looked out at the city again for a moment. “You know,” he started and turned to face Kalliope. “I do have a question for you. I didn’t think we’d meet anyone here who could speak our language, but here you are. You’re not doing too badly at it, too. If you don’t mind me asking, who taught you? Where’d you learn it from? Would be great if we could find any of our own living around these parts.”

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Time: 1800

Despite the situation, hearing the women repeat his words in his native tongue – albeit with pronunciation that could do with some work – was likely one of the better surprises Sjan-dehk experienced since arriving to Sorian. He could hardly contain the smile that curled his lips, and so he didn’t bother to. At last, a local he could talk to without sounding like an illiterate fool. “You can be both. Just one strange girl,” he said and took another bite from his bun. As he chewed, he looked her over carefully once more. For someone with at least a dozen muskets pointed at her, she was awfully relaxed and calm. There was something more to her, Sjan-dehk was certain of it.

The scars on her face spoke of some form of violence in the past. Souvenirs of battle, perhaps? Or simply wounds from a back alley brawl? They could also be painful memories of abuse. Really, it was hard to tell, and it was hardly the most pressing question. That title went to her knowledge of his language. Where did she learn it from? And from whom? It had to be someone she met regularly, so that immediately struck off enterprising traders and merchants from the list of possibilities. A travelling scholar, maybe?

So many questions, but Sjan-dehk could only chew so slow before it started being ridiculous. “Ah, sorry, I meant woman. Or lady. Whatever you prefer.” He waved for his crew to stand at ease. They hesitated, but one-by-one, each man slowly brought their muskets to their sides, stocks resting on the deck and muzzles pointed to the sky. Whoever this woman was, she seemed friendly enough. A little too curious, maybe, but that hardly warranted a firing line.

“I will admit, you made us look like idiots, sneaking aboard like that.” Sjan-dehk didn’t need to turn or even look around to know that the guards – as well as Mursi – bristled at those words. As they should. “But I’ve to thank you. The path of knowledge is one of falls and rises, as it’s written. You’ve made my crew fall, but now they can rise stronger. Speaking of which, excuse me.”

He looked over his shoulder at Mursi. For a moment, the two of them held their gazes; Sjan-dehk with an arched brow and questioning expression, and Mursi with one that was beyond apologetic. “I’m pretty sure you know what to do, Master Mursi.” Sjan-dehk said with a subtle nod.

Mursi snapped to a salute. “Yes, captain. Latrines for the week, captain.”

“And the guards you posted. Make them help you. It’s their damn fault for being blind as well.”

A few of the guards standing behind Sjan-dehk let out quiet sighs of resignation, but none voiced any sort of opposition or contestation. Had this happened on any other ship, they would’ve been flogged for being negligent in their duties, but Sjan-dehk was willing to let them off easily for the first offence. “Don’t let this happen again.” He looked to his left and right at the row of musketmen, his gaze lingering on those with their heads hung low. “Learn from your mistake, and all will be forgotten. Repeat it, and well, we’ll have to help you learn. Understood?”

Their answer came as a unified chorus. “Aye, captain!”

Sjan-dehk nodded, then waved his hand. “Dismissed. Mursi, write up a new roster and deployment when you're able.”

He didn’t wait for them to fully disperse before returning his attention to the woman, and only then did he remember that she could probably understand most of what he had said. “Ah, sorry,” he said with flushed cheeks. “Rude of me. Just wanted to get that all done and out of the way as soon as possible. Better that way, yes?” He popped the last of the bun into his mouth and quickly ate it. Offering her a little grin, he continued, “Besides, I think having the one who got them in trouble around would make them commit it all to memory a little better.”

Was he being a little too casual with a woman – whose name he still didn’t know, no less – who had snuck aboard his ship? Probably. But she didn’t seem to mean any harm. If she did, she could’ve done whatever she needed to do a long time ago instead of wandering about like a sightseer. Neither did she seem to be particularly unsavoury or loathsome.

“You’re right, Sada Kurau is a beautiful ship.” That was another reason why Sjan-dehk decided to give her the benefit of the doubt. The compliment had sounded sincere enough to his ears, and anyone who could appreciate the beauty of his ship would already be on the same page with him. Within the same book, at the very least. “If you want to see her, you just have to ask. I’m more than happy to show you around.” He paused, then continued, “Oh, and you only answered two of my questions. Who are you?”

🗡 Roses and Daggers 🎕

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Time: 1700 - 1800

Peaceful rivers. Soaring mountains. Lovers beneath peach blossoms. Ships lost amidst storms. Sjan-dehk had always been amazed by how simple black ink brushed upon white silk could so vividly depict scenes of such variety. The strokes were wild and free, with rough edges and fading trails. Yet, their graceful turns and elegant flourishes were masterful displays of control and restraint. Their details were sparse and their colours non-existent, but it was only with such austerity did the intricacies of their portrayals become all the more apparent.

Truly, any one of the paintings Sjan-dehk looked at was fit for a palace.

But he wasn’t in one. Instead, the polished walls of lacquered wood the silk canvases hung from were part of the Sudah’s lavishly designed interior. Even though Sjan-dehk knew that the shipwrights had designed her with the express intention of impressing visitors, he was still amazed by the sheer lengths they went to achieve just that. Timber from Jafi; sails from Kadapo; metalworks from Nak Sidan; paintings from Ai-kai, it was as if they had scoured every region of the Commonwealth for their best works and hammered them together into the Sudah.

Sjan-dehk stopped in front of a painting of a blooming flower. He crossed his arms, resting the elbow of his left on the hand of his right as he scratched his chin. Truth be told, he didn’t like the Sudah as much as her designers had likely hoped. She was a fine – albeit slow – ship, sure, but she was also a little too made up for his tastes. Too much of a yacht for show and too little of an adventurer for exploration. But now that he was – and had been for a while – waiting to see Lady Adiyan, he could at least appreciate that there were things to see and take his mind away from the boredom.

“Taking an interest in art appreciation? I’m surprised, provincial. Didn’t think you had it in you.”

The woman’s voice, playful and teasing, came out of nowhere, but Sjan-dehk had been expecting – even waiting – for it. A small grin tugged on his lips. “Took you long enough,” he said to an empty corridor as he continued to study the painting. “I was starting to think that you weren’t actually here.”

Then, he turned around. What had once been an empty space between paintings was now taken up by a woman who rested her back against the wall. A cheeky smirk graced her elfin, sun-kissed face, and her eyes sparkled with a sort of mischief that was familiar to Sjan-dehk. “As if I’d miss a chance to mess with you,” she replied as she adjusted the pins holding her bun of dark hair in place. “Or try to, at least. Can’t say I’m not impressed, provincial. How’d you know I was there?”

Sjan-dehk shrugged and leaned his back against the wall. “It’s as you say. As if you’d miss a chance to try to get one over me, but I guess I’m too sharp for you. And stop with the ‘provincial’ gull-dung. You’re one as much as me, and you know it.”

The woman pushed herself off the wall and leaned over to wag a finger in Sjan-dehk’s face. “The east had courts and scholars when the Jafins were still pirates,” she said in a sing-song voice. Had it been anyone else who had said that, Sjan-dehk would’ve found it reason enough to start a fight. From her, however? He simply chuckled and looked back at her with defiance in his eyes.

“Courts and scholars poisoned Viserjanta. Jafin ‘pirates’ saved it.”

“You got me there,” the woman said with neither disappointment nor resentment in her words. Instead, she stood next to Sjan-dehk and looked down the corridor. “The Lady of Wise Counsel’s still waylaid by all the doctor’s lining up to stuff her with medicines and herbs and all that nonsense. Shouldn’t take too long, but you never know with these smart types, no?”

Sjan-dehk clicked his tongue. “Your lady’s got more shot and shrapnel in her than a canister, Iyen.”

“Ah, she’s survived worse.”

“She might lose a leg.”

“Shame about that, but still, she’s alive. That counts for something, doesn’t it?”

There wasn’t much Sjan-dehk could say in response to that. Iyen did have a point. Losing a limb was not at all a pleasant experience by any stretch of the imagination; Sjan-dehk couldn’t even begin to imagine what it’d feel like. But it was probably far better than losing one’s entire life. At least, that was what he had gathered from his few conversations with Sahm-tehn on the subject. Granted, the man had answered with the dry and sardonic attitude he had towards most things.

Iyen was right about the other thing as well. Lady Adiyan had survived far worse. Sjan-dehk knew that as a fact; he had been there with her for at least a handful of those incidents. They – along with Iyen who had been Lady Adiyan’s personal guard as she still was – had fought alongside one another during the various campaigns to recapture, pacify, and liberate the scattered and isolated smaller western islands. Compared to the injuries they had suffered during those violent years, catching a few pieces of metal in her side was probably nothing.

So there really was no reason for Sjan-dehk to worry. But still, worry he did.

“It’s still a leg,” he muttered.

Iyen’s shoulders sagged, and she dipped her head. “It is, isn’t it?” She sounded far away, as if her physical body and mind had separated. For a while afterwards, she said nothing. The sounds of creaking wood and muffled construction from the decks below punctuated the uncomfortable silence. Eventually, she drew in a deep breath and spoke once more. “You know, if I’d been a little faster, or if I’d seen the bastards–”

“Oh no, you’re not going down this road.” Sjan-dehk held up a hand in front of her. “All it does is make you feel like gull-dung. We had what we had and we did what we could. Sometimes it works out. Just our poor fucking luck that it didn’t this time.” He turned to look at her with a grin that probably looked as forced as it felt to him. “Besides, are you really trying to tell me you can outrun a cannon shot? That’s a fucking stupid idea you fucking know it.”

That got a soft laugh out of Iyen. “Who knows? I’ve had some pretty lucky things happen.” She dragged a finger over the thin, braided rope wrapped across her body and around her waist, as if deep in thought. “I suppose I should thank you, by the way. For taking out the sneaky little fucker. I saw it all happen from the top deck and I’ve to say, that was some fine sailing and shooting.”

Sjan-dehk shrugged. “I can’t take all the credit. Azwan was commanding the guns and Sahm-tehn was on the sails, as usual. All I did was shout really loudly.”

“Just take the damn compliment, provincial.”

The soft rattle of a door sliding open interrupted their conversation. Further down the corridor, a man who had clearly seen far better days stepped out of a room. His robes were in disarray, and his carefully pinned top-knot on the verge of falling apart. A rattan basket hung from one arm, and beneath the other, he held a rolled up sheet. “The Lady of Wise Counsel is ready to see you,” he called out. His words were punctuated by pants. “Please do not take too much time. I have given her strong analgesics which should lull her to sleep in short order.”

“We hear you loud and clear, doctor,” Iyen replied with a wave. To Sjan-dehk, she said, “Guess we’ll have to chat later. Shouldn’t keep the Lady waiting for too long. She’s been asking after you since we pulled into harbour.”

“Hopefully for good reasons,” Sjan-dehk commented as he pushed himself off the wall.

Iyen laughed. “You? It’s a toss-up, really. I’ll be hanging around outside if you need me.”

“I’ll keep that in mind. Might need it if she starts trying to get up and about.” With that, Sjan-dehk continued down the corridor. Not for the first time since boarding the Sudah, he wondered why Lady Adiyan had sent for him. As far as he knew, she had been confined to her quarters ever since that action in the mist. Surely she didn’t know that he’d taken the liberty of exploring the city? Or perhaps one of her people had heard something when Avek and Mursi came aboard the Sudah seeking gifts for the King’s representatives. That seemed to be the most likely case. Then again, it was also possible that the royal tutor had approached her about Sjan-dehk’s shortcomings with regards to a royal audience, and Lady Adiyan wanted to set him straight herself.

Either way, whatever possibilities he conjured in his mind didn’t matter. He’d find out the real reason soon enough.

Sjan-dehk quietly slid the door shut behind him, then immediately greeted her the same way he had with King Edin, albeit with a lot less reluctance and more sincerity. He knelt and bowed at the waist, both hands wrapped over one another before him and thumbs interlocked. “Lady of Wise Counsel, Voice of the High Queen. Captain Wasun Sjan-dehk of the Sada Kurau, and Fourth Lesser Marquis of Jafi stands before you, as ordered.”

“No need for that. Stand up and come here.”

The short response wasn’t anything Sjan-dehk hadn’t expected. Lady Adiyan had always been the sort to eskew as many rites and ceremonies as possible. Even so, and despite his own aversion towards courtly ways, it just didn’t feel right to him to be overly-casual in her presence.

“As you say,” he replied simply and rose to his feet. As with the rest of the Sudah, the room had been built to be fit for a noble of any stripe. It was easily twice as large as his quarters aboard his Sada Kurau, with a ceiling high enough to make any sailor envious. Lanterns of waxed paper hung from the ceiling, bathing the mural-covered walls in a warm glow. Opulent rugs and masterfully carved furniture filled the empty spaces in the corners and middle of the room.

And directly across, situated under a long painting of birds in flight, was a bed. Layers of soft cotton and shimmering silk swaddled the woman seated on it. Even from a distance, she looked sickly. Her naturally dark complexion had paled to a sandy brown, and sweat glued strands of matted hair to her cheeks and forehead. Every laboured breath heaved her shoulders. “Please, sit,” she said and gestured to a chair by her side with an arm. Even that little movement seemed to drain her strength.

Sjan-dehk nodded and crossed the room. As he approached, he noticed the open books and ledgers on the bed beside her. He also noticed the outline of only one leg stretched out before her. An involuntary wince flashed across his face. It didn’t go unnoticed by Adiyan. “You’ve seen far worse, I’m sure.”

For a moment, he said nothing, and when he opened his mouth, he could only say the single thought that ran through his mind. “We should’ve acted quicker.” He barely noticed the words tumbling from his tongue in a slurred mess. When he finally did notice, it only served to embarrass him. So much for that little talk he’d only just given to Iyen.

“We’ll have none of that,” Lady Adiyan said with a wave of her hand. “Least of all from you, Shanya.” Her use of that name gave Sjan-dehk pause. Outside of his family, he could count on one hand the number of people he allowed to address him in that manner. Lady Adiyan and Iyen were two of them. “That you could bring your Sada Kurau to our aid with such haste is already laudable enough. What more could you have done? Seen the future? Control the winds to propel your ship faster?”

Sjan-dehk sighed and sat down. “I wish I could do all that, but no.”

Adiyan reached across to gently pat his forearm and looked at him with a motherly smile. “Then you did all you could, and for that I thank you, captain.” She held his gaze for a moment, then pulled her hand back to her lap. Whatever warmth she had on her face and in her words instantly disappeared. “So let’s not speak of such matters. I trust you understand why I’ve called you here?”

“I’m not sure I do,” Sjan-dehk confessed. “If it’s about the meeting with the King, I was going to write you a report at the end of the day.”

“That’s part of it, yes,” Lady Adiyan confirmed with a nod. “And yes, a report would have sufficed, but I’ve also been reliably informed that you took leave of your ship to explore the city.” She flicked her gaze down, towards her leg. “As you can see, I’m hardly in a state to move, and I doubt the doctors would even allow me to try for at least the rest of the week. And yet, there is still work to do, and I cannot do that work if I’m deaf and blind to my surroundings beyond this ship.”

Things quickly clicked in Sjan-dehk’s head. “Ah, so you just want me to tell you about the city?”

“In so few words, yes.”

Sjan-dehk could feel the load lifting from his shoulders. It wasn’t an easy task, but it was at least one that he had done some preparation for. And so he wasted no time, and launched into a retelling of his exploits and experiences in the Caesonian capital thus far. He started from the strange matchmaking session, and focused on the King’s – in his opinion, he made it clear – overblown reaction to a mere onion. Of course, that meant he had to touch on the prince who decided to eat it raw in court. Then he moved on to how he discovered that not only had Alidasht sent their own representatives to the city, but there was also a third power – Roman’s homeland, of which the name Sjan-dehk had unfortunately forgotten – present. He also detailed what he had seen of the city, from the clean and pristine streets around the castle to the dirt paths and grimey buildings of the slums and Aislin’s little fishing village.

All the while, Lady Adiyan said nothing, only offering the occasional nod and furrowing of her brows as her only reactions. She also picked up her brush to scrawl rough notes in one of her books every so often, but not once while Sjan-dehk spoke did she interrupt.

“So,” she began a few moments after Sjan-dehk finished. “It seems like you’ve made some connections.”

“I wouldn’t put it that way, to be honest.”

Lady Adiyan ignored his response. “How fortuitous that everyone that we hope to meet in the region have all gathered here in one city. This is an opportunity we cannot allow to slip from our grasp. Do your best to make contact with Alidasht’s people, and this Roman…What do you think of him?”

Sjan-dehk took his time to formulate his response. He hadn’t known the giant long enough to give a proper answer – or at least one he thought proper – and so he simply gave his honest opinion. “He seems to be like one of us. A man who’s seen battle and knows the cost of war. I’d take his words at face value, that he just wants trade between our nations. Can’t speak for his lieges or whatnot, though. Haven’t met them.”

“Good answer,” Lady Adiyan said with a nod. “See if you can find out if his lieges are in the city.”

“I will likely see at least one of their princesses at the park later. I’ve a debt to pay.”

A ghost of a smile told Sjan-dehk all he needed to know about how Lady Adiyan felt about that. “Very, very good. I will admit, I was worried about making you our representative, but you’re making yourself quite the diplomat, indeed.” His face flushed at the compliment, but he kept his face otherwise impassive as Lady Adiyan continued outlining her plans. “We will prioritise Alidasht and this new nation for now. Caesonia, on the other hand…It requires more thought.”

More thought? What else was there to think about? Sjan-dehk furrowed his brows. “I’m not sure I follow.”

“From what you’ve told me, and I do trust your judgement, this King Edin might not be the best person for us to negotiate with.” Lady Adiyan’s expression turned dark for a moment, but she quickly cleared it away with a slight shake of her head. “It may be…Improper of me to say so, but what you describe sounds very close to people whom we have faced before in the past.”

Sjan-dehk nodded solemnly. “No, I understand perfectly.” King Edin was nowhere near as terrible or evil as some of the wayward and self-proclaimed nobles he’d fought, but the similarities were there. The same sort of temperament, the same proclivities, the same sort of demeanour. “Far better for us to dawdle and be safe than to befriend a wicked king, yes?”

“Let’s not use such words to describe our host, Shanya. He sounds like a character, but I shan’t use the word ‘wicked’ yet. Not until I see him for myself.” Lady Adiyan chided, but nodded anyway. “In any case, our archivists may have discovered another person with whom we could discuss trade.”

It took all of Sjan-dehk’s self-control not to groan with frustration. “With respect, are you talking about the same archivists who got us lost at sea for months?”

Lady Adiyan opened her mouth to respond, but a yawn interrupted her. She blinked several times, and it was clear that she was finding it harder and harder to keep her eyes open. “I know you have your opinions of them, but please try to trust them this time.” Her words became more and more slurred and sluggish as she went on. Even so, she pushed on. “There was a fairly big name amongst traders back then. We don’t know much beyond their name.”

“Just give it to me. I’ll make sure I find them.”

“Wey-kan-ya,” Lady Adiyan said, then yawned again. “It should be Vikena in the local tongue.”

The name sounded familiar to Sjan-dehk, but he couldn’t quite place where he had heard it before. It didn’t matter now. He could deal with the search later. For now, he just needed to end things quickly and let Lady Adiyan have her rest. “If they left any descendents, I’ll sniff them out. Bastards and all. I can assure you of that much.”

Lady Adiyan could only manage a tired smile as her eyelids drooped. “Just one will do,” she said in a soft voice. “Iyen. I will have her assist you. Will tell her what to do later.”

Sjan-dehk took that as his cue to leave, but as he stood up, he felt Adiyan’s hand gently wrap around his wrist. “What is it? Do you need something?” He asked.

Adiyan shook her head and looked at Sjan-dehk with an expression that he could only describe as deeply apologetic. It unsettled him, to be honest; he’d never see her with such a look before. “I wouldn’t ask you to do this if I could do it myself,” she said in a single breath, then closed her eyes as she drew in another deep one. “You are a soldier. A good one. But now you need to be a marquis. I wish I could tell you what happens in their courts and what you should do, but I cannot. For that, I am sorry.”

“I’ll figure it out.” Sjan-dehk tried to keep the concern from his voice as he carefully plucked Adiyan’s hand from his arm and placed it on the bed. “You know I always do. I’ll drag Iyen along if I have to.”

She closed her eyes and settled beneath the sheets. “Courts, they’re a battlefield of their own. One you haven't had the chance to get used to. But it is one I must now throw you into.” Whatever medication the doctor had given her, it was sapping her strength quickly. She yawned again, but found it within herself to say, “So please, be safe, Shanya.”

And just like that, she was out like a snuffed candle.

Sjan-dehk took the time to make sure that she was properly tucked into her sheets before quietly leaving the room. All the while, he ruminated upon Adiyan’s parting words. It was just a warning. One that he likely needed and one that was fair for his circumstances. Nothing more, nothing less. Adiyan had always been like that with both Iyen and him. One part cold and logical strategist, one part overbearing mother.

Yes, that was all it was. Just a warning.

---

The sun was already well on its way towards the horizon when Sjan-dehk finally stepped off the gangplank and back onto the deck of his Sada Kurau. It hadn’t been that long since he’d left – he knew that – but yet he still felt as if it had been weeks and months since he’d been aboard. Placing the gifts he had taken from the Sudah onto the deck, he stood where he was to simply enjoy the moment. His crew was hard at work keeping the Sada Kurau in top condition, and she seemed pleased with the treatment. Her yards swayed in the gentle breeze, and her ropes creaked a gentle melody.

“Ah, captain! Welcome back.” Mursi called out as he rushed over. “First officer Azwan, along with Masters Hai-shuun, Dai-sehk, Sahm-tehn, and Avek have gone ashore to purchase supplies. I’ve been left in charge of the evening watch.” He half turned and gestured to the men in the rigging of the ship, then to those armed with muskets standing by the guardrails. “We should be done with maintenance works before sundown, and I took the liberty of rostering the men for guard duties.”

Sjan-dehk nodded slowly. “Well done, master Mursi,” he said and reached into his pocket, pulling out one of the steamed buns which Iyen had insisted he take from the Sudah’s galley. She had practically stuffed them into his trousers when he told her that he hadn’t actually eaten anything substantial since pulling into harbour. “How are the guns? Any of them need repairs?”

“Larbord thirteen might need a proper swab. She’s built up too much residue, but it’s nothing that we can’t fix ourselves.” Mursi reported crisply.

“Sails? Any tears, rips?”

“None, captain.”

“What about the hull?”

“Master Hai-shuun reported nothing of note. Just minor scratches and chips from combat. He already has men repairing the damage.”

Sjan-dehk bit into the bun, then pointed with it to something behind Mursi’s right shoulder. “What about a strange, red-haired woman wandering around like she owns the damn ship?” He asked a little too casually considering the situation. Mursi certainly didn’t feel the same levity. It was a wonder that he didn’t give himself a headache with how quickly he spun around on his heel. Sure enough, there was a red-headed woman simply walking along the gunwale, looking the ship up and down as she did so. She wasn’t even snooping around; the crew simply paid her no heed. At least, not until now, when Sjan-dehk pointed her out to them.

“Alarm! Intruders!” Mursi shouted out, his hand flying to the pistol tucked into his belt.

“Intruder,” Sjan-dehk corrected as he chewed on his mouthful of bun. It was still pleasantly warm, and full vegetables and fish stewed in a light sauce. He simply watched as his men burst into action. Almost every one of them had a weapon of some sort on hand. They shouted at the woman in words she likely didn’t understand, ordering her to stop, to turn around and face them, to identify herself. The armed guards soon took up positions in a semi-circle around her, their muskets raised and cocked.

By all accounts, Sjan-dehk had every right to be angry. To be upset that someone had dared to step onto his ship without his permission. Yet, all he felt was amusement. That one woman could so easily just walk up the gangplank and onto his ship, and after that just walk up and down her deck with neither care nor worry was just laughable. Mursi would of course have to answer for that later, but for now, Sjan-dehk saw the humour in the whole situation.

He stepped through the crowd until he was at the line of musketmen. “Relax,” he said, pushing the barrel of the closest weapon down. “It’s just one girl. We don’t have to set up a firing line just for her. Aside from the guards, I want everyone else to return to their duties. Sun’s going down and unless you want to work by candlelight, I’d suggest you finish up your tasks quickly and sharply.” He released the weapon and took another bite out of his bun. “Keep your muskets trained on her if you must, but don’t shoulder them.”

“Yes, captain,” the closest guard said. He lowered his weapon to his waist, but kept the muzzle pointed in the general direction of the woman.

Sjan-dehk took his time to walk over to her, stopping a safe distance away. Yes, she was just one girl, but ‘just one girl’ could easily have ‘just one knife’ or ‘just one pistol’ tucked away somewhere to bring his life to a very abrupt end. Granted, he was sure that he had yet to anger anyone in Sorian enough to warrant something as drastic as that, but it was always better to be safe than sorry. He still had his promises to Lady Adiyan to keep.

He looked up and down, though he wasn’t quite sure why he did that. As if he could tell anything about her other than that she had red hair, and she looked like most people he’d seen in the city. A curious local who simply wanted to get a closer look at a foreign vessel, perhaps? Or maybe something more sinister, a spy who aimed to steal Viserjantan secrets. One seemed more likely than the other, but regardless, Sjan-dehk figured that it paid to open with something polite.

“You, strange lady.” He said after swallowing whatever he had in his mouth. “Who are you? Why do you come here? To our Sada Kurau?”

🗡 Roses and Daggers 🎕

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Time: 1600

Sjan-dehk dipped his head slightly as he took the coin. Wrapping it in a fist, he pressed it against his chest as he bowed. “Thank you. Will find you later at the park. Give something in return, yes?” He already had a few ideas in mind for a reciprocal gift. A sampling of the materials stored in the Sudah’s holds would likely be appreciated by a craftsman such as Roman. Or perhaps one of the more artisanal weapons; something that was much better suited for the hunt than a battlefield. There was also always the option of spirits and spices; both evergreen choices that, as far he knew, were always welcome.

Or, he could just bring a bit of everything. Very likely, he’d have to. From what he understood, Roman had been called away by a princess – likely his, by the sound of things – and she’d be present at the park later on. Naturally, Sjan-dehk would have to present her with a gift as well. Basic courtesy, really; it wouldn’t be very nice if he showed up, gave Roman something, and left her with nothing beyond niceties.

Something along those lines; rules of decorum weren’t things Sjan-dehk was overly-familiar with. He knew what they were and how they worked, but nothing deeper than that.

After he parted ways with Roman, he took some time to wander around. Not aimlessly, but simply without a specific destination in mind. If a city was a reflection of its ruler, then it stood to reason that having a look around would allow Sjan-dehk to have some gauge of the Caesonian king’s person. There already were a few vague opinions floating around in his head, but their first encounter had been a mixed experience, to say the least. A little more insight, a little more information; that was all Sjan-dehk needed.

Besides, it wasn’t as if he had anything else to do or anywhere else to me. He was already off his ship; he may as well make himself useful.

He took the road south, heading towards the coast. Despite his plans, there really wasn’t much in this part of the city for him to see. Nothing that would tell him anything new, at least. Aside from the arena behind him and an animal pen that would soon join it, Sjan-dehk could see little places of interest. The cluster of buildings opposite the pen did seem rather well-built and well-taken care of, but that wasn’t much different from what he had seen along the coast earlier. After them came what appeared to be a larger version of the arena. Its walls of brick-and-mortar stretched high into the sky, and there were a few groups of people finding shelter from the heat of the late afternoon sun in its long shadow.

Birds chirped from trees lining the road. Some flitted between branches in feathery blurs. As Sjan-dehk approached the intersection at its end, the buzzing clamour of a thronging crowd grew louder and louder until it was a constant, ubiquitous hum. Everything told him that this was a normal, healthy city. The people looked happy enough; their needs seemed to be adequately taken care of, and things were certainly going well enough for their lord to invite royal parties from not one, but two of their neighbours.

And yet, he still felt like he was missing something.

The fisherwoman – hot-blooded Aislin – had painted him a rather bleak picture. One where those who fed the city were themselves hungry; where they couldn’t even venture beyond the city’s immediate waters for fear of bandits and pirates; where – it seemed – royal authority was absent where it was needed. None of it made sense to Sjan-dehk. Surely, a city which could afford to host so many guests – and, of course, the miscellaneous and expensive activities that came with it – could afford to do something for their suffering citizens. One well-armed ship would be enough to chase away minor bandits. Sjan-dehk knew that for a fact. He also knew that it wasn’t exactly the costliest of endeavours.

A dense copse of trees lined the street to his left. If his bearings were right – and they usually were – then right behind them would be the sprawling slum in which he had gotten lost earlier. Almost as if those who planned the city were intentionally trying to keep it hidden. Sjan-dehk frowned. It reminded him of a story commonly told to young Viserjantans, particularly Jafins such as himself. ‘The King who Barred his Doors to Escape a Siege’, it was called. A precautionary tale about the dangers of rejecting harsh realities to live amongst comforting lies. Suffice to say, none involved in the story had a happy ending.

He shook his head. Perhaps he was reading too much into things.

The path he followed soon turned from cut cobblestones to bare dirt. Buildings of stone and brick turned to shacks of tattered cloth and misshapen wood. Gone were the orderly streets, now replaced by intertwined and winding alleys which led everywhere and nowhere at once. Sjan-dehk navigated his way with his ears as much as he did with his eyes. So long as he could still hear the crash of waves or the call of sea-birds, he knew he wasn’t going in the wrong direction.

Soon, however, he picked up the faded echoes of familiar words. A song, and not just any song. It was an incredibly bawdy one sung in his native tongue. Sjan-dehk let out a long sigh. Had this been a Viserjantan city, he would’ve raced to find whomever it was that sang it to swiftly and firmly shut them up. Even by the off-colour standards of an average sailor, the song was particularly offensive and an easy way to start a fight should someone from the eastern Viserjantan provinces hear it.

But, this was not a Viserjantan city, and so Sjan-dehk took his time to follow the song. It didn’t take long for him to reach what appeared to be an open-air tavern. Tables were arranged haphazardly in a fenced-off open area attached to a larger building. Every seat was occupied, and every hand held a mug or bottle or flagon. So cheery was the mood that Sjan-dehk couldn’t help but crack a smile as he stepped through the entrance and towards the table where his men sat.

Or at least, three of them sat. The fourth stood on a chair with one foot on the table as he belted out verse after verse of the song. His black hair was matted to his forehead, and his uniform so unkempt that it was a wonder how any of it stayed on with his wild and exaggerated movements. The locals seemed to either be entertained by or making fun of his antics. Sjan-dehk would’ve honestly understood either way. In fact, he was already thinking of how he was going to relate this particular event to the rest of the crew.

The man looked down to take a swig from his flagon, and it was then he caught sight of Sjan-dehk. For a moment, he froze. Then, his eyes widened and he almost dropped his drink as he stood to attention on the chair. “C-Captain!” He shouted out. His three other fellows immediately stood up, their backs straight as ramrods and eyes looking straight ahead. Sjan-dehk could feel every pair of eyes present turn to him, and hear the whispers that were beginning to ripple through the crowd.

“At ease, Wafeh,” he said and gestured for them to sit. Wafeh let out a long breath as he stepped off the chair and approached Sjan-dehk. He did his best to fix disheveled hair, but all he succeeded in doing was to smear the individual strands across his dark face. “Getting to know the locals already?” The smile on Sjan-dehk’s face turned into a grin. “Quite a song to introduce them to.”

Wafeh gulped. “I-” He began, then cleared his throat and stood to attention again. His eyes nervously flicked to Sjan-dehk every now and then as he spoke. “Able Seaman Dayan Wafeh reporting, captain. It was an accident. I drank too much and didn’t think, captain. It won’t happen again.”

Sjan-dehk chuckled and waved his hand dismissively. “What you sing is up to you. Just make sure no one from the Sudah is around to hear you. They have a few easterners aboard, and they’re not all as tough as those of us from the west, or the centre. If they get offended and decide to give you a beating, you’re on your own. Consider this a fair warning.” He nodded to the three behind Wafeh. “You all work under Master Hai-shuun, do you?”

Wafeh nodded. “Yes, captain. There wasn’t much to do on the Sada Kurau, so master Hai-shuun told us we could come ashore if we wanted.”

“You can stand at ease. No need for ceremony here. You're making me bloody uncomfortable, to be honest.” Wafeh visibly relaxed, but still walked stiffly back to his seat when Sjan-dehk motioned for him to do so. The captain followed, stopping at the edge of the table with arms folded. These four men were some of the lowest-ranked members of his crew, and so even with Sjan-dehk’s reputation of a lax captain, they still kept their eyes averted. “When I say to be at ease, I mean it. I didn’t come here looking for any of you. I was just walking around and having a look. How are you finding the city?”

Wafeh was the one who responded. “It’s good, captain. We don’t understand the people here and they don’t understand us, but no one’s given us any trouble so far. We could even get ourselves a drink just by using our hands, as you suggested.”

Sjan-dehk nodded slowly. It was good to hear that his men were settling in nicely, and even better to know that they had actually listened to his earlier speech. “Glad to hear it. I’ll be making my way back to Sada Kurau. Enjoy yourselves, but not too much.” He gave them a little smirk as he glanced at Wafeh. “And I think I know who to look for the next time we need someone to lead a song for hard graft. Just make sure you pick your songs wisely, yes?”

That got a few chuckles from the men. Three of them, at least, and Sjan-dehk took that as his cue to leave. Just as he was about to take his first step, however, Wafeh called out to him. “Oh, captain, master Hai-shuun had something he wanted us to tell you. If we ran into you, that was, and we did. Someone from the Sudah came by looking for you. Her Ladyship of Good Counsel wants to see you.”

“Lady Adiyan?” Sjan-dehk’s brows furrowed. “Didn’t think she’d be fit to see anyone today.”

Wafeh shrugged with an apologetic look on his face. “I don’t know anything else, captain. Everyone who left the ship after you were just told to pass the word if they saw you.”

Sjan-dehk nodded. “Thank you. As you were.” With that, he made haste to return to his ship. This was an unexpected turn of events, but not entirely unwelcome. There were some things he needed to clarify with Lady Adiyan, anyway, and if she felt well enough to receive visitors, then she was most likely out of any grave danger.

He just hoped what he had to tell her would be good enough.

🗡 Roses and Daggers 🎕

Interactions: Roman @ReusableSword
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Time: 1530

As Roman spoke, Sjan-dehk did his best to commit the man’s words to memory. It was unlikely he could remember or even understand enough to reproduce them with any sort of coherence later, but to sate his own curiosity and as a brief, first day’s report to Lady Adiyan, it would suffice.

His brows arched in pleasant surprise when the larger man mentioned his people’s – and in particular, his sister’s – affinity for the sea. Immediately, he began to wonder what their ships were like. Were they quick and agile in the water, or did they favour a slower and steadier approach? Did their hulls bend and roll with the waves, or were they solid beasts that ploughed through all with strength and determination? And their sails; did they billow in the wind as a net would fill with fish, or were they battened things that would clatter as they corralled and bent the ocean gusts to their will?

Of course, none of them were questions pertinent to the matter at hand. They were, however, enough to almost distract Sjan-dehk from the fact that Roman had misinterpreted his concerns. Any sailor with a map and some level of bravery would certainly find their way between their lands. It was the physical distance Sjan-dehk had been trying to talk about. After all, a distant heart ached the hardest, as it was said, and the distance between Viserjanta and this new continent was definitely vast.

He decided against correcting Roman. It wasn’t a big issue and besides, he’d more likely than not simply make things even more confusing for the two of them.

Only when Roman was done did Sjan-dehk begin to formulate his reply. The first order of business was to politely and respectfully decline the generous offer of the services of his people’s doctors. “Lady Adiyan, I think she is…Alright.” That ran a little too close to being a bold-faced lie for Sjan-dehk’s liking, but he didn’t know how else to say that even though she was likely to lose a leg and had more shrapnel in her than a loaded canister, she was stable and out of any immediate danger. “For now. Healers, we have. But I will see her later and know more. If we need help, will let you know.” He paused. “Thank you.”

Now all he had to do was to talk about Viserjanta. A task easier said than done.

Had he known more of the local tongue, he could’ve waxed endlessly about the history – both distant and recent – of the Commonwealth; of how it had once been a kingdom, then empire, governed by rulers both wise and wicked. He could have spoken about the rich histories of the myriad of people and cultures that called the scattered islands home, left behind by sagacious scholars and dutiful courtiers. If time allowed, he could have even touched on the various schools of philosophies founded by great thinkers and worldly visionaries, their words and deeds recorded for posterity by their loyal students.

Unfortunately, Sjan-dehk didn’t know enough of the local language.

And so, he had to settle for something a little more basic. “Viserjanta, it is a land of islands. Many islands, big and small. Also many ah…Ways? Different peoples, different ways, yes? Viserjanta has a lot. I-” He patted his chest. “-From Jafi. We are…Ajadi.” His brows knitted together as he struggled to think of a way to describe a march. “Viserjanta, the…West? We protect. So they call our land Ajadi. Many types of lands, but all bow to the High Queen.”

There wasn’t much Sjan-dehk could say about Daraya the Second. He had met her once – personally, no less – when she had paid Jafi a visit after the war to convey her appreciation for the march’s loyalty and its services to her cause. She seemed nice enough; not at all the stuffy aristocrat Sjan-dehk had expected, and more of a soldier-queen with a temperament that reminded him of his sisters. They had shared a few words – mostly over the Far Western theatre of the war, and Sjan-dehk’s extensive experiences – before she had to be called away to meet with his father, and he had to return to his ship for duty.

“The High Queen, she rules all. Queen of kings. With her…Damasaang. It is many nobles, they meet and decide Viserjanta’s…Path.” Crown and council, that was the cause Sjan-dehk had fought for. It was still a cause he believed in, even if their decisions sometimes frustrated him. “Jafi, and other islands, we have own Damasaang. It is…The Way. Harmony.”

He stopped and drew in a deep breath. Translating his thoughts into the local tongue had taxed his mind a lot more than he had thought it would. He could feel his head throbbing from just behind his eyes to the back of his head. That was enough sharing about Viserjanta; if Roman wanted to know more, Sjan-dehk could offer a few books and maybe volunteer one of his crew to help translate. Or confuse. It was really a toss-up between the two.

It was only then did he realise that while the ring had been empty for the entire time the two of them had been conversing. He nodded towards the empty arena. “More? Or finished?”