Apex Sunburn

🗡 Roses and Daggers 🎕

A while ago...

He drew in a deep breath. No, he had to act. There wasn’t any other option.

But resolve alone didn’t—couldn’t—change reality. Charging into a building under an arcanist’s spell was a terrible idea, more often than not. The magic had to be dispelled first, and while that was a straightforward enough task—Yasawen was trained in counter-arcane arts—-keeping it hidden from the prying eyes of the crowd would be nigh-on impossible. If Cynric could notice a stone flying under the influence of magic, then surely someone would witness a whole building being cleansed.

Sjan-dehk grimaced. The risks he’d be asking the Viserjantan arcanists to take wouldn’t be small, and that wasn’t even considering the official reprimands and other punishments that’d be waiting for them—himself included—once they returned to their ships. This would, after all, be a direct violation of orders.

He shook his head. Now wasn’t the time to worry about such things. “All sails and all speed,” was what his former commanding officer, Nashra, would’ve said. And of course, she’d always follow it up with, “We’ll do what’s right, right now, and deal with the consequences later. Let’s go!”

A mirthless chuckle left his lips. “Let’s go, then,” he said beneath his breath.

“Cap’n, ye still wi’ me?” It was Cynric.

“Yes,” Sjan-dehk replied. “Sorry. I was thinking. We must act. But first, I will speak with my people.”

A grin curled Cynric’s lips, and he nodded. “Aye, ‘tis what I was thinkin’, mysel’. I’ll ‘ave a chat wi’ my fellas too, but I’ll kick ta’ feckin’ doors on me ane if I ‘ave tae. I’m after a feckin’ drink, and nobody’s gae’n get in my feckin’ way o’ gettin’ one.”

With that, he turned and walked to his crew. Sjan-dehk did the same, marching over to where Iyen and the arcanists were gathered. “Dahsahn, Yehn-tai,” he called out along the way. He didn’t need to say anything else—the two men answered with shouts of acknowledgement and quickly fell in behind him.

Iyen greeted him with a small, knowing smile as he approached, as if she already knew exactly how things were going to play out. She leaned against a streetlamp, with one hand resting on the pistol at her hip, the other idly tracing the rope coiled across her body. “So,” she said breezily, dragging out the word. “What do you have in mind, Sjan-dehk?”

He didn’t answer her. Instead, he fixed his attention on Inshahri. “Shahri.”

The girl immediately stopped brushing dirt from her skirts and turned to him, her eyes expectant.

“Tell me again,” he went on. “How bad is the magic in there?”

“Very bad, Captain.” She stole a nervous glance at the tavern, her hands tightly gripping the fabric around her waist. “It sounds…It sounds messy—I mean, dangerous. Very, very dangerous. And it can hurt people too! It already has, and still is!”

Sjan-dehk frowned. “So it’s not just…Shrouding the building? It’s not just isolating it?” He paused, trying to think of a better word for what he wanted to say, but finding only the official Commonwealth designation for the spells he had in mind. “It’s, ah, not a defensive spell?”

Inshahri shook her head. “No, no, it’s not defensive! It can do more than that, but…But I think only to those inside?” Her face fell, and genuine distress crumpled her features. “Sorry, Captain. The magic’s powerful, and really, really loud. I can’t tell anything more than that.”

“That’s alright, Shahri,” Sjan-dehk said, giving her a reassuring pat on the shoulder. “We never really know our opponents until we face them, anyway. You’ve done well enough.”

Iyen’s smile turned into a playful grin, and she pushed herself away from the streetlamp. “Oh my, Captain, you’re calling them opponents already?” Amusement dripped from her words. “Sounds like you’ve come to a decision.”

“Yes,” Sjan-dehk replied. “But I’m not—”

“You can count me in,” she said, as if he hadn’t said anything.

Sjan-dehk blinked. “Iyen, I haven’t even asked yet.”

“You still think you need to ask me? Oh, you wound me, Captain.” Were it not for the mischief on her face, and had Sjan-dehk not known her as well as he did, he might’ve believed that she was actually upset. The giggle that flowed from her lips did plenty to give her away as well. “Did you really think I’d return to Sudah and let you have all the fun?”

She shook her head. “Not. A. Chance, Sjan-dehk.”

Sjan-dehk couldn’t help but chuckle and give her a grin of his own. Iyen was right, of course—he shouldn’t have expected her to do anything less than jumping head-first into the mess with him. Danger and trouble had always been something they faced—and often found—together. This wouldn’t be any different. “Thank you, Iyen,” he said. “I owe you one.”

“And you’d better remember that,” Iyen replied in a sing-song voice.

Dahsahn cleared his throat. “Pardon me,” he said, pressing a fist to his chest and bowing his head to both Sjan-dehk and Iyen. “But there’s a hostile arcanist in there casting a spell we don’t know much about. You can’t be serious—” He caught himself and swallowed. “I mean, with all respect, Captain, trying to push into a building like that with just the two of you is…Tactically unwise. That's my opinion, of course.”

Sjan-dehk opened his mouth—half to agree, half to ask the arcanists for help—but Yasawen spoke first.

“I–I can dispel the magic,” he said.

“You?” Hasehnya exclaimed, her eyes wide in surprise. Yasawen’s cheeks reddened, and he looked at the ground between his feet. “Oh, no, no, I—That’s not what I meant! S–Sorry Yasa! I, um, I know you’ve been studying hard and you’ve definitely gotten better! I–I mean, everyone knows how hard you work!”

She ran her fingers over her braids and hurried on. “But we, um, we don’t know much about the spell. And that’s not your fault, Shahri! Y-You told us that it’s powerful and that’s good enough! I–It’s just when spells are that strong, we need strong counter-spells, you know? And, um, you’re a really good healer, Yasa! So much better than me, really! B–But dispelling is different, you know? A–And I’m a little better at that. I can use the stronger counter-spells.”

Yasawen sighed. He nodded once, still not looking up. “I…I understand, senior Hasehnya.”

Hasehnya cast an apologetic look at Yasawen before turning to Sjan-dehk. She breathed in deeply. “I’ll do the dispelling, C–Captain.”

Sjan-dehk didn’t reply immediately. For a moment, all he did was look between the two arcanists, his brow furrowed in bafflement. He wasn’t quite sure he understood what he’d just heard. Were they bickering over who got to volunteer for a task that would have them break regulations? One that would undoubtedly land them in no small amount of trouble?

“You two…” He spoke slowly, as if he were speaking to someone who didn’t understand Viserjantan. “You two do realise what you’re signing up for, right? You’ll need to use your abilities, and that means breaking regulations. That means getting into a lot of trouble. You understand that, right?”

Yasawen lifted his head just enough to meet Sjan-dehk’s gaze. “Yes, Captain,” he said. “I understand.” He swallowed. “But it can’t be helped, right? Shahri reacted really strongly to that magic, and–and it’s the first time I’ve seen her like that, so it has to be really, really bad. I–I know we’re not allowed to use our abilities, but if…If people are being hurt, we have to help. That’s the right thing to do, isn’t it?”

“Yes, yes!” Inshahri almost squealed as she slipped her arms around Yasawen’s shoulders and pulled him into a quick hug. “Yasa, you know me so well! I wouldn’t make so much noise about this, otherwise!”

Beside her, Tehwasang laughed quietly before separating her from a crimson-cheeked Yasawen. “And we, as good seniors—” she glanced at Hasehnya “—can’t just let our juniors run off on their own, can we? We have to do our proper duties and watch over them.” She giggled and winked at Sjan-dehk. “And if we end up getting into trouble…I’m sure we can think of something.”

“I’m not your junior, though,” Inshahri piped up.

“You’re younger than me,” Tehwasang said with a smirk. “That makes you junior enough.”

Hasehnya’s nervous eyes flitted between her fellow arcanists. “I–I agree,” she said with a nod. “It’s just like the stories we read. W-We have to do what’s right. And besides, I…” She trailed off, shaking her head and drawing a deep breath to steady herself. In as firm a tone as she could manage, she continued, “I won’t let junior Yasawen do this alone! If he goes, I have to go too. It’s my duty as his senior!”

Tehwasang giggled and clapped her hands. Redness spread across Hasehnya’s cheeks. In a softer voice, one closer to a murmur, she added, “S–So if, um, Captain Sjan-dehk needs me to dispel the magic, I will.”

Once again, Sjan-dehk couldn’t find the words to reply. All he could do was look at them with astonishment written all over his face. These four arcanists were mere youths—Yasawen and Inshahri were only fifteen, and the other two couldn’t be much older. And yet, they were prepared to use their abilities to save people belonging to a land that would sentence them to death for doing so. It wasn’t as if they didn’t know that—it was Sjan-dehk that’d insisted on mentioning the Caesonian penalties for magic in the new regulations.

And still, none of them had hesitated. Not even for a moment.

Sjan-dehk let out a long breath. “Alright then,” he said, giving them a single nod. “I appreciate the help and you have my thanks. But we’ll do this properly and safely. That means staying close, following orders, and above all, no playing the hero. I won’t hesitate to personally throw you back onto Sada Kurau if any of you dare to get hurt. Understood?”

The four of them answered with nods and acknowledgements.

“You should listen to the Captain,” Yehn-tai chimed in. The sniper had been silent this entire time, but now he looked around with a smile on his perpetually tired face, and a whistled tune on his lips. “Leave being a hero to those of us in uniform, eh?”

Sjan-dehk looked at him. “I suppose that means you’re in, too?”

“You know what they say, Captain,” Yehn-tai replied. “Sada Kurau follows her Captain…”

“…And so does her crew.” Dahsahn finished the saying. He stood to attention and saluted Sjan-dehk. “My section and I are ready for your tasking, Captain. Just say the word.”

Sjan-dehk swept his gaze over the assembled Viserjantans—the arcanists clustered together; Iyen leaning against the streetlamp once more; Yehn-tai with his rifle resting on his shoulder; Dahsahn standing ramrod straight and stock-still. It wasn’t a sizable force, but it certainly was a formidable one. With the exception of the four youths, everyone here was a veteran of countless battles. Sjan-dehk felt a familiar grin creep onto his face—the sort of grin he had whenever a fight was imminent.

He forced it away. It was time to plan.

“Sergeant,” he called to Dahsahn. “You’ll take your section and circle around the back of the tavern. There has to be a rear entrance of some kind. Find it, secure it, and don’t let anyone in or out once we make our way inside. If you hear fighting, breach and join the fray. Understood?”

“You got it, Captain,” Dahsahn replied. “Do you want me to move the men out now?”

Sjan-dehk nodded. “Yes. Go now.”

“As you command.” Dahsahn snapped to a salute and hurried away, commands already flying from his lips as he returned to his section.

“Yehn-tai.” Sjan-dehk turned to the sniper. “Take your spotter and find somewhere up high. You’ll be doing a lot of moving, I’m afraid. First, find a spot to watch over Dahsahn’s section. Once they’re in position, find another position where you can overlook the front of the tavern. Give us a signal when you’re ready. That’s when I’ll have Hasehnya start casting. You’ll keep an eye on her. If you see anyone approach her with bad intentions…”

“I’ll drop them,” Yehn-tai finished. Then, he frowned. “There’s a lot of people here though, Captain. I’ll keep an eye on all of them as best I can, but if I start shooting anyone who looks unfriendly, I’m going to make a lot of corpses.”

Sjan-dehk chewed on his lip. “I’ll talk to our Caesonian friends, see if they can help us control the crowd or get rid of it. For now, stick to those orders. Move.”

“Will do, Captain,” Yehn-tai said. He yawned, hefted his rifle, and jogged away.

Iyen hummed and tapped a finger on her chin. “So…Dahsahn and his section are watching the back door, Yehn-tai’s keeping an eye on the front.” She looked at Sjan-dehk, her lips pouted childishly. “I hope you’ve got something for me, Sjan-dehk. Otherwise…” Her pout changed into an impish smile. “I’ll be upset.”

Sjan-dehk rolled his eyes. “Don’t worry, Iyen. You can have the second floor to yourself. If things get loud, sweep it, clear it, and make sure we don’t have any surprises coming from above.”

“If?” Iyen frowned. “Sounds like I could just be sitting on my arse doing nothing.”

“Don’t worry,” Sjan-dehk repeated. “I’ve a feeling that things will get violent even if we try to be peaceful.”

“I’ll take your word for it, then,” Iyen said and started walking away. “Don’t leave me waiting too long!”

With all the veterans settled, Sjan-dehk could finally address the arcanists. “Hasehnya,” he called, his tone a touch gentler than before. “Do you need anything for your spell?”

“Oh, I–I don’t need anything, Captain!” Hasehnya blurted out. She turned to the tavern, her head tilted as if studying it. “Um, m–maybe I need some space? I–I should look for a few spots and–and see which works, to be safe…But–But if there’s no time I–I don’t need to do that, really!”

“No, no,” Sjan-dehk replied. “I’d rather you be as safe as you can.” He looked at the other three arcanists, one by one. “Tehwasang, Yasawen, Inshahri, help her with what she needs. Also, Tehwasang, take care of Hasehnya after she’s done casting.”

“That’s what I do best, Captain,” Tehwasang said with a grin. “And you can just call me Tehwa.”

“I’ll try to remember that,” Sjan-dehk replied before turning to Yasawen and Inshahri. “I’ll need you two with me when I go into the tavern.” Looks of surprise spread over their faces, although Inshahri’s seemed more eager, while Yasawen’s had an uncertain, apprehensive tint to it. “Even after the spell’s gone, we still have an arcanist to deal with, and I’m sure they’ll try casting again as soon as they get a chance. Inshahri, you’ll have to find them before that happens. Think you can do it?”

“Yes, yes!” Inshahri nodded. “If I’m inside, I’ll know who it is for sure!”

“Good.” Sjan-dehk shifted his attention to Yasawen. “Once Inshahri finds the arcanist, you’ll silence them. I don’t need you to do anything big. Just make sure they can’t cast anything. Can you do that?”

“I–I’ll–” Yasawen started. Then, he drew in a steadying breath and nodded. “Yes, Captain. Of course.”

“That’s what I like to hear.”

Sjan-dehk gave him a clap on the shoulder before addressing the arcanists as a group. “Alright, I think I’ve said enough. All of you have your duties, so get to it. I’ve got things to discuss with our Caesonian friends, but I won’t be far. If you run into any trouble, just give me a shout. Understood?”

The four of them nodded—Inshahri and Tehwasang more enthusiastically than the other two—and replied with a chorus of acknowledgements. Moving as a group, they hurried to their tasks. Sjan-dehk kept an eye on them for a while longer, partly to make sure that they were doing as they’d been told, and partly to give himself a moment to collect his thoughts after issuing so many orders in rapid succession.

He counted ten heartbeats. Then, he went to find Cynric.

Recompense’s captain hadn’t strayed far from where they’d interrogated the thug. He was standing by the edge of the crowd, his arms folded as he conversed with a handful of his crew. An overly-curious onlooker tried to force his way through, and was quickly turned back by an expletive-laced shout from Cynric. Then, as if nothing had happened, the red-haired captain returned to his conversation.

“Captain,” Sjan-dehk called out as he drew closer.

“Aye.” Cynric turned around. “Ah, I s’pose ye’re done talkin’ wi’ yer fellas?”

“Yes,” Sjan-dehk replied.

He gave Cynric a brief outline of the plan—not because of secrecy, but because his Caesonian still wasn’t good enough to allow him to be any more detailed. Even so, Cynric listened attentively, his brow knotted in concentration and hand rubbing his chin. “Well, feck me,” he said once Sjan-dehk finished. “That’s nae jus’ a plan, that’s a whole feckin’ operation. I like it. But ‘avin’ yer…What d’ye call ‘em? Arcanists, was it?”

“Yes,” Sjan-dehk confirmed. “We do not use words like witch. It is…Not good.”

“Arcanists,” Cynric repeated. “‘Tis a fine word. I’ve tae start usin’ it more, aye I dae. Anyway, if ye’re gae’n tae ‘ave ye arcanist start castin’ ou’ ‘ere in ta’ open, then I’ll ‘ave my fellas watch ta’ crowd. Maybe e’en get some o’ ‘em tae feck off. I’ve tae admit, though, I’m nae sure we can get rid o’ it entirely, but there’ll be nae as many eyes watchin’, at least.”

“Yes, that is also my concern.” Sjan-dehk glanced at the crowd. Although it’d thinned a little—he supposed most had only been interested in the confrontation with the thugs—there were still a fair number of people loitering around. “As long as they stay away from the arcanist, and they do not harm her.”

“Oh, dae’n ye worry about that, Cap’n,” Cynric said, his lips curled into a confident grin. “We’ll make feckin’ sure o’ that, aye. What we ough’tae worry about though…” He tilted his chin towards the tavern. “Ye ‘ave a plan on ‘ow ye wan’tae go in? I know I said somethin’ about kickin’ ta’ door down, but ‘twas just a figure o’ speech, aye it was. Those fellas inside’re gae’n be feckin’ nervous once we feck wi’ their spell. We charge in like feckin’ madman, an’ they’re gae’n start stabbin’ an’ shootin’, I reckon.”

“Yes, that is likely.” Sjan-dehk placed his hands on his hips and chewed on his lip. “I think it will be better if we go in peacefully. Like we want to talk.”

Cynric nodded slowly. “Aye, that migh’ work. Wi’ou’ their magic, they migh’ be more willin’ tae negotiate.”

“Yes. That will also give my arcanists time to find theirs. They will stop them from casting.”

“Aye, we’ll ‘ave tae take ‘em ou’ first, that’s fer feckin’ sure.” Cynric rubbed his chin, deep in thought. Then, he turned to Sjan-dehk. “‘Ow about I take ta’ lead when we gae in, Cap’n? I’ll dae ta’ talkin’ an’ be enough o’ a gobby shite tae keep ‘em lookin’ at me. Yer fellas can dae what they need, an’ e’en if we feck up, an’ it aw’ goes tits-up, I reckon it’ll be distraction enough fer yer other fellas tae take ‘em by surprise.”

Sjan-dehk had no disagreement there. “Thank you,” he said. “That would be good.”

The breathy trill of a bamboo flute put an end to their discussions. To an untrained ear, it might’ve sounded like nothing more than a simple song—interweaved with the evening noise, and yet still able to cut through it all. But Sjan-dehk knew better. It was Yehn-tai’s signal that everyone was in position.

🗡 Roses and Daggers 🎕

A while ago...

The man’s eyes widened as they swept over Sjan-dehk, as if seeing the swords, pistols and armour on the Viserjantan’s person for the first time. He dropped the knife, its blade clanging against stone. “Okay, okay, wait, I—” His words came quickly, like a torrent surging through a broken dam.

“Let me warn you, for the first time and last time,” Sjan-dehk went on. “Inshahri is part of my crew. To obey me is her duty. To protect her is mine. Hurt her, and I will hurt you.”

“Alright, alright, I’m not—”

“Now,” Sjan-dehk interrupted him again. “She says there is magic in there. I believe her. Explain. Now.”

“What fuckin’ magic?” The man’s voice grew loud, but without its earlier bluster and edge, it sounded more like a desperate wail than a threatening roar. “I’ve been tellin’ your girl all fuckin’ evenin’ since she and her pals got here, there’s no. Fuckin’. Magic! Nobody’s mad enough to try that shit in this fuckin’ city! Might be she heard somethin’, or thought she saw somethin’, I don’t fuckin’ know. But I fuckin’ swear to you, there’s no fuckin’ magic! The tavern’s just closed, and that’s the truth!”

“Trust not his lies, lost Jafin child.”

Once again, that womanly whisper came unbidden to Sjan-dehk’s mind. Were it not for the tense situation, he would’ve smirked. For once, it’d spoken plainly, and had said words he could agree with. The man was clearly hiding something—everything he’d done so far betrayed that fact. Proving it, however, would be far easier said than done. Sjan-dehk knew Inshahri wasn’t the sort to go around picking fights. He knew of her ability to sense arcane energy. The Caesonians didn’t. To them, she was just a strange girl accusing these men of a grave crime.

“The boys and I just want to make an honest livin’, that’s all,” the man went on. His eyes shifted toward the crowd every few words. “We never intended to cause any trouble, never! The boss paid us good money to keep people away, and that’s what we did! We sure as fuck didn’t plan on fightin’ foreigners, gettin’ beaten up, or havin’ fuckin’ guns pointed in our faces!”

Sjan-dehk clicked his tongue and grimaced. He couldn’t understand the crowd’s murmurs, but his instincts told him that its sympathies were with the Caesonian men. The man seemed to know it as well—there was a shine in his eyes, and a ghost of a smile on his lips when he looked at Sjan-dehk.

“Ye’re still stickin’ wi’ that gobshite o’ a story? Cannae say I’m nae impressed wi’ yer determination.”

Cynric’s playful lilt sliced through the tension with ease. Sjan-dehk glanced over his shoulder. Behind him, Dahsahn’s men had two of the other Caesonian thugs held at gunpoint. Inshahri was with Yasawen, along with the other two arcanists, hiding behind Iyen. At their feet was the third thug, his body still as the stones it laid upon, and a bloodied rock by his head. The crowd had grown to a thronging mass, but Cynric’s crew did a fine job of holding it at bay.

And through it all, Recompense’s captain strolled over, his hands pushed into the pockets of his jacket and a nonchalant air about it.

He stopped beside Sjan-dehk. “Sorry, Cap’n,” he said. “I thought things were’nae gae’n yer way, so I came o’er wi’ our fellas. Hope ye dae’n mind.”

“No, not at all,” Sjan-dehk replied. He tilted his head towards the man. “You were saying something?”

“Aye, I was,” Cynric said. He turned to the man on the ground, fixing him with a look that was both amused and disappointed. “Y’know, folks like ye used tae put actual effort intae their lies, aye they did. Used tae be that ye’d ‘ave tae be a wee bit clever tae dae this kind ‘o work.” He chuckled and shook his head. Then, he gestured to the tavern. “Come now, use yer ‘ead, aye? There’s nae a tavernkeeper who’d close their doors on an evenin’ as busy as this, aye there’s nae. Ta’ whole feckin’ place could be on feckin’ fire, and ye man would still be servin’ brews frae ta’ ash heap.”

The thug bared his teeth. “You shut your—”

“Nae, I dae’n think I will, pal,” Cynric cut in, an impish smile growing on his face. “‘Cause e’en if ta’ keeper was awa’, they would’nae spend good money hirin’ folks tae jus’ stand at ta’ door tellin’ people tae feck off, would they?” He shifted his attention to the crowd. “I dae’n know about ye lot, but all ta’ tavern’s I’ve been tae jus’ lock ta’ doors an’ ‘ang a sign tellin’ folks tae try their luck some other day when they’re closed. Any o’ you e’er seen one that hires fellas tae chase folks awa’?”

More murmurs rippled through the crowd, but nobody gave Cynric an answer.

“I thought nae,” Cynric said. He walked over to the man, kicked the knife away, and squatted beside him, a confident air about him, and a look that made it clear that he knew he’d won. “So, ye still thinkin’ o’ stickin’ tae yer story, or are ye ready tae tell ta’ truth?”

The man’s eyes nervously flicked over to Sjan-dehk, then returned to Cynric.

“I mean, we can aw’ways break a few fingers tae get started, if ye prefer. It’d match ye nose pret’y nicely, if ye dae’n mind me sayin’. Personally though, I’d jus’ talk an’ save e’erybody ta’ trouble…” He trailed off and made a show of slowly reaching for the man’s hand. “But if a bit ‘o pain’s what’ll make ye talk, then I’m nae gae’n let that stop wee ol’ me, aye I’m nae.”

“Okay, I’ll talk!” The man almost shrieked as he pulled his hand back.

Cynric chuckled and stood back up. “That’s a good lad,” he said before beckoning Sjan-dehk over. “Looks like ye man’s ready tae sing.”

“Thank you,” Sjan-dehk replied. Then, he turned to the man. “Explain everything. Now.”

“I–I really don’t know much, and that’s the truth,” the man said. His eyes widened when he saw Cynric sigh and crack his knuckles. “Wait, wait! That doesn’t mean I don’t know anythin’! The boys and I were hired by another gang to stand guard out here!”

“Another gang?” Sjan-dehk’s eyes narrowed. “How many are there? Do they have magic?”

“I don’t know, I didn’t count,” the man replied. “Maybe twelve? Fourteen? But they’ve got a witch, that’s for fuckin’ sure. I never liked that bitch, honest.”

“The one you call…Witch.” The word left a poor taste in Sjan-dehk’s mouth. It’d been a long time since any Viserjantan arcanist had been labelled with such an insulting term. “You know what she can do? You know what she is doing right now?”

The man shook his head. “T-They never told me the whole plan, so no, I don’t,” the man said. Displeasure flashed across Sjan-dehk’s face, and he quickly added, “B-But they did tell me that she’ll keep people from lookin’ in and lookin’ out. Cut the tavern off from the world, that’s what they said! T-That’s why they needed the boys and I to keep people away. Otherwise it might break the illusion, that’s what I was told!”

“And they do this…Why?” Sjan-dehk asked.

“They’re…” The man trailed off and averted his gaze. “They’re robbing the place.”

Cynric gave a short laugh. “Feck me, usin’ magic fer a robbery? That’s a wee bit much, aye? An’ what’s ta’ cut they promised ye and ye lads fer ye troubles?”

“They said…Twenty percent, I think? Split among the four of us.”

Cynric guffawed. “Twenty? Ye’d be lucky tae see five, pal.” The man stared at him, confused. With a shake of his head, Cynric sighed and went on. “Think about it fer a moment, pal. Twenty fer standin’ aroun’ dae’n feck aw’? That’s a feckin’ lie if I e’er saw one. An’ ye said it yersel’, ye lot were ‘ired, ye’re nae wi’ ‘em frae ta’ beginnin’. Tae those inside dae’n ta’ robbin’, ye’re jus’ feckin’ tools. If ye think they’d gee’s tools a whole twenty percent cut, then ye’re a feckin’ idiot.”

The thug opened his mouth to protest, but Cynric cut him off. “If ye’re nae tools, then ye’d nae be out here gettin’ feckin’ thrashed, aye? Ye’d be in there wi’ ‘em, dae’n the actual robbin’ and hirin’ other idiots tae be punchin’ bags fer my pal an’ ‘is people.”

“It’s good money…”

“Money ye’re ne’er gae’n see, pal,” Cynric said. “Look, let me spell it out fer ye. Frae here on out, only one o’ two things’ll ‘appen. One, ta’ robbery goes ‘aff wi’out a hitch. Ye’ll gae tae meet yer bosses, an’ ye know what they’re gae’n dae? They’re gae’n tell ye that ye’re nae gettin’ yer twenty, ye’re gettin’ five. What’re ye an’ ye pals gaen’ dae about it? They’ve got a feckin’ witch an’ all ye’ve got is four lads sharin’ a knife. Ye’ll be turned intae feckin’ paste if ye try tae argue.”

“Two,” he went on. “Ta’ lot o’ ye get caught. Considerin’ ta’ crowd we’ve got ‘ere, ye really think ta’ ye pals are gae’n walk out o’ there wi’out anyone noticin’? Sooner or later, they’ll get caught, an’ ye’ll be caught wi’ ‘em, I promise ye. Dae’n feckin’ forget, ye’re nae jus’ scrappin’ or robbin’, pal. Ye’re workin’ wi’ a witch, an’ we aw’ know what ‘appens tae those who work wi’ witches, aye?”

The man gulped. “T-They…”

“Burn wi’ ta’ witches, aye,” Cynric finished for him. “Or they get ta’ drop. Either way, ye’ll nae ‘ave much o’ a life left.”

Colour drained from the thug’s face. The gathered crowd’s unease was palpable.

“I’ll gee’s ye a chance now,” Cynric said. “Take ye pals an’ feck off.”

He turned around and looked at Sjan-dehk. “Ye’re fine wi’ that, Cap’n?”

Sjan-dehk nodded. As unpleasant as he found these thugs, and as much as he wanted to hand them over to the authorities, they weren’t his main concern anymore. The rogue arcanist inside was. The faster these thugs made themselves scarce, the better. “Yes, that is fine. They can go.”

The man gulped, and for a while, the only parts of him that moved were his eyes as they flickered between Cynric and Sjan-dehk, as if he expected this to be a trick. Only when Sjan-dehk tilted his pistol up, pointing its muzzle away from him, did he scramble to his feet. His knife lay forgotten as he shouted for his fellows, his words hurried and—thanks to his ruined nose—garbled. The two held by Dahsahn’s men backed away from the rifles, slowly and carefully at first, then with quicker, hastier steps when they were sure that those blackened muzzles wouldn’t follow them.

With that, the three of them rushed over to their unconscious friend. After a bit of squabbling, they carried him together and retreated down the street. The crowd parted as the group shouldered their way through.

Sjan-dehk and Cynric watched them until they disappeared from view. “So, uh,” the latter started, stopping to clear his throat. “Ye’ve, ah, ye’ve got fellas who can dae magic?”

That got Sjan-dehk’s attention right away, and he snapped his head around to look at him. Unease settled in his stomach, and he tightened his grip on his pistol.

“I saw ye lad send a rock intae a man’s ‘ead,” Cynric continued, nodding first toward Yasawen, then to the rock on the ground, still dark with blood. “I’ve seen plenty o’ weird shite in my time, but a feckin’ rock takin’ fligh’ an’ feckin’ a man up? That’s new tae me, aye.”

A thousand thoughts flooded Sjan-dehk’s mind at once. His jaw tightened. Cynric had been friendly to him and his crew so far, but he was still a Caesonian. Did he share his people’s opinion on magic? Or perhaps this was his way of warning that Yasawen had been seen, and not just by him? Was Yasawen—and other arcanists, for that matter—now in danger? There were too many questions, too many uncertainties floating in Sjan-dehk’s mind, and far, far too many things he didn’t know.

But he could find one thing out now, at least. “Yes,” he said, steel in his voice. “Is that a problem?”

“Nae, nae,” Cynric replied quickly, his hands raised in front of him. “‘Tis ta’ opposite, actually, aye. Cannae say I’m fond o’ witch-hunts mysel’, an’ ‘tis aw’ways grand tae meet someone o’ ta’ same mind.”

Sjan-dehk relaxed slightly. “Is that so?”

Cynric nodded. “Aye. Nae aw’ o’ us like ta’ crown’s big ideas, y’know?”

That would have to be assurance enough—for now. Sjan-dehk supposed that had Cynric meant any harm, he could’ve simply kept quiet about Yasawen and waited until a later time to report the boy’s actions to the city guard. That he’d taken the trouble to sound a warning had to count for something. Sjan-dehk returned his pistol to his holster. “Later,” he said. “We will talk more later.”

“Aye, we should,” Cynric replied. He turned to the tavern, his hands resting on his hips. “We’ve got one big fecker o’ a mess tae deal wi’ first, aye? Ye’ve a plan, Cap’n?”

That was a very good question. Sjan-dehk wished he had a good answer.

The sensible thing to do—the smart thing to do—would be to simply turn around and walk away. He’d only intervened because Inshahri had been in trouble, after all. Now that the thugs had been dealt with and she was safe, he hadn’t any reason to involve himself any further. Caesonian criminals preying on Caesonians in their own taverns was unfortunate—sad, almost—but it was something for Caesonian authorities to deal with. Not him. Not any Viserjantan.

“Wouldst thou abandon them to the mercy of the wicked?”

That whispering voice slipped between Sjan-dehk’s thoughts again, its question soft and gentle, yet edged with admonishment. Its words stung, but try as he might, he couldn’t deny its truth. His gaze turned toward the tavern, at its windows that—as he only now realised—were far too dark. Whatever magic Inshahri had sensed had to be powerful, and had to be extracting a terrible price from those trapped inside. Knowing all this, how could he ignore their plight? To do so would be wrong. Immoral, even.

The Way of the Open Sea

Turn none away, for the First of the Jafins accepted all;

Be fluid in style, for the sea is formless;

Be unrelenting in force, for the sea is merciless;

The open sea is home to all;

The Mother knows her own children, even if they know not her;

And so in her name,

Render aid to the helpless, for one day you shall also be helpless;

This is the Way of the Open Sea

🗡 Roses and Daggers 🎕

A while ago...

...Feat. Cynwaer Cynric

Time: Evening
Location: Tavern Exterior
Interactions:
Mentions:
Appearance: Sjan-dehk
Attire: Sjan-dehk
Equipment:

Hider

Sjan-dehk:
Lamellar Cuirass and Tassets
Conical, woven hat
Two single-edged swords
Four pistols (Two on hip, two on lower back)
Breech-loading Rifle

They hadn’t walked far from the firing range when the sound of raised voices reached Sjan-dehk’s ears.

He paid it little heed at first. After all, arguments were to cities as creaks were to ships—nothing more than ambient noise. Harmless and easily ignored until, of course, they stopped being so. But as they continued down the bustling street—weaving through the evening crowd and passing well-stocking shops, makeshift stalls under awnings, and lively cafes—one of the voices started to sound familiar. A little too familiar.

The louder, gruffer voice was undoubtedly that of a Caesonian man. Traces of a brogue not unlike Cynric’s coloured his speech, though nowhere near as prominently. Not that it mattered; frayed nerves, pure anger, and sheer volume turned most of his words into a muddled roar. Sjan-dehk wasn’t particularly interested in what he had to say, anyway. It was the other voice, the one the man was trying to yell into submission, that had drawn his notice.

Higher-pitched, insistent yet light, and clearly belonging to a young girl, that other voice carried the tell-tale signs of a Viserjantan trying to speak Caesonian. Namely, it sounded like Sjan-dehk—with awkward starts, misused words, sudden stops, and mispronunciations—whenever he tried his hand at the language, albeit with markedly less fluency. He’d heard that exact same sing-song cadence enough times on Sada Kurau’s decks that he’d recognise it anywhere, regardless of language. It could only belong to one person. Still, he hoped against hope that his suspicions were wrong.

Turning the next corner, however, quickly proved just how not wrong they were. If anything, he hadn’t been suspicious enough.

Just a little further up ahead, and clustered in front of the closed doors and dark windows of a tavern, were four youths, all of them distinctly Viserjantan—their teak-toned complexions, their night-dark hair, and their styles of clothing were dead giveaways. Two of them—two girls—were strangers to Sjan-dehk; they had to be from Sudah’s crew, he thought. The others, however, he knew. There was Yasawen, with his hair pulled into a tail high atop his head, wearing his usual flowing, pale-grey, and impractical robes. The boy seemed to be trying to defuse the situation, to no avail.

And standing right beside him was the person causing the situation in the first place, and also the owner of the voice that’d caught Sjan-dehk’s attention—Inshahri. Her hair, gathered into two long tails, swished and swayed as she confronted the four Caesonian men blocking the tavern’s entrance. Though she was easily half the size of any of them, she still matched them shout for shout, and even seemed to be wearing them down with her relentless energy.

“Huh,” was all Cynric said at first. He tilted his chin towards the scene. “Those yer people, Cap’n?”

Sjan-dehk clenched his jaw. It seemed rest would have to wait. “Yes,” he replied. “They are. Some.”

He looked to his left, at Iyen. The Sudhrayarn seemed more amused than anything else, and met his gaze with a little grin. Her eyes turned to the scene, then back to him, and she shrugged. Sjan-dehk merely kept his half-tired, half-vexed expression. “You’re coming with me,” he said. “I’ll deal with Yasa and Shahri, but I need someone from Sudah to handle the other two.”

“Me?” Iyen asked with mock surprise, pressing a hand to her chest. “Oh my, Captain, I think you’ve got me mistaken for someone with actual rank and authority. I’m just one of Lady Adiyan’s personal guards.”

“And that alone gives you more authority than I’ll ever have over anyone from Sudah,” Sjan-dehk retorted, his tone making it clear that he wasn’t in the mood for an argument. Iyen chuckled quietly, but nodded and said nothing more. He took one step forward, then abruptly stopped when he remembered that he still had ten or so fully-armed men from Sada Kurau’s Seaborne company following him. Frustrated as he was with the two youths, he didn’t want to give them any more of a scare than was absolutely necessary.

Well, he didn’t want to scare Yasawen, at least. He doubted Inshahri would care.

He glanced over his shoulder. “Sergeant Dahsahn,” he called out. “Keep the men here.”

Dahsahn—a man whose face managed to look youthful, grizzled, fresh, and worn all at once—gave a nod in response. “You got it, Captain,” he said and offered a brief salute, his right fist over his chest.

Sjan-dehk turned to Cynric. “Please wait. I must handle this. Apologies.”

“Ah, nae worries, Cap’n,” Cynric replied. “We all ‘ave our own troublesome fellas, aye we dae. Dae’n worry about me. Ye can take yer time. I know that’s what I’d wan’tae dae.”

Only then did Sjan-dehk make his way towards the tavern, Iyen keeping pace beside him. As the two drew closer, he noticed the small crowd that’d gathered—curious onlookers standing in a loose semicircle, each peeking over one another’s shoulders whilst keeping their distance. Ignoring the guarded looks and muted whispers directed at them, Sjan-dehk pushed his way through the small audience. His ears caught parts of the altercation, and not long after that, he could see it for himself.

“Once again, you daft bitch, we’re fuckin’ closed! Closed! Fuck off!” It was clear from the Caesonian man’s voice that this wasn’t the first time he’d said such a thing. He was a rather large man, thickly-built, and with an imposing face dominated by a heavy brow.

“No, no, no, you lie!” Inshahri’s response was quick, almost as if she’d been through this exchange several times and knew on instinct just what to say. She shook her head, her hair flying about wildly. “You lie! I can feel magic. Magic! Inside! So not closed!”

Behind her, Yasawen stood ill-at-ease, nervousness painted all over him, from his face, to the way he kept shifting his weight from foot to foot. “Inshahri, stop,” he pleaded. “Just let it go. There’s people watching us and we’re not even supposed to be ashore! The Captain’s going to hear about this and then we’re going to get into a lot of trouble!”

That was when Sjan-dehk cleared his throat. “So you do know you’re in the wrong,” he said drily. “That’s a good start, but it also makes me wonder what made you choose to go against my orders to begin with.”

Yasawen yelped, a short, sharp cry that mixed fear and surprise in equal measure. Beyond that, however, he gave no response—he just stood frozen, unable to even turn and look at Sjan-dehk. Instead, it was one of the girls from Sudah who spoke up. Redness tinted her cheeks, and her round eyes darted left, then up, then right, then down—at everything but him. She ran her fingers along the looped braids on either side of her head as she spoke.

“O-Oh, Captain! I-I mean, sir—No, I mean, my lord—”

“How many more ranks are you going to give me?” Sjan-dehk interrupted, his tone perhaps a little sharper than he’d intended. The girl recoiled visibly. He sighed. “Captain or Sjan-dehk will do. Who’re you?”

The girl nodded. “O-Okay, Captain Sjan-dehk,” she said. “My, um, my name is—”

She was interrupted once more, this time by Iyen. The Sudhrayarn’s wide grin made her look as if she was a cat toying with its prey. “You’re Hasehnya, aren’t you? Yasawen’s senior.” A look of surprise spread over the girl’s face, but then she nodded, her feet trying to rub holes into the ground. Iyen’s gaze didn’t linger on her, and she turned to the other girl from Sudah.

“And you must be Tehwasang,” she concluded.

As with Hasehnya, surprise coloured Tehwasang’s features—clearly, neither of them had expected Iyen to recognise them—but she recovered much faster than her friend. “That’s me,” she said, her voice brimming with exuberance, almost as if she was proud to be caught. Black ink lined her upturned eyes, flowing from the corners like little wings. Unlike Hasehnya, she allowed her long hair to flow freely. “But you can just call me Tehwa, Captain Sjan-dehk, and…” She turned to Iyen, head cocked slightly. “...Guard Iyen?”

Iyen ignored her, folding her arms and looking sideways at Sjan-dehk. “Arcanists, both of them.”

Four arcanists. Ashore. Making a scene in front of a tavern for all of Caesonia to see. Sjan-dehk wanted to scream, but he settled for rubbing the bridge of his nose and breathing in deeply. This evening was turning out to be quite a mess. And worse than that, a mess he now had to clean up.

He turned his steely gaze on Yasawen, then Inshahri. “So,” he began, addressing the boy. “An explanation would be nice.”

At last, Yasawen looked at him. Or at least, he tried to—his nervous eyes wandered everywhere before he decided to just stare at the dirt between his feet. “It…It was Shahri’s idea,” he mumbled. Sjan-dehk huffed, and he carried on, his voice jumping a few pitches higher. “S–Sorry, Captain! S–Shahri just wanted a night ashore before…Before the new rule went into force. I–I tried to stop her, I really did! But she got away, and so I–I followed her to make sure she didn’t get herself into trouble…” He glanced at Inshahri, who seemed far too engrossed with her argument to pay Sjan-dehk any heed. “Not too much trouble, I–I mean.”

Sjan-dehk shifted his attention to Hasehnya and Tehwasang. “And the two of you? Same reason?”

“What?” Hasehnya looked genuinely shocked, her voice suddenly loud. The redness in her face deepened as she continued. “I–We–I mean, Tehwa and I didn’t know anything about that! W-We had permission from Captain Kaizahn to stay ashore until sunset! A-And we were going to return, really! But we ran into Shahri at the pier and she said she had your permission to stay out a-and said we could join her, so…So we did.”

Tehwasang covered her mouth with a hand and giggled. “And you actually believed that?”

It took no small amount of willpower for Sjan-dehk to resist the urge to beckon Dahsahn and his men over, and have them haul these wayward arcanists back to their ships.

For almost every waking hour of the past three days, he’d had to endure endless meetings and mountains of paperwork. Ploughing through them had been an agonising affair, but he’d kept the bulk of his grumbles to himself. After all, there’d been a very good reason for his efforts. Although his report on the banquet had been brief, it’d still caused a stir within Viserjantan leadership. News of an active witch-hunt—one ruthless enough to persecute even the Caesonian Queen—demanded action.

And—his personal misgivings aside—Sjan-dehk had to give credit to everyone else who’d been part of the discussions for taking swift action. They’d come to a majority consensus during their very first meeting, on the very first day—all arcanists were to be confined to ships until a better solution could be found. Then, in true Commonwealth fashion, the remaining two days had been dedicated to drafting, reviewing, critiquing, and inevitably re-drafting the regulations to ensure that every possible loophole had been closed.

Unfortunately, none of that accounted for someone like Inshahri. Sjan-dehk and the rest of the Viserjantan leaders could’ve spent a full month refining and revising the regulations, and Inshahri would’ve still ignored them as easily as she breathed.

But irritated as Sjan-dehk was with her, he couldn’t bring himself to feel properly angry. Being confined to a ship was considered a punishment by sailors—Jafin ones included. And while being trapped aboard a ship like Sudah, which had been built with comfort in mind, might be bearable, being limited to the four decks of a frigate like Sada Kurau must’ve been like torture for youths like Inshahri and Yasawen. Neither had even served aboard a warship before, as far as Sjan-dehk knew.

And so, when he finally called out to Inshahri, his voice didn’t have as much of a bite as he’d planned, and instead carried more of an older brother’s sternness. “Inshahri.”

Rather than her, it was the Caesonian man with whom she was arguing who answered him. A pair of pale, bluish-green eyes glared at him from over Inshahri’s shoulder. “Oi, this bitch belong to you? Get her out of here before I decide to stop playin’ nice.”

Sjan-dehk bristled. “You will not speak of her that way,” he said, jaw set and eyes narrowed. “And I am not speaking to you. You will wait.”

Inshahri spun around, relief in her smile and hope in her eyes. “Captain!” The joy in her voice almost made Sjan-dehk feel bad about having to discipline her later. She stepped closer and looked up at him. “Please, you have to help me! There’s bad magic in there! Really, really bad magic!” She jabbed a finger toward the tavern, then glared at the Caesonians standing in front of the door. “I can hear it! It’s terrible, terrible music and we have to do something! Please, explain it to them!”

Sjan-dehk met her gaze with one brow raised. “Inshahri, you’re not even supposed to be here,” he started, voice dry and words measured. “What makes you think I’m going to help you?”

Genuine distress came over Inshahri’s face, and she tugged at his sleeve. “Please, Captain! I-I, um I know I did wrong, but please just help me? I promise I won’t do anything like this again! And I’ll accept whatever punishment you want to give!”

The right thing to do, Sjan-dehk knew, was to ignore her pleas, apologise to the Caesonians, and drag her back to Sada Kurau—by force, if need be. But there was something about her insistence, about the hint of desperation running under it, that gave him pause. Inshahri had never been the type to confront obstacles like this, and though she’d asked him for things and favours before, she’d never begged for them. Perhaps there really was something worth looking into here.

“Fine,” he said. Inshahri let out a little cheer. “But only this once, alright?”

Sjan-dehk shifted his attention to the Caesonian man, his face hardening into the visage of a battle-tested captain. “She says there is something wrong here—”

“And I’m sayin’ she’s a fuckin’ idiot.” The man didn’t let him finish. “Tavern’s closed. That’s it. Fuck off.”

“Do not interrupt me,” Sjan-dehk said. He folded his arms. “If it is closed, then just let her see. Maybe open the door for a while. Let her look through a window. Then she will know it is closed, and then it will be easy for me to take her away. That is simple, yes?”

“No fuckin’ chance.” The man’s reply came without hesitation. “Get her out of my sight now, or things’ll get real messy real fuckin’ quick.”

“Why no?” Sjan-dehk asked. “You have something to hide?”

Beside him, Inshahri nodded vigorously. “Yes, yes! Hiding! They are hiding some…Something.”

“Shut your fuckin’ gobs, both of you,” the man snapped. He shot Inshahri a dirty look. “Especially you, you mad bitch. You want to accuse us of witchcraft? Witch-fuckin’-craft? Then either get some fuckin’ proof get the fuck out of here.”

“Okay!” Inshahri said. “I get proof!”

Before Sjan-dehk could stop her, she darted forward. The man shouted, a sound halfway between a growl and a roar. His hand reached for a wooden handle jutting out from his belt. It could’ve been part of a knife; it could’ve been part of a truncheon—it wouldn’t have mattered to Sjan-dehk either way. He only knew that he had to act. “Yasa!” he shouted for the boy even as he grabbed Inshahri’s shoulder and pulled her back, pushing her towards Sada Kurau’s other arcanist. “Take her!”

Yasawen yelled something in response, but his words were lost amidst the panicked clamour of the crowd, the cold hiss of steel against leather, and the clatter of approaching footsteps. Sjan-dehk paid little heed to all those sounds, and drove his fist into the man’s face. It struck his nose with a wet, sickening crunch. The man staggered back several steps, a pained scream bursting from his lips. Sjan-dehk gave him no time to recover and closed the distance with practiced ease. Fabric rustled as he landed an open-palmed strike to the man’s jaw, followed by an elbow to his temple.

“Fuck you—” The man managed to growl despite the blood pouring from his ruined nose. Sjan-dehk didn’t reply, his lips twitching into the ghost of a smirk as he planted a foot on the man’s chest with enough force to send him sprawling. The man hit the cobblestones hard, the air rushing from his lungs in a wheeze.

Even so, he retained enough of his senses to draw his weapon—a knife with a wicked, serrated blade. His tenacity was impressive, Sjan-dehk had to admit, but not his speed. Before the blade’s point could clear its sheath, Sjan-dehk had already pulled his pistol out and levelled its muzzle at the man’s head.

“Do not try,” he said flatly.

Neo Genesis: Chronicles of Eberron

[I POSTED IN THE WRONG PLACE]

🗡 Roses and Daggers 🎕

A few hours ago...

...Feat. Cynwaer Cynric

Time: Evening
Location: Shooting Range
Interactions:
Mentions:
Appearance: Sjan-dehk
Attire: Sjan-dehk
Equipment:

Hider

Sjan-dehk:
Lamellar Cuirass and Tassets
Conical, woven hat
Two single-edged swords
Four pistols (Two on hip, two on lower back)
Breech-loading Rifle

The lilt of a Caesonian fiddle drifted across the firing range, its swaying, merry tune dancing over a rhythm set by a Viserjantan bamboo flute’s calm and steady breaths. Hailing from lands that were, quite literally, a vast ocean apart, the two instruments made for an unconventional—strange, even—pair, but by no means a poor one, as far as Sjan-dehk was concerned. He thought their interwoven voices and tones to be rather pleasing, in fact; perfect for a late afternoon spent resting beneath the shade of a tree.

A contented sigh left his lips, and he shifted slightly to find a more comfortable way to rest his neck against the snaking root he was trying to use as a pillow. He found none, and after giving up and resigning himself to live with this mild discomfort, he adjusted his hat—placing it more squarely over his face—and gave the music his fullest attention.

It surprised him, really, just how well fiddle and flute complemented each other. The former flew freely, with the wildness of a recently uncaged bird, as it flitted about this way and that. And yet, it never wandered too far from the flute’s rhythm, always returning to it whenever its liveliness teetered on the edge of tipping into chaos. By contrast, the latter flowed with the tranquility of an undisturbed, unhurried river, its few flourishes never quite matching its partner’s energy. Not once did it fall into monotony, however—the fiddle was more than willing to pull the flute along, coaxing it into brighter, more spirited refrains and passages.

Their duet was by no means perfect—Sjan-dehk counted at least a half-dozen starts and stops in the past few minutes alone—but it still mingled well with the surrounding sounds. It twirled with the soft murmurs of a passing breeze and answered the rising chirr of stirring crickets; eased the quiet rustle of shaking leaves and masked the faint whispers of conversation, and–

Dull thumps. Sharp cracks. The strident reports of muskets and rifles rang out in a scattered chorus, easily cutting through every other sound at the firing range.

And yes, even the din of gunfire.

Sjan-dehk neither blinked nor flinched; he hadn’t when the earlier volleys rang out, either. Such things had long since stopped startling him. To his ears, these discordant calls of firelocks may as well be the beats of drums—albeit erratic ones—accompanying the music.

He inhaled deeply, his nose filling with the fresh, earthy scents of damp soil and sun-kissed grass—as well as stale sweat, courtesy of his hat—and exhaled in a long breath that tapered into another sigh, this time a wistful one. Everything felt so familiar, and yet at the same time, not. In style, all was new. The melody and one-half of the duet was unmistakably Caesonian. The insects and their noises, also Caesonian. Even the air itself carried a markedly foreign taste that Sjan-dehk couldn’t quite describe.

And yet, in substance…

Another wistful sigh, another deep breath.

In substance, it was all too familiar. His mind was cast back to…Well, not good times—only the mad would think of war as a good time—but bright moments during a dark period. Moments when he, then naught but a new and inexperienced captain, could rest in the company of friends between battles. He could picture it all vividly. Tehn-sai drilling his crew at a makeshift range, their chatter punctuated by gunshots; Asahn-jehn playing a tune on his battered flute, accompanied not by a fiddler, but by Sajehmai strumming her beloved zither. And in the midst of it all, their ever-diligent commodore, Nashra, caught between planning their next actions and writing her poems.

“Five set forth; only one return’d. ‘Tis been some while since thou thought of them, lost Jafin child.”

Annoyance, rather than disquiet, knitted Sjan-dehk’s brows together. It was that voice again—the ethereal, echoing whispers of a woman—the one that’d been disturbing his sleep for just under two weeks, and now his waking hours as well. Had he the mental fortitude, he might’ve responded to it. But three-and-a-quarter days of non-stop work—administrative work, mind—had left him too tired to even bother. It wasn’t as if the voice had ever engaged him in an actual conversation, anyway. Not even in his sleep.

But annoyed as he was, he had to admit that the voice had a point. He hadn’t thought much about his past comrades in not just weeks, but months. Between handling the Kokinshuun Incident and preparing for the Far West Expedition, he’d been kept busy after the War’s end, long before he came to Caesonia. And now that he was here, things had only gotten worse. Learning a new language, dealing with foreign dignitaries, and coming to terms with local ways offered plenty of distractions, and left little time for reminiscing.

Those four—those lost friends of his—would’ve understood, of course. They’d all been soldiers, and knew that duty always came first. Sjan-dehk could hear Nashra in his head, telling him to focus on his tasks, and Tehn-sai calling him an idiot for wasting time thinking about them. Even so, he felt a pang of guilt tug at his heart. He should do something for them soon. It was the very least he could do.

The quiet crunch of grass under approaching footsteps, along with a half-hummed, half-sung song, pulled him from his thoughts.

“...Hands tae ta mast; hol’ fast an’ hol’ together…”

Now that was a voice Sjan-dehk could put a name to. Such a thick accent was as distinct as it was difficult for him to understand, and could only belong to one man—Cynric, Recompense’s red-haired captain. With a hummed tune on his lips, he sauntered over and set himself down beside Sjan-dehk with a grunt.

“Ye awake, Cap’n?” he asked.

“No,” Sjan-dehk replied drily.

Cynric chuckled. “Well, ‘tis about time, aye. Ye’ve been out fer feckin’ hours, pal.”

Hours? That immediately caught Sjan-dehk’s attention. He pushed his hat off of his face, quickly regretting it when the sun’s glare, filtering through the tree’s canopy, stung his eyes. A gasp, half out of surprise and half out of pain, escaped him. He raised a hand to block the harsh light and blinked away the fuzzy shapes and stars floating across his vision.

“What is the time?” Sjan-dehk asked, the soreness in his eyes slowly fading.

“Just intae evenin’,” Cynric replied.

Only then did he finally notice the sunlight’s golden hues, the sky turning purple behind the leaves, and the wispy clouds streaked with pink and orange. He shot upright, his joints protesting with creaks and his back chiming in with a dull ache. The straps of his lamellar cuirass had left his shoulders sore, and the arm he’d wrapped his rifle’s sling around didn’t fare much better. He huffed and shook his head. A quick rest was all he’d wanted, and instead he’d ended up idling until the day’s colours changed and his body turned stiff.

“Long day, huh?” Cynric asked, casting a sideways glance and a grin at him. “Cannae say I’ve e’er seen a man nod off sae fast, aye I cannae.”

It was more of a long quarter of a day, and a very, very long preceding three days. “Yes,” Sjan-dehk replied simply. “Very long. Very tiring.”

Cynric nodded. “Ah, just some o’ those days, aye? Cannae say I’ve ‘ad it any different from ye. Fixin’ up ol’ Recompense’s been feckin’ draggin’ on, aye it has. Dae’n get me wrang, pal, all this privateerin’ business suits me just fine an’ like, but ‘avin’ tae patch ‘oles every time I pull intae ‘arbour’s a feckin’ hassle.”

Sjan-dehk stifled a yawn as he tried to rub the stiffness from his neck. “You need help? I can send some of my crew.” Though his words were aimed at Cynric, his attention stayed on the half-dozen men standing on the firing line—all from his ship, Sada Kurau. They’d only just discharged another volley, gunsmoke curling from their rifles’ muzzles and drifting above their heads. Sjan-dehk took a moment to examine their targets with discerning eyes before concluding that yes, they were all performing to expectations, both his and the Commonwealth Navy’s.

“Ah, cheers, Cap’n, but there’s nae need fer that,” Cynric replied quickly. “‘Tis nae me askin’ fer help, dae’n get me wrang. I’m just bein’ a whiny wee shite; that’s aw’ there is tae it.”

“Okay,” Sjan-dehk said with a curt nod. “So you need me for what?”

Cynric chuckled and shook his head. “Always straigh’ down tae business wi’ ye, aye?” Before he could go on any further, another scattering of gunshots snatched his attention. He turned toward the firing line, now occupied by several of his crew. Frustration flickered across his well-worn, yet still boyish features, and he clicked his tongue. “Oi!” His shout pulled several pairs of eyes to him. “Daley, what’d ta’ feckin’ sun dae tae ye, tae make ye wan’ tae feckin’ shoot it? Fix yer feckin’ aim ‘fore I get Svante tae fix it fer ye!”

He huffed, leaned back on his palms, and glanced at Sjan-dehk. “Yer offer tae send some o’ yer fellas o’er tae me still on ta’ table, Cap’n?” he asked, his tone not entirely serious, but not quite in jest, either. “‘Cause I might wan’ tae borrow a few now, tae whip my fellas intae shape. What’d ye e’en dae tae get yer lads tae ‘ave that sort o’ skill, anyway?”

“We fought in war,” Sjan-dehk replied bluntly.

“Ah, right.”

An awkward silence settled between them. For a moment, the two men simply watched Cynric’s crew take their turns on the firing line, and listened to the fiddle and flute’s meandering duet. It didn’t take long for the atmosphere to become too heavy for Sjan-dehk’s liking—he was already fidgeting by the fourth volley, and by the fifth, he was itching to just do something to change the mood. And so, he spoke up.

“Your people,” he began, clearing his throat. “They are better at shooting now, yes? Compared to when we started, I mean.”

Cynric gave a wry smirk. “Well, if yer comparin’ tae that absolute shiteshow, then yer right, though I reckon they’d ‘ave tae try real feckin’ hard tae find a way tae get worse.” He chuckled, then jerked a thumb over a shoulder, towards a corner of the range. “An’ my fellas ‘ave yers tae thank. Yer people gave heaps o’ help, aye they did.” Then, he paused, his quiet laughs trailing away and his smile disappearing. He snapped his fingers, as if he’d only just recalled something.

“Ah, feck me, I almost forgot,” he said. “Ye keen fer a drink, Cap’n? Some o’ my fellas and yers are thinkin’ o’ findin’ a tavern after this an’ ‘avin’ a few pints. Y’know, tae end ta’ day on a ‘appy note, an’ aw’. Thought I’d ask if ye wan’ tae come along wi’ us.”

Sjan-dehk’s first thought was to decline. He was tired—as his unintended, extended rest had proven—and the idea of making the night any longer than it needed to be wasn’t an appealing one. All he wanted was a quick return to Sada Kurau and an early reunion with his cot.

But then his gaze drifted to where Cynric’s thumb had earlier pointed.

There, a small group of people had gathered—some Cynric's, some his. They’d stacked their muskets and rifles in neat piles, and done the same with swords, helmets, and all manner of other equipment. Most sat on the grass, while a few lay sprawled on it, their eyes following passing clouds. Amongst them, Sjan-dehk noticed several familiar faces—Iyen, his closest friend, playing cards with a few others; and Yehn-tai, Sada Kurau’s best shot, breathing life into a well-used flute. The fiddler, one of Cynric’s men, wasn’t far from the latter, his bow gliding across his instrument’s strings with practiced grace.

A smile, small and wistful, pulled on Sjan-dehk’s lips. Memories of old friends surfaced once more, and his mind drifted to thoughts of Asahn-jehn and Sajehmai, of how they would’ve loved this music. He could see them joining Yehn-tai and the fiddler with their own instruments. Or rather, Sajehmai would join first—she’d always been the more outgoing between the two—and Asahn-jehn would’ve followed after her.

“‘Tis been some while since thou thought of them, lost Jafin child.”

The voice returned, speaking the same words, and in the same ethereal tone. But this time, it didn’t feel as annoying as before. Rather, it seemed almost gentle—a reminder, rather than a taunt. Sjan-dehk still didn’t reply to it, but neither did he dismiss it entirely. He couldn’t, not when it was right. Perhaps it was just trying to help him remember them in its own way. Perhaps it was telling him that now was as good a time as any to do something—anything—to do right by them.

“Okay, I will go,” Sjan-dehk said, looking at Cynric. “One drink. Maybe two.”

Or maybe even four.

Neo Genesis: Chronicles of Eberron

Location: Engine Control Room
Race: Dark Elf & Human
Class: Artificer & Rogue
Interactions: @Helo Ezekiel; @Princess Callandra
Mentions:
Equipment:

Hider

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:

Hider

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:

Hider

Scratch
NA
Val
Shallow cut on her right side, just below the ribs

It was a gradual process, and certainly not a simple one, but step-by-step; flipped switch-by-flipped switch; activated breaker-by-activated breaker; rotated dial-by-rotated dial, and pressed button-by-pressed button, calm returned to the Stormrider.

Or at least, as much calm as the vessel’s dire condition would allow.

Erratic vibrations, some strong enough to rattle loose even the most securely-fastened fixtures, still rippled through the engine control room’s floor, ceiling, and walls. The savaged airframe, torn and more likely than not only just holding itself together, still made itself known every so often—almost as if it were worried that it would be forgotten—with strident cacophonies of tortured metal and struggling machinery. Echoing dully from afar and ringing clearly from anear, such sounds, along with the airship’s irregular, jerky movements, were hardly a comforting experience for most aboard.

Scaerthrynne thought otherwise, however. As far as he was concerned, things were…

Well, they weren’t well, not by any stretch of the imagination, but they were definitely less-than-disastrous, and that was good enough for him, for now. The fire elemental had stabilised—the wild energy that’d filled the control room was gone, having since receded like an ebbing tide back through the hatch leading to the core chamber. With a bit of creative engineering, Vallena and he had even managed to reopen the arterial line powering the Stormrider’s aft. That likely gave the helm the additional control it needed to level out the airship, and pull it out of its uncontrollable dive.

And so, Scaerthrynne allowed himself one extended sigh of relief.

But only one.

The airship was, for the moment, safe, but it wasn’t saved. It couldn’t be saved—Scaerthrynne had known that from the very start. Buying time was the best he could manage, and he’d done just that. With only four engines operational, the Stormrider would be able to stay aloft for a while longer, but it wouldn’t be able to fly far. Certainly not to its intended destination. A quick check of the gauges told him that the engines were already close to their breaking points, just trying to keep the Stormrider controllable.

And it wasn’t as if there was that much control left. Scaerthrynne had hoped to return power to, at the very least, the aft flight control surfaces, but the power lines were too damaged to even manage that. A rudder, four ailerons, and two elevators—a mere fraction of the aft control surfaces—was as much as Vallena and he could revive without forcing the elemental into yet another frenzy.

But of course, those were small problems compared to the main issue: the hull itself.

As damaged as it was, Scaerthrynne couldn’t imagine it holding together for much longer. That it’d stayed more-or-less in one piece for as long as it had was already a miracle, and he’d never been one to rely too much on such things. The airship had to land immediately.

“Well done, Val,” he called out. “But that’s about as much as we can do with the breaker board. Go to your quarters and start packing in case we’ve to make a quick exit!”

“Okay, Scratch! Is my book–”

Scaerthrynne didn’t let her finish. “I’ve got it! Just hurry up! And Eyepatch, if Venn can walk, get her on her feet. If she can’t, you’ll have to carry her again. The two of you can head back up to the main deck first.”

Then, he hurried over to the intercom. “Engine control to bridge, engine control to bridge,” he shouted into the transceiver. “You have to land the airship as soon as possible. I say again, you have to land the airship as soon as possible! Either get us to the nearest safe harbour, or find a flat piece of land. The engines we have left aren’t going to last much longer, and the hull’s on its last legs as it is. Elemental core is stable for now, but we can’t power anymore flight control surfaces without risking another meltdown.”

🗡 Roses and Daggers 🎕

...Feat. Iyen

Time: Evening
Location: Banquet Hall
Interactions: Kalliope @Tae
Mentions: Killian @Oso; Alibeth @Princess
Appearance: Sjan-dehk
Attire: Sjan-dehk
Equipment:

Hider

Sjan-dehk:
Sword and pistol hanging down his right thigh

“You’re important to me too.”

“But not of you. Never of you.”

She did it so naturally, so effortlessly. It almost felt unfair.

With just those few, simple words, spoken in that silk-soft, flower-sweet, and yet steel-strong voice of hers, and in a tone as gentle as a breeze at dawn’s breaking, Kalliope had lifted the weight that’d been sitting on Sjan-dehk’s shoulders, as if it were naught but a mere clutch of feathers.

Well, most of it, at least. There were still one or two things whispering from the edges of his mind, but they weren’t much more than vague murmurs, and easily ignored. He couldn’t focus on them even if he wanted to, anyway. Not with how her slender fingers brushed so lightly against his wrist with their warm touch. Not when she had that look upon her face—that subtle smile, that expression that reflected both an inscrutable mystery, and yet also a raw openness that tantalised with a silent invitation. He saw her lips part, as if she had more to say.

Or perhaps it was time he said something?

What could he say, though?

Or rather, how could he say what he wanted to say? For deep in his heart, he already knew that he wished for nothing more than to share with her the confusing mess of emotions that’d been troubling him since the start of the banquet and, if he dared admit it, that’d been growing since the day he first met her. He wanted to tell her that he felt…Things for her. Things he neither knew, nor could name. Things that he wasn’t even sure if it was right for him to feel.

But they were things he wasn’t sure he could hide for much longer. He shouldn’t be hiding them in the first place, not from Kalliope. She had every right to know.

In short, he wanted to tell her everything, and come what may.

But not here. Those words, and whatever consequences they wrought, had to be kept between the two of them. They were to be said far from any prying ears or watchful eyes; far from any rumour-monger, or any would-be gossip.

And so, Sjan-dehk cleared his throat, and made to ask Kalliope whether they could meet some other time, at a more secluded place. But before he could get a word out, the banquet hall’s doors swung open with a low, grinding groan. He looked towards the source of the sound.

Immediately, his lips curled in a frown, his eyes narrowed, and whatever light-heartedness that’d filled him vanished, replaced by a mix of unease and displeasure.

A man walked in. Tall, sharp-eyed, and moving with the sort of languid, relaxed confidence that suggested some degree of skill in some form of combat art. But Sjan-dehk didn’t think him important—not enough for him to give the man more than a few, mere seconds of attention before shifting his gaze to the person who shambled in after him. The lady in a tattered dress, bound and gagged, bound by chains, and dragged into the hall as if she were nothing more than livestock to be put on display.

Sjan-dehk’s jaw tightened. What, by the Abyss, was going on here? What was this man playing at?

“What the fuck is this?” Iyen’s whispered words, a hiss laden with venom, echoed his thoughts.

“I don’t know,” Sjan-dehk replied darkly. “But I don’t fucking like it.”

“Shadowed Green help me, I’ve half-a-mind to teach these uncivilised cunts some manners.”

“You want to fight every guard in here, and out there?” Sjan-dehk asked sharply and shot Iyen a glare that was just as pointed. “We’re good, but not that good. Kills me to say it, but we can’t do anything but sit here with our thumbs up our arses, for now.”

Iyen scowled and folded her arms across her chest. “Would be worth a try,” she said. “Lady Adiyan’s going to want to know about this, I’m sure.”

Sjan-dehk nodded. “Let’s see what else we can find–”

He stopped abruptly when he felt Kalliope give his hand a squeeze. “Kali?” He asked, looking back at her, concern etched upon his features. She let go of him, her hand dropping into her lap, and although her face was impassive, and her expression had hardly changed, Sjan-dehk’s instincts told him that something was wrong. Something, or someone, had done something to Kalliope. He noticed her eyes fixed upon the man, upon the bound woman. Were they part of the danger Kalliope had been so worried about?

“Kali?” Sjan-dehk repeated, giving her shoulder a gentle squeeze.

“Stay close,” was all she said.

That didn’t make Sjan-dehk feel any better, or make him worry any less, but still he nodded. “I’ve no plans to be anywhere else, Kali,” he said. He squeezed her shoulder again, his hand never leaving her. It was as if he was trying to will a sense of calm into her through that physical link. “If anything happens, or if you’re going to do anything, I…I mean, we won’t leave you alone. We’ll be right behind you.”

“Please, someone start something,” Iyen grumbled.

“Quiet,” Sjan-dehk snapped, right as the Queen started to explain the sight before them. The man followed suit with his own words.

And Sjan-dehk had to be honest, he would be hard-pressed to think of greater load of nonsense he’d ever had the displeasure of hearing.

Even if the bound woman had indeed committed a crime, what was the point of putting her on display? An act of intimidation? Or perhaps reassurance? Neither was particularly good. If it was the former, then there was the question of just why the Crown saw a need to intimidate its own people, and even dignitaries from Caesonia’s neighbours. If it was the latter, then surely it suggested that law and order in the Kingdom was in a state so dismal that even its upper echelons of society needed reminders that lawbreakers were being made to face justice.

“Raging currents beneath, calm waters above; such is good governance,” Sjan-dehk recited in a low, quiet mutter. Then, realising that Kalliope might have heard him, he cleared his throat and quickly followed it up with an explanation. “Ah, sorry. That’s a quote from The Book of Dialogues. It’s an old Viserjantan text.”

The man’s words were just as laughable, but they were also a greater cause for concern.

For one, Sjan-dehk thought it ridiculous that he claimed that this wasn’t a spectacle. What else could it be, to drag a poor woman, bound and gagged, through a crowd of nobles, if not a spectacle? If not to prove a point, to make an example?

Then, there were his words about magic. About how he saw it as corruption, how he saw it as—in his own words—an ultimate threat to his kind. One could almost believe that he didn’t see those able to commune with the arcane as people. Such words weren’t unfamiliar to Sjan-dehk, albeit in his experience they were aimed not at magic as a whole, but at specific groups of peoples in the Commonwealth. Suffice to say, the ones who spread such vitriol were no friends of his. He'd put many of them in early graves, in fact, and they were probably one of the few groups he would have no qualms of fighting and killing.

“They hunt the arcane here, it seems,” he said in a low voice, glancing sideways at Kalliope, quietly asking for confirmation, and the look in his eyes telling her that he wished to be proven wrong. “Magic’s seen as a threat of some kind. This bastard talks as if it’s a disease to be wiped out.”

“Fuck him, then,” Iyen growled. “And all of his friends. We shouldn’t have anything to do with these fucking primitives. Let them drown in their own uncivilised filth for all I fucking care.”

“Iyen!” Sjan-dehk snapped.

Iyen looked across at Kalliope. “No offense,” she said half-heartedly.

Sjan-dehk shot her a look, then turned to Kalliope. “Iyen’s people have…Strong opinions about what your people call ‘magicae’,” he said. “A lot of us in the Commonwealth do. We don’t…Well, the arcane is not to be treated like a disease, and the people who can use them are, well, people like us. The idea of…Doing what that man says is just…Well, wrong, to put it simply.”

That was also putting it lightly.

Just by announcing his intent to eradicate the arcane, this man, this close-minded, short-sighted, and—as Iyen put it—primitive man, had made himself, and his ilk, an enemy-by-obligation of many, many peoples of the Commonwealth. Jafins such as Sjan-dehk, Sudhrayarns such as Iyen, and Sedarahans such as Yasawen, amongst them. And by extension, that made all of the Commonwealth an enemy to these self-proclaimed hunters of the arcane.

Sjan-dehk shook his head. Lady Adiyan certainly needed to hear of this. And things certainly just got a lot more complicated.

Neo Genesis: Chronicles of Eberron

Location: Cargo Hold
Race: Dark Elf & Human
Class: Artificer & Rogue
Interactions: @Helo Ezekiel; @Princess Callandra
Mentions:
Equipment:

Hider

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:

Hider

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:

Hider

Scratch
NA
Val
Shallow cut on her right side, just below the ribs

Focus.

He had to focus.

That was what Scaerthrynne silently told himself, over and over again, as he navigated a path back to the engine control room through the Stormrider’s labyrinthine warren of maintenance corridors and emergency access walkways. The airship itself seemed to be telling him the exact same thing as well, albeit in a much more audible manner with the tortured groans of its hull, the crackle of flames unseen, and the serpentine, almost ethereal, hiss of energy leaking from broken power lines.

But despite those foreboding sounds, and despite what he’d only just told moments ago told Vallena about concentrating on one problem at a time, Scaerthrynne couldn’t quite bring himself to completely ignore the mysterious shard embedded in his forearm. He’d pulled his sleeves down over it, but still he found himself glancing at that arm, at the exact spot where it’d decided to make its home, every so often.

Just what was that thing?

It’d clearly once been part of a larger whole, so what then, was that whole? How had it shattered? Why did it shatter, and by what means? It had to have been a magical object—Scaerthrynne could scarcely think of any other explanation for how the shards could just phase through the hull of an airship, with what seemed to be a mind of its own, to find him and Ezekiel.

And to find Vallena.

That was perhaps the most confusing thing about this entire affair. A curse, a boon, or some other magical form of nonsense finding him, that he could understand. After all, his four-and-a-half centuries of existence couldn’t be said to have been wholly virtuous. He could think of an extensive list of people, creatures, and other beings who’d want to imprecate him.

But Vallena? She wasn’t anything more than a twelve year-old girl. A clever one, an irrepressible one, and one that could sometimes be a little too mischievous, a little too curious for her own good, granted, but she wasn’t one who’d ever done anything to earn herself such an enemy. Scaerthrynne couldn’t even imagine her having a childish rivalry with anyone, let alone aggravating someone to the point where they’d take the time, effort, and resources to place a magical hex on her.

It was all very, very confusing. A refreshingly new puzzle and a welcome break from the daily monotony, to be sure, but Scaerthrynne would’ve preferred it to have not involved Vallena.

And she was of the same mind, more likely than not, as when he glanced over his shoulder, he caught her with her sleeve rolled up, an anxious look clouding her visage, and her fingers busy scratching and picking at where her shard had implanted itself into her arm.

“Stop that,” Scaerthrynne said curtly, stopping at the entrance to a narrow, dark corridor. The pungent tang of engine oil and grease was thick in the stale air beyond the threshold, and the only lights that illuminated the long passageway came from a handful of arcane lamps set into the walls. They burned a dull red from behind caged shades, bathing everything in dim, sinister glows. “Whatever these shards are, they’re stuck under our skin. You’re only going to make yourself bleed by doing that. And didn’t I tell you, and didn’t you agree to not think about them until we’re done saving this ship?”

“But you keep looking at yours,” Vallena countered, but she nevertheless stopped scratching herself. “Like, like when you hold onto something like this,” she said and braced her hand against a wall, leaning forward slightly, and striking an exaggerated pose of a person losing, and then regaining their balance, as the dark elf had a few times earlier, when the airship had lurched a little too stiffly and abruptly. “Or, or, or when you pull on your sleeves, or when you look down while walking, sometimes.”

She had him there. Despite all the years they’d spent together, her perceptiveness could still, on occasion, catch him by surprise. A faint smile flickered across his lips, so quickly that it looked as if the corners of his mouth had merely twitched.

“Just do as I say, Val. We’ll have all the time in the world to think about these shards later.” His voice came out gruff, and his tone sharp. His words, however, didn’t have much of a bite to them. That detail didn’t slip Vallena’s notice. She nodded with a quiet giggle as she waited by the corridor’s entrance, her anxiety from before, for the moment, forgotten.

Scaerthrynne turned his attention to Ezekiel and Callandra. “Engine control room’s on the other side of this deck. We’ll take a shortcut through this maintenance accessway. It–”

“Oh, I know!” Vallena interrupted without warning. “It cuts across the, the…The aft-ventral Auxiliary Power Generator room?” She glanced at Scaerthrynne. He responded with a simple nod, but that was enough to make her beam with pride. “It makes getting to the stairs that go down to the cargo hold really, really, really easy! And quick. I use it all the…All the…Time…”

A look of realisation came over her face, a flush washed over her cheeks, and her words trailed away into quiet, unintelligible mumbles when Vallena finally remembered that Callandra, the Stormrider’s Chief Deck Officer, was not only very much present, but also now very much conscious. “I, I d-don’t, I-I mean,” the girl stammered, then laughed nervously. “I mean, I-I’ve heard that it’s a quick way of getting to the cargo hold, but it, it’s not like I-I’ve ever used it for that! I’ve never used it at all, honest!”

Scaerthrynne shook his head and sighed. “Well, that answers one question, I suppose,” he remarked drily, and gave Vallena a pointed look. She pretended not to notice it. “But Val’s right,” he continued. “This is the fastest and most direct way to get to the engine control room. It’s pretty cramped in there, however, so…”

He pointed to Ezekiel. “You need to be careful with Venn, especially with her head. Last thing she needs is a skull fracture on top of everything that’s already wrong with her. But don’t be slow. Stormrider’s not going to wait for us. It doesn’t have that sort of time, I think.”

He pointed to Callandra. “And you…” He trailed off, chewed on his lip, then shrugged. “Well, you try to be as careful as you can from where you are, I guess. I suppose you can pull your head in a little more, if you can, so you don’t go crashing it into something or other.”

Then, just before he turned to enter the corridor, he shifted his gaze—clinical, impassive, and with a subtle hint of puzzlement, as if he were examining an experiment—back to Ezekiel’s face; specifically, back to his eponymous eyepatch. The image of a glowing crystal lodged into the empty socket covered by that strip of fabric was still fresh in Scaerthrynne’s mind, and while it hardly ranked amongst the worst things he’d seen done to that part of a head, it was certainly something new. Something unknown.

Was it significant that Ezekiel’s shard had decided to take the place of his eye? Did it make any difference where the shards implanted themselves? Did they choose where they went, or was it simply a question of blind chance?

The questions rushed into the dark elf’s head, and he promptly pushed them all aside. He didn’t have time for them, now. He had to focus.

“Eyepatch,” he called over his shoulder as he carefully stepped into the corridor. It took a few blinks for his eyes to adapt to the low light, and for his darkvision to take effect, but soon enough, he had a clear view of the path ahead of them. “Let us know if that shard in your eye socket starts feeling strange.”

He felt like an idiot for even saying those words. How exactly was an arcane object of unknown nature and origin supposed to even feel?

“If it starts to hurt, or if you feel any discomfort,” Scaerthrynne quickly added. He didn’t really know how he would even begin to treat it, but neither did he have any intention to. As things stood, those shards were a complete mystery. An enigma shrouded in shadows. Anything they did to a person, or made a person feel, could be a clue as to what they were. And if those things happened to someone that wasn’t Scaerthrynne or Vallena, all the better. “Even I felt uncomfortable when I saw it.”

A few steps passed in silence before Vallena piped up. “I think it looks cool,” she said, but then very swiftly added, “U-Unless it hurts, Eyepatch, then it’s not that cool anymore.”

Scaerthrynne couldn’t help but chuckle quietly.

Then, he shook his head. He had to focus.

The droning hum of machinery; the whispers of energies pulsing through circuits, and the creaking groans of twisted metal—all hidden from sight—reverberated through the musty air, seemingly coming from every direction, all at once. Shudders rippled through the floor, walls, and ceiling. Hanging cables swayed. Loose fittings rattled. It was as if the Stormrider was a gravely wounded beast, shivering from its death throes, its pained, gasping breaths weak and laboured.

A sound that was somewhere between a squeak and a gasp leapt from Vallena’s lips each time the airship shook, lurched, or tilted. She drew her hands close to her chest, her eyes nervously flitting here and there, as if trying to look at everything simultaneously. Unease and disquiet radiated from her, and they only grew stronger the further they ventured down the corridor.

“Be calm, Val,” Scaerthrynne whispered. “It’s just a short walk. Nothing you’ve never done before.”

No sooner had those words left his mouth than another shiver fluttered through the floor, this one stronger than the ones before it. A muffled screech, metallic and shrill, rang out from somewhere above, behind the ceiling. The already-dim lamps darkened further, flickering several times before finally steadying to a pale, scarlet glow.

Vallena yelped. She grabbed onto Scaerthrynne’s jacket, her grip tight and trembling with fright, and pulled herself closer until she was flush against his side. “No, no, no,” she whimpered. “This has never happened before! This has never happened before!”

“Be calm, Val,” Scaerthrynne repeated, placing a hand on her shoulder. “Be calm.”

She shook her head. “That, that didn’t sound good, Scratch! It didn’t!”

“It’s not as bad as it sounds,” Scaerthrynne replied and tried to, very gently, pull himself free. She didn’t let him. If anything, the more he pushed, the harder she held onto him. “Val, come on.” He tried his best to not sound too exasperated, despite his thinning patience. They couldn’t afford to waste anymore time. “I need you to calm down, Val. Our situation isn’t really that bad, all things considered. If it was, don’t you think I’d be panicking as well?”

“That’s a trick question! You never panic.”

“Fine. Worrying, then. Do I look worried to you?”

Vallena thought about it for a very brief moment, then said a quiet, “No.”

“We just have to get to our stations, do what we’re supposed to do, and we’ll be fine.” Scaerthrynne pulled away from her again. This time, she relented, albeit reluctantly. She still lingered close to him, and pinched a corner of his sleeve between her thumb and index finger. Fear, nervousness, and worry were all painted clear on her visage. With a sigh, Scaerthrynne reached out and patted her head. “Trust me, Val. We’re not in as much trouble as it seems. We’ll be fine.”

“How’re you so sure, Scratch?”

“Because I am,” he replied with a cheeky grin. That earned him a huff and a light slap on the forearm from her. He left things at that—he’d managed to, even if only for the moment, make her feel a little better, or at least distract her from her concerns. That was all that mattered. “So, should we keep going? Or would you prefer to keep questioning me, instead?”

“Stop it, Scratch,” Vallena said with a pout, but kept holding onto his sleeve as he set off at a brisk pace.

It didn’t take long after that for them to reach the end of the corridor. The Stormrider gave Vallena a couple or so more unpleasant surprises with its sudden movements, worrying noises, and flickering lights, but she managed to stay calm, even if only just. As soon as Scaerthrynne opened the door a crack, she squeezed herself past him, through the meagre gap, and with a loud gasp—as if she’d been holding her breath since entering the corridor—she tumbled out into the airship’s lower engineering deck.

Scaerthrynne sighed and shook his head. “If you’re going to rush, Val, then the least you can do is to let us know if it’s safe to follow you.”

“It’s safe!” She called back.

“Thank you,” Scaerthrynne replied, grunting as he pushed the door as far back as it could, until it locked in place. He’d already known that it was safe, of course; he would’ve tried to stop her from dashing off ahead on her own, otherwise. Had this part of the airship—close as it was to the elemental core—suffered even a fraction of the damage done to the cargo hold, the Stormrider and its occupants would be experiencing far, far worse than just a rough flight and some uncomfortable sounds.

He stepped over the threshold and looked both ways along the hallway. It was wider and better lit than the maintenance accessway, but that wasn’t saying much. The bare, brassy walls were still much too close for more than two people, walking shoulder-to-shoulder, to pass. And while the lights here shone with warmer, yellow glows, their glows were still soft and dull.

“This way.” He threw those words quickly over his shoulder at Ezekiel before hurrying over to another door just a few steps further up the hallway, in the opposite wall. As he turned the wheel to unlock it, and pulled it open, he said, “A few rules while you’re in my engine control room–”

Vallena groaned. “Aw, I already know, Scratch. You don’t–”

“It’s not for you this time, Val.”

“Oh! Oops.” The girl giggled sheepishly. “Sorry. I’m just really used to hearing ‘Val’ whenever you mention rules and stuff like that.”

Scaerthrynne paid her no heed. “One, don’t touch anything without my permission. If you’re not sure about anything, ask me. If I’m busy, ask Val. Two, in there, I’ve the final word. If I tell you to stop, you stop. If I tell you to do something, you do it. If I tell you to run, you run. That goes for you as well, Venn. The rest of this ship’s yours, but this part of it is mine. Just want to make sure that’s clear. Three, and most importantly, it’s cramped in there, so watch where you put yourself. I don’t want any buttons pressed, or levers pushed, or switches flipped by accident.”

Having said everything he needed to say, he passed through the door without another word.

The entry hall to the engine control room split into three paths. Open arches on his left and right, with thick curtains for doors, led to Val’s and his living quarters. Directly ahead laid the familiar, cluttered walkway he had as a workplace, with his table, the wall of dials and gauges, and the assortment of controls with which he could manipulate most of the Stormrider’s subsystems. A strange, ethereal energy, warm against flesh, yet cutting to the bone with a chill, wafted through the air. The ceiling light’s pale glow wavered in its wake, and papers rustled, as if caught by an updraft coming through the floor.

It didn’t take long for Scaerthrynne to identify the source of this energy—the heavy, reinforced hatch at the other end of the walkway, the one which led to the elemental core. He grimaced. The fire elemental wasn’t going to hold it together for much longer. He had to work fast.

He had to focus.

Time to get to work.

“Val,” he called out sharply. “Go to the breaker board, now, as we’ve practiced. Eyepatch, take Venn to my quarters–” he pointed to the curtain-veiled arch to his right “–and do what you can for her wounds. You can place her on my bunk, and use whatever you find. I’ve some medical supplies in there. They’re not hard to find, just rummage around. It’s already a mess, so don’t worry about making it a bigger one.”

Then, he pulled out an arcane battery from his pack, handing it to Callandra but looking at Ezekiel. “I don’t know if you can pull power from one of these, but if you can, use it. I don’t need you passing out as well. If you can’t though…” He shrugged. “Keep it anyway. It might come in handy, some time, and I’m already up to my eyeballs in arcane batteries as it is.”

Scaerthrynne went straight for his table. The Stormrider’s violent movements had done an excellent job of clearing it for him—almost everything he’d left on it was now on the floor—but he swept his hand across it, anyway, just to remove the last few odds-and-ends still loitering by its edges. Then, he reached for a long, cylindrical case, stashed in a basket lodged so tightly between the table and the wall that it may as well be bolted in place. The dark elf placed it against the right edge of the tabletop, turning it until his fingers found a thin slot cut along its entire length. Fishing out a leather tab, he pulled hard on it, and unravelled a large, canvas sheet from the case.

He squatted to pick up a few of the heavier items he’d only just swept onto the floor and used them to hold down the free corners of the sheet. Drawn upon it in stark, black ink, were two views of the Stormrider—its top, and its side. Geometric lines cut across the airship’s form, each denoting where an arcane line started and ended; where they split and where they converged, and where their safety valves were. Even with the size of the diagram, every letter and number had to be written in font so small that it could bring great pain to one’s eyes. Scaerthrynne, however, had pored over it so many times that he’d already gotten used to it.

Chewing on his lip, he turned and looked at the gauges behind him, particularly the ones that reflected the status of the engines. As he’d expected, the forward ones were all running fine, albeit at faster speeds and higher temperatures than they should. Given the circumstances, however, Scaerthrynne could ignore such relatively minor issues.

The rear engines, however, were a different story. He reached across and slapped his hand on the big, red button of the intercom box. “Engine control to bridge, engine control to bridge,” he said loudly. “Engines six and…No, engines five and six are dead. No temps, no revs, but showing excessive energy consumption. I suspect a severe leak in the arcane lines within their vicinity. Engines seven and eight are still operational, but damaged. They are at half efficiency. I will shut them down to equalise thrust. That should return some control to the helm. Engine control out.”

He flipped a few switches beside the gauges for engines seven and eight, waited a second that felt like an eternity, and held his finger down on two buttons under the switches, one after the other. Only when every gauge showed him that engines seven and eight were no longer running did he remove his finger.

“Scratch!” Vallena’s voice echoed from somewhere behind the wall of gauges. “All breaker switches are in the up position! No downs!”

“Good,” Scaerthrynne called back. He turned to the circuit diagram on the table, his eyes squinted, and his brow furrowed as he followed the lines leading connecting the core to engines five and six. “Val! From now on you will repeat everything I say before doing anything! Flip these breakers: one-one-eight, one-one-six, one-one-seven, one-one-nine, and one-two-two!”

“Flip breakers one-one-six to one-one-nine, and one-one-two! Got it, Scratch!”

While Vallena went about doing that, Scaerthrynne returned his attention to the gauges. Specifically, a row of four arranged vertically down one side of the wall. These showed how much power remained in each of the airship’s Auxiliary Power Generators. It was a misnomer, as far as Scaerthrynne was concerned—they didn’t generate power as much as they simply stored it, akin to a larger version of an arcane battery.

One Generator, according to its gauge, was completely empty, while the rest were at either half, or a touch below half capacity. Once again, he’d expected this. The supposedly-empty generator had been stationed directly above the cargo hold. The explosions, terrible as they’d been, must have destroyed enough power lines to sever it entirely from the Stormrider, which would in turn explain why the other three were draining so quickly—they had to provide emergency power to their own sectors, on top of the ones supposed to be covered by the fourth.

That was good. His plan might just work, after all.

Scaerthrynne hadn’t been lying when he’d said that their situation wasn’t as bad as it seemed. He couldn’t deny that the Stormrider had been wounded grievously, but the crux of its problems, however severe they were, was ultimately a straightforward one. The explosions were a thing of the past—that the airship could survive this long with such major structural damage meant that Scaerthrynne could, for the moment, think of its hull injuries as a non-fact.

That also meant that the main issue was, more likely than not, the elemental losing its mind in the core.

“I flipped them, Scratch! What next!”

“Flip breakers two-two-seven, two-two-eight, two-two-nine, two-three-zero, and two-four-eight!” That would isolate the cargo hold completely, and stop elemental energy from flowing into the damaged lines there.

“Flip breakers two-two-seven to two-three-zero, and two-four-eight! Got it!”

Scaerthrynne looked over the diagram again.

Based on what he knew of elementals, their energy was akin to a living being’s blood. Continuing from that analogy, that made the Stormrider’s arcane circuitry its elemental’s blood vessels. A rupture would thus be similar to a bleed, but that was where the differences began. For a creature of flesh and blood, given time, an open wound would scab, and eventually heal itself. An elemental, however, couldn’t do that. Since they could simply generate more energy—more of themselves—to plug gaps, any sort of bleed would in theory last until the elemental simply generated too much, and underwent a catastrophic implosion.

In this case, the Stormrider had enough holes in its circuits that its elemental was now trying to push itself into components that were either disconnected, or no longer existed. If it was lucky, it was pumping energy to broken parts. A waste, but at least those parts were still finite containers. Scaerthrynne was more than certain, however, that most of the leaks led to the open air. And to an elemental, there were no differences between open, empty space, and an arcane container of infinite capacity.

That was why the elemental was in such distress—it was trying to produce more energy than it could, and much faster than it should, in an attempt to fill something that could never be filled. If the leaks were filled, and the elemental fed enough energy to keep it stable, the bulk of the Stormrider’s issues should resolve themselves in due time.

Scaerthrynne turned to the controls and flipped a row of switches. These would deploy the excess-energy bleed valves. They wouldn’t be of any use for now, but once power started flowing back into the core, they would be needed to allow any excess a safe exit in order to prevent any sudden power surges, the inverse of their current problem.

“Okay Scratch, what’s next!”

“Wait one!” The dark elf called back and studied the diagram. “Breakers…Three-two-zero, three-two-three, three-two-four, and three-two…No, belay that, four-two-seven, four-two-eight, and four-two-nine!”

“That’s…Three-two-zero, three-two-three and four, and four-two-seven to four-two-nine?”

“Yes, correct.”

There was a pause, then Vallena said with uncertainty in her voice, “But…Wouldn’t that drain power to the generators? I thought we’re running out of power, Scratch.”

“It’s not a supply issue, it’s a distribution issue,” Scaerthrynne replied. “And with how many switches we’re pulling, we’ll need more than just bleed valves to deal with excess energy in the core.”

“Okay, Scratch! If you’re sure!”

“Of course I am,” he said. He bit on his lip, looked closely at the diagram, and then nodded, not to anyone, but himself. The entire aft section was probably riddled with so many holes that it would take Vallena more time than they had to hit every switch. There was only one solution left.

They had to shut the main arterial line linking the core to the rear half of the ship.

“Once you’re done,” he called out. “Flip breakers three, five, and seven!”

Neo Genesis: Chronicles of Eberron

Location: Cargo Hold
Race: Dark Elf & Human
Class: Artificer & Rogue
Interactions: @Helo Ezekiel; @Princess Callandra
Mentions:
Equipment:

Hider

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:

Hider

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:

Hider

Scratch
NA
Val
Shallow cut on her right side, just below the ribs

A satisfied smirk curled Scaerthrynne’s lips as he took a quick peek around the stacked crates he’d been using as cover and spotted Furnace’s smouldering corpse lying where they’d been shot. So broken was its form, so blackened its flesh, and so deformed its dark armour, that it was almost indistinguishable from the debris it laid amidst. Were it not for tattered strips of crimson fabric still clinging to it, it would’ve seemed as if Furnace had simply vanished into thin air.

“Good riddance,” the dark elf muttered beneath his breath.

He relaxed, but only barely. Slaying that damnable spellcaster was a victory, to be sure, it not one he could fully enjoy. And soon, his attention was taken by the cacophony of harsh, mechanical grumbling laced with piercing, metallic squeals. The noise told him that Vallena and Ezekiel had managed to open the door, and also reminded him that all this—the explosion, the escape from the griffon, the confrontation with Sparkler and Furnace—had merely been the prologue to his troubles.

He drew in a deep breath. One problem at a time. One step at a time.

“Eyepatch,” he called out and holstered his pistol. “You’ll go through first. Make sure the other side’s clear, and that there aren’t any more of these–” he gestured vaguely to the two bodies draped in red “–waiting to surprise us. Leave Venn, I’ll get her on my way out! And Val, follow him after he makes sure it’s safe. I’ll be right behind you.”

“What do you mean, Scratch?” Vallena shouted back, her voice worried. “What’re you going to do?”

“I’ll be right behind you,” he repeated. Then, to mollify her, he quickly added, “I won’t take long.”

Without waiting for her response, or another word, he jogged over to the turret. The thing was still chirping and whirring happily as it swept its muzzle left-to-right, right-to-left, eagerly searching for targets that didn’t exist anymore. Scaerthrynne knelt beside it and pressed a finger on its arcane battery. Once again, it lit up in a faint, pulsing blue, as did the web of circuits etched into its body. “You did good.” The dark elf’s words were tinted with fondness. “I’ll have to remember your design. I might bring you out some other time.”

A warble came from the turret, sounding almost like a cheer. The meter on the battery began to fill.

Scaerthrynne clicked his tongue. “Don’t get smug,” he chided in a tone not entirely dissimilar from the type he would’ve used to say the same words to Vallena. The turret squeaked and beep a few times, making a sound that could only be described as a childish, playful laugh. Its circuits flickered once before darkening, and its noises slowed and deepened until they all merged into a singular, constant, low hum.

Then, without warning, it simply fell apart into the debris Scaerthrynne had earlier infused to create it.

He snatched the arcane battery—now almost full—before it hit the ground, stashing it safely into one of his pouches. To let a perfectly good battery go to waste would’ve been a shame, especially during a situation such as this, where a burst of arcane power could very well mean the difference between life and death.

As he hurried towards the cargo hold’s exit, the airship shuddered several times, and light flashed beneath the floor plates—certainly a worrying sight when said plates were each a solid slab of steel roughly an inch thick. It was like the vessel itself was reminding him of the need for urgency. Scaerthrynne didn’t need any such reminders, however; the extensive damage done to this one compartment—and he couldn’t assume that this was the only damaged part of the ship—was more than enough to push him to do something, and to do it quickly. He couldn’t even imagine just how many elemental-arcane energy lines were ruptured, cut, or otherwise damaged.

A particularly strong shiver rippled through the floor. Scaerthrynne grimaced. An elemental could only take so much abuse before it went berserk, and if that happened…

He shook his head as he carefully scooped Callandra into his arms, and slipped through the ajar door, and into the relative safety of the corridor. One problem at a time. Thinking of such an extreme possibility now, when he’d yet to even examine the state of the airship’s subsystems, was pointless. Only after he reached the engine room, and had a chance to gain his bearings, would he be able to come to a proper decision as to whether or not panic was necessary.

“Easy,” he murmured, more to himself than to anyone else, as he set Callandra on the floor. He rested her back against a wall, setting her in a sitting position. “Don’t you dare die, now,” he said quietly and placed a hand on her shoulder for a moment. He patted it twice, then stood up. “Not after all the trouble we just took to get you out of there. You’d better live.”

“You’ll be alright, Venny,” Vallena said and held the woman’s hand. “We’ll make sure, right, Scratch?”

“We’ll surely try,” he replied. The crackling of fires he couldn’t see, and the various torn arcane wiring lining the ceiling and walls, all leaking wispy, colourful trails, didn’t inspire much confidence in him. Just fixing the airship would be enough of a challenge, it seemed, let alone trying to heal Callandra while he was at it. He tried to tell himself that it would be fine, that they had a healer here with them, and that he’d been in worse situations before. Even so, his grimace darkened, and pulled harder on his already dour features.

Vallena, however, wasn’t as glum. As soon as Scaerthrynne had pulled the door shut, and made it secure, the girl charged into him. “We’re alive!” she cheered, her words bouncing off the walls. Wrapping her arms tightly around his waist, she pulled herself in close, burying her face into his jacket. “We’re alive! We made it! We’re alive! We…” She repeated those words over and over again, until they became muffled gibberish spoken directly into his clothes.

“For now,” was what Scaerthrynne wanted to say, but the words wouldn’t leave his mind, not in the face of such relief and happiness. He exhaled slowly through his nose, and looked down at the girl with a smile on his face. Vallena deserved to celebrate their small victory, he supposed, even if he didn’t. She was still just a child, after all. She could be afforded these small comforts and joys.

But that didn’t mean Scaerthrynne didn’t have to be realistic.

“We still have work to do,” he said firmly, placing his hands on her shoulders and, with as much gentleness as he could muster, tried to peel her off of him. The more he pushed, however, the more she tightened her hold on him, and the closer she pulled herself to him. “Alright, Val, that’s enough.” More than a few shades of his growing impatience showed in his tone, but Vallena either didn’t notice, or if she did, she didn’t seem to care. “Come on, Val, we still have an airship to rescue. Let’s celebrate after we do that, hm?”

Vallena looked up at him, her cheeks flushed, and smile sheepish. “Sorry, Scratch,” she said, but didn’t let go. “I-I was just really scared, and I didn’t know if–” She stopped abruptly, her eyes turning curious as they focused on something on the ceiling. “Hey, what’s that?”

“What’s what?” Scaerthrynne asked. He looked up.

And saw a flash of energy surge towards him.

He didn’t even notice what colour it was; it was all he could to bring up an arm to shield his face. The flash struck his sleeve, and pierced it. With his eyes squeezed shut, he never saw it, but he surely felt it—there was a strange sensation radiating from where it impacted his skin. There wasn’t any pain, but he certainly felt…Something. Something hot, yet cold at the same time. Something energising, yet sucking the breath from him, and sapping the strength from his muscles. It was something alien, something that didn’t belong, something that his body instinctively knew it wanted to be rid of.

And yet, it was something that felt…Right. As if this was where it belonged.

Then, the sensation stopped.

Scaerthrynne sucked in a deep breath, his eyes wide, and staggered backwards a few steps. He blinked a few times, his head swimming. What just happened?

“Scratch!”

Vallena’s panicked voice snapped him out of his stupor, and he rushed over to the girl, dropping to a knee beside her. She was shivering, her eyes glued to the rolled-up sleeve of her arm, the very same one which he’d bandaged earlier. The linens, torn to shreds, fell like snow onto the floor. “Scratch, w-what’s that? I-It wasn’t there before!”

There, set into her completely healed arm, was a jagged blue shard. It looked like a piece of broken glass, long and thin, and spanned from her wrist to halfway down her forearm.

“Calm down, Val,” Scaerthrynne said. He ran a hand over the shard. He felt only smooth skin. “Do you feel any pain? Any discomfort?”

Vallena shook her head.

“Okay, then that’s–”

He stopped abruptly, and rolled up his own sleeves, as far as he could. And sure enough, where he’d felt the sensation radiate from earlier, he saw a similar object buried under his skin. Only instead of a shard of glass, his looked more like an elongated disc, set just beneath his left wrist. Despite feeling nothing from it, he couldn’t help but feel a momentary burst of panic and worry. Just what was this thing? It’d clearly come from that burst of energy, but what was that, in the first place?

In all of his four-and-a-half centuries of life, he’d never seen such a thing. That, in and of itself, was a very, very worrying thing. He gulped.

“S-Scratch?” Vallena called to him. She sounded on the verge of tears. “Y-You have one too? What is it? Is it a curse? A-Are we cursed? D-Did the elemental do something to us? Is it angry?”

“No, the elemental didn’t do anything,” he replied.

Then, he drew in a deep breath.

One problem at a time.

One. Problem. At. A time.

What did he know?

Well, it was clearly arcane in nature, that much was certain. Whatever this thing was, it wasn’t immediately lethal, otherwise Vallena and he should be dead by now. Neither did it cause any discomfort or pain. Could it be a curse? Maybe, but then who would curse them? Or rather, who would curse Vallena? Scaerthrynne could think of many people who would wish ill upon him, but the girl? That wasn’t likely. Then maybe it was an artifact of some kind, looking for a host? But then why them? Why a girl so young—

He shook his head. He was asking the wrong questions. Or rather, the wrong question.

What did it matter? He could figure out a unified theory of arcanology, or the meaning of life right now, and none of it would mean a thing unless he also figured out how to stop the Stormrider from crashing. If it was indeed a curse, then resolving it now would be meaningless, unless he simply wanted to have the choice of dying by falling from the sky instead of by malicious arcane nonsense.

No, as far as he was concerned, this shard, this magic thing, didn’t exist. Not until the airship was safe.

“Val,” he said, placing a hand on the girl’s shoulder. “Val, listen to me, alright?”

She nodded and looked at him, her eyes teary and her breaths shuddering.

“The truth is, I don’t know what’s going on,” Scaerthrynne admitted. “But what I do know, is that unless we get this airship safe, we’re not going to have to worry about what’s going on. Isn’t that right?”

Vallena nodded hesitantly. “Y-Yes.”

“Good, and what do we do when we’ve more than one problem to take care of?”

“T-Take them one at a time?”

Scaerthrynne forced a smile. He didn’t feel like smiling, not with the situation at hand, but he also knew he had to, if only for Vallena’s sake. The last thing the girl needed was to see him unsure. “Good girl. So what do we need to do now? The most important thing?”

Vallena gulped. “S-Save the ship?”

Scaerthrynne ruffled her hair. “That’s the clever Val I know,” he said. “I promise, once the ship’s safe, we’ll figure out what just happened to us, alright?” Of that much, he was certain. It would’ve been one thing had it just been him who got afflicted by…Whatever this was. But this involved Vallena, too. That changed a lot of things. Not figuring this out wasn’t an option. By hook or by crook, he had to solve this problem.

Vallena nodded. She still looked frightened, but she had every right to be. That she wasn’t bawling was an achievement in and of itself. She drew in several breaths to steady herself. “Okay,” she said quietly. “Okay, Scratch. I-I’ll focus. On saving the ship. A-And try not to think about–” She shook her head. “N-No, no! I’m not thinking about it! I’m not!”

Scaerthrynne couldn’t help but chuckle. “Keep trying. You’ll get it eventually.”

He stood up and, at long last, turned to Ezekiel. “Thanks for the help,” he said, then cleared his throat. “Do you have one of…” The dark elf raised his arm, showing the man the strange object. “One of these, too? If you know what this is, I’d pay good money to find out. But if you don’t–” he nodded to Callandra. “She’s all yours again. I need to get to the engine room to save this ship before worrying about anything else. You’re welcome to follow us, or you can bring her above deck, or the infirmary. You know where it is, don’t you?”

Scaerthrynne started walking down the corridor. “Either way, anywhere’s better than here.” As much as he tried not to show it, there was a sense of urgency, of anxiety in his steps. There was only so much altitude the airship could lose before it was beyond saving, only so much of its airframe that could be ruined before it simply fell apart. Only so much elemental energy it could bleed, before the elemental either simply died, or lost itself to a catastrophic rage.

One problem at a time.

And for now, the problem was a simple one. He just had to get to the engine room. Nothing else mattered.

🗡 Roses and Daggers 🎕

...Feat. Iyen

Time: Evening
Location: Banquet Hall
Interactions: Kalliope @Tae
Mentions:
Appearance: Iyen Sjan-dehk
Attire: Sjan-dehk Iyen
Equipment:

Hider

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

Sjan-dehk was just about to tell Iyen off for interrupting, when Kalliope spoke.

And for a moment, he relaxed. There was something refreshingly familiar about the playful notes, the hints of mischief that coloured her first few words, that calmed the tempestuous thoughts in his mind, and eased the wearisome weight that pressed upon his heart and shoulders. For a while, all felt as they should be, as if his troubles from earlier had been naught but a figment of his own imagination.

Of course, that Kalliope hadn’t disagreed with Iyen certainly helped.

He answered her smirk with a grin of his own. Words gathered on the tip of his tongue, the beginnings of a quip to counter hers. But before he could say anything, she apologised.

Then, she explained herself.

He listened in silence, the mirth on his face cooling to an expression more sombre, more serious. His eyes remained locked on Kalliope’s, except when she averted her gaze, and the one occasion when he threw a sidelong, questioning glance at Iyen. The Sudhrayarn woman didn’t look at him, instead coughing into her fist and gaining a sudden, deep interest in the embroidery of the tablecloth before her. That told Sjan-dehk everything he needed to know. He let out a quiet sigh that existed more in his head than upon his lips, and shook his head slightly.

Remorse dripped from every word, every syllable that left Kalliope’s mouth. Each was like a knife piercing him to his core, filling him with self-reproach for having been so selfish. This entire time, he’d only thought of his own feelings; how it’d stung when she’d left him for Cassius; how she’d left him in a mess of tangled emotions, and how discontented he’d felt about the whole situation. Had there ever been a moment during his self-pity when he’d considered how she might have felt? Or even tried thinking of other reasons for her actions that didn’t involve him?

At several points, he wanted to speak up, to tell her plainly that she didn’t need to apologise. That she had nothing to apologise for. But the words wouldn’t come.

And so, he continued to listen in silence.

Only when she’d finished did his voice return to him. “Kali–” He began quietly, but quickly stopped himself, his eyes momentarily closing in thought. She’d taken the time to give him a proper explanation. The least he could do was to take the time to think over, and give her a proper reply.

He dragged an empty chair over—the same one he’d sat in while talking to Charlotte—and placed it in the middle of Iyen and Kalliope, forming a ring of seats. “You don’t owe me an apology, or anything, really,” he said as he sat down. “The fault’s mine for, ah…” A faint flush washed over his cheeks. He hooked a finger into his collar and tugged on it. “Assuming certain things. In hindsight, I should’ve guessed that there were people from your past here, after…Well, you know, after what happened in the hallway.”

And in hindsight, he should have also guessed that those people had great capacity for danger. Hafiz had certainly seemed that way.

“Assuming certain things, huh?” Iyen’s amused voice piped up.

“Not now, Iyen,” Sjan-dehk replied quickly and smoothly, as if this was something he’d dealt with umpteen times before. He didn’t even look at her, although her words did resonate with him. Kalliope had explained why she’d wanted to so desperately get away from him, earlier, but still Sjan-dehk wasn’t sure whether his assumptions about her relationship with Cassius were right. And that uneased him greatly.

No. Now is not the time. With a swift rebuke, he pushed those thoughts aside. They could wait.

“If anything, I should be thanking you,” he said with a little smile. “I’m used to being the one protecting, not so much the one being protected. It’s new to me.” He chuckled softly before continuing. “But I’ll admit that I feel…Better, knowing that I didn’t do anything to make you, ah, feel ashamed. I didn’t mind it, carrying you in here. It felt…”

His voice trailed off, and he finished his sentence in a bashful murmur. “Nice.”

Iyen let out a barely suppressed giggle. Sjan-dehk shot her a look, and she simply hummed in response.

“Ignore her, she’s just being…Iyen.” He shook his head, cleared his throat, and turned back to Kalliope. He grinned—a small, hesitant one, but a grin nonetheless—and reached out for her shoulder again. “But you don’t have to worry too much, Kali,” he said and leaned forward, resting his palm upon his smooth, supple skin. “Think I might’ve told you this before, but it might be worth repeating, now. Whatever fight I get into is my choice. If your enemies want to mark me, or notice me, then let them. You’re…A friend.”

Friend. It described his relationship with Kalliope perfectly.

And yet, he didn’t like it. There was a bitterness under it that sat poorly in his mind.

“You’re important to me,” he corrected himself, before he knew what he was saying. “I-I mean, well, you’re an important friend–”

Iyen gave him a slap on his shoulder, and not a gentle one, either. “Stop it, Sjan-dehk,” she said, laughing, and looked at Kalliope with an expression that was half apologetic, and half ‘I told you so’.

“You stop it,” Sjan-dehk said and shot her another look, but with much less vitriol than before. It was more out of embarrassment, than any sort of genuine irritation or annoyance. He drew in a deep breath, quickly looked around the banquet hall, then returned his gaze to Kalliope. “But yes, if anyone wants to come after me because of you, then I’ll just have to fight them.” He spoke casually, as if he were talking about a mere future fishing trip. “It wouldn’t be the first time I got involved in courtly nonsense that turned violent, and I’m still here, so I’d say that I’ve got a pretty good track record with these things.”

He grinned and gave Kalliope’s shoulder a gentle squeeze. “Besides, someone has to watch your back as well, I think. Can’t let you do all the protecting.” Without thinking, he slid his thumb over her joint. He didn’t even notice what he’d done, so focused was he on looking her in her eyes. “And it looks to me that things are coming to an end, anyway. Most everyone’s gone.”