Location: Cargo Hold Race: Dark Elf & Human Class: Artificer & Rogue Interactions:@Helo Ezekiel Mentions:@Oso The Two 他妈的混蛋 Equipment:
Scratch Medical bag Tinkerer's kit Arcane spindlelock (shortened) musket Spindlelock pistols x2 Hand axes x2 Val First-aid bag Tinkerer's kit Spindlelock pistols x2 Steel daggers x2
Attire:
Scratch Dark brown, knee-length coat Black waistbelt Grey button-up shirt Dark brown trousers Heavy leather boots Val Off-white shirt Red ribbon tied around left arm Brown hooded coat Brown trousers Leather boots Goggles on her head
Gold: 101 Injuries:
Scratch NA Val Shallow cut on her right side, just below the ribs
A faint smirk tugged the corners of Scaerthrynne’s lips as he watched Sparkler stagger and falter beneath the weight of Ezekiel’s powerful strike. Blood arced from the red menace’s wounds, spattering across bent and warped floor plates in wet, dotted trails. Scant justice, but perhaps a poetic one, for how they and their fellows had bled Stormrider and the elemental that powered it. The dark elf’s smirk quickly morphed into a muted, scornful laugh—drowned out by the din of battle and the cries of a stricken airship—when Sparkler finally collapsed in a heap of torn metal and tattered rags.
Scaerthrynne’s mirth lasted only the merest of moments, however. The sight of the sickle falling apart, and practically melting into a mass of dark, wriggling serpentine creatures gave him cause to frown. A curious, perplexed frown, rather than a worried or dismayed one, but a frown, nonetheless. Had that sickle been an arcane, living weapon? It’d been a long time since he’d last come across one, and as far as he knew, they were rarely ever good news.
He cleared his mind with a quick shake of his head.
One problem at a time.
Tucking the butt of his musket tight into his shoulder, Scaerthrynne took careful aim at Furnace. The turret had done, and was doing, an excellent job of keeping the spellcaster occupied. A few shots had managed to graze them, but to little effect as far as Scaerthrynne could see. That would have to change soon—even from afar, and with no small amount of debris between them, he could see Furnace’s hands move, and the glyphs on their arms glow, as they started to cast something.
Scaerthrynne clenched his jaw. His brow furrowed. He curled his finger around the trigger.
“Scratch! The runes stopped glowing!”
He sighed.
Well, maybe he had to handle two problems at a time, this time. One was easier to resolve than the other, and far more pertinent to the main task at hand, and so he decided to see to it first. He ducked behind the girder, the muzzle of his weapon pointed to the ceiling.
“Now remove the arcane battery!” He shouted back and peeked over the girder. There was a strange force building in the air, and a chill—not the sort caused by wind or altitude—started to set in. Furnace was up to something big, no doubt, but as far as Scaerthrynne could tell, they were still focused on the turret. Good.
The dark elf reached across and gave the turret a firm slap on the back. “I gave you that arcane battery for a reason.” He spoke like a stern parent telling off their child for not following instructions. “If you don’t plan on using it, can I have it back?”
A loud, warbling whirr came from the arcane device. It sounded almost sheepish.
“Then use it,” Scaerthrynne said.
The turret aimed towards the ceiling, then towards the floor a few times, reminiscent of a series of nods. It chirped and pulled itself closer—its gun, and its legs tucking into its body—and squatted on its legs until it was almost flush against the floor. Had it been a person, it would’ve almost certainly been standing on the balls of its feet, and hunching its shoulders, preparing for a powerful strike. The arcane battery on its back hummed and glowed. Lines lit up all over the turret, all of them converging on its rails. A loud, high-pitched whine filled the air.
When it opened fire again, it was no longer a rapid chatter, but slow, steady barks. And its shots no longer simply pierced and dented debris—they now landed in small explosions of arcane energy. Not powerful, or large enough to shower enemies with lethal shrapnel, but certainly enough to throw up clouds of dust and smoke, and enough to blast a clear path towards Furnace.
Scaerthrynne patted the turret on its ‘head’. “Much better.”
“The arcane battery’s out!” Vallena’s voice called for his attention.
“Now remove the panel covering its manual locking mechanism,” the dark elf shouted back. “It’s located in the same place as any other door on this ship, and secured in exactly the same way!” As he spoke, he felt around his rifle’s forestock for a sliding switch located just above the arcane battery which he’d slotted into the weapon earlier. He pushed it as far forward as he could, each click sending a slight shiver through the solid, wooden stock.
Scaerthrynne looked towards Ezekiel. “Eyepatch,” he shouted to him. “Get to Val! There’re three levers we need to pull to manually unlock the door! Val can get maybe one or two of them, but she’s not strong or tall enough to get all of them! Go help her, push the door open, and get her through! I’ll get Venn!”
“I got the panel out, Scratch!”
“You’re doing great, Val! Let Eyepatch help with the rest!”
Without another word, Scaerthrynne gripped his musket tightly, pushed himself away from the girder, and retreated towards where he’d seen Ezekiel place Callandra. He slid into cover behind a stack of crates, his shoulders heaving with exertion. The turret was still laying down an intense barrage of fire, by the sound of things, but Scaerthrynne knew that it wouldn’t be enough to take out Furnace. The spellcaster’s attention was focused on it—they would surely be able to bring up a shield to deflect any shot heading their way.
It was down to Scaerthrynne to take them out.
Drawing in a deep breath, he flicked a switch near the lock of his weapon.
Then, he infused it. But rather than feeding the musket his own, innate arcane energy, he used himself as a conduit to channel the condensed, concentrated energy found within the battery into the weapon. Bright lines lit up along its barrel—arcane circuits, carved into the metal—and a hum emanated from its lock and firing chamber. The muzzle glowed blue, then purple, and then white. Vague, ghostly circles, each of them etched with runic glyphs, hovered around the length of the weapon like diabolical halos.
He leaned out of cover and took aim at Furnace. The turret’s blasts had cleared the way for him; had given him a perfect lane to shoot at his target. It was almost like firing at a range.
Scaerthrynne breathed out halfway, held his breath, then pulled the trigger.
The weapon kicked hard into his shoulder, and its crack seemed to shatter the very air itself. A bolt, akin to lightning during a terrible thunderstorm, lanced into Furnace, punching them with a resounding boom, and an incandescent flash. Scaerthrynne didn’t stay out of cover long enough to know the effects of his shot; a glance to know that he’d hit his mark had been all he’d allowed himself.
Smoke curled from his musket’s muzzle, and vapour curled from its lock. It would be a while before it was cool enough to be used again, and so he slung it across his back, and pulled out his pistol. “Get that door open quick,” he said, peeking out of cover again. A shudder rippled through the floor, as if the airship was reminding him of what was truly important. “We’ve to get to the engine room, and soon.”
Time: Evening Location: Banquet Hall Interactions: Fritz @JJ Doe; Kalliope @Tae Mentions: Charlotte @princess Appearance:IyenSjan-dehk Attire:
Sjan-dehk: Sword and pistol hanging down his right thigh Iyen: A short blade sheathed on her lower back A coil of rope across her body
Iyen pulled the mug back, her smile never leaving her face. “If you’re sure,” she said and, holding it in both hands, took a long, noisy swig from it—just long enough for the pleasantly sweet taste to grace and linger upon her tongue, and for casual observers to think her an idle drunk, but not long enough to truly inebriate her, however. Kali seemed to know what she was about, and if she thought that they needed to keep their wits about them, then that was what Iyen would do.
No point in letting perfectly good advice go to waste, after all.
“Duwah!” She placed the mug on the table—again loudly—with a cheer that was, if she were to be honest, only half-an-act, at most. It couldn’t be helped; good drinks deserved to be savoured properly. All the more so, when they were drunk in good company. And with most of the tension between her and Kali gone, she could say with certainty that the latter was decent enough company. Decent enough for Iyen to think about taking the first steps towards friendship, at least.
And decent enough for her to, perhaps, see why Sjan-dehk might have a fondness for Kali.
A playful smile curled Iyen’s lips as she rested an elbow on the table, and her cheek in her palm. Her eyes first looked at Kali, then flitted over to Sjan-dehk. “You know,” she began slowly, and in a low voice. With the index finger of her other hand, she drew aimless circles on the tablecloth. “The only reason I know you were trying to protect him by rejecting him is because you told me. Oh, and you’re an amazing actress, by the way!” She giggled. “I guess that’s why I, as you put it, came in swinging like a drunk in a brawl.”
After a quick sip from the mug, she continued. “But anyway,” she said with a wry smirk. “You’re right about Sjan-dehk being smart, but he’s not smart in everything, you know? In sailing, he’s a genius. But in things like…” Her words trailed off into silence, and she pointed at Sjan-dehk, then at Kali. “I think you know what I’m talking about, hm? When it comes to things like that, he’s a complete idiot. He’s just going to think that you rejected him and get upset about it.”
She paused to let her words sink in.
“You’re right about one other thing, though. He’ll figure it out, eventually.” Sitting back, she grinned at Kali, a knowing glint in her eyes. “But it might take a decade or so for that to happen. If you ask me, I think it’ll be easier on everyone to just tell him everything plainly.”
Iyen swept her gaze across the hall once more. She still had no idea as to what she should be looking out for, but she knew what she saw—nobles leaving in ones and twos. Some quietly, others with quite a bit of fanfare and raised voices. Two men, in particular, were noticed by Iyen. One was obviously angry, and had left in a furore, whilst the other was markedly much more calm. A little too calm, perhaps, given the heat of the situation. Did he know something everyone else didn’t? Or was he simply used to such uproars?
A furrow rippled across Iyen’s brow as she followed the two men with her eyes as they left the hall. And in the process, she also caught sight of the pale girl—the one who Sjan-dehk had been talking to—stumbling after them with hurried, unsteady steps. There was urgency in her movements. Was one of the men one of her family members? A father, maybe? Or a brother?
Tension slowly built in the air, drawing taut like a bowstring over everyone’s heads.
“Hm.” Iyen hummed, then shook her head. She had to relax. If something truly was afoot, then she wasn’t being helpful by making it so clear that she was keeping a keen eye on things. No, the silly she appeared, and the more careless she seemed, the better.
And so, she giggled, and took another long drink from the mug. Her hands, however, remained ready to fly to her arms at a moment’s notice. Her ears stayed sharp, and tried to pick out anything that even sounded remotely suspicious around her. And when Iyen slammed the mug back onto the table, she made sure she leaned back with an air of inattentiveness about her. An air of being not much more than a decoration.
She grinned inwardly. Maybe this feast wouldn’t be so boring, after all.
Sjan-dehk watched Charlotte leave, the suddenness and surprise of it all having momentarily stunned him into silence and inaction. Only a few moments had passed since she’d shared with him her suspicions that she’d been poisoned, and in a voice so laden with worry, so laden with unease, that he’d seen little reason to believe that she’d been anything but dead serious, no less. That she could even identify a few possible herbs as the poison, just from her symptoms, had simply added more weight to her words.
Granted, none of the herbs she’d listed were familiar to him—not with their Caeonian names, at least—but poison was poison. Whatever they were, they couldn’t be good. They certainly couldn’t be something to be allowed to run rampant through a body until a time when treatment was convenient.
And yet, as Charlotte tottered after the two noblemen leaving the banquet hall, that appeared to be exactly what she was doing. It wasn’t as if she’d gotten any better. If anything, the opposite was true; her gait was swaying, and her steps awkward. A particularly strong breeze would be enough to make her keel over, by the looks of things.
“Charlotte,” Sjan-dehk called out to her as he stood up from his seat, but she’d already left. With furrowed brows, he made to follow her. Before he managed even a handful of steps, however, someone else cut in front of him.
“I am terribly sorry we haven’t been properly introduced, Captain, I do hope we’ll remedy that soon.” It was a man—noble, by the looks of it—who greeted him with a quick bow. He was one of those whom Charlotte had hugged earlier. That made him a friend of hers, then. Sjan-dehk stopped in his tracks, and gave him a curt nod. It’d be better for someone with whom she was more familiar to attend to her.
“Just make sure she’s fine,” he said, tilting his chin towards Charlotte, and stepped aside to allow the man to pass. Even so, he kept watch over the girl, his face scrunched up in concern, until she disappeared into the darkness beyond the doorway. Then, he looked away.
And just so happened to meet Kalliope’s gaze.
It was strange, really. Even though he’d only just told himself to put down whatever feelings he had for her, to accept that ultimately, none of it mattered, just one look from her; one glance into those beautiful, green eyes of hers, was enough to turn that resolve into dust. And that look in them; a look that strummed on his heartstrings as if it were a zither; a look that asked for him, that pulled him towards her, was the wind that scattered that dust into nothingness.
And so, he picked up his hat, and approached.
“Kali,” he greeted with a nod, trying to sound as casual as possible. He had to remember; whatever he felt for her wasn’t important. They were, at the end of the day, inconsequential. All he would achieve by letting them run wild in his mind, would be to come between her and Cassius, and that wouldn’t be right. It would be going against the Way.
He cleared his throat and looked to Iyen. “Ah, is Iyen bothering you?”
“Rude!” Iyen protested with mock indignation. Then, she laughed quietly. “Well, I guess you’re not entirely wrong, this time. I was, maybe, perhaps, disturbing her a little, but I think we’re fine now!” Her eyes flicked over to Kalliope, then back to him. “We were just talking about ghosts, and how there might be some with us here, today.”
Sjan-dehk arched his brows. That euphemism wasn’t lost on him. “Ghosts, is it?” He repeated, a wry smirk on his face. “And here I thought we’d made enough of those to get them to leave us alone.”
“Well, Kali here thinks we’d best be careful,” Iyen replied. “And I trust her judgement.”
“As do I,” Sjan-dehk said with a nod, and turned to Kalliope. There was a marked air of concern about her, one that was enough to make him want to put a quick end to whatever it was that troubled her. “We’ll keep an eye out, Kali.” His tone was reassuring, as was his smile. And as was the hand he gently placed on her bare shoulder.
A moment passed, and then he finally realised what he was doing. With a blush creeping over his cheeks, he quickly pulled his hand back. “Ah, sorry–”
“Stop apologising!” Iyen cut in quickly, and looked between him and Kalliope, a cattish grin curling her lips, and a mischievous glint in her eyes. “I’m sure Kali didn’t mind that,” she said. “Isn’t that right, Kali?”
Location: Cargo Hold Race: Dark Elf & Human Class: Artificer & Rogue Interactions:@Helo Ezekiel; @Oso The Two 他妈的混蛋 Mentions: Equipment:
Scratch Medical bag Tinkerer's kit Arcane spindlelock (shortened) musket Spindlelock pistols x2 Hand axes x2 Val First-aid bag Tinkerer's kit Spindlelock pistols x2 Steel daggers x2
Attire:
Scratch Dark brown, knee-length coat Black waistbelt Grey button-up shirt Dark brown trousers Heavy leather boots Val Off-white shirt Red ribbon tied around left arm Brown hooded coat Brown trousers Leather boots Goggles on her head
Gold: 95 Injuries:
Scratch NA Val Shallow cut on her right side, just below the ribs
Scaerthrynne never saw what happened. He barely even heard it.
One moment, he’d been preparing for the battle to come—double-checking his turret’s arcs-of-fire, setting it to prioritise aerial targets and targets with high arcane signatures, and laying additional traps along each of the paths leading to the cargo hold’s entrance—whilst trying to ignore the vicious screams, terrible cries, and metallic clangs of a fight that was getting much too close for comfort.
And the next, he was engulfed in chaos, pure and total.
The sheer force of a violent, deafening explosion threw him forward. His chest slammed into the edge of a crate, knocking the breath from his lungs. Then, just as he managed to steady himself, the airship lurched, and sent him sprawling the other way. He crashed back-first onto the cold, hard floor. His mouth opened in a pained shout, but his ears didn’t hear it. They couldn’t hear anything, not over the endless, shrill ring that filled them. And before long, even that piercing noise vanished; snatched away by rushing winds, replaced by ghastly howls and fearsome roars.
Grunting, Scaerthrynne pushed himself up onto his elbows, but had to immediately flatten himself against the floor again, to roll out of the way of a crate that had freed itself of its lashings. That great mass of wood and iron rumbled and clattered as it slid and tumbled past him, passing so closely that he thought he might catch a splinter from it. He barely had any time to regain his bearings before he had to scramble out of the way of a laden pallet charging him down. Ropes snapped, its contents spilled, and he dived just in time to avoid getting his head taken off by a flying barrel.
A growl worked its way up his throat. He didn’t know what had happened, but he was certain that he knew what was happening. And he knew he hadn’t any time to waste.
Throwing caution to the wind, he grabbed his rifle and hurriedly clambered to his feet. Powerful gusts, and the airship’s list made the mere act of walking an arduous task. But Scaerthrynne fought them both, all the same, his teeth gritted in effort. He ran towards where he thought he’d last seen Vallena, somewhere near the cargo hold’s entrance. Along the way, he caught sight of Ezekiel in the corners of his eyes.
“Eyepatch!” Even with his voice raised to a scream, Scaerthrynne wasn’t sure if he could be heard over all the din. But he had to try, nevertheless. “Get Venn! Make sure she’s secured!”
He didn’t wait to receive an acknowledgement. He didn’t even stop to check if Ezekiel had even caught his words, to begin with. The most important thing for him now, was to get to Vallena, and make sure that she was alright. Only then would he worry about anything else.
One problem at a time.
“Val!” He shouted as he neared the entrance. “Vallena!”
“Over here, Scratch!”
He turned in the direction of her voice, and saw the girl peeking out from behind a netted pile of crates that was still lashed tightly in place, right by the exposed runic circuit. She looked as if she was about to speak, but then the airship veered hard again. Vallena yelped, and would’ve fallen flat on her face had the dark elf not rushed over to catch her, and push her back behind the safety of the crates. She clutched the sleeves of his jacket tightly, shivering slightly, and didn’t let go until he had sat her on the floor.
“Are you injured?” He asked and knelt in front of her. “More than you already are, I mean.”
Vallena shook her head. “I-I’m okay, Scratch,” she replied. “What–”
“Explosive decompression,” he answered before she could finish her question. “Those three f–” He looked away, coughed into his elbow, and tried again. “Those three fools probably caused it, somehow. I’m almost certain of it.” Leaning in a little closer, he examined her from top to bottom with narrowed eyes. Once, then twice, and then thrice. Vallena squirmed under his gaze. “Stop moving,” he said with hints of irritation in his words. But not long after, he relaxed, and let out a relieved sigh. “You look fine, Val–”
“I told you that,” Vallena whined.
“–But we’ll have to take a closer look after all this, just to be safe.” He kept talking as if she hadn’t spoken.
Gradually, the airship levelled out, but only just. It still listed noticeably to one side, and although the winds weren’t as strong as before, they still rushed and whipped through what remained of the cargo hold. Worst of all, however, was the near-constant shudder Scaerthrynne felt in the floor plates. It was like the frenetic, struggling pulse of the airship itself, telling him that it couldn’t hold itself together for much longer. Judging by the tortured groans of shattered steel, and the high-pitched squeals of engines pushed to their absolute limits, Scaerthrynne had little doubts of that. If nothing was done soon, the airship, and everyone aboard it, would be due for a very, very harsh reunion with the ground.
“I’m tired of your fucking tricks! Fight me, you cowards!”
He groaned. Of course, the explosive decompression sucked out everything except the ones he needed to disappear the most. He drew in a deep breath. The air was dry in his nostrils, and chilled its way down into his lungs.
One problem at a time.
“Stay here, Val,” he said and stood up.
Just as he turned to leave, the girl grabbed his sleeve. “No! I-I can help!” She placed a hand on one of her pistols. “Y-You gave me these for a reason–”
“Yes, to defend yourself, not jump into a fight,” Scaerthrynne replied quickly. Vallena looked up at him with as much determination as she could muster in her eyes, and refused to let go of his sleeve. “Let go of me, Val,” he said firmly. She shook her head, and he sighed. He knelt again to look her in the eyes. “Val, listen to me. Right now, the best thing you can do for me is to stay here, and stay safe. Then there’ll be one less thing for me to worry about, at least. And besides, someone has to keep an eye on the runic circuit. That’ll be your job, Val. Keep an eye on it, and tell me when the runes stop glowing, alright?”
She loosened her grip, but still didn’t let go. “A-Alright, Scratch.” Her voice was small, and there was worry in her eyes when she met his gaze. “Just be safe, okay?”
“Well, I was thinking I’d fight them with my fists,” Scaerthrynne said with a grin. A small, and very hesitant, smile formed across Vallena’s lips. She finally released his sleeve. “I’ll be alright, Val.” He stood up, ruffled her hair, and hefted his musket. “Just be a good girl and wait here for me, and it’ll be over before you know it. Trust me.”
He breathed in once. Then twice. On the third, he burst from cover.
And for the first time since the blast, he saw the true extent of the damage to the cargo hold.
There wasn’t much cargo left. There wasn’t much of a hold left, for that matter. One of the walls had all but disintegrated, with a jagged hole in the middle, and several smaller surrounding it where debris, picked up by the earlier gales, had punched through. Those same gales had extinguished the flames. Charred metal littered the area. Twisted steel groaned and creaked from what was left of the ceiling. And in the middle of it all, were two red-hooded strangers. Sparkler and Furnace. Two Swords and the griffon had been sucked out of the airship, it seemed.
The ghost of a smirk graced Scaerthrynne’s face. That was one thing going in his favour, at least.
He dashed for a fallen girder that had, thankfully, missed his turret by mere fractions of an inch. The winds could be thanked for that, he supposed. So strong had they been, that despite his turret’s legs digging into the cargo hold’s floor, they still managed to drag it out of position. Deep, jagged gouges in the floor plates showed the path it had taken.
“Wake up,” Scaerthrynne said gruffly to the turret as he slid behind the girder. “Spellcaster in the distance, keep them suppressed.”
The turret whirred, sounding almost excited to finally shoot at something. Its rails glowed brighter, and they made a high-pitched noise before launching shard after shard of debris at Furnace. As its target moved, it turned to track it with precision, never once slowing or stopping its fire. A quick glance over the girded told Scaerthrynne that the shots were finding their target, but whether or not they were effective wasn’t clear.
It didn’t matter, ultimately. As long as Furnace was forced to move, or forced to throw up a shield to protect himself, then he would be unable to cast whatever spells he wanted. That was good enough, for now.
Scaerthrynne infused his musket before popping up from cover. Sparkler was sprinting towards Ezekiel at full speed, with a shield on his arm. That simply wouldn’t do. The dark elf took his time to take careful aim at the moving target, then pulled the trigger. Gunpowder ignited. The musket kicked against him, but it was a purple bolt that lanced from his weapon’s muzzle, and not a bullet. Upon striking the shield, it dissipated, and spread across the arcane barrier like a black mold growing on a wall.
Then, the shield flickered once, and disappeared.
“Eyepatch, that one’s yours!” The words flew from Scaerthrynne’s mouth even as he crouched behind the girder to reload. Then, he stood up again, and searched for Furnace. It wasn’t difficult; he just had to follow his turret’s shots. That thing was relentless, if nothing else, and kept pursuing the spellcaster with its deadly gaze. Scaerthrynne saw sparks where shots glanced off Furnace's armour. "I'll focus on the spellcaster," he shouted to Ezekiel. "You focus on taking the one with the sickle out as quickly as you can!"
"人法地，地法天，天法道，道法自然。但自然如何？People abide by the earth; the earth abides by the sky; the sky abides by the Way, and the Way abides by nature. But what, then, is nature?"
• Name | Wendell Gai Wenhe • Nickname(s) | Gawain (Callsign); Artist • Age | 28 • Gender | Male • Birthday | 23rd November • Race | Human • Rank/Status | Field Warden 2nd Class, Inspectorate of Internal Affairs
"用贼抓贼. Use a thief to catch a thief. Who better to hunt rogue wardens, than another warden? To kill one's own colleagues is...Unpleasant work, but necessary to keep the peace."
• Height | 5'9 • Build | Fit, athletic, wiry • Eye Color | Dark brown • Hair Color & Style | Black / Short but messy • Skin Tone | Tanned • Notable Marks | '人之初，性本善' (People are born kind) tattooed vertically, in two columns, on the inside of his left forearm ✦ Various healed scars on his chest ✦ Calloused fingers and palms • Typical Clothing Style | When off duty, he dresses casually, with an emphasis on comfort. That usually means hoodies, long-sleeved flannels, jeans, or cargo pants, with sneakers or boots, depending on what he plans to do for the day. When on duty, he wears combat fatigues, or a soft-shell jacket, underneath his equipment, depending on the weather. • Aura/First Impression | Calm, polite, amiable...Until you realise that he doesn't seem to experience much in the way of emotions, then it's possible that he'd go from pleasantly serene, to eerily so. • Voice | Smooth and soft-spoken. The sort of voice one might expect from a academic, rather than a soldier.
• Openness to Friendship (1-5) | 3 • Openness to Romance (1-5) | 3 • Romantic Preferences | He would prefer a serious relationship over a fling • Current Romantic Interests | None • View on Forbidden Relationships | Understands that they are difficult, but ultimately supportive • Biggest Turn-ons | Liveliness ✦ Spontaneity ✦ Good humour ✦ Curiosity • Biggest Turn-offs | Wilful Ignorance ✦ Over-agreeability ✦ Emotional detachment • Reputation Among their Faction | The Internal Affairs people of the Wardens aren't popular by default, and Wendell isn't much of an exception. His pleasant nature does make him less disliked than his peers, but not by a wide margin. Generally, he's seen as a strange, possibly even off-putting presence, but a very much welcome one because of his skill. • Known Friends | N/A • Known Enemies | N/A • Known Family | All deceased
Psychology ▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔
• Hobbies/Interests | Spending time at the range ✦ Painting ✦ Reading ✦ Philosophical musings ✦ Tinkering with weapons • Likes | Old things, particularly antique firearms ✦ Philosophical texts ✦ Discussing ideas with others • Dislikes | Idleness ✦ Dogmatism ✦ Close-mindedness ✦ Senseless violence • Fears | That this, struggle and fighting, is all there is to life ✦ That his old nature still dwells within him • Habits | Sketching whenever he can ✦ His daily training regimen ✦ Maintaining his equipment at the end of the day ✦ Reading 100 words a day • Vices | Cigarettes ✦ Can be a little too particular about equipment ✦ Finding strange, old past-times to try (latest was restoring old typewriters)
Core Motivation
To see Halcyon at peace, with no more struggling and fighting factions.
To eventually put his life of violence behind him, and be an artist that creates, rather than a soldier that destroys.
Extensive use of Viper-veil during his formative years has dulled his emotions to the point where he rarely feels anything too strongly, most of the time. He’s thus almost always unfailingly polite, unflappably calm, and generally a peaceful, affable presence. Look closely enough, however, and one might see the remnants of a raging inferno within him. Sputtering, smouldering, and suppressed, but very much still there, and still sparking the occasional ember.
Nowhere is this dimmed flame more evident than when he’s given a mark. Sheer determination, and a desire to see a job done well, usually succeeds in bringing Wendell to his mark. What he does when he finds them, however, is a whole other matter entirely. Preferring peaceful resolutions to violent ones, it’s not uncommon for him to show mercy, or even render aid, to those who other Wardens may terminate out-of-hand. He follows his own moral code, and all other rules, regulations, and whatnot are simply guidelines of convenience.
Despite his dulled emotions, Wendell is still capable of playfulness and mischief, and may surprise some with the things he says. Those aspects of him just need some coaxing to tease out, that’s all.
Background ▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔
• Current Occupation | Gun Shop Clerk & Machinist • Level of Schooling | High School • Past Occupations | N/A • Socioeconomic Status | Low-Middle • History Summary
Anger.
That’s the last true emotion Wendell remembers feeling. Pure, burning anger.
Anger at the unjust death of his family. Anger at the powers that be, for allowing them to die. Anger at Halcyon for being the city that killed them.
Anger at himself, for surviving.
So, when the Wardens approached him, to recruit him with promises of training him to become stronger, to become someone who could stand against the wickedness of Halcyon—the same wickedness that cut short the lives of his parents, his sister, and his brother—and to do his part to make Halcyon a better place for all humanity, Wendell took them up on the offer. He’d only been just shy of fourteen, then, but still he pushed himself, and trained as hard as anyone else. By day, he was a middling student, reclusive and quiet, but by night, he was a burgeoning force to be reckoned with, fueled by incandescent rage.
He gave up on education after high school in order to dedicate even more of his time to becoming the best Warden he could be. And for a few years, his undying anger was enough to push him to be just that.
But anger alone could only go so far. Like a raging wildfire, it was unfocused. It burned in every direction, and could hurt an ally as much as an enemy.
And that was where Viper-veil came in.
At first, Wendell took it for its intended purpose, to give him an edge over the Glamour that clouded over Halcyon. But then he started to enjoy how it dulled his emotions. He began to see the merits in not being so angry all the time, to be able to think clearly for the first time in years. To be able to sit, and actually see everything with clear eyes.
And so he took more.
And one day, the anger stopped.
And another day, all of his emotions stopped.
He still felt them, of course, but they were like voices through water. Muffled. Distant. Vague, and unclear, and above all, weak. Calm was all that filled him, all the time. It didn’t matter whether he was taking fire, or running from an enraged lycan, or seeking a feral vampire that had already murdered several people, he simply felt…Nothing. And he preferred it that way. It made him even more of an effective Warden. It made him calm. It made him pleasant. Granted, he did stop taking Viper-veil because he didn’t want to take the risk of getting any other, unforeseen, side-effects, and he swore off enhancements as a whole for that very same reason, but he would never say that he regretted taking Viper-veil in the first place.
It made him a better man. And above all, it helped him see. For the first time, he felt he could properly pierce the veil. Not just the Glamour, but the veil the Wardens had wilfully shrouded over their own eyes with their inflexibility, with their dogma. It helped Wendell see that, in their pursuit of fighting what they deemed monsters, they had become no better than their foes.
And so, Wendell decided to chart his own path. To find an alternative to this endless conflict. He makes no claims to have found it, or to even be close, but one day, he hopes to be able to say that he, at the very least, pushed Halcyon one step closer towards peace, everlasting.
Race-Specific Questions ▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔
▸ Wardens ▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔
• Enhancement Use (if any) | Formerly used Viper-veil extensively. Now he no longer uses enhancements except as tools of absolute last resort • Preferred Weapons | Prefers firearms; his usual loadout includes:
• Willingness to Break Warden Code | He treats the code as guidelines, and breaks them as and when he feels is necessary
"实事求是. Seek truth from facts. Dogma is poison to the mind."
• Views on Fae | "It would be unwise to take them lightly. Approach with caution, and with good sense. But there's a charm to their mischievousness and playfulness that is...Refreshing." • Views on Vampires | "Those who are turned against their will deserve pity. Those who choose to be turn are odd, but are neither good, nor bad. But those who turn others against their will are truly wicked, and must be punished." • Views on Lycans | "They are slaves to their own instinct, and to the moon, but their loyalty to their pack, and their prowess in battle is deserving of great respect."
"大道废，有仁义. Where the Way is abandoned, there, you shall find virtue. Then would it not stand to reason that where we find what most consider to be 'less than human', there, we shall find humanity? Perhaps we should worry less about the what, and more about the who."
Miscellaneous ▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔
• Theme Song | 深海 - 刘森 • Favorite Food | Noodle soups • Favorite Animal(s) | Reptiles of all sorts • Favorite Music Genre | Either neo-classical...Or Heavy rock • Favorite Haunt | Urban Grind Café; Golden Wok • Signature Weapon | None; he has his favoured arms, but he'll use whatever he needs to get the job done • Preferred Vices | Cigarettes; it's the cheapest of his vices • Pet Peeve | Not cleaning hands before eating • Guilty Pleasure | Smut Fiction
Iyen: A short blade sheathed on her lower back A coil of rope across her body
Iyen snatched the drumstick out of the air with the same ease and carefree indifference she would’ve had, had it been a knife. She even twirled it about her fingers like one—partially out of playfulness, partially out of habit—before dropping it onto her plate. At first, a mischievous smirk curled her lips as she thought over her response, but then it gradually, slowly softened. It turned gentle, into a satisfied smile coloured by faint hues of genuine geniality.
Kali’s response had revealed a few things about her to Iyen. One, that she was a rather intense lady with a poetic way with words. Two, that she dabbled in cloak-and-dagger affairs; affairs that involved a little more daggers and a little less cloaks, by the wound of things.
And three, and this was the most important of all, that she was serious about Sjan-dehk.
Well, it was either that, or she was a really, really good actress, but that didn’t seem to be the case to Iyen, and she’d crossed paths, and arms, with many excellent liars throughout her service to Lady Adiyan. Most of the words that had left Kali’s mouth had carried far too many raw emotions, and had been laced with too much vitriol directed towards Iyen—which she deserved, to be honest—for them to be simple lies. Iyen still wasn’t certain what it was exactly that Kali felt for Sjan-dehk, but whatever it was, it evidently pressed hard on her heart. Or mind. Or both.
Regardless, it was enough for Iyen to decide that she’d play nice with her. For now, at least.
Besides, Sjan-dehk likely wouldn’t like it if she went ahead and started a fight—however unintentionally or accidentally—with Kali.
“Oh, it’s not a peace offering, silly,” Iyen said with a giggle. “This is a feast! You should eat…”
Her words trailed off as she noticed Kali’s attention fixed on something across the hall. Following her gaze with her own, Iyen turned towards one of the hall’s entrances just in time to see the well-decorated hem of an elegant, flowing outfit disappear around a door. Was that one of the ‘dangerous ghosts’ Kali had talked about earlier? The look on her face, and the air of tension about her, certainly suggested so.
Iyen knitted her brows. She swept her gaze around the hall to search for any suspicious individuals, for all the good that did—she didn’t know enough of local ways and customs to even know what was considered suspicious by Caesonian standards. And she felt quite certain that any clandestine agent of even middling skill would know to hide the more easily recognisable, universal tells.
“Hm.” That hummed, barely uttered syllable was all the sound she made as she looked at the long table at the head of the hall. The same altercation that had been taking place there when she’d taken her seat was still on-going. Only now it involved the man with whom Kali had been mingling.
The very same man whom Iyen had seen receive a hug—not a fleeting one, but a lingering one that spoke of deeper feelings of some sort—from the pale girl who had earlier stolen Sjan-dehk’s attention. What was it about this man, attracting all the women Sjan-dehk spoke to? Was there some hidden feud between the two of them? If so, the Captain certainly deserved some praise for managing to build a rivalry with another person within weeks of coming to Caesonia.
“Well, you’re right,” Iyen said as she turned back to Kali, a grin on her face. “I can’t say I’ve got any ghosts coming after me. I’m not important enough for them to.” She giggled and leaned in a little closer. “But that means I’m good at getting rid of them. I’ve done that many, many times before. So don’t worry, Kali! You’re important to Sjan-dehk, which means you’re important to me too, you know? Nobody’s going to, according to you, ‘slit your throat’ without me doing something about it.”
Her voice lowered as she continued, and took on a more earnest tone. “And I guess I should apologise as well, Kali. I was wrong about you.” A sheepish smile crept across her face, but even that had the look of a mischievous grin. “Well, I think I’m wrong about you, so please don’t prove me wrong, okay? It’d be really, really troublesome, otherwise!” She gave Kali a look that told her that she was just being funny. “Sjan-dehk and I have looked out for each other for years, that’s all. Oh! And speaking of him…”
She nodded to the Captain, behind Kali. “Maybe you could tell him what you told me? About you shielding him from your ghosts? Because if I know him well, and I really do know him well, he’s sitting there thinking that he did something to piss you off.” She lowered her voice even more, until it was just a whisper meant only for Kali’s ears. “And really, don’t worry about him. He’s got a knack for facing shite odds and finding a way to come out on top. And to be honest, if he’s really set on protecting you, you’re not going to keep him away from your ghosts for long.” She smirked. “You’d have an easier time making that crazy bastard swim back to Jafi!”
Iyen leaned back just as another servant arrived.
“Compliments of Captain Durmand. Behind you and to the left, with the mantle of a boar.” He set a mug on the table, something which immediately caught Iyen’s attention. She’d been receiving glasses all night, so far. This was clearly something different. "I believe she thought you were dissatisfied with the wine. Please, enjoy.”
She nodded, then looked over her shoulder at the indicated woman. “Thank you,” she mouthed, and gave her an appreciative smile.
Then, she turned back to Kali. “Anyway, where was I?” She picked up the mug and sniffed its contents. A pleasantly sweet aroma—not cloying, but a gentle sweetness—wafted up her nose. “Oh right! If you want my advice with the Captain, just talk to him. He's not that scary. And I’ve got a feeling that you’ll discover something surprising.” Her voice took on a melodic, sing-song quality towards the end, and she grinned. Then, she took a tentative sip from the mug. Like its smell, the drink’s taste had a smooth, lightly honeyed flavour that flowed easily down her throat.
“Oh my, this is good!” She giggled, then held the mug out towards Kali. “You should try it, Kali! And maybe this can be my actual peace offering?”
Time: Evening Location: Banquet Hall Interactions: Charlotte @princess; Kalliope @Tae Mentions: Appearance:Sjan-dehk Attire: Sjan-dehk Equipment:
Sjan-dehk: Sword and pistol hanging down his right thigh
A familiar, soothing sense of comfort warmed Sjan-dehk as he listened to Charlotte. There was something about the girl, something about her gentle air, her kind words, that stilled all those confusing emotions that had been swirling in his mind; that eased all the heaviness that had been squeezing on his heart, and that pushed away all the melancholy that had been dampening his mood. It helped that they were talking about his darling youngest sister, Shi, he supposed. Thinking of her, so far away at home in Viserjanta, did plenty to lift his spirits, as it always did.
That Charlotte was remarkably similar to Shi—almost uncannily so—also helped, more likely than not.
He’d noticed a resemblance before, of course, when he’d first seen her at the beach, and again when they met at that garishly yellow place. In her flowing black hair, dark as a starless, midnight sky, and in her pale complexion that spoke less of illness and more of daintiness, he had seen shades of Shi. And if he were to be perfectly honest, that went a long way in Charlotte leaving a fond first impression upon him.
But now that he had a chance to talk to her beyond a few, fleeting words, or a mere greeting, it dawned on him that her similarities with Shi, perhaps, went beyond just their appearances. For one, Charlotte seemed to be sweet in the same way his sister was. Not cloying like white sugar, but a more subtle sweetness, like that of a lychee. For two, the pleasant aura about Charlotte, and her gentleness, were reminiscent of Shi’s good nature. And while Charlotte was a lot more chattier than Shi, Sjan-dehk felt quite certain that he saw a hint of shyness. An endearing sort of shyness, he would add. The sort that tempted one to keep her safe from all the world’s dangers.
Sjan-dehk couldn’t help but smile. Amidst the chaos of the banquet—a chaos that was only getting worse, by the sound of things—Charlotte was an island of calm, repose, and familiarity. Just what he needed after the maelstrom he’d only just put his heart and mind through with thoughts of Kalliope.
“And if I could’ve chosen a brother, I think…He would’ve been just like you.”
A chuckle, mirthless and wistful, was Sjan-dehk’s first response. “Then I think you should think harder,” he said with a shake of his head. Leaning forward, he rested his arms on his knees, and tapped his fingertips against each other. “What I mean is, you should wish for a brother who is around you more often. Not only just around for some days every month. Or some weeks every year. My work, you see, it keeps me at sea for many, many weeks at a time. Sometimes months. And if it is long campaign, or we sail far, can be even longer than that.”
Sjan-dehk’s lips pressed into a thin line. His eyes gazed blankly at the floor. As much as he loved the sea, and as much as he loved sailing, he still couldn’t help but feel a sting whenever he thought about just how little time he actually spent with his family. He was close with them, and he’d made a good number of fond memories with them—such as beating up Shi’s bullies alongside his brothers; getting into trouble with Idah and then getting scolded by their mother together, or taking Shi out on a late night cruise—but there were times when he wondered if they could’ve been closer, or if they could’ve made more memories together, if he wasn’t the sailor that he was.
He shook his head slightly. No point thinking about that. What’s done is done. Such was the Way.
“You are right, my sisters are, well, Shi is, as you say, lovely. Idah is…Different.” He raised his head to look at Charlotte with a wry smirk on his lips. “But whether they are lucky or not, that is not for me to say. I think they can be luckier, sometimes. I mean, Shi can be. Idah, I think she makes her own luck. But even if they are unlucky, they have three other brothers to, as you say, watch out for them. Or for them to watch. Still, I think they deserve more.”
He sighed, then laughed softly. “Or maybe that is just how brothers are. Nothing ever good enough for our sisters, yes? Sometimes not even ourselves.”
Then, her fingers brushed against his, their touch feather-soft. Sjan-dehk bristled at the unexpected touch, but didn’t pull away. Instead, he absent-mindedly turned his hand, unfurling his fingers to take hers into his palm. Slender and pale, they contrasted starkly with his heavily calloused and tanned ones.
“You’re doing wonderfully, you know,” she said, her voice as gentle as a breeze over calm waters.
Sjan-dehk listened to Charlotte tell him about her visit to Kimoon. Once again, he found himself wondering about that place, a place that more than a few Caesonians had mistaken him as being a native of. Maybe, if the opportunity arose, he could ask Charlotte about it.
“Thank you for your kind words,” he said after she finished. “But I think you are too kind. You are right, this sort of thing, it is not easy. But it is also not something that is…Very new. I mean, yes, this is the first time I sail beyond Viserjanta, across the ocean, but it is not the first time I go somewhere I do not know well. For me to be, as you say, doing wonderfully, that should be normal, no?” He flashed her a mischievous grin, at the same time gently pulling his hands back and resting them on his knees. “I am only doing my job. What I am supposed to do.”
“But you,” he continued. “Like you say, you were little girl when you went to Kimoon. And like you say, you were frightened. That means afraid, yes? But still you enjoy yourself.” That was what he thought she said, at least. Nevertheless, he gave her a quick pat on her shoulder. “You still did, as you say, wonderfully. That makes you better than me, I think. I did not come to these new lands as a little boy, after all.”
Charlotte’s eyes then lit up, widening in childlike wonder. “Oh, and sailing?” she gasped, leaning in slightly with hands clasped together in front of her chest. “I’m turning positively green with envy. I’ve read so many swashbuckling pirate tales that it’s become a bit of a ridiculous fantasy of mine. Sailing across the open sea, wind in my hair, and, you know…” She lowered her voice dramatically, eyes sparkling. “...fighting off a kraken or two. Strictly for heroics, of course.”
She paused, then laughed at herself with a soft shake of her head. “Though in reality, I’d probably trip over a rope and get eaten first. Very inspiring.”
Sjan-dehk’s quiet laugh joined hers. Calling Charlotte endearing would be putting it lightly, he was starting to realise. The fascination in her voice, and her actions, were simply too heartwarming. “Well, if you want, I can take you next time Sada Kurau sets sail,” he offered with an inviting smile. “It will be good. Let you feel wind and waves for yourself. But maybe not as pirates, yes?” He grinned playfully. “Might get in trouble, to do that. And fighting…Well, I do not know what is this kraken thing, but…” For a moment, his face fell, and his face scrunched up in deep thought. He quickly caught and composed himself, however, and continued as if nothing had happened. “Maybe not the first time we sail, yes? But we will see. Sometimes, it is not up to us whether there will be a fight or not. But do not worry. Sada Kurau will take care of you.”
Then, he leaned in, and lowered his voice as she had, as if he were sharing a secret. “And also, it is not a shameful thing to trip over ropes. All of us, we do it. Even the best sailors, it happens to them.” He smirked and chuckled quietly. “And me also. It is normal. After all, ships have many ropes. Not possible to avoid all of them. Not all the time. Just be careful when the waves are rough, and you will be fine.”
Something from the other table, the one with all the royals, put an abrupt end to their conversation. What it was, Sjan-dehk didn’t know, and hadn’t caught, but Charlotte certainly did. Her gaze snapped towards that table with urgency, and he followed suit, albeit with nonchalance. “What in heavens…” He heard her say in a voice laden with disbelief.
And he supposed he could see why.
For that table, despite hosting what seemed to be the entire royal family—Sjan-dehk could only recognise the King, and had only a vague recollection of the Queen—was the very picture of chaos. There was a lot of shouting, a lot of aggression, and even from this far away, he could feel no small amount of tension taut in the air. Words were thrown around like knives, and while the actual knives were still being used to eat, it felt like a matter of time before they too would be thrown.
Well, it wasn’t any of his concern, and he didn’t want it to be. Matters involving royalty and the upper ranks of nobility were always trouble. Sjan-dehk avoided them like the plague in the Commonwealth, and he was going to do the same here. It wasn’t as if he understood a lick of what was going on, anyway. Granted, he knew what they were saying, but devoid of context, they may as well be spouting gibberish.
He turned back around. And he saw it.
A shimmer of green fabric. A flash of red hair.
Kalliope.
His body acted before his mind, and he looked up at her. Their eyes met. Briefly, for maybe only a fraction of a second, at most, their gazes held.
And in that fleeting moment, he saw something in her eyes. He didn’t know what it was, but it was there. A glimmer, a flicker of…Something. It seemed sad. It seemed confused. Shaken. But whatever it was, it was on her face as well, for she wasn’t smiling, not anymore. Was she upset? Disappointed? Sjan-dehk wasn’t sure, and he couldn’t imagine why she would feel either of those things. But it didn’t matter. Just to see her in such a state was enough to make his heart ache, and his throat feel tight. There were words forming on his tongue, but his mouth refused to let them leave.
For deep in his heart, he knew that there was nothing for him to say. He couldn’t even put a name to what it was he felt for her. It was a form of affection, but what kind? With Charlotte, it was clear. The affection he held towards her was the same as what he held towards his sisters. But with Kalliope? He didn’t know.
He wasn’t even sure if it mattered, anymore. She was with Cassius. That much was abundantly clear. The answer to his question would be an answer that he didn’t need.
And so, even though Sjan-dehk wasn’t sure what expression he was wearing, he knew that his eyes were clouded with sadness. Not the sorrowful kind, the kind that invited tears. But rather, it was a resigned sort of sadness. The sort that came with a flicker of regret, a shimmer of discontent at how things were. Almost as if he were mourning something that had never been his to begin with.
Mourning. Had he the mood, he would’ve laughed. He didn’t even know what it was he mourned over.
Kalliope walked past wordlessly, and he let her go wordlessly.
This is for the best. He told himself.
But his heart knew better. Coward.
With a shake of his head, he returned his attention to Charlotte. An apology for his inattentiveness was on its way out of his mouth when he realised that she had wandered off to greet her friends. Without thinking, he followed her with his eyes, watching her hug them one-by-one. He arched a brow when he saw her hug Cassius, but otherwise did nothing. Something about how she was going about things, however, felt wrong to him. She wasn’t saying much—or at least, he didn’t see her say much—to the people she greeted, and it seemed as if she was just trying to hug them as quickly as possible.
As if there was a time limit, or something.
“Charlotte,” he greeted as she returned, and stood up.
And as she got closer, Sjan-dehk noticed something about her eyes, something about how they didn’t look as focused as he remembered them. Almost as if she were in a daze. “Charlotte?” He asked, worry now in his voice, his arms outstretched, ready to catch her if she were to suddenly collapse. Thankfully, she took her seat without trouble. Sjan-dehk sat back down opposite her, and leaned forward. This time, there was no grin on his face, no mischievous smirk. There was only concern.
“Charlotte, I think…” He began, and bit on his lip as he examined her face closely. There was only a slight tinge of redness to her cheeks. Not enough to suggest a case of drunkenness enough to put her in such a daze. His heart sank as he considered the other possibilities, and for a moment, his eyes flitted over to the glass of wine she’d placed on the table. Surely, nobody would want to harm her? He couldn’t imagine what motive anyone would have to do such a thing.
But better to be safe than sorry.
“Charlotte, you should go find doctor,” he said in a hushed voice, just loud enough for her to hear. “It is…It is possible that you are sick, or maybe…You drink something you should not. But either way, I do not think you look well. You should get help.”
Location: Cargo Hold Race: Dark Elf & Human Class: Artificer & Rogue Interactions:@Helo Ezekiel Mentions:@Princess Callandra; @Oso The Three 他妈的混蛋 Equipment:
Scratch Medical bag Tinkerer's kit Arcane spindlelock (shortened) musket Spindlelock pistols x2 Hand axes x2 Val First-aid bag Tinkerer's kit Spindlelock pistols x2 Steel daggers x2
Attire:
Scratch Dark brown, knee-length coat Black waistbelt Grey button-up shirt Dark brown trousers Heavy leather boots Val Off-white shirt Red ribbon tied around left arm Brown hooded coat Brown trousers Leather boots Goggles on her head
Gold: 95 Injuries:
Scratch NA Val Shallow cut on her right side, just below the ribs
A shudder rippled through the cargo hold’s floor. Crates rattled. Broken girders and catwalks, hanging from the ceiling by frayed cables and mere wires, shivered. Everything, even the burnt, ashen air itself, seemed to tremble before the griffon’s frenzied rage. The squeal of its talons scraping against metal, and the crash of its beak against a blade, echoed throughout the hold. Chilling screeches that could cut a person to their quick, and furious squawks that could freeze blood, echoed off the walls, growing louder and louder until it was as if they were coming from everywhere, all at once.
But despite all this—the terrible cacophony, the gravity of the situation, the danger of it all—Scaerthrynne still allowed himself a self-satisfied smirk as he stabbed an infused spike through the hold’s floor. His plan was going better than what he’d expected. Much, much better. The griffon’s attention and fury were wholly on the red-hooded strangers—for now—and as for the latter, none of them seemed to be too interested, or were even able to break away from the fight.
Perfect. That gave Scaerthrynne a little more time to work with. Time, which he spent laying and preparing a few surprises for any would-be pursuers.
He gave the spike a slight wiggle to make sure it was securely in place before standing up from his crouch and continuing down the narrow passageway. Ezekiel’s shadow was stretched on the floor and splayed on a half-collapsed stack of crates up ahead, and the man himself, around a sharp corner. The former shrunk as Ezekiel followed Vallena further and further into this warren of scattered debris and strewn cargo.
Scaerthrynne quickened his pace to catch up with them, along the way pulling out a short splinter from the squashed remains of a barrel. He infused it as he moved—not with anything fancy, just enough to make it a noisemaker—and launched it in a high, lazy arch over the walls of cargo surrounding him, away from the bulkhead separating the cargo bay from the rest of the airship. The splinter, just like other pieces of debris he’d been infusing and tossing in a similar fashion, would play the sounds of thumping footsteps, shouting voices, and clattering equipment upon landing.
With luck, they would distract the victor of the clash between griffon and red-hooded strangers just enough to buy Scaerthrynne the time he needed to get everyone out of the cargo hold.
And if not, well, he had his infused spikes to slow them down. Of course, they would only work against the red-hooded strangers who, as far as the dark elf knew, couldn’t fly and had to stay on the ground, or close enough to it that the spikes would still work, at least. If it was the griffon that won, and if it decided to chase him, Ezekiel and Vallena…
Scaerthrynne pushed the thought aside. One problem at a time.
“Keep going,” he said in a hushed shout to the other two. Then, he crouched, picked up a broken length of pipe off the ground, and infused it with arcane energy, turning it into an elongated spike with a flat, circular head, identical to the one from before. And just like before, he rammed it into the floor.
He got to his feet and continued on his way.
On and on he went, repeating the same actions. Splinters over cargo. Spikes into the floor. Sprinting after Ezekiel’s shadow. He couldn’t do all of them, all the time, not with the path Vallena chose, of course. Some corridors were bordered by stacks of cargo too high for him to throw over. Others, so clogged and blocked with debris that a slow clamber was the best he could manage. Several didn’t have any materials he could swiftly infuse and mold into anything usable—especially so the closer he got to the exit—and so there was little he could do aside from setting simple tripwires that, in his honest opinion, would only be a very minor, and very mild inconvenience, at best.
But he wasn’t too concerned; it was a twisting, meandering route down which Vallena was leading Ezekiel and him. The dark elf had lost count of the number of corners he’d turned, or the number of times when he thought for sure that they’d been going in circles, only to realise that they were, in fact, inching ever closer to their goal. So obscure, and so hidden were some of the paths Vallena took that, even with the aid of his natural darkvision, Scaerthrynne had missed them up until the point he turned into them. The red-hooded strangers would be hard-pressed to follow their exact path. He’d be quite surprised, and to be honest, also quite impressed, if they could.
And yet, despite making it incredibly difficult for anyone to pursue them, Vallena had managed to get them to their destination in good time. Scaerthrynne let out a sigh of relief as he stepped into the relatively open area in front of the heavy door leading away from the cargo hold.
“Very well done, Val,” he said as he walked past the girl.
She looked up at him with a shaky smile, but a smile nonetheless. “T-Thanks, Scratch,” she replied.
Scaerthrynne pointed to Ezekiel. “You, Eyepatc–” He cut himself off, and tried again. “I mean, Ezekiel, find a safe spot and put Callandra down for now. Depending on how things are, this might take a while.” Then, he gestured for Vallena to follow him. “You’re with me, Val. Let’s check on the door.”
The door was, as expected, locked, and a half-hearted attempt at unlocking it with the runic array revealed that it was held closed by the emergency lockdown mechanism. That didn’t come as a surprise, but all the same, Scaerthrynne muttered an expletive under his breath. Or at least, he started to, but instead chewed on his tongue when he remembered that Vallena was standing right beside him. He huffed and stepped to the side, stopping in front of a panel by the door. “We’ll have to bypass the lockdown.” Annoyance dripped from his words. “Val, lend me your screwdriver.”
Vallena rummaged around her bag and pulled it out. “Here, Scratch.”
Scaerthrynne took it and removed the screws holding the panel in place. Then, he wiggled the flat edge of the tool into the crack between it and the wall. With a few, hard pushes, he prised the panel away, catching it before it crashed onto the floor. “Thanks,” he said, returning the screwdriver to Vallena. After leaning the solid, brass plate against the wall, he took a look at the mechanism that it had been covering.
A spiderweb of circuits, both arcane-elemental and runic, filled the rectangular hole. All of the former were dull, and little more than translucent tubes running from above and into a box in the middle of the hole. As for the latter, they glowed faintly and pulsed with energy. On the left, and arranged vertically, was a column of runes, all of them glowing and pulsing like the circuits which fed them. Two tall, thin objects sat adjacent to each other on the other side; one blocky, like a bar, and the other cylindrical.
“Arcane circuits are dead,” Scaerthrynne grumbled and clicked his tongue. That complicated things.
He closed his eyes for a moment. He had to take stock of the situation.
What did he have to do?
Well, with the arcane circuits dead, the only way of overriding the emergency lock would be to play around with the runic array. That wasn’t a complicated task—runic arrays could be drained of energy, and then the runes would simply cease to work. But it was a tedious one that took time.
And time, as things stood, was a precious resource.
A griffon was a fierce creature, and one that was the end of many an adventurer. But it was still, at the end of the day, a creature. An animal. Self-preservation was still part of its natural instincts—it wouldn’t engage in a fight to the death unless it truly had to, and Scaerthrynne doubted that the red-hooded strangers were here for the griffon. Once they’d injured it enough to scare it away, they would be free to return to whatever task it was that brought them here. The noisemakers would only distract them for so long, and even if he’d filled the spikes with explosives, they weren’t enough to kill. At most they would take off a foot, but only if someone stepped on them directly.
Or, alternatively, the griffon would win, and it’d rampage aimlessly through the cargo hold.
That gave Scaerthrynne two possibilities. Either he’d have to override the lock while defending himself and Vallena, and possibly Ezekiel as well, from three well-equipped enemies coming at them with unknown but malevolent intent, or he’d have to override the lock while being on the lookout for a very, very angry griffon that would have only just tasted blood, and would likely crave more.
And what did he have, to do all this?
Firstly, he had himself. One dark elf with a musket. Hardly much of a threat, or a guarantee of safety, when they were facing either two or three enemies, or one very big, and very feral creature. Vallena didn’t count in his calculations—the girl had many talents, but fighting wasn’t one of them. She’d only get in the way, or get herself into trouble. Either way, she would have to be kept out of combat no matter the cost. And then, there was Ezekiel. The man-in-white seemed like he knew his way around a fight. At least, he had a sword that looked like it’d be useful in one. And he’d kept a level head this entire time, so that meant he wasn’t a stranger to such situations, more likely than not.
But he was wounded, and badly so, by the looks of things. Scaerthrynne couldn’t treat him, not if he had to work on the lock and keep watch. Even if it was just between those two choices, he could realistically only do one, if he didn’t want to lose any efficacy.
“Scratch?” It was Vallena. She sounded worried, her words carrying a slight quaver. “C-Can you get us out of here? M-Maybe I can help? If you need help to over…Override that thing!”
He chewed on his lip. There was only one thing he could do. He didn’t like it, but it was his only option.
“Yes, I know what to do,” he said, then looked at the girl. “But you’ll have to do it, Val.”
Vallena blinked at him. “M-Me?” She pointed at herself. Scaerthrynne nodded. She swallowed, then shook her head. “I-I can’t, Scratch! I-I don’t know how, I’ve never even seen how it’s done before!”
“I know, I know,” Scaerthrynne said, placed both his hands on her shoulders, and steadied her. She looked up at him, their eyes meeting. “If I could do it myself, I would, but I can’t. It’s very likely those people in the red hoods are going to come after us, and somebody’s going to have to keep an eye out for them, maybe even fight them off.”
“But the griffon–” Vallena protested.
“It might win, it might not.” Scaerthrynne shrugged. “Even if it does, it just means we’ve to keep an eye out for it, instead of those three in red.”
“Ezekiel can–”
“He’s wounded. Even if he can fight, I’m not going to count too much on him.” He let go of her, and knelt to pick up the brass plate and tuck it under his arm. “Don’t worry, Val,” he said and patted her head. “You can do it. I know you can. I’ll talk you through the whole thing. Every step.”
Nervousness was painted all over the girl’s face. “I-I don’t know, Scratch…”
“You’re a smart girl, Val. I wouldn’t ask you to do this if I didn’t think you could handle it.”
“How are you so sure?” She asked.
Scaerthrynne gave her a little smirk. “Because I taught you everything you know, Val.” That pulled a giggle out of her, and he couldn’t help but smile warmly at that. He patted her on the head again, and helped pull her goggles down over her eyes. “Just in case,” he said, then tilted his head towards the runic mechanism in the wall. “Now take over. Get your tools out, and let me know when you’re ready.”
Vallena drew in a deep breath, her eyes closed, as she visibly steeled herself. There was still a great deal of uncertainty and a lack of confidence on her face when she looked at him, but her words weren’t as filled with nerves as before. “O-Okay, Scratch. But don’t speak so fast like you always do! It gets confusing and I can’t understand you at all!”
“I’ll try not to,” Scaerthrynne said with a chuckle, and walked away.
He carried the plate and walked around for a while, eventually settling on a spot not too far away from her, where he had a good view of every avenue of approach towards the door. Very gently, he set the plate on the floor, laying it flat. Then, he placed his hand on it, and channeled arcane energy into the metal, but not to infuse it, not this time. Rather, he wanted to change it. To form it into an object that combined magic and technology into something more. Something that could help them fight. He closed his eyes, and painted a picture of what he wanted, from the largest to the smallest components, in his mind.
It wasn’t anything too complex, although it was something he’d only seen in person a few times. The firing mechanism was simple. Two long rails, separated by enough space for a projectile, and both etched along their entire lengths with runes of attraction.
Somewhere, from under a crate, a pair of pipes rattled as they slid and rolled towards the plate.
The weapon would have to be able to turn in a full circle, of course, and have good angles of elevation, in case it had to fire on a flying griffon. That also meant it needed a fast rate-of-fire, which, therefore, needed an ammunition feed system that could keep up, and hold enough projectiles to be of practical use. Luckily, the good thing about this sort of firing mechanism was that it could accelerate just about anything, even a small chip, to ridiculous speeds. Scaerthrynne recalled reading that a simple screw could be propelled fast enough to hit with the force of a cannonball.
Gears skidded over. The plate itself warped and bent, forming shapes that didn’t look possible with its size and amount of material. It changed, even, from golden brass to dark steel.
“Ready, Scratch!” Vallena’s voice almost distracted him, but Scaerthrynne managed to maintain his focus.
“Cut out all the elemental-arcane wiring,” he called back, a slight strain to his words. “They’re all dead. We won’t need them, and they’ll just get in the way when we’ve to re-reroute the runic energy.”
“Okay!”
Scaerthrynne returned to creating his object. Almost done, now. He knew how it had to fire, and how it had to load, and how it had to turn. He just needed to give it a proper shape. Gritting his teeth, he channeled a little more energy into the plate and all the odds-and-ends that it had attracted. They clanged and scraped and squeaked as they bent, warped, disassembled and reassembled, before finally coming together into a turret, one formed according technological theories, but with magical means.
Scaerthrynne finally opened his eyes and looked upon his work. It wasn’t as impressive as what he’d seen in his mind, but it would do. The exposed ends of its rails glowed with blue scrollwork, and were set into a blocky, but sturdy-looking body. Quiet whirrs echoed from within as it turned, sweeping its lethal gaze from left-to-right, then back again.
“Okay! The wires are out. Now what?”
Good timing.
“Alright, do you see the arcane battery on the right?” Scaerthrynne asked as he pulled his musket off of his back. After a quick check of its mechanism, he popped open the breech and loaded it.
“Um…Oh! There it is!”
“Remove it like how you’d remove any other arcane battery.” The dark elf hefted his weapon, pressing it to his shoulder, then lowered it to adjust its sights. Then, he pulled out a battery from one of his pouches and pushed it into a slot carved out of the forestock of his weapon. It was just a precaution, in case he needed one of his shots to have a stronger punch.
“It’s out!”
“Pass it here,” Scaerthrynne called to her. Vallena turned and lobbed the cylinder over to him. He caught it out of the air and pushed it into a hole in the turret. A low hum emanated from it, and for a brief moment, it glowed a faint blue. “Now take out one of your empty batteries. The biggest capacity you have. Type three would be best, but a type two would work as well. Replace the battery you just took out with it.”
There was the sound of rummaging. Then, “Okay! Empty type three going in!”
“You’re doing great so far. There’s a box in the middle. That’s the runic array regulator. There’re a few tabs on it, but you only need to find the green one. If it’s up, push it down. If it’s down, push it up.” That was the reset switch, used when there was an imbalance in the circuit. It didn’t do much, usually, but Scaerthrynne had found out that by turning it off and on again, with an empty battery hooked up to the circuit, the system could be fooled into thinking that the capacitor—the bar—was overcharged.
“Okay, done! What’s next, Scratch?”
Now came the hardest part of all. “There’s a red tab next to the green one. Again, if it’s up, push it down, if it’s down, push it up.” That told the regulator to start redistributing runic energy through the system. With a drained battery in the circuit, it would start siphoning power from the capacitor to recharge it, a side-effect of the array’s internal logic systems demanding that the arcane battery shouldn’t be depleted. A type three battery, however, was very power-hungry. It would empty the capacitor, and once that happened, it would start drawing energy from the runes themselves.
“Done!”
“Now we wait,” Scaerthrynne said, his lips pressed into a thin line. “Val, find yourself somewhere safe, and hide until I call for you. Eyepatch–” He grunted as he caught himself again. “I mean, Ezekiel, we’ve to hold here for a while, and we might have to fight. I don’t know how long we’ve got until that happens, but if you really, really need that leg seen to, let me know. Otherwise, make yourself ready.”
Scaerthrynne’s gut told him that he had to hurry, and so he did. With a quiet sigh, he scrounged around for a few lengths of broken pipes, and set to work turning them into more spiked mines, to trap every one of the approaches. He had a feeling that they would need every advantage they could get.
Iyen: A short blade sheathed on her lower back A coil of rope across her body
Iyen giggled.
It probably wasn’t the smart, or even right, thing to do, but really, what else could she have done? Kalliope was just being so, so adorable, reacting the way she did. She reminded Iyen of a wounded animal, backed into a corner—stung by hurt but trying to hide it, trying to put up a tough face, and all the while lashing out wildly, hoping to score a winning blow.
And so, like a tiger playing with its prey, Iyen decided that she could afford herself a little fun.
“Oh my, my, where do I even begin?” Her voice was melodic, as if those words were lyrics to a song. “Did I hit something sore?” Another tittering laugh, this time accompanied by a teasing, almost mocking, grin. “All I did was ask one simple question, Kali. You didn’t have to spoil me with so many words! Please, allow me some time to give you a proper response, okay?”
She hummed a tune, tapping a finger on her lips as she swept her eyes over the table. A shallow bowl sat in front of her, by a plate piled high with meat—chicken, she assumed. Iyen dipped her finger into the bowl and licked the white granules off of her finger, beaming when she recognised the taste. “Here,” she said to Kalliope as she pulled the bowl over, and grabbed two drumsticks from the plate. One for herself, and one for the red-haired woman. Again, she placed it on her plate.
“Sjan-dehk would hate it if I stabbed you,” Iyen went on to say. “And he’d hate it just as much if I flirted with you, too, and…” She leaned in a little closer, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “To be honest, you’re not my type, anyway. Sorry!”
Sitting back, Iyen gestured to the bowl. “So, here’s your salt.”
She tore a piece from her chunk of bread and popped it into her mouth. “You’re right, I know nothing about you,” she began after chewing and swallowing. Her smile flickered away for a moment. “But you also know nothing about me, isn’t that so? You’ve been through things? You survived things? So have I.”
Salt in her wounds. Water in her lungs. Screams in her ears. The waves, pushing her under. Dark, endless waters, pulling her under. A hand on her head, pushing it towards the sky.
Iyen pushed those memories away.
“So that means we’re on equal ground, isn’t that so?” Her grin returned, and she ripped off another morsel of bread. “And besides, our pasts have nothing to do with any of this, Kali. Well, not our pasts from so long ago, anyway. It’s what I saw just now that concerns me, actually.”
She popped the soft, fluffy chunk of bread into her mouth, savouring its warmth and taste as she pondered about her next words. Provoking Kalliope any further wasn’t going to do her any good. It certainly wouldn’t be any fun—not now, at least. But peace offering, no matter how slight, would be too close to surrendering for Iyen’s liking. She wasn’t going to give ground. Not when she was doing this on behalf of a close friend.
The facts, then.
“Mm…Maybe I should tell you what I saw,” Iyen said at last. Her dark brown, almost black, irises looked up from under long lashes, and met Kalliope’s bright, leafy green eyes. “Or maybe, what I heard. What I saw and heard, that’d be better, wouldn’t it?” She giggled again. “Oh my, I’m sorry. I’m not making this easy for you, am I? I’ll get started now, okay, so listen!”
She cleared her throat before continuing. “What I saw, was a woman who seemed to be so, so sweet with Sjan-dehk. And what I saw from him, was him being the biggest idiot I’ve ever seen him be in all my years of knowing him. Do you think he’d say such things to just anyone?” The pause that followed was filled with tension, as Iyen intended. “I heard what the two of you said to each other. Parts of it, anyway. It was really sweet stuff, by the way. And I saw how you looked at him, and how he looked at you, and how you looked like you were enjoying yourself in his arms. Which, by the way, he’s never carried me that way. I’ve always just been a sack of rice to him.”
She let out a short laugh at that thought. There had been no bitterness in her words, and no malice; only a casualness that one might expect from someone sharing a story over drinks. “But oh my, what a surprise it was when we got here! I honestly thought he’d touched you somewhere he shouldn’t, with how much you were struggling. It was like you just couldn’t wait to get away!” Her grin turned into a smirk, and it widened into a wicked look. “To get away to find someone else, I might add. Someone whom you seem to be very, very attracted to.”
Leaning back, Iyen turned her eyes up to the ceiling and tapped a finger on her chin. “That really confused me, to be very honest! All this while, I thought that you might actually like Sjan-dehk, but now what am I to think?” She looked at Kalliope. “You can tell me about all the hurt looks you’ve given him, how you feel so, so much pain, and that you really, really care for him, more than I do.” The laugh that followed was almost derisive, with how sardonic it was.
“But,” Iyen continued. “I find it hard to believe when you don’t seem to have thought about how he feels at all, Kali. Or perhaps you were far too distracted by your other man, hm? Or maybe you’re hurt because he seems to have found another lady?” She nodded to Sjan-dehk, behind Kalliope, and the girl he was talking to. Without waiting for Kalliope to react, Iyen rolled her eyes and continued. “Don’t worry. I’ll play nice and tell you right now that he’s got no intentions with her. He never does.”
However, she couldn’t help but add. “Not yet, at least. Who knows the future?”
She chuckled and turned away from Kali at last, to face the table. “I don’t think you’re a villain, by the way, so let’s not be too dramatic. And I’m not threatening you, either. If I were, you’d know it. I’d make sure that you did.” She paused to pick up her glass and take a sip. “But I am telling you. Don’t play with Sjan-dehk’s heart. Be serious about him, or not at all. Otherwise, I’ll be really, really upset.”
Time: Evening Location: Banquet Hall Interactions: Kalliope; Count Blackwood @Tae Mentions: Charlotte @Princess Appearance:Iyen Attire: Iyen Equipment:
Iyen: A short blade sheathed on her lower back A coil of rope across her body
This was all so, so very confusing.
When Sjan-dehk had asked Iyen to accompany him to this…Banquet-thing, she’d assumed that it wouldn’t be anything too different from the feasts she was used to. There’d be a lot of eating, a lot of drinking, some drunken fun, a fight, or two, or three, and maybe one or two people thrown out—Sjan-dehk and herself the most likely candidates, she’d thought. But the night would still, ultimately, leave everyone with good stories and fond memories.
And so, the tension that stretched taut through the air, palpable even beneath all the festive veneer, came as an unpleasant surprise.
Really, these Caesonians were almost as bad as the Sejatis, the Vasenyans, the Kawuns, or anyone from the Central Islands. And the only reason Iyen considered the Caesonians to be worse was solely because at least the Central Islanders had the decency to let everyone finish eating before clustering into their little groups to gossip and slander each other amongst themselves. But here? There was no such thing. Eating, chatting, and possibly conspiring all seemed to happen simultaneously.
Iyen’s lips twisted in a frown. Honestly, how was anyone supposed to eat like this? Even though she didn’t understand enough of the language to know what exactly was being said—thankfully—she’d accompanied Lady Adiyan to enough noble-filled events to recognise the tone high-borns liked to use with their stabbing words and pointed, subtle—or not-so-subtle—insults. It didn’t matter the dialect, or language, that irritating tone was always the same.
Well, Iyen supposed that was the case with the nobility. They really were all the same, regardless of where they came from.
She allowed her eyes to wander around the hall. A force of habit, more than anything—a good bodyguard had to always be vigilant for threats, and even though Lady Adiyan wasn’t present tonight, Sjan-dehk was, although if she had to be honest, she was more on the lookout for anyone he might be a threat to.
An impish smirk pulled across her face as she found him with a pale, dark-haired girl, the same one she’d met at that excessively yellow place a few days ago. The two of them seemed to be getting along just fine, and Iyen made a mental note to tease Sjan-dehk about it later. Really, it was just too amusing that he, who had never seemed to care much for women, was having such a good run of luck here, on foreign, faraway shores. There was this girl, and then there was that–
Well, think of a person to the Shadowed Green, and so they shall appear.
Iyen’s surreptitiously turned her gaze towards the red-haired woman in green, who walked past Sjan-dehk with feigned nonchalance. The two’s eyes met, and while the Captain’s face was frustratingly hidden from Iyen’s view, the woman’s wasn’t. Something flashed in her eyes. Something Iyen didn’t know, and couldn’t name, but was almost certainly there. She turned away just as the woman took her seat, yet another frown replacing her smirk.
This woman was also so, very confusing.
Sjan-dehk may have believed himself stealthy and quiet, but Iyen had caught snippets of what he’d said to the woman in the hallway. And he’d said many things. Many sweet things. Many kind things. And he’d also made many promises, promises that Iyen had no doubts he’d fulfill, regardless of cost and trouble. And for her part, the woman had seemed receptive to them. She’d seemed vulnerable, and true, and heartfelt with him, and that was why Iyen hadn’t said much when Sjan-dehk had been carrying her. Not as much as she could have, certainly.
But what had the woman done when they’d reached the hall? She’d so insistently, so violently, wormed out of Sjan-dehk’s hold, a hold which she’d asked for in the first place. Iyen had thought it amusing at first, but when the woman had made a quick exit to run off to another man—granted, a friend whom she wanted to help—Iyen’s suspicions were aroused. And when she saw the look on the woman’s face, the positioning of her body, and the shadowed gaze in her eyes, Iyen’s amusement turned to indignation. Had this woman’s protestations simply been because she didn’t want to be seen in such a state by her actual lover?
Well, if that was the case, Iyen wasn’t going to let it slide. Not without getting a word in.
She glanced over her shoulder at the woman, who’d sat down. With a grin on her face, a smile akin to that of a cat about to play with a new toy, Iyen shifted herself to Sjan-dehk’s empty chair. Not before giving the Count a quick farewell—however garbled it may have been—of course. “Kali, is it?” She began, a smile on her lips as she reached for a chunk of hard-crusted bread. “Thought I’d take the chance to talk to you, now that Sjan-dehk’s not here to interrupt us.”
She pulled the chair a little closer, until she could speak just loud enough for Kalliope’s ears. “Tell me,” she went on, tearing the chunk of bread in two, placing part of it on Kalliope’s plate, and taking a bite out of the other. Iyen took her time to chew and swallow before continuing. “Is playing with men’s hearts a hobby of yours, or is Sjan-dehk just that unlucky of a bastard to catch your eye?”
Her smile—wicked, daring, and somewhat angry—never left her face.
Time: Evening Location: Banquet Hall Interactions: Charlotte @princess Mentions: Kalliope @Tae; Cassius @Oso Appearance:Sjan-dehk Attire: Sjan-dehk Equipment:
Sjan-dehk: Sword and pistol hanging down his right thigh
It was a mistake to look.
Sjan-dehk knew that. He didn’t even have any reason to look; not a good one, at least. But when Charlotte shifted her gaze, he—despite his better judgement—followed suit, and found his eyes wandering over to a corner of the banquet hall that, up until now, he’d been trying to ignore.
There, Kalliope stood, stunning as ever in that green dress that wrapped so beautifully, so perfectly around her body, and with scarlet tresses flowing over her shoulders like the evening tide. A smile graced her lips, a smirk that was tantalising, teasing, and promising all at once, and so, very enchanting. It complemented her eyes perfectly—bright, verdant eyes that glimmered with a playful, charming brand of mischief. Such a look about her face would’ve certainly brought a smile to Sjan-dehk’s, and warmth to his heart, had it been meant for his eyes.
A shame, then, that it wasn’t.
Rather, it was meant for Cassius’. The man leaned over her, a hand braced against a pillar, and the space between their bodies so close that Sjan-dehk could scarcely think of what it suggested apart from intimacy and affection. A pang clawed at his heart, and it ached as it thumped in his chest, as if his ribs had shrunk around it. Strange discomfort settled uneasily in his gut. He swallowed hard, forcing down a lump that had grown in his throat without him knowing.
He didn’t like any of this. He didn’t like how close Kalliope was with Cassius; he didn’t like the air that was around them, and least of all, he didn’t like how he was acting like such a fool. A total idiot, even. For what reason did he feel all these things? He simply couldn’t understand it.
“So confusing,” he muttered without realising it. Then, he remembered that Charlotte had asked him a few questions. A flush came over his cheeks. He shut his eyes for a moment and coughed into a fist, hoping to mask his earlier disquietude. At the same time, he tried his best to clear his mind.
Truly, he was being an idiot.
“I-I mean, your city, your…Country, it is new to me, still. So it is confusing.” He stood ill-at-ease before her, unsure of what to do with his limbs. After a moment of fidgeting, he simply folded his hands on the small of his back, his posture straight and upright, as if he were giving a report to Lady Adiyan. “But it is nice, from what I see already. Interesting. Different from Viserjanta. In looks and in ways.” Speaking relaxed him by a touch, and he smiled at her. “Still plenty to learn, plenty to discover, but that is the fun part, yes? As for the things I do, I sailed around your waters. The places, they…”
He trailed off, deciding halfway through his words that bringing up his skirmishes on the sea, his battles on land against pirates, and the things he’d seen along the coast, would be a terrible idea. Clearing his throat, he continued simply, “They look like nice places. I will sail more and see more, most likely. To explore and maybe see if I find anything interesting.”
A frown rippled across Sjan-dehk’s face as he pulled up memories of the other things that he’d done. Such as wandering Sorian’s streets, strolling on the beach, tramping through the slums at night, or sneaking into a crooked nobleman’s estate. All with Kalliope. And right now, just thinking of her was like jabbing his heart with a sour, stinging blade. He shook his head slightly.
“And I met people,” he said with a shrug. “And looked around your city. So, I have not done much, yet.”
A brief pause. Then, he nodded to the glass in Charlotte’s hand. “You should not have wine. Water, that is what you need.” Without waiting for a response, he looked around for an empty glass, finding one sitting in front of the empty seat beside Charlotte. He plucked it off the table and reached for a jug of water.
Out of habit, he looked up to check on Iyen. The Sudhrayarn was still sitting where she was, with her back facing him, and her face facing Count Blackwood. As he prepared to fill the glass, however, he also caught sight of Kalliope and Cassius again. She still looked radiant and lovely as ever, her smile still managing to capture Sjan-dehk’s attention from across the room. His shoulders sagged, and a quiet, resigned sigh left his lips, however, when he saw Cassius offer her his hand.
He chewed on his lip for a while, then looked away. Perhaps this was for the best. The two of them looked happy together. It wasn’t as if Sjan-dehk even knew what he wanted, as far as Kalliope was concerned. A whirlwind romance on foreign shores, to be spoken of fondly in years to come? Maybe something more?
What did it matter?
A Jafin like him was like the shifting waves of the open seas, and Kalliope, a flower of the land. To be with her would be to deny his nature. And to be with him, would be to deny her the chance to grow and flourish.
“All upon the waves and beneath the sky have their places,” Sjan-dehk muttered beneath his breath as he filled the glass.
And his place wasn’t with her.
“Such is the Way.” He’d said those words many times before, but never so bitterly.
He returned to Charlotte, along the way dragging the empty chair beside her closer with his foot. “Put your glass down, please,” he said as he sat down. Then, he leaned forward, concern painted across his visage, and touched his fingers against Charlotte’s neck, just beneath her jaw. “No heat. No fever.” He swiped the back of his palm against her forehead, at the same time brushing loose strands of dark hair away from her eyes. “No fever,” he repeated with a smile. “So you are not sick. Only drunk.”
It took a moment for him to realise what he’d just done, and when he did, a crimson flush washed over his cheeks. “S-Sorry!” He blurted out, immediately leaning back. “I, ah, I do that for my sister, when she is not feeling well. To check…Body heat. And you, ah, you remind me of her. A little.” He cleared his throat, then extended the glass of water to her. “A-Anyway, here. Water. You should drink more. Wash the wine away from you, yes? Then, you will be fine.”
princess
Tae
Infinite Cosmos
